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Bridging Cultures across Time and Space

In Conversation with Translators

Translators are bridge builders across cultures, time and place. We have interviewed five of them from South Asia. While the translators we have interviewed are academics, they have all ventured further than the bounds of academia towards evolving a larger literary persona.

The doyen of translation and the queen of historical fiction, Aruna Chakravarti,  and poet, critic and translator, Radha Chakravarty , feel their experience at bridging cultures has impacted their creative writing aswell. Somdatta Mandal, is prolific with a huge barrage of translations ranging from Tagore, to women to travellers, despite being an essayist and reviewer, claims she does not do creative writing and views translations as her passion. Whereas eminent professor and essayist from Bangladesh, Fakrul Alam tells us that translating helped him as a teacher too. Fazal Baloch, translator and columnist from Balochistan, tells us that translation is immersive, creative and an art into itself. We started the conversation with the most basic question – how do they choose the text they want to translate…

How do you choose which texts to translate?

Aruna Chakravarti

Aruna Chakravarti: A translation is an attempt at communication on behalf of a culture, a tradition and a literature. Choosing an author and, more importantly, the most significant areas of his or her work are the first steps towards this communication, because it is only through translation that masterpieces from a small provincial culture become universal ones. Since I come from Bengal, I have always chosen the best of its literature for translation. My first translation was of Rabindranath Tagore’s lyrics. Rabindranath once said that even if all his other work fades to oblivion, his songs would remain. Saratchandra Chattopadhyay, a leading writer of 19th and early 20th century Bengal, considered Srikanta the best of his novels and the most suited to be conveyed to a global readership. I translated Srikanta. Sunil Gangopadhyay is hailed as the most eminent writer of present-day Bengal.  My translations of his novels and short stories are extraordinarily well received by non-Bengali readers, to this day.

Radha Chakravarty

Radha Chakravarty: Every occasion is different. Sometimes a text chooses itself because I feel compelled to translate it. Sometimes I select texts to translate, in response to suggestions or requests from editors, readers and friends who read. Several of my books in translation evolved alongside my research interests as a scholar and academic. For instance, Vermillion Clouds, my anthology of stories by Bengali women, developed from my general interest in feminist literature and my desire to bring texts from our own culture to the English-speaking world. My translations of Mahasweta Devi’s writings, especially the stories on motherhood in the collection titled In the Name of the Mother, happened when I was working on a chapter about Mahasweta for my PhD thesis. Our Santiniketan, my translation of her childhood memoir, emerged from my interest in her writings, as well as my admiration for Rabindranath Tagore. The translations of Chokher Bali1, Farewell Song (Shesher Kabita) and Four Chapters reflect my special fascination with Tagore’s woman-centred novels, for this was also the subject of my post-doctoral work. Later, I developed this research into my book Novelist Tagore: Gender and Modernity in Selected Texts. For my edited anthology Shades of Difference, a compilation of Tagore’s works on the theme of universality in heterogeneity, the selection involved a great deal of thinking and research. And translating Kazi Nazrul Islam’s essays turned out to be an incredible learning experience.

Somdatta Mandal

Somdatta Mandal: I have been translating different kinds of texts over the last couple of decades, and I have no fixed agenda of what I choose to translate. Usually, I am assigned some particular text by the author or a publisher, but sometimes I pick up texts which I like to do on my own. Since I have been working and researching on travel writing for a long time, I have chosen and translated several travel texts from Bengali to English written by women during the colonial times. I have also translated a lot of Rabindranath Tagore’s essays, letters and memoirs of different women related to him. Recently I translated a seminal Bengali travel text of a sadhu’s sojourn in the Himalayas in the late nineteenth century. I have a huge bucket list of texts that I would love to translate provided I find some publisher willing to undertake it. Since copyright permissions have become quite rigid and complicated nowadays, I have learnt from my own experience that it is always advisable to seek permission from the respective authorities before venturing into translating anything. Earlier I was naïve to translate stories which I liked without seeking necessary permission from the copyright holder and those projects ultimately did not see the light of day.

Fakrul Alam

Fakrul Alam: I have no fixed policy on this issue. Sometimes the texts choose me, so to speak. For instance, I began translating poems from Bengali when I first read Jibanananda Das’s “Banalata Sen”. The poem got hold of me and would not let go. I felt at one point an intense desire to translate it and read more of Jibanananda’s poems. Translating the poem elated me and having the end product in my hand in a printed page was joyous. The more poems I read by Jibanananda afterwards, the more I felt like rendering them into English, as if to share my delight and excitement at coming across such wonderful poems with readers who would not have read them in Bengali. That led to my first book of translations, Jibanananda Das: Selected Poems (Dhaka, UPL, 1999). As I ended my work on Jibanananda I thought: why not translate some poems by Rabindranath too? I had climbed one very high mountain satisfactorily and so why not venture forth and climb the topmost peak of Bengali literature?  And so, I began translating Rabindranath’s poems as well as his songs. I had grown up with them, but till now had never imagined I could render them into English. Kumkum Bhattacharya, a dear friend who at that time was in charge of Viswa-Bharati’s publishing wing, Granthana Vibhaga, had seen samples of my work and told me to think of an anthology of his translated works to be published in Tagore’s sesquicentenary year for them. This led me to the poems, prose pieces and songs by him that I translated for The Essential Tagore (Cambridge, Mass, Harvard UP, 2011 and Kolkata: Viswa Bharati, 2011), a book that I had co-edited (with Radha Chakravarty). My last book of translations, Gitabitan: Selected Song-Lyrics of Rabindranath Tagore (Dhaka: Journeyman Books, 2023) alsocame out of this same compulsion of translating works in Bengali. This particular work is a book of translations of nearly 300 songs that I love to listen to again and again—songs that made me feel every now and then that I had to translate them, especially when I heard them sung by a favourite Tagore singer. My translations of a few Kazi Nazrul Islam’s poems and some of his songs are also the result of such compulsive feelings. 

However, I also translated some works because I was requested to do so by people who knew about my Jibanananda Das and Tagore translations and who felt that I would be a competent translator of works they felt were worth presenting to readers in English versions of Bengali books very dear to them. My three translations of works by Sheikh Mujibur Rahman, The Unfinished Memoirs (Dhaka: UPL Books, 2012), The Prison Dairies (Dhaka: Bangla Academy, 2017), and New China 1952 (Dhaka: Bangla Academy, 2021) were all outcomes of requests made to me to translate them. Translating Ocean of Sorrow, the epic 1891 novel by Mir Mosharraf Hossain, has been the most challenging translating work I have had to undertake till now (Dhaka: Bangla Academy, 2016). I would not have dared take on the task of translating such a long and demanding prose work if Shamsuzzaman Khan, the Director of the Bangla Academy of that period, had not kept requesting me to translate this classic of Bengali Literature.

I will end my response to this question by saying that every now and then I translate poems and prose pieces by leading writers who are my contemporaries and who keep requesting me to translate them. Occasionally, I will also translate poems by major poets of our country of the last century—poets like Shamsur Rahman and Al Mahmud—because a poem or two by them had gripped me and made me feel like venturing forth into the realm of translation.  

Fazal Baloch

Fazal Baloch: Translating poetry and prose are two very different endeavors. Poetry often makes an immediate impact. Sometimes just a few lines strike me powerfully on the first reading, creating an atmosphere that sets the translation process in motion. In other words, I tend to translate the verses that stir something in me or resonate deeply.

Prose translation, by contrast, works differently. It usually unfolds after a longer process and often requires multiple readings of the text. At times, it even calls for a more deliberate, conscious effort.

Does translating impact your own writing?

Aruna Chakravarti: Yes, it does.  While translating the great masters of Bengali literature I have learned much that has impacted my own writing. From Rabindranath I learned that prose need not necessarily be dry and matter of fact. It could be imbued with lyricism without appearing sentimental and over emotional.  Saratchandra taught me the importance of brevity and precision. Search all his novels and you will not find one superfluous word. I try to follow his example and shun over-writing. From Sunil Gangopadhyay, I learned the art of dialogue. His direct, no-nonsense style and use of colloquialisms work best in dialogue.  

Radha Chakravarty: Yes indeed. As I have just indicated in my answer to your previous question, my translations often take a course parallel to my research, and the two strands of my work sometimes become inseparably interrelated. In my critical works on Indian literature, I remain conscious of bringing these writings to an audience beyond India. Hence an element of cultural translation infuses my analysis of texts by Indian writers. In my own English poetry, when I write about Bengali settings and themes, bilingual overtones often seep in.

Somdatta Mandal: No, not at all. I am not a creative writer per se, so there is no way that translation can influence my own writing.

Fakrul Alam: I will start answering the question by saying that apart from translating and writing nonfiction essays in the creative mode, I have not authored literary works. I am first and foremost an academic. Inevitably, translating Rabindranath’s works have impacted on me academically. By now I have at least one collection of essays on various aspects of Rabindranath’s life and enough essays on him that can lead to another such book. No doubt coming to know Rabindranath so intimately through the kind of close reading that is essential for translation work has made me more sensitive to him as a thinker, educator and visionary, as well as a poet and writer of prose and fictional works. Reading literary creations by him, his letters and lectures that I came across because of my involvement with his work has also lead me to editing; the work I did as co-editor of The Essential Tagore is surely proof of that.

Let me add that my translations have also impacted on my teaching. I am now able to draw on comparisons with Bangladeshi writers and Bengali literature for comparison and contrast in the classroom when I teach texts written in English to my students.  Reading up on the authors I have translated has also equipped me to be more aware of Bangladesh’s roots and national identity formation. This has led me to essays on these subjects.   

Fazal Baloch: Translation is not separate from the process of creativity. Through it, we enter a new world of meaning and explore the experiences of others through a creative lens. As a writer, I find translation essential for nurturing and enriching the mind. It is also worth noting that translation is not partial or fragmentary but a complete and holistic act. When I translate, I move with its current just as I do when I write. Both processes unfold in their own rhythm without obstructing one another. In fact, it is through translation that I have come to recognize and understand great works of creativity in a deeper way.

What is the most challenging part of translation? Do you need to research when you translate?

Aruna Chakravarti:  Yes, since a major part of my translation work was set in 19th century Bengal, I needed to understand and imbibe the ethos and ambience of the times. Being a Probasi Bangali who has lived outside Bengal all her life, this was important. Consequently, a fair amount of research was involved. This has stood me in good stead in my own writing.

Speaking about challenges there are many. The more divergent the two literary traditions the greater the dilemma of the translator. But the test of a good translation is the absence of uncertainty, hesitation and strain. Since translation undertakes to build bridges across cultures it is important that it reads like a creative work. The language must be flowing and spontaneous; one that readers from other languages and cultures don’t feel alienated from. One that they are willing, even eager to read. One they can sail through with effortless ease.

On the other hand, readability or beauty of language cannot be the sole test of a good translation. If the translator becomes obsessed with sounding right in the target language, he/she could run the risk of diluting and distorting the original text which would be a disservice to the author. The reader should hear the author’s voice and be conscious of the source language and culture, down to the finest nuance, if the translation is a truly good one. A good translator is constantly trying to keep a balance between Beauty and Fidelity. No translation is perfect but the finer the balance…the better the translation.

Radha Chakravarty: When translating from Bengali into a culturally distant language like English, the greatest challenge is to bring the spirit of the original alive in the target language, for readers who may not be familiar with the local context. Literal translation does not work.

The need for research can vary, depending on the nature of the text being translated, the purpose of the translation, and the target readership. Some texts travel easily across cultural and linguistic borders, while others need to be interpreted in relation to the time, place and milieu to which they belong. The latter demand more research on the part of the translator, who must act as the cultural mediator or interpreter. When translating Tagore’s writings for my anthology The Land of Cards: Stories, Poems and Plays for Children, I found that these works speak to all children without requiring too much explanation or contextualization; very often the context becomes clear from the writing itself. But Boyhood Days, my translation of Tagore’s childhood memories in Chhelebela, required greater contextualization, for present day readers to grasp unfamiliar details of life in old-world Kolkata.

Somdatta Mandal: The most challenging part of translation is to maintain the readability of the text which I consider to be of foremost importance for any text to communicate with its readers. However, this readability should not be achieved at the cost of omission or suppression of portions of the original. Instead of rigidly following one particular criterion, usually my focus has been to choose what best communicates the nuances of the Source Language [SL]. Sometimes of course when it is best to do a literal translation of cultural material rather than obfuscate it by transforming it into an alien idiom taken from the target language resulting thus in a significant loss of the culture reflected in the original text.

As for doing research when I translate, the answer depends on what kind of text I am working on. If it is a serious academic piece, then occasionally I must consult the dictionary or the thesaurus for the most suitable word. Sometimes contextual or historical references need special attention and background research but such instances are occasional. What really attracts me towards translation is the inherent joy of creativity – of being free to frame the writer’s thoughts in your own words.

Fakrul Alam: The most challenging part of translation is getting it right, that is to say, conveying the words and feel of the original as accurately as possible.  But “getting it right” also means being able to convey the form and tone of the original as well as is possible.  In every way the translator must carry on his translating shoulder the burden of accuracy whenever and whatever he or she is into translating. In this respect a translator like me is different from creative people who take on the task of translating ready to take liberties to render the original in distinctive ways that will bear their signatures. They do not feel constrained like translators of my kind who never dare to move away more than a little distance from the original in order to convey the tone and the meaning as imaginatively and creatively as is possible for them.

I have a simple method when it comes to translating. My first draft is the result of no aid other than printed and/or online dictionaries. If there are allusions I come across when readying the first draft, I Google. Lately, AI has been very helpful in this regard—it even gives me the English equivalence for quite a few Bengali words when, for instance, I type the title in English of a Bengali song-lyric by Rabindranath. Then I compare my translation with that of other translations available online to see if my version is deviating to much from the ones I see.

Occasionally, I will need to do research on the work I am translating. In translating Mir Mosharraf Hossein’s epic novel, for example, I kept searching on the net to know more about the characters and situations of history he had rendered into his narrative than I knew from his writing. I will also do a lot of research if and when I feel a poem or prose work needs to be contextualized and footnotes or end notes needed by readers to understand what is being depicted fully. Thus, for Jibanananda Das’s “Banalata Sen” alone I had to Google a number of times to understand fully the imaginative geography of the piece and get a feel of the real-life equivalents of the places and characters mentioned. In particular, for the first stanza of the poem I had to look for glossaries I intended to provide on words like Vimbisar, Vidarbha, Sravasti and Natore for overseas readers.

Fazal Baloch: Translation is not simply the process of transferring of text from one language to another; it is more like a conversation between cultures, a process through which they come closer and begin to understand one another.

For me, the most challenging part of translation is working with idiomatic and metaphorical expressions. Every language has its own unique idioms and linguistic frameworks, and these are often difficult to carry over into another language. To meet this challenge, I often need to conduct research and explore the etymological roots of words.

What is more important in a translation? Capturing the essence of the work or accuracy?

Aruna Chakravarti:  Capturing the essence of the work is certainly more important than accuracy.  Translators shouldn’t translate words. They should convey the spirit, the intent of the work. There are some authors so obsessed with their own use of language… they want translators to find the exact equivalent for each word they have written. This is a bad idea. Firstly, it is simply not possible to find exact equivalents. At least, not in languages as diverse as Bengali and English. Secondly, the job of the translator is not to satisfy the author’s ego. It is to transfer a literary gem from a small readership to a larger, more inclusive one. If one is unable to do so, the author revered in his own country will fail to speak meaningfully across the language barrier and the onus of the failure will fall on the translator.

Radha Chakravarty: A literary text is a living reality, not a corpus of printed words on the page. It is this living spirit that needs to animate the translated text, rather than precise verbal equivalence. The popular emphasis on fidelity in translation is misplaced. For literary translation cannot be a mechanical exercise. It is, in its own right, a creative process, which depends, not on rigid verbal ‘accuracy’, but on the translator’s ability to recreate, in another language, the very soul of the original. Perhaps ‘transcreation’ is a good word to describe this.

Somdatta Mandal: Regarding translation, it must be kept in mind that though something is always lost in translation, one must always attempt to strike the right balance between oversimplification and over-explanation. Translation is also creative and the challenges it poses are significant. The intricate navigation between the source language and the translated language shows that there are two major meanings of translation in South Asia – bhashantar, altering the language, and anuvad, retelling the story. Without going into major theoretical analyses that crowd translation studies per se, I feel one should have an equal grasp over the SL and the TL [Translated Language] to make a translated piece readable. I translate between two languages – Bengali and English. Sometimes of course, cultural fidelity must be prioritised over linguistic fidelity.

Translating has caught up in a big way over the past five or six years. Now big publishing houses are venturing into publishing from regional bhasha [Language] literatures into English and so the possibilities are endless. Now every other day we come across new titles which are translations of regional novels or short stories. Translating should have as its prime motive current readability and not always rigidly adhering to being very particular about remaining close to each individual line of the source text. The target readership should also be kept in mind and so the choice of words used, and glossary should be eliminated or kept to a minimum. The meaning of a foreign word should as far as possible be embedded within the text itself. All these issues would make translating an enjoyable experience. Way back in 1995, Lawrence Venuti popularised the term ‘foreignized’ so that readers can get access to the source culture as well. He used the term to explain the kind of translation that ‘signifies the difference of the foreign text by disrupting the cultural codes that prevail in the target language.’ Thus, the idea of translation is not to just communicate the plot but also to make readers familiar with the traditions, rituals, and world views of the other.

Fakrul Alam: To me the most important goal is to come as close to the original in every possible way. This means aiming for accuracy, but surely it also means coming as near as possible to the essence of the original. In other words, as far as I am concerned, accuracy will lead to essence. But as I indicate above, most creative writers doing translation will go for the essence and forego accuracy. But knowing something will be lost in translation I will try to minimize the loss by sticking close to the original in every possible way—word meaning, the rhythm of speech, sound elements and imagery. Of course, a man’s reach should exceed his grasp but what else is going to bring the translator close to cloud nine? 

Fazal Baloch: Both essence and accuracy matter, but in poetry translation, the limited space to maneuver often makes essence the priority. As I mentioned earlier, the goal of translation is not only to carry over the meaning of the words but also the rhythm, tone, emotion, and cultural context that bring the original to life.

In practice, this means the translator has to balance several tasks at once: preserving cadence and rhythm, maintaining poetic flow, and ensuring semantic clarity. Yet above all, the translator must not lose the spirit of the original when choosing between essence and accuracy.

Prose, on the other hand, offers more freedom. Because it allows greater room to preserve meaning, accuracy tends to matter more, though essence still plays a role.

In short, poetry often gives more weight to essence, while prose allows essence and accuracy to work together more harmoniously.

  1. Best friend from Childhood, literally Sand from the Eye ↩︎

Bios of Featured Translators:

Aruna Chakravarti has been the principal of a prestigious women’s college of Delhi University for ten years. She is also a well-known academic, creative writer and translator. Her novels, JorasankoDaughters of JorasankoThe InheritorsSuralakshmi Villa and The Mendicant Prince have sold widely and received rave reviews. She has two collections of short stories and many translations, the latest being Rising from the Dust. She has also received awards such as the Vaitalik Award, Sahitya Akademi Award and Sarat Puraskar for her translations.

Radha Chakravarty is a poet, critic and translator based in Delhi, India. She has published over 20 books, including translations of major Bengali writers such as Rabindranath Tagore, Bankimchandra Chatterjee and Kazi Nazrul Islam, anthologies of South Asian writing, and several critical monographs. She has co-edited The Essential Tagore (Harvard and Visva-Bharati), named Book of the Year 2011 by Martha Nussbaum. She was Professor of Comparative Literature and Translation Studies at Ambedkar University Delhi.

Somdatta Mandal is the Former Professor of English and Chairperson at the Department of English & Other Modern European Languages, Visva-Bharati, Santiniketan. Somdatta has a keen interest in translation and travel writing.

Fakrul Alam is an academic, translator and writer from Bangladesh. He has translated works of Jibonananda Das and Rabindranath Tagore into English and is the recipient of Bangla Academy Literary Award (2012) for translation and SAARC Literary Award (2012).

Fazal Baloch is a writer and translator. So far, he has published seven English anthologies and one Urdu collection of his translations. His. works include “God and the Blind Man: Selected short stories by Munir Ahmed Badini (Balochistan Academy of Science and Research, 2020), The Broken Verses: Aphorism and Epigrams by Sayad Hashumi (Balochi Academy Quetta 2021), Rising Stars: English Translations of Selected Balochi Literature by the Writers under the Age of Fifty (Pakistan Academy of Letters Islamabad 2022), Muntakhib Balochi Kahaniyan (Pakistan Academy of Letters Islamabad 2022), Adam’s Remorse and Other Poems by Akbar Barakzai (Balochi Academy Quetta 2023), “Why Does the Moon Look So Beautiful?: Selected short stories by Naguman” (Balochistan Academy Turbat, revised edition 2024) and “Every Verse for You”: Selected Poetry by Mubarak Qazi (Balochistan Academy Turbat, revised edition 2025). His translations have also been included in different anthologies such as ‘Silence between the Note’ (Dhauli Books India, 2019), Unheard Voices: Twenty-One Short Stories in Balochi with English translations (Uppsala University Sweden, 2022) and ‘Monalisa No Longer Smiles: An Anthology of Writings from across the World (Om Books International, 2022). He also contributes literary columns to various newspapers and magazines. He lives in Turbat Balochistan where he serves as an Assistant Professor at Atta Shad Degree College Turbat.     

(The interviews were conducted via email by Mitali Chakravarty)

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Celebrating Translations

We are the World

Vincent Van Gogh written is different scripts. Courtesy: Creative Commons

The whole world opens up in the realm of ideas that have existed wafting and bridging across time and space. Sometimes they find conduits to come to the fore, even though they find expression in different languages, under varied cultural milieus. One way of connecting these ideas is to translate them into a single language. And that is what many have started to do. Celebrating writers and translators who have connected us with these ideas across boundaries of time and place, we bring to you translated writings in English from twenty eight languages on the International Translation Day, from some of the most iconic thinkers as well as from contemporary voices. 

Prose

Tagore’s short story, Aparichita, has been translated from Bengali as The Stranger by Aruna Chakravarti. Click here to read. 

Travels & Holidays: Humour from Rabindranath, have been translated from Bengali by Somdatta Mandal. Click here to read.

Hena, a short story by Nazrul, has been translated from Bengali by Sohana Manzoor. Click hereto read.

Munshi Premchand’s Balak or the Child has been translated from Hindi by Anurag Sharma Click here to read.

Munshi Premchand’s Pus Ki Raat or A Frigid Winter Night  has been translated from Hindi by C Christine Fair. Click here to read.

Nadir Ali’s The Kabbadi Player has been translated from Punjabi by Amna Ali. Click here to read.

Kamaleswar Barua’s Uehara by  has been translated from Assamese and introduced by Bikash K. Bhattacharya. Click here to read.

S Ramakrishnan’s Muhammad Ali’s Singnature has been S. Ramakrishnan, translated from Tamil by Dr B. Chandramouli. Click here to read. 

PF Mathews’ Mercy,  has been translated from Malayalam by Ram Anantharaman. Click here to read.

Road to Nowhere, an unusual story about a man who heads for suicide, translated from Odiya by the author, Satya Misra. Click here to read.

An excerpt from A Handful of Sesame by Shrinivas Vaidya, translated from Kannada by Maithreyi Karnoor. Click here to read.

Writings from Pandies’ Corner highlight the ongoing struggle against debilitating rigid boundaries drawn by societal norms. Each piece is written in Hindustani and then translated by a volunteer from Pandies’ in English. Click here to read.

Rakhamaninov’s Sonata, a short story by Sherzod Artikov, translated from Uzbeki by Nigora Mukhammad. Click here to read.

Of Days and Seasons, a parable by the eminent Dutch writer, Louis Couperus (1863-1923), translated by Chaitali Sengupta. Click here to read.

The Faithful Wife, a folktale translated from Balochi by Fazal Baloch. Click here to read.

An excerpt from Ramy Al-Asheq’s Ever Since I Did Not Die, translated from Arabic by Isis Nusair, edited by Levi Thompson. The author was born in a refugee camp. Click here to read.

Poetry

Two songs by Tagore written originally in Brajabuli, a literary language developed essentially for poetry in the sixteenth century, has been translated by Radha Chakravarty. Click here to read. 

Rebel or ‘Bidrohi’, Nazrul’s signature poem,Bidrohi, translated from Bengali by Professor Fakrul Alam. Click here to read.

Banlata Sen, Jibananada Das’s iconic poem, translated from Bengali by Professor Fakrul Alam. Click here to read. 

Poetry of Michael Madhusudan Dutt has been translated from Bengali by Ratnottama Sengupta. Click here to read.

Our Children, a poem by well-known Iranian poet, Bijan Najdi, has been translated from Persian by Davood Jalili. Click here to read.

Akbar Barakzai’s Be and It All Came into Being has been translated from Balochi by Fazal Baloch. Click here to read.

Biju Kanhangad’s The Girl Who Went Fishing has been translated from Malayalam by Aditya Shankar. Click here to read.

Jitendra Vasava’s Adivasi Poetry,  translated from the Dehwali Bhili via Gujarati by Gopika Jadeja. Click here to read.

Sokhen Tudu’s A Poem for The Ol Chiki, translated from the Santhali by Hansda Sowvendra Shekhar. Click here to read.

Thangjam Ibopishak’s Gandhi & Robot translated from the Manipuri by Robin S Ngangom. Click here to read.

 Rayees Ahmad translates his own poem, Ab tak Toofan or The Storm that Rages, from Urdu to English. Click here to read.

Poetry by Sanket Mhatre has been translated by Rochelle Potkar from Marathi to English. Click here to read.

An excerpt from Evening with a Sufi: Selected Poemsby Afsar Mohammad, translated from Telugu by Afsar Mohammad & Shamala Gallagher. Click hereto read.

Ihlwha Choi’s Universal Language written at Santiniktan, translated from Korean by the poet himself. Click here to read.

Sangita Swechha’s Motherhood: A Tiny Life inside Me has been translated from Nepali by Hem Bishwakarma. Click here to read.

Rosy Gallace’s Two poems from Italy  have been translated from Italian by Irma Kurti. Click here to read.

Poetry in Bosnian written and translated from Bosnian by Maid Corbic. Click here to read.

Lesya Bakun translates three of her own poems from Ukranian and Russian to English. Click here to read.

Poems from Armenia by Eduard Harents translated from Armenian by Harout Vartanian. Click here to read.

Categories
Interview

Translation as an Act of Possession: Fakrul Alam

Professor Fakrul Alam discusses his new book of Tagore translations, Gitabitan: Selected Song-Lyrics of Rabindranath Tagore, published by Journeyman Books, Dhaka

Professor Fakrul Alam translates Tagore songs with a passion, refers to them as ‘song-lyrics’. In a recent essay, he claimed his favourite book is the Gitabitan, which houses 2232 songs by Tagore. The first edition of the book was published in 1931 and 1932 in three volumes. Over a period of time, Vishwa Bharati combined the three into one single volume.

During the pandemic, Professor Alam — a translator who has been lauded for his translation of Jibananda Das and also something as diverse from poetry as the autobiography of the founding father of Bangladesh, Sheikh Mujibur Rahman — took to translating Tagore songs to make a 300 strong collection, which has been published recently. When asked what was the basis for his selection of the songs, he responded: “What was the basis of my selections? Most important was my love for them. I listen to Rabindra Sangeet, that is to say, the songs of Rabindranath Tagore, every day without fail, unless I am travelling outside Bangladesh. Over the years, some songs by a few singers became so much a part of me that I began translating them. As was the case with my Jibanananda Das translations, you could say that translation was an act of homage as well as a way of coming really close to what you love. It strikes me also that many of the songs I ended up translating are by my favourite Tagore song singers — artistes like Debabrata Biswas and Kanika Bandhopadhyay for instance.  Once again, translation as an act of possession!”

Professor Alam has been the recipient of  both the Bangla Academy Literary Award for translation and the SAARC Literary Award. He has published around a hundred translations of Tagore songs and poems, edited and translated The Essential Tagore with Radha Chakravarty and lectured in a number of countries about Tagore. In his recently published translation, Gitabitan: Selected Song-Lyrics of Rabindranath Tagore, he brings to us a wide variety of songs which he has grouped into different sections. In this interview, he discusses his translated works, especially his new book.

You have translated Sheikh Mujibur Rahman, and Jibanananda Das, Nazrul and Tagore. What turned you towards translating poetry from prose?

Actually, I translated poetry first and then switched to translating prose. The first literary pieces I translated were poems by Jibanananda Das—surely the greatest Bengali poet of the twentieth century, if we leave aside Rabindranath Tagore who, of course, began writing poems towards the end of the nineteenth century and stood out among Bengali poets till his death in 1941. I then turned to translating some Tagore poems and songs for The Essential Tagore (2011) that I co-edited with Radha Chakravarty.

Also, from the time my book of translations of Das’s poems came out I either ventured into translating some poems by contemporary Bangladeshi poets from time to time either because I felt like doing so, or as responses to requests of a few poets to translate their verse. An example is Masud Khan, some of whose poems you have published in my translations in Borderless.    

What moved you into translating?

I have to begin answering this question by once again naming the person I mentioned at the beginning of my answer to your previous question—Jibanananda Das. It was when I came across his works in Abdul Mannan Syed’s selection of his poems in the mid-1990s, and was so swept away by them, that I felt like translating Das’s verse. This was translation as an act consequent to being possessed—or if you like—gripped. Poems like “Banalata Sen” or “Abar Ashibo Pheere[1] or “Bodh[2]” or “Aat Bachor Age Ek Deen[3]” seemed to want me to translate them. In fact, my translation of the word “Bodh” for the English poem is “Overwhelming Sensation” and that is how I would say I was taken by these works. And once I started with these poems I felt like translating a whole lot more.   

You have a book of Das’s poetry and many poems of Tagore in various anthologies and sites. What made you decide to do a book of Tagore translations?

Rabindranath, of course, is the summit as far as Bengali poetry and song-lyrics are concerned. Because I grew up in a house where his songs were either being performed on the radio or on television, or sung by one of my sisters, in retrospect it appears to me that I was destined to translate them sooner or later. Once I had published Jibanananda Das: Selected Poems in 1999, I began to translate a poem or song by Rabindranath every once in a while. When I heard some of Rabindranath’s songs being sung by a singer like Debabrata Biswas or Kanika Badopadhyay, I felt I had to translate them. And that is how I ended up with the nearly 300 songs that constitute Gitabitan: Selected Song-Lyrics.  

Is translating Tagore different from translating other poets?

Of course, and inevitably! Almost every great poet writes differently from his predecessor or contemporary poets and composes uniquely. As the great American critic, Harold Bloom, has put it in talking about Western canonical poets, they suffer from “the anxiety of influence” and must destroy all vestiges of their predecessor poets in them. They may begin conventionally but will soon find their distinctive voice or voices. They will as well move away from their earlier works all the time and not get stuck with one style. Thus, Tagore kept experimenting and, so to speak, shifting gears and taking new routes in versifying all the time. This is also true of Jibanananda. That makes the early Tagore or Das different from the later versions of these poets. In Tagore’s case, let me stress that he was particularly polymathic and kept opting for distinct poetic directions all the time. But as far as I can tell what makes him truly different is the musician in him. In particular, the songs have melodic components that take them away from established poetic forms. In fact, I would be happier with the term “song-lyrics” for his songs. Only in his later verses, did he move away from a melodic base towards relatively free verse or prose-poems. And so a translator of Tagore must strive to capture the music in his poetry, especially the songs, which makes the task of translating him quite a distinct as well as challenging task.         

Tell us about this new book of Tagore translations. Are the translations a collection of your earlier publications or do you have new songs?

My new book is the result of years and years of translating the song-lyrics, something I do mostly during weekends. A few of them I published in Bangladeshi English language newspapers and a few came out in periodicals like Six Season Review, which I co-edited.

A few in have come out in Borderless. But all these years, I translated not with a definite plan but unsystematically. It was during the enforced period of home confinement during the pandemic years, however, that my translations of the songs gained momentum. I began at around this time to post my translations on FB regularly, hoping that the comments I receive would include constructive ones that would enable me to revise my work, if and when necessary. Nabila Murshed, an ex-student now living in the United States, then came up with the idea of forming a FB group called “Gitabitan in Translation” for not only my translations of the songs but also those of others who might be interested in contributing their own translations, or sharing their responses to the translated songs posted. She also decided to complement the translations with recorded versions of the songs that she collected from YouTube. All these things eventually led me to the idea of publishing a full book of translations.

I then hired an ex-student as a kind of assistant to sort out the songs I had been translating, according to the divisions and sequencing Tagore imposed on them in his collection. There are thus 13 divisions in my book, one of which, “Prokriti” or “Nature”, is itself divided into six sections following the six seasons of the Bengali calendar. But to sum up my answer to your question, the majority of the song-lyrics are going to see in print for the first time. I would say no more than 100 of them have been printed before.

Sometimes, your republications change from the earlier publications. The words change. Have you done that in this anthology too?

Occasionally. As I said previously, I translate a song when I hear it on YouTube. I might listen to the same song a couple of years later and feel like translating it again, forgetting at times that I had translated it before. This led occasionally to 2 or 3 versions of the same songs. Inevitably, while these versions would be close to each other, they would never end up being exactly similar. For the final round of selections for my book, however, I have chosen only one version of what I did, that is to say, the one I think was definitive. And, of course, I revised what I had done for the final print version.

Would you consider translating Tagore’ prose?

Of course. And I have translated a few already. For The Essential Tagore I translated “Hindus and Muslims” and “The Tenant Farmer”. And for Shades of Difference: Selected Writings of Rabindranath Tagore, I translated “The Co-operative Principle” and “The Divinity of the Forest.” As these titles indicate, Rabindranath is a writer whose works you can mine for topics that have continuing thematic relevance. That is why all translators will go back to him every now and then for essays and prose extracts relevant for our time.

Would you like to bring out a book of Nazrul translations too?

Who knows? I have translated about 12 of his poems and a short story by this great Bengali writer, who is also Bangladesh’s national poet. But at present I feel more inclined towards going back to Jibanananda Das and will continue to translate more of Rabindranath’s song-lyrics. This is because around the time I published my translations of his poems at the turn of the century, a trunk full of new poems by Das were discovered. Most of them have been published by now. If and when I can, I would like to bring out a new edition of my Das poems, incorporating some of these newly discovered ones. This is because I have already come across some that are truly memorable and deserve to be translated. Certainly, he is a poet the best of whose unpublished as well as published works need to be introduced everywhere.    

Tagore is unique in as much he was socially committed to improving the lot of the villagers in Bengal. He practically created Santiniketan and Sriniketan. At a point, he wrote: “My path, as you know, lies in the domain of quiet integral action and thought, my units must be few and small, and I can but face human problems in relation to some basic village or cultural area. So, in the midst of worldwide anguish, and with the problems of over three hundred millions staring us in the face, I stick to my work in Santiniketan and Sriniketan hoping that my efforts will touch the heart of our village neighbors and help them in reasserting themselves in a new social order. If we can give a start to a few villages, they would perhaps be an inspiration to some others—and my life work will have been done.” This was in a letter in 1939 to Leonard Elmhirst, an agricultural scientist who helped him set up Sriniketan. Has any other poet done work of this kind in Bengal? What do you see as his greatest contribution —poetry or his ideals of human excellence and the work he did to realise his ideals?

Very few writers can come close to Tagore as far as the variety of his works are concerned. Such a polymath dedicated to the world of the spirit and the mind as well as human welfare is surely rarely to be found anywhere in any period of world history. Once he took charge of his father’s estates in what was then East Bengal and is now Bangladesh, Tagore plunged into work for the betterment of the people there and the surrounding areas. But he kept writing poems, fictional and nonfictional prose, plays and wrote all sorts of things for the amelioration of his people as well as his own need to articulate beauty and depict the Sublime in all its manifestations. And he would combine theory with practice, carrying out experiments and introducing new ideas for his tenants and others to implement in their farms and lives. His greatest contribution, however, was not only his poetry and prose but also his contribution to Bengali language and literature. I remember Dryden on Chaucer at this point: “He [Chaucer] found it [English writing] brick and left it marble.”

Thank you for giving us your time.

(The online interview has been conducted by emails by Mitali Chakravarty)

Tagore articles & Translations by Professor Fakrul Alam

My Favourite Book by Fakrul Alam

The essay is a journey into Fakrul Alam’s fascination with Tagore’s Gitabitan. Click here to read.

Rabindranath’s Monsoonal Music 

Fakrul Alam brings to us Tagore songs in translation and in discussion on the season that follows the scorching heat of summer months. Click here to read.  

Songs of Seasons: Translated by Fakrul Alam: Fakrul Alam, translates seven seasonal songs of Tagore. Click here to read.

Endless Love: Tagore Translated by Fakrul AlamAnanto Prem (Endless Love) by Tagore, translated from Bengali by Professor Fakrul Alam. Click here to read.

Monomor Megher Songi (or The Cloud, My friend) has been translated by Professor Fakrul Alam. Click here to read.

Giraffe’s Dad by TagoreGiraffer Baba (Giraffe’s Dad), a short humorous poem by Tagore, has been translated from Bengali by Professor Fakrul Alam. Click here to read. 

Oikotan (Harmonising) has been translated by Professor Fakrul Alam and published specially to commemorate Tagore’s Birth Anniversary. Click here to read.

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[1] Fakrul Alam translates this as ‘Beautiful Bengal’, but lietrally, it means I will return again

[2]  Fakrul Alam translates this as ‘An Overwhelming Sensation’, but literally, it means sensation.

[3] Translates to — eight years ago, this day

PLEASE NOTE: ARTICLES CAN ONLY BE REPRODUCED IN OTHER SITES WITH DUE ACKNOWLEDGEMENT TO BORDERLESS JOURNAL. 

Click here to access the Borderless anthology, Monalisa No Longer Smiles

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A Special Tribute

The “New World” of Jibananda Das

Painting by Sohana Manzoor

Jibananada Das (1899-1954) was born on 16th of February in a united Bengal under the colonial regime. During his life, Das wrote beautiful poetry, novels, essays and more. He believed: “Poetry and life are two different outpouring of the same thing; life as we usually conceive it contains what we normally accept as reality, but the spectacle of this incoherent and disorderly life can satisfy neither the poet’s talent nor the reader’s imagination … poetry does not contain a complete reconstruction of what we call reality; we have entered a new world.” To try to position any poet or writer in a pantheon as the best or second or third best is unfair to his art. And therefore, on his birth anniversary let us revel in his poetry and share some of the best translations of his poetry to English, along with an essay by an academic who shows how his poetry was influenced by the political ambience of the times. There is so much more to his poetry in Bengali that it can only be savoured as excellent translations in an Anglophone world. The flow and the images are beautiful, often like a painting of the Bengal he lived in…

Translations of Jibananda Das’s poems

By Fakrul Alam

Banalata Sen Poems. Click here to read.

One Day in the Fog. Click here to read.

If Life were Eternal. Click here to read.

I Will Sleep & Arghayan’s Wintry Wilderness. Click here to read both.

By Rakibul Hasan Khan

Motorcar. Click here to read.

Essay

‘What remains is darkness and facing me – Banalata Sen!’

Rakibul Hasan Khan explores death and darkness in Fakrul Alam’s translation of Jibanananda Das’s poetry. Click here to read.

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Contents

Borderless February 2022

Winter in Africa. Painting by Sybil Pretious.

Editorial

What’s Love Got to Do with it’ … Click here to read.

Interviews

Sriniketan: Tagore’s “Life Work”: In Conversation with Professor Uma Das Gupta, Tagore scholar, author of A History of Sriniketan, where can be glimpsed what Tagore considered his ‘life’s work’ as an NGO smoothening divides between villagers and the educated. Click here to read.

Akbar: The Man who was King: In conversation with eminent journalist and author, Shazi Zaman, author of Akbar, A Novel of History. Click here to read.

Translations

One Day in the Fog, written by Jibananda Das and translated from Bengali by Professor Fakrul Alam. Click here to read.

Mahnu, a poem by Atta Shad, translated from Balochi by Fazal Baloch. Click here to read.

A Superpower in the Pandemic, written and translated from Korean by Ihlwha Choi. Click here to read.

Eyes of the Python, a short story by S.Ramakrishnan, translated from Tamil by Dr.B.Chandramouli. Click here to read.

Raatri Eshe Jethay Meshe by Tagore has been translated from Bengali as Where the Night comes to Mingle by Mitali Chakravarty. Click here to read.

Pandies’ Corner

These stories are written by youngsters from the Nithari village who transcended childhood trauma and deprivation. The column starts with a story, Stranger than Fiction from Sharad Kumar in Hindustani, translated to English by Grace M Sukanya. Click here to read.

Poetry

Click on the names to read

Rhys Hughes, A Jessie Michael, Jay Nicholls, Moonmoon Chowdhury, Mike Smith, David Francis, Ananya Sarkar, Matthew James Friday, Ashok Suri, John Grey, Saptarshi Bhattacharya, Candice Louisa Daquin, Emalisa Rose, Ryan Quinn Flanagan

Nature’s Musings

Penny Wilkes explores dewdrops and sunrise in A Dewdrop World. Click here to read.

Poets, Poetry & Rhys Hughes

Rhys Hughes explores the paranormal with his usual wit in Three Ghosts in a Boat. Promise not to laugh or smile as you shiver… Click here to read.

Musings/ Slices from Life

Requiem for the Melody Queen

Ratnottama Sengupta sings her own paean in which a chorus of voices across the world join her to pay a tribute to a legend called Lata Mangeshkar. Click here to read.

Forsaking Distant Hemispheres for the Immediate Locale

Meredith Stephens introduces us to the varied fauna found in South Australia with vivid photographs clicked by her. Click here to read.

Breaking the fast

P Ravi Shankar takes us through a breakfast feast around the world. Click here to read.

Musings of a Copywriter

In Life without a Pet, Devraj Singh Kalsi gives a humorous take on why he does not keep a pet. Click here to read.

Notes from Japan

In Bridging Cultures through Music, author Suzanne Kamata introduces us to Masaki Nakagawa, a YouTuber who loves Lativia and has made it big, playing for the President of Lativia at the Japanese coronation. Click here to read.

Essays

Farewell Keri Hulme

A tribute by Keith Lyons to the first New Zealand Booker Prize winner, Keri Hulme, recalling his non-literary encounters with the sequestered author. Click here to read.

Satyajit Ray’s Cinematic Universe: Can Isolation Lead to a New World?

Rebanta Gupta explores two films of Satyajit Ray, Kanchenjunga & Charulata to see what a sense of isolation can do for humans? Click here to read.

‘What remains is darkness and facing me – Banalata Sen!’

Rakibul Hasan Khan explores death and darkness in Fakrul Alam’s translation of Jibanananda Das’s poetry. Click here to read.

Dhaka Book Fair: A Mansion and a Movement

Ratnottama Sengupta writes of a time a palace called Bardhaman House became the centre of a unique tryst against cultural hegemony. The Language Movement of 1952 that started in Dhaka led to the birth of Bangladesh in 1971. In 1999, UNESCO recognised February 21 as the Mother Language Day. Click here to read.

The Observant Immigrant

 In To Be or Not to Be, Candice Louisa Daquin takes a close look at death and suicide. Click here to read.

Stories

Navigational Error

Luke P.G. Draper explores the impact of pollution with a short compelling narrative. Click here to read.

The Art of Sleeping

Atreyo Chowdhury spins an absurd tale or could it be true? Click here to read.

Dear Dr Chilli…

Maliha Iqbal writes of life as a young girl in a competitive world. Click here to read.

The Literary Fictionist

In MissingSunil Sharma gives us a long literary yarn. Click here to read.

Book Excerpts

Two Banalata Sen poems excerpted from Jibanananda Das: Selected Poems with an Introduction, Chronology and Glossary, translated from Bengali by Fakrul Alam. Click here to read.

An excerpt from Mahasweta Devi, Our Santiniketan. Translated from the Bengali by Radha Chakravarty. Click here to read.

Book Reviews

Indrashish Banerjee reviews The Best of Travel Writing of Dom Moraes: Under Something of a Cloud. Click here to read.

Gracy Samjetsabam reviews Masala and Murder by Patrick Lyons. Click here to read.

Rakhi Dalal reviews Kavery Nambisan’s A Luxury called Health. Click here to read.

Bhaskar Parichha reviews Growing up Jewish in India: Synagogues, Customs, and Communities from the Bene Israel to the Art of Siona Benjamin, edited by Ori Z. Soltes. Click here to read.

Special Issues

Cry, Our Beloved… Click here to read (For Peace)

Born to be Wild …Click here to read (World Wild Life Day)

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Editorial

‘What’s Love Got to Do with It’

Art by Sohana Manzoor
‘Why does education in love not feature in today’s curriculum?’
— Mahasweta Devi, Our Santiniketan (Translated by Radha Chakravarty, 2022, Seagull Books)

As the world celebrates Valentine’s Day, one pauses to think how far commercialisation has seeped in over time that the very concept of a tender emotion was questioned by Tina Turner in a song called, “What’s love got to do with it” nearly four decades ago. 

This was written even before Mahasweta Devi (1926-2016) published a nostalgic memoir of 1930’s Santiniketan in Bengali in 2001. She raised her pen to ask the very pertinent question that is quoted above. Why is education in love not a part of our curriculum anymore? She was reminiscing about her days in Santiniketan where children were brought up with rigorous academics while discipline was coloured with love and affection. They nurtured a love for nature in students too. This has become a rarity for many and perhaps needs to be revived as the Earth struggles to continue habitable for humankind. In the process of educating students to love and give, Santiniketan threw up many greats like the writer herself. We are delighted to host an excerpt from the start of Our Santiniketan translated beautifully by Radha Chakravarty.

Santiniketan was only the very visible part of a huge project taken on by Tagore (1861-1941). The other part now united with Santiniketan under the banner of Visva Bharati University is Sriniketan, a group of villages where Tagore experimented with raising consciousness and standards of villagers to integrate them into a larger world. He brought in new techniques in agriculture and crafts into the villages under this programme involving many prominent scientists, artists and humanists. And the project has blossomed. Did you know Tagore thought of himself as an NGO and his ‘life work’ he felt was developing villages (Sriniketan) and educating young minds to build a world where borders of knowledge, poverty and ignorance could be smoothened?

He wrote: “I alone cannot take responsibility for the whole of India. But even if two or three villages can be freed from the shackles of helplessness and ignorance, an ideal for the whole of India would be established.

“Fulfill this ideal in a few villages only, and I will say that these few villages are my India. And only if that is done, will India be truly ours.”

All this can be found in a book called A History of Sriniketan (Niyogi Books), written by Uma Das Gupta, a major authority on Tagore who moved from Oxford to Santiniketan and made Tagore’s work in these two institutions her own life’s work. We have featured her and her book in our interview/review section.

Raised out of such ashes of poverty that Tagore sought to dispel, are youngsters from the village of Nithari, where ceaseless efforts by volunteers of organisations like Saksham and pandies’ has given a new lease for life to those who have been exposed to violations, violence, divides, poverty and deprivation. One of them, Sharad Kumar, now studying to be an engineer, kicks off our new section called Pandies’ Corner with his story in Hindustani translated by a volunteer, Grace M Sukanya. His story learns from history and shows rather than tells.

A similar approach to view the present through lenses focussed on the past at a much grander scale has been taken by Shazi Zaman, an author and journalist, who has stepped into the Anglophone world with the transcreation of his own novel from Hindi to English, Akbar, A Novel of History (Speaking Tiger Books). He has brought to the fore how in days when sectarian violence based on religions killed, Akbar (1542-1605) tried to create a new path that would lead to peace so that he could rule over an empire united by administration and not broken by contentious religious animosities which often led to wars. In his interview, he tells us of the relevance of the Great Mughal in a period of history that was torn by divides, divisions so deep that they continue to smoulder to this day and date. That history repeats itself is evident though our living standards seem to improve over time. Bhaskar Parichha’s review of Growing up Jewish in India: Synagogues, Customs, and Communities from the Bene Israel to the Art of Siona Benjamin, edited by Ori Z. Soltes, also reinforces these divides and amalgamations in the modern context. The other books that have been reviewed include The Best of Travel Writing of Dom Moraes: Under Something of a Cloud by Indrashish Banerjee, and Gracy Samjetsabam has introduced us to an intriguing murder mystery in Masala and Murder by Patrick Lyons.

Translations have thrown up interesting colours this time with a Tamil story by a Sahitya Akademi winning writer, S Ramakrishnan, translated on our pages by B Chandramouli, one from Korean by Ihlwha Choi and of course a transcreation of Tagore’s songs where he sings of the meeting of horizons. A beautiful poem by eminent Balochi poet Atta Shad (1939-1997) has been translated by Fazal Baloch. We are again privileged to host an original translation of Jibananda Das(1899-1954) by Professor Fakrul Alam. We also managed to get permission to share some of Professor Alam’s fabulous translations of Jibananada Das from UPL (United Press Limited) and are starting it out by excerpting two of his poems on Banalata Sen, which were till now restricted to readership who only had access to the hardcopy. Rakibul Hasan Khan has given us an essay on these translations. An interesting essay on Satyajit Ray (1921-1992) by Rebanata Gupta and personalised tribute to the first Booker Prize winner from New Zealand, Keri Hulme (1947-2021), by Keith Lyons, who had many non-literary encounters with the sequestered author, add to the richness of our oeuvre.

Ratnottama Sengupta has also paid a moving tribute to the music legend, Lata Mangeshkar, who died at the age of 92 on 6th February, 2022. The choral symphony of multiple voices that hums through the paean recreating the larger than life presence of Lata reinforces that her lilting voice will stay embedded in many hearts and lives forever. Her perfect honing of musical skills delivered with the right emotions make her an epitome of human excellence. She gave the best of herself to the world.

Brooding on death and suicide is Candice Louisa Daquin essay. This is a topic under discussion as Switzerland might start a resort for abetting suicides. It is rather frightening that while people value life and as technology and humans work in consonance to preserve it, the rich can think of squandering away this unique process that has till now not been replicated. The other strange long literary yarn that is dark in colours is woven by Sunil Sharma as he explores the futility and self-pity experienced by retirees in their existentialist quest to find a meaning to live. It has bits of poetry too. Penny Wilkes has also introduced verses into her photographic tour of dewdrops. Candice’s vibrant poetry this time has joined that of Ryan Quinn Flanagan, Mike Smith, A Jessie Michael, Ananya Sarkar, Jay Nicholls, Saptarshi Bhattacharya, Rhys Hughes and many more I leave you to unfold. Rhys Hughes has also given us a spooky piece which says ghosts might be genies — check it out. Do you agree or is he just being bizarre and funny?

Wrapped in more dry humour is Devraj Singh Kalsi narrative on why he does not want pets. Meredith Stephens, on the contrary loves pets and sails the seas of West Australia with her camera, words, seals and dolphins. Luke PG Draper also speaks for animals — for the intrusion of pollutants that harm creatures like whales in his short story. Hop all over the world with Ravi Shankar breaking nightly fasts with food from different cultures. More colour is brought in by Suzanne Kamata who starts a new column, Notes from Japan — introducing us to Japanese sensation, Masaki Nakagawa, who has sung his way to hearts with Lativian songs that he loves, so much so that he got to perform at the Japanese coronation and has pictures with the Latvian President.

The time has come to let you discover the mysterious pieces that have not been mentioned here in the February edition — and there are many.  

Before I wind up till the next month, I would like to thank our fabulous team who make this journal possible. Keith Lyons has now become part of that team and has graciously joined our editorial board. Sohana Manzoor and Sybil Pretious deserve a special kudos for their fabulous artwork. Our grateful, heartfelt thanks to all our wonderful contributors and readers who keep the journal alive.

Wish you all a lovely month.

Best wishes,

Mitali Chakravarty

Borderless Journal

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Essay

‘What remains is darkness and facing me – Banalata Sen!’

 

Rakibul Hasan Khan explores death and darkness in Fakrul Alam’s translation of Jibanananda Das’s poetry

I

Literary translation is a creative work, and the literariness of a translated work reflects the creativity of the translator. From a reader’s perspective who does not know the language of the “original”, the more the translated work reads “natural”, the better is the translation. But it is very intriguing from the viewpoint of someone who has access to both the original and the language of the translation. Reading the translation for such a reader is sometimes like reading the same poem in two languages at the same time, which is often a very enriching and exhilarating experience. But it is not always the case, for such readers may show a critical attitude to the translation for having a “bias” towards the original, especially if the latter is written in their first language. Then their reading turns out to be more an evaluation of the translation than enjoying the work in translation. It is a difficult task for such readers to overcome this predicament. 

I also face this predicament while reading Fakrul Alam’s translations of Jibanananda Das’(1899-1954) poetry in Jibanananda Das: Selected Poems with an Introduction, Chronology, and Glossary (Dhaka: UPL, 2nd Ed, 2003). To keep aside my evaluative concerns, therefore, a middle course was necessary, while still comparing the translations with the originals. To this end, I read some of the most “popular” poems by Das in Alam’s translations with a particular focus on the latter’s recreation of the images of death, dread, and darkness.

There is a personal preference for my choosing of the dark images, for I always find Das’ grotesque or dreadful images as appealing as the beautiful ones, but more important reason for my choosing of the dreadful than the beautiful is to underscore the experience of a poet who lived under the dark shadow of colonial rule. Initially, I thought it would be very intriguing to read Das’ poetry postcolonially in Alam’s translations because of the latter’s reputation as an academic in the field of postcolonial studies. But while reading the translations, particularly the erudite introduction that he has included at the beginning of the volume to introduce the salient features of Das’ poetry as well as to offer a very insightful and resourceful discussion on others’ and his translations of the poet, I felt that Alam almost altogether suspended his postcolonial self and fully activated his own creativity to capture the sights and sounds of the works of a poet who is extraordinarily famous for the aesthetic and artistic qualities of his poetry. Alam seems to have embraced this challenge enthusiastically and has succeeded with flying colours, but his emphasis on the art may have cost him thematically on certain occasions, although it has not diminished the overall quality of the translations. His translations also continue to bear the mark of his academic background as a scholar in English studies.      

In spite of discovering that Fakrul Alam does not highlight the postcolonial elements in Jibanananda Das’s poetry, I did not abandon my initial plan of reading his translations through postcolonial lenses. Therefore, I resort to Edward Said, whom Alam considers his “guru”, to adopt the former’s concept of “contrapuntal reading” and apply it on the latter’s translations.

Said theorised contrapuntal reading as a technique of reading the texts of English literature, particularly the novel, to unravel the unrecognised and unarticulated elements of colonisation which are ostensibly absent in those texts. I adopted this technique for reading Alam’s translations to examine the images of death, dread, and darkness in Das’ poetry as the expressions of the poet’s experience as a colonised person. To view translation as an act of interpreting a text, I invoked Frederic Jameson’s formulation that interpretations of literary texts could bring to surface the repressed political unconscious in the narrative. Although Jameson’s theory is essentially a Marxist reading strategy, for my postcolonial materialist reading of Fakrul Alam’s translations, a reworking was necessary. Alam’s translations brought to light the repressed political unconscious in Das’ poetry, giving clue to the poet’s rendition of the grotesques as a result of the material realities of his time under the British Empire.

II

The first poem of Jibanananda Das that I read in Fakrul Alam’s translations is “An Overwhelming Sensation” (“Bodh”) – a deeply engaging poem that highlights the extraordinary sensibilities of a poet that separate them from the multitude. There are two “dreadful” images in this poem, and the first one is as follows:

In my head!
Walking along beaches – crossing shores
I try to shake it off;
I want to grab it as I would a dead man’s skull
And dash it on the ground; yet, like a live man’s head,
It wheels all around my heart! 
(26-31, p. 30)

The image of death and dread in the above quotation reminds me of Shakespeare’s the “grave diggers scene” in Hamlet as well as “Lady Macbeth’s persuasion scene” in Macbeth, although the original poem does not allude to Shakespeare so noticeably. Similarly, the second dreadful image of the poem resonates a Shakespearean diseased imagery in Alam’s translation:

Eyes whose nerves have dried up,
Ears which cannot hear,
And like that hump – a goitre erupting on flesh
Rotten cucumber – putrid pumpkin – 
All that have grown rank in the heart – 
All that. 
(101-106, p. 32)    

Is it a mere coincidence that Alam’s translations of the above images of death and dread remind me of Shakespeare? Do they have any connection with his academic background of English studies that must have included Shakespeare? It is also not a coincidence that Das himself was a student of English literature, who also pursued a teaching career in English. The colonial connection of English studies in the Indian subcontinent is a historical fact, which occasioned for the poet, the translator, and me to study the Bard, but more important is to note on how the presence of Shakespeare becomes more obvious in Alam’s translation than it is in the original. To me, the dreadful images recreated by Alam reflects the tormented mental state of the colonised poet. If we keep in mind that the original poem was written around the death throes of the colonial rule in India, we cannot overlook the link between these images and colonisation.

“Camping” (“Campe”) is another poem that contains some extremely poignant and dreadful images. In Fakrul Alam’s translation, this poem’s connection with colonisation becomes more recognisable than it is in the original. The poem describes a hunting night in a forest where the speaker of the poem is camping: “Somewhere deer are being hunted this day; / Hunters have moved into the heart of the forest today” (6-7, p. 32). The night for the speaker is both enchanting and mysterious – “a night full of wonders” (60, p. 34), but it turns into a horrible one due to the presence of the hunters. In Alam’s translation, the anxiety of the speaker reflects an acutely sensitive mind of a person who is restless by what is happening around him:

I can sleep no more;
Lying down
I hear gunshots;
And then more guns firing. 
In the moonlight the doe in heat call again.
Lying down here all by myself
I feel a heaviness in my heart
Hearing gunshots
Hearing the doe calling. 
(42-50, p. 33-34) 

Alam’s use of the words, “gunshots” and “guns firing”, perfectly captures the dreadfulness of the night and clarifies the heaviness of the speaker’s heart. He makes the anxiety of the speaker palpable. As he informs the reader with a footnote at the beginning of the poem, Jibanananda Das wrote this poem as an expression of “the helplessness of life” (p. 32), the above lines represent that helplessness of the speaker.   

Interestingly, this is a love poem – seemingly. The speaker compares himself with the fallen lovers of the doe who tempts the stags to come out of their hideouts by calling them passionately but deceivingly to be shot by hunters. According to the speaker, the doe has learnt this art of deception and cruelty from humans: “Lessons she has learnt from humans!” (51-54, p. 34). In Alam’s translation, the cruelty of hunting and the agony of the speaker become obvious:

I hear a double-barreled gun thunder,
The doe in heat keeps calling,
My heart can’t get to sleep
As I lie down all by myself; 
(79-82, p. 35)

Here the doe is a symbol of deceptive love. The speaker himself is also a victim of such love. His heart bleeds at the sound of gunfire. The innocent death of the stags reminds him of his own wretched state, but he is aware that he needs to learn how to negotiate with this wretchedness: “Still I must learn to forget sound of guns going off” (83, p. 35). This realisation gives the speaker the composure to reflect on the identity of the hunters:

They who own the double-barreled guns that destroyed the stags this day,
They who brought the relish of deer flesh and bones to their dinner
Are like you – 
Lying in camp beds they are drying up their souls
Reflecting on their feast – reminiscing – remembering. 
(84-88, p. 35)

The hunters are those who “own the double-barreled guns”. Does it ring a bell? Although the first Mughal Emperor Babur introduced guns in India in the sixteenth century, it is the British who made use of guns the most in the Indian subcontinent. Thus, there is a strong association between the British colonisers and the hunters in this poem.

Alam’s translation brings to surface the repressed political unconscious of the poem. If the poem is an expression of “the helplessness of life”, he heightens that helplessness, demystifying some of the obscurities of the original poem in the process of translating it. He succeeds in recreating the atmosphere of horror that does not let the speaker sleep. The anxiety of the speaker over the helplessness of his fellow people and of the animal world as a whole make us think about the time and place of writing this poem.

The dreadful images of death and dread recreated by Alam using words and phrases like “gunshots”, “guns firing”, and “double-barreled gun thunder” present before us a troubled world where the serenity of the natural world is shattered by the sound of gunshots. Yet, the speaker realises that he needs to negotiate. The colonised also had to negotiate with the colonisers. Therefore, if we situate the poem against the backdrop of its writing during the colonial period from a colonised location, can we overlook its colonial connection? Does Das portray the tormented state of the colonised through this allegorical love poem? This allegory of the hunted existence of the colonised becomes more perceptible than the original through Alam’s interpretative translation – translating as interpreting. Alam’s translated version of the poem reveals the material realities of the poet’s time which are largely concealed by symbols and imageries in the original poem.

III

To write on the theme of darkness, the poem “Banalata Sen” first comes to my mind, for I consider it as one of the darkest poems by Das. The poem’s darkness is very subtly camouflaged by a tapestry of extraordinary images. Its astonishing popularity as a love poem also often hides the darkness. Alam’s translation largely unveils the camouflage, and brings to light the overwhelming darkness of the poem. In the Bangla version, Das deploys the word “darkness” by somewhat screening it with other associated images and allusions. Alam also does so without using any synonym for “darkness” in his English translation, understandably for not affecting the poetic quality of the poem. As a result, the word “darkness” appears as many as five times in his translation, which is the same number as in the original. Here, the recurrent word has been put on bold typeface.

From Sinhala’s Sea to Malaya’s in night’s darkness, 
…
Was I present; Farther off, in distant Vidarba city’s darkness, 
… 
Her hair was full of the darkness of a distant Vidisha night, 
…
Did I see her in darkness; said she, “Where had you been?”
…
What remains is darkness and facing me – Banalata Sen!
(2, 4, 7, 11, 18, p. 61)

Fakrul Alam does justice to the original while translating this “difficult” poem, and exposes the dominance of darkness in it. Probably any other translator would also keep the word “darkness” the same number of times, but Alam’s success lies in his maintaining a similar artistic sublimity that we find in the original poem. It is evident in his coining or use of the phrases like “the ways of the world”, “ash-grey world”, “foaming ocean”, “the soft sound of dew”, “fireflies light up the world anew”, and “life’s mart close again”. His successful recreation of the images of darkness opens up the opportunity to explore the political potentialities of the poem.

“Darkness” (“Andhakar”) is another poem of overwhelming darkness. Fakrul Alam’s translated version of this poem also testifies my claim of his interpretive translation. He also explains in the introduction of the volume the process of his using self-explanatory words for retaining Bengali names to honour Jibanananda Das’s preference for this: “[t]he sensible option, it appeared to me, was to use Bengali names when an exact English equivalent was not available, and then to use a Bengali word in such a way that the meaning could be conveyed where possible within the line” (p. 21). Alam’s explanatory use of two Hindu mythological rivers’ names in the following lines of “Darkness” may also clarify my point:

I looked up and saw the pale moon withdrawing half of its shadow from that river of death, Vaitarani, 
As if gesturing towards the river of mutability, the Kirtanasha. (2-3, p. 72)

Alam supplements the meanings of the rivers by using the phrases “that river of death” and “the river of mutability” before Vaitarani and Kirtanasha respectively, while in the original poem, there is no such explanatory “notes” preceding the rivers’ names, assumingly because the Bengali readers of the poem are supposed to know the names of these mythological rivers, although I think many Bengali readers are also not fully informed of the significance of these rivers. Therefore, Alam’s innovative use of these rivers’ names becomes self-explanatory, without undermining the poetic quality of the lines. Similarly, the following line of the same poem is another example of his explanatory translation: “O Moon whose brightness has faded to a faint blue” (6, p. 72). In this line, the part following “O Moon” is clearly an attempt by the translator to explain the faded colour of the moon. However, Alam’s translation of this poem, like “Banalata Sen”, enhances the deep darkness manifested in the original.    

If we go back to the time of publication of the volume Banalata Sen (1942) where the two poems “Banalata Sen” and “Darkness” were included, we can get an explanation to the poet’s obsession with darkness. It was indeed the darkest time for the people of the Indian subcontinent under British colonisers. The colonial rule affected the Bengal province (where Jibanananda Das is from) so severely that it resulted in the worst famine in the subcontinental history in 1943. The Bengal famine of 1943 has been called a “man-made holocaust” by Gideon Polya, for which the then Prime Minister of England Winston Churchill’s policy of hoarding food supplies for the British soldiers fighting in the Second World War by depriving the colonised. Apart from the effects of the famine and the World War, communal conflicts also ravaged the peacefulness and harmony of life in this region. The optimism of anti-colonial movement was soon to be marred by the proposal of partitioning India on the basis of “two-nation theory”. All these must have affected Das while writing “Banalata Sen” or “Darkness”, and Alam’s translations give us a clear view of the unfathomable darkness that engulfed the poet’s world.

IV

In this section, Fakrul Alam’s translations of the poems of Beautiful Bengal [Ruposhi Bangla], one of Jibanananda Das’ most loved poetry collections, will be discussed. The poems of this collection reflect the poet’s deep attachment with his land as well as his meditations on death and reincarnation through picturesque and sensuous portrayals of the flora and fauna and the landscapes of rural Bengal. The first poem of this volume that appears in Alam’s translations reveals the poet’s musings on death. The very title of the poem, “Knowing How These Fields Will Not Be Hushed That Day” (“Shei Din Ei Math”), alludes to the day after the poet’s death. In Alam’s translation, the poet’s sense of grief imagining the day when he will be no more becomes as poignant as it is in the original:

Because I will disappear one day
Won’t dewdrops ever cease to wet chalta flowers 
In surges of soft scent?
(4-6, p. 43) 

These lines demonstrate the poet’s wistful imaginings of the time after his own death, but at the final stanza of the poem, he perceives death from an objective viewpoint. Alam perfectly captures this transition from subjective to objective, and presents it as authentically as possible:

Quiet lights – moist smells – murmurings everywhere; 
Ferryboats moor very close to sandbanks;
These tales of earth live on forever,
Though Assyria in dust – Babylon in ashes – lie.
(9-12, p. 43)

In Alam’s translation, the poet’s contemplation of the inevitability of death and the impermanence of everything, including great civilizations, appear in a perfect state of semblance and equipoise as in the original poem.  

“Go Wherever You Want To” (“Tomra Jekhane Shadh”), one of the most famous poems of Beautiful Bengal, bears evidence of the poet’s deep desire to stay eternally in the lap of Bengal amidst its unique beauties, refusing the prospects of moving to elsewhere, especially to any foreign land. The poet asks those fascinated by the attractions of foreign lands to go wherever they want to, but he himself wants to remain in Bengal eternally, justifying his decision by describing its bewitching beauty. Fakrul Alam is at his best as a translator in recreating the sights and sounds of the poet’s beautiful Bengal, where the sestet of the sonnet implies the poet’s eternal connection with this land:

Ready to take her grey-coloured duck to some storyland – 
As if the smell of Paran’s tale is sticking to her soft flesh, 
As if she has risen from her underwater kalmi reed abode – 
Silently leaving herself in water once – then disappearing 
Into the fog far, far away – but I know I’ll never lose sight of her
Even in the press of the world – for she is in my Bengal evermore. 
(9-14, p. 44)

Apparently, this poem is free from the heaviness of death imageries, but a close examination may bring to surface the poet’s embedded desires for death and rebirth. His yearning for remaining in Bengal eternally is only possible through his reincarnation in this land after his death.

The poem “I Have Seen Bengal’s Face” (“Banglar Mukh Ami Dekhiyachhi”), another sonnet of Beautiful Bengal, further justifies the poet’s decision to stay in Bengal for good and to go nowhere else. In his translation of the poem, Alam shows outstanding artistic skills to emulate the aesthetic and poetic beauty of the original. The octave quoted below may clarify my point:

I have seen Bengal’s face, and seek no more,
The world has not anything more beautiful to show me.
Waking up in darkness, gazing at the fig-tree, I behold
Dawn’s swallows roosting under huge umbrella-like leaves.
I look all around me and discover a leafy dome, 
Jam kanthal bat hijol aswatha trees all in a hush,
Shadowing clumps of cactus and zeodary bushes.
When long, long ago, Chand came in his honeycombed boat
To a blue Hijal Bat Tamal shade near the Champa, he too sighted 

Bengal’s incomparable beauty. 
(1-9, p. 49) 

Alam’s innovative use of native tress and legends appear as spontaneously and effectively as possible to make the piece apprehensible to non-native readers. The poem gestures to the poet’s desire to glorify his land and culture, and Alam’s translation further accomplishes that glorification.      

The poet’s desire for rebirth in Bengal is emphatically expressed in the poem “Beautiful Bengal” (“Abar Ashibo Phire”). Since the poems of the Beautiful Bengal are untitled, the first line of each poem is mostly accepted as the titles of the poems in Bangla original. Fakrul Alam also mostly follows this tradition, but often makes use of his freedom as a translator to change the title. The title of this poem “Beautiful Bengal” in Alam’s translation is another example of his applying that freedom. Perhaps he translates the title so differently from the “original” title, which could be something like “I Will Come Again”, to emphasise the extraordinary popularity of the poem that could easily be rendered as the titular poem of the volume. While I agree with this position, I feel it is deviating from the sense of reincarnation that the “original” title evokes. However, Alam does not deviate from the idea of return used as a refrain in the whole poem, and maintains the same stature as a translator that I find him in most other poems. I quote first few lines of the poem to support my view:

I’ll come again to the banks of the Dhanshiri – to this land
Perhaps not as a human – maybe as a white-breasted 
shankachil or a yellow-beaked shalik;
Or as a morning crow I’ll return to this late autumnal rice-harvest laden land, 
Wafting on the fog’s bosom I’ll float one day into the jackfruit tree shade; 
(1-4, p. 51)

This poem can be read as a companion piece to the two other poems I have discussed above: “Go Wherever You Want To”, and “I Have Seen Bengal’s Face”. The idea of reincarnation and the feeling of an inseparable connection with the homeland reverberate in these poems with exquisite descriptions of the beauty of Bengal.

The poems of Beautiful Bengal are perhaps most passionate “postcolonial poems” by Jibanananda Das, where he glorifies his native land and culture as an attempt to recuperate the damages done to those by colonials. Fakrul Alam’s translations bring to surface the repressed postcoloniality of these poems by making the poet’s postcolonial sensibility more prominent than they are in the originals. Das’s deep rootedness in his land and culture expressed in the poems of Beautiful Bengal exemplifies his unequivocal stand on the question of belonging. During a time when the colonial effects occasioned for many of his contemporaries to leave their homelands and embrace diaspora identities, Das’s unwavering utterance like “Go Wherever You Want To” reflects his resistance to colonization. It remains as a source of inspiration for many in the days to come, particularly at the wake globalization when the lure of a transnational identity complicates the questions of home and belonging.

V

In the final section of the essay one of Jibanananda Das’ most overtly time conscious poem entitled “1946-47” will be discussed. As the title suggests, this poem reflects Das’ deep observations on the contemporary sociopolitical issues of his time during and preceding the year of partition of India. Fakrul Alam adds a brief note to the poem to brief his readers the poem’s background. I find that note as a very helpful starting point for those who are not informed of the history of the Indian subcontinent. I quote it entirely to demonstrate how meticulous Alam is to make his translations comprehensive as well as comprehensible, particularly for non-native readers:

“1946-47” is the longest poem by Jibanananda Das that I have translated and is one of his most impressive meditations on contemporary history. In it, he broods on the communal strife, chaos, and diasporas that accompanied the partition of India in general and Bengal in particular. Das himself had been uprooted by historical events, and had moved from the Muslim majority district of Barisal to Calcutta, where Hindus were in a majority. But Calcutta too was in tumult and riven by religious riots; the names and places mentioned in the poem represent Hindus and Muslims and localities associated with these communities.“(p. 115)    

With this note, the translated version of the poem becomes self-explanatory and more transmissible than the original, but it may surprise one that neither Das nor Alam directly mention the culpability of the colonization for the tumultuous historical events that the poem foregrounds. Perhaps both of them skip this deliberately, for the role of the British colonisers is too obvious to mention.

The long history of colonial rule culminated in the partition of India, which was preceded and followed by communal riots and dispersion of people from their homelands, resulting in deaths, dreads, and destructions. Therefore, the poem is replete with images of dead, dread, and darkness that best describe the time it represents. In Alam’s translation, the horror of human atrocities becomes as poignant as in the original:  

Somewhere someone’s house will be auctioned off now,
Possibly for a song!
And so you must cheat everyone else
And be the first to reach heaven!.
…
Thousands of Bengali villages, drowned in disillusionment and 
benighted, have become silenced.
…
The children now are close to death, trampled
By ignorant exhausted rulers of an era of misgovernment;
Their ancestors had once laughed and loved and played, 
And had gone to rest in dark after raising permanently 
The swing landlords had them make from tall trees for charak festivals. 
They were not that well off then; yet compared to present-day villagers, 
Blinded and tattered by famines, riots, darkness and ignorance,
They lived in a distinct and clear world. 

Is everything indistinct today? It is difficult to speak or think well now;
The rule is to keep everyone in the dark, full of half-truths;
The practice is to infer the other half of truth  
All by yourself in the dark; all are suspicious of each other. 
(3-6, 31, 49-60, p. 115-17)

The implications of the lines I have quoted above from Fakrul Alam’s translation of the poem “1946-47” are so obvious that they do not require further explanation. Das’ political consciousness is relatively more apparent here than his most other poems. In Alam’s translation, that political consciousness resonates very loudly. Like a typical postcolonial poet, Das highlights the miseries caused by colonial rule, comparing the present with a “better” past. While making this comparison, he refers to the exploitative system called “Permanent Settlement of Bengal” introduced by Earl Cornwallis on behalf of the East India Company in 1793 to settle a deal between the Company and the landlords, causing enormous oppression and deprivation for the peasants and those at the margins. Fakrul Alam aptly explains this reference with a footnote that “[t]here is an allusion here to the system introduced by Lord Cornwallis in colonial Bengal in 1793 which created a class of landlords and let to the impoverishments of peasants” (p. 116). Notes like this and the glossary he has added to the volume makes the poems very much accessible not only to the non-native readers but also the native readers of the translations.

In fine, I repeat that translating is a process of explaining a text, and often it is on the discretion of the translator how explanatory the translation would be. In the case of Fakrul Alam’s translations of Jibanananda Das’ poetry, sometimes his attempts to explain the texts are explicit. He even points out where the intertextuality of a particular poem is quite obvious by quoting some lines from the “original” poem that inspired Das to write that poem. In my discussion, I have so far deliberately avoided this point of intertextuality because I find those poems so authentic in expression that the “originals” seem to replicate those, but it is an important point that I cannot avoid altogether. The Western “influence” on Das’ poetry indicates the Western education and culture in which he was exposed to through colonization. As a poet, he and his contemporaries of Bangla poetry were “benefited” from that exposure, which makes it clear that to oppose European colonisation or Western imperialism does not necessarily mean to reject their artistic, cultural, literary, or scientific achievements. But it is also not to be forgotten that the artistic, cultural, or literary matters were often used by the colonizers to maintain their hegemonic dominance by relegating the same originating from the native societies to an inferior status. In Orientalism (1978), Edward Said categorically explains the basis of cultural supremacy of the European that prompted them to colonize. Therefore, a critical awareness is necessary to approach those even at this age of the so-called postcolonial period. In the case of Jibanananda Das, whereas he mostly succeeded in maintaining his originality while writing poetry being inspired by Western poets, many of his contemporaries merely imitated them as blind devotees, which makes him truly “a poet apart”. However, Fakrul Alam’s all-encompassing translations help his readers to access the poems with much ease than it is in the case of the originals, foregrounding the repressed political unconscious of the poems. And in spite of this “explanatory translating”, he succeeds exceedingly in maintaining the poetic qualities of his translations, and that makes the volume so special.  

References:

Jameson, Frederic. “The Ideology of The Text.” Salmagundi, no. 31/32, Skidmore College, 1975, pp. 204–46, http://www.jstor.org/stable/40546905.

Said, Edward W. Culture and Imperialism. London: Vintage, 1994.

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Rakibul Hasan Khan is a PhD Candidate in English at the University of Otago, New Zealand. He can be reached at rakib.hasan82@gmail.com.

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Poetry of Jibonananda Das

Jibonanada Das. Courtesy: Creative Commons

Jibonanada Das (1899-1954) was a Bengali writer, who now is named as one of the greats after Tagore and Nazrul. During his life he wrote beautiful poetry, novels, essays and more. He believed: “Poetry and life are two different outpouring of the same thing; life as we usually conceive it contains what we normally accept as reality, but the spectacle of this incoherent and disorderly life can satisfy neither the poet’s talent nor the reader’s imagination … poetry does not contain a complete reconstruction of what we call reality; we have entered a new world.”

Motorcar (1934) … Translated by Rakibul Hasan Khan from Bengali. Click here to read.

Banalata Sen and 1946-47… Translated by Suparna Sengupta from Bengali. Click here to read.