Majeed Amjad
(Translated from Urdu by Riyaz Latif)
TODAY
a wave of infinitude’s sea on which drifts my life’s water-lily
a refrain of some unheard eternal melody distraught vagrant ruined
which, for a fraction, has come and fused in the music of my entwined raveled breaths
the interlude of these scant moments in the shoreless expanses of Time
a few links to the immortal continuity of the moon’s the sun’s rising setting
the amour of some quivering glows, the parable of some whirring darknesses
all that is in my time, and all in whose time I am
precisely this is my share of the treasures from the primordial to perpetuity, precisely this is my
share
what did I know, under the wheels of Time’s deity’s exquisite chariot have been crushed
untold toys of destiny, tumults of Time, hundreds of apparitions of centuries
what was it to me, that it shuffled on the shoulders of life, even after my final breath,
the hem of the months and years’ incessant rolling waterfall which could touch the stars
but alas! this miniscule moment which is my life my provision for the odyssey
it’s with me, in my control, on my palm, this brimming chalice
this is all that is for me, all said and done, in the wastelands of dusk and dawn, this is all
this one respite for endeavors of life’s agony, this one leisure for attempt at wailing and lament
the ruby wine of today, which, dripping from the inebriated eyes of dawn’s princess
has entered Being’s circle this tiny sparrow that has begun to chirp on the roof
the gust of wind which has swayed the tulsi-bough in my window
these bangles which have begun to chime at the water-tap in the neighbor’s courtyard
this world of today is mine, is the overseer of the heartbeats of my aggrieved heart
these few daybreaks lush with tears, these few twilights adorned with sighs
From these very screens I want to see all that is not within vision’s range.
Original Poem: “Imroz” (from Shab-e-Rafta) in Kulliyat-e-Majeed Amjad (New Delhi: Farid Book Depot (P) Ltd., 2011), pp. 100-101.
MANTO
I have seen him
on resplendent bright paths in a dust-laden bewilderment
in the deluge of the spreading swarm’s eyeless upturned bowls
when, flinging an empty bottle, he says:
“world! your beauty, that itself is ugliness.”
the world glowers at him.
becoming the clanking of shackles
begins to resound
this fierce question in ember-filled eyes:
who is it that has cast the snare of his tipsy tight breaths
on the firmament of Ages?
who is it who in the tortuous mists of winding consciences,
in the venomous manors of souls’ spectral-abodes,
has brought in, uninvited, on his own,
the foot-steps of vision sieving through the icy lenses of the glasses?
Who is this impudent?
taakh tadaakh!!
Original Poem: “Manto” (from Shab-e-Rafta) in Kulliyat-e-Majeed Amjad (New Delhi: Farid Book Depot (P) Ltd., 2011), p. 132.
JAHANGIR’S MAUSOLEUM
rust-crusted waistband, shell-embroidered vestment
this custodian – beneath the vault, gripping a staff,
is an episode spitted out by coughing centuries!
is a segment of this very crumbling wall!
old gardeners, in coarse, soiled, ragged clothes
these garden-forms, watering the bones of departed sultans,
make fragrant the beds of flowers
is it grass being pruned, or are their days being cropped?
and look at them – these daft sweepers
at the break of dawn, they pick up and dispose of
entanglements – lush with a watery-film of embezzled delights
lying in ancient soffits, in dark openings!
spreading a rug over the corpses of innumerable ages
some sit, engrossed in their own drifts
as the image of charming tresses falls onto the eyes
the smoke of histories descends into goblets!
these radiant lines on the slabs of red stone
in the twirling of their each arabesque configuration
precious lives of so many craftsmen suspended!
today at this spot – the dawn-enhancing infirm suspended!!
milky-white turrets of minarets draped in
a surge of hundred inscriptions – vanished among a mass of trees –
from whose eaves are visible the dust-interred,
realms of sin populous with slithering souls!
carrying the echoes of the dance of ages in the heart’s cupola
this jharoka, which opens to the river Ravi
begs for refuge from its own derelict loneliness!
begs for smoky fumes from each passing car!
these cypresses that have stood perplexed for three-hundred years
are these their branches, or linings of horizons?
they are the scattered formations of the ranks of Time!
are these their silhouettes – or waning civilizations!
beyond the marble tomb – garden and palace and alcoves
cuckoos, mango-orchards, wafts, trails, fountains
and – some folks unacquainted with etiquette!
inside the marble tomb – beneath the darkness, somewhere
bodies of sultans in the jaws of maggots and ants!
if one saw, if one realized, then in this edifice where
there is radiance, beauty, ornament, adornment,
if there is a possibility, it’s merely for one snuffed soul!
did you see or not? even today, in these manors,
when guffaws of festive fools
strike against some crumbling arch
the minarets of the emperor’s mausoleum begin to tremble!
Original Poem: “Maqbara-e-Jahangir” (from Shab-e-Rafta) in Kulliyat-e-Majeed Amjad (New Delhi: Farid Book Depot (P) Ltd., 2011), pp. 157-159.
WHAT THEN WOULD BE?
that there neither be firmament nor earth
neither wilds and rivers nor mountains and deserts
that day be devoid of light, night bereft of darkness
that the moon be evaporated, the sun unreal.
in featureless, boundless airs
that no star shine
that there neither be inception nor some infinity,
no radiant splendor nor veiling
that nowhere there be a mark of existence
that nowhere be the notion of the world
death nonexistent, life extinct
that there be no reality nor deception
that nowhere remain the insignia of existence
that nowhere a single breath be drawn
that neither be this world, nor God
that nowhere even an atom be floating
this when I think I tremble
if there be nothing here then what would be?
Original Poem: “Phir Kya Ho” (from Shab-e-Rafta) in Kulliyat-e-Majeed Amjad (New Delhi:
Farid Book Depot (P) Ltd., 2011), p. 71.
APPARITION
on leaves and fruits, on roofs and portals, snow…snow…,
all town, snow…snow…,
sallow sun, shining field, silvery stairs,
faces on surge amid surge slopes of stairs…clever…smart…
on the stairs, sanctuary of a hundred moon-arched mirrors…sanctuary…
a world of expectant looks, reflection…reflection…
with so many colors that were the ornament of feeling’s raiment
flower-hemmed paths were filled
who knows for whom…
lyres roused, flowers rained, a sound,
a voice, as if a voice wafting from the lands of burning affections,
a voice, as if fidelity’s voice calling out in Time’s darkness
(a voice, as if the voice of my heart!)
the melody stopped and the chanteuse’s lifeless form dropped,
from the stairs to the shattering vault of the skies,
on the popping petals of scattered flowers the echo of rapid steps,
in this vortex of soft sounds the languid ring of a hesitant footstep
(the ache trampling my heartbeats)
night, dowsed candle, the dust-fog of slumbers,
a soiree of wafts clasped in the shackles of snow,
where was I, tell me, oh! unuttered poem swaying on heart’s flame!
Original Poem: “Hayula” (from Imroz) in Kulliyat-e-Majeed Amjad (New Delhi: Farid Book Depot (P) Ltd., 2011), pp. 364-365.
ETERNITY
bellowing earthquakes swelled, firmament’s vault collapsed, blazing cities rocked
the day of reckoning arrived the world crashed into sun’s dark shield
somewhere, snuffed stars of worlds turning to ashes
turning of shadows in an arrested multitude
somewhere in this erupting broiling lava of tortuous worlds
the vanished of the dusky embankments, part-opened window,
a face peeking from the ruined frame of some dying centuries,
is still fused with the fated lips smeared in the blazing dust of lands and skies in a way
as if
presently dawn shall decant the illusion of live sunshine on the hamlet
the street shall awaken, courts shall buzz with action
someone, rising with eyelids laden with slumber,
shall exclaim… “what a raging storm in the night!”
Original Poem: “Dawaam” (from Imroz) in Kulliyat-e-Majeed Amjad (New Delhi: Farid Book Depot (P) Ltd., 2011), p. 372.
UNMARKED
I have come now…after long years,
tempests raged…clouds rained
they were buried, the depths of dust beneath dust,
in the streaming earth flowed away…earth!
my unknown predecessors, your cenotaph
who knows now where it was
nonchalantly, through my estimation I
recognized the sand’s crease,
a sinking line on strata being effaced,
an alphabet of dust, on which some pebbles
I picked up and kept aside beforehand,
then the thought occurred…now who would say this
your grave was here somewhere…but
where was it?…not at this place maybe
when I thought a bit…who knows what I thought,
in my mind knotted innumerable…outlines
I scattered all those pebbles!
unmarked dust, facing me now is
a wedge of these worlds,
in whose occult depths you are.
in whose shadows’ crypt I am!
Original Poem: “Be-Nishaan” (from Imroz) in Kulliyat-e-Majeed Amjad (New Delhi: Farid Book Depot (P) Ltd., 2011), pp. 425-426.
SAHIB’S FRUIT FARM
this warm sunshine, whose fine veil,
caresses the air…
is the climes’ nectar!
all the silver that the soft earth has emptied in flowering buds of mango-blossoms
all the gold that has, running in water, shoots, blossoms, gushed forth from these yellow
oranges
the bounty of all earth, which in the mantle of secrets, has scattered far on icy boughs
is the seasons’ nectar,
soften the seasons’ nectar,
fill it in goblets,
golden flames set on these leaves, clusters of rich yellow fruits on these branches,
who after budding in the bed of leafy dawns, after emptying in the flame of arduous noons
after drinking the dew of exultant rays,
filling the crystals of their delicate existence with seasons’ nectar,
are shimmering on the gilded spread up till the stretch of vision
distill their liquor,
fill it in cups,
fill it in cups, this honey, this wine, for its single drop illumines lamps in a hundred
wine-flasks throughout the year
this is the order of life, in this manner, in this garden of rolling ages, who knows
since when
thousands of scorching suns have been dispensing that fluid copper, that warm sunlight
whose fine veil,
gently touches hearts, that venom which has the sap of sorrows,
if possible fill up mind’s vessel with this fire,
sometimes when its mere droplet lights a lamp in some voice,
the unraveled fiber of Time swings
Original Poem: “Sahib ka Fruit Farm” (from Imroz) in Kulliyat-e-Majeed Amjad (New Delhi: Farid Book Depot (P) Ltd., 2011), pp. 383-384.
EVERYTHING, SAND…
everything, sand…shifting sands…
sands whose now just now rooted and now just now derelict depths…in the roiling
of fate
water-inundated…topsy-turvy all…as if a few dying folds on the face of the sands
what is this white and ashen and grainy sand
in each infinitesimal particle of which is the heart of mountains
presently in these particles a heartbeat had ached
presently an empire has sunk
presently an edging of the folds of the sands has crumbled
everything, sand…shifting sands…!
Original Poem: “Sab Kuchh Ret” (from Farda) in Kulliyat-e-Majeed Amjad (New Delhi: Farid Book Depot (P) Ltd., 2011), p. 629.
THIS PROCESSION OF ANTS
in these processions of ants, I am the proclamation
in whose eyes, when the signs of approaching dust-storms and tempests surface,
the processions cannot hear the roar of these dust-storms and tempests,
but my heart’s terror, which is my knowledge’s wont,
is a shield for these processions
these forewarnings of destinies and all their sorrows are for me,
but who has seen my forewarnings in the form of my voice
who has heard this knowing voice which is a shield sheltering every head
may they always flourish, the small tiny animate lines laxly leisurely crawling
in these courtyards
whose itty-bitty entanglements themselves are their tough problems
even greater than those sorrows
that the gnosis of the skies has bequeathed to me
Original Poem: “ChyuntioN Ke In QafiloN” (from Farda) in Kulliyat-e-Majeed Amjad (New Delhi: Farid Book Depot (P) Ltd., 2011), p. 630.
SHADOWS OF THESE LUSH GREEN TREES
black stones, on scorching streets, shadows of these lush green trees
how cold is the wind here, how cold too the smears of shadows on the breeze,
through this cluster of trees when I passed,
in my body quivered shards of icy shadows,
falling from my body they shattered,
in my soul slithered an astounding novel chill,
the singular coolness of pleasant days,
how wonderful were those days, when a silky current of dewy breaths
touched the swelter of the sparks of my heart,
those misty joys that, veiling hiding at each turn, forever in a fresh disguise,
come and fuse with the souls, fuse and part, as if
perforated smears of shadows on winds,
in the air, scattered fragments of numerous bright and dark suns,
on the dust, unconnected, lineless outlines,
all this merely till a stride or two…
then further, the same sunlight, rushing towards blooming green agonies
sunlight spreading on the stone-fragments,
till the boundaries of nonexistence!
Original Poem: “Sarsabz PedoN ke Saaye” (from Imroz) in Kulliyat-e-Majeed Amjad (New Delhi: Farid Book Depot (P) Ltd., 2011), pp. 435-436.
SINCE LONG, EARTH…
since long, in the sleep of earth they already have been asleep,
the ones who now awaken in my slumbers,
just this instant, my world was asleep,
under the guard of their waking eyes,
just this instant, they were somewhere here, in the ages of my dreams,
just this instant, a bit fragment of their dusky eternity had melded
in these eyes of mine,
and in my self-centered vision could be seen
all those cool glacial elations which
were the affection and love of their hearts, for me,
just this instant, all this was within the comprehension of my non-comprehension,
and now in my wakefulness all have vanished, the ones who stay wakeful in my slumbers!
Original Poem: “Kab Ke Mitti” (from Farda) in Kulliyat-e-Majeed Amjad (New Delhi: Farid Book Depot (P) Ltd., 2011), pp. 592.
THE PROVINCE OF MEMORIES
how shall I go how shall I reach this province of memories
where, sometime, soundlessly on the wall of the courtyard,
for me, would place a bowl of milk
invisible hands…whom the depths of earth shrouded
where in a domed dwelling at sundown
next to chests adorned with azure-amber glass-beads,
for me, would bake flour cakes on a griddle
endearing hands…that ossified in the adornments of earth
perhaps there might be no trace left of those two graves now
but on this grained headstone, even now, with me
are those two sentinel spirits whose four holy hands
have cast in fire each fiber of mine
Original Poem: “YaadoN Ka Des” (from Imroz) in Kulliyat-e-Majeed Amjad (New Delhi: Farid Book Depot (P) Ltd., 2011), p. 458.
ALL THE SEVEN SKIES…
reflections and gravels of all the seven skies come and plummet in thoughts’ slots
all this in these different slots, is that collected hidden strength which
is not revealed to me but is with my Being in being so
my consciousness does not have knowledge about them, the occurrences in which I am
swept away
and all the beings of my Being in which I am…
and when someone takes care of me such that she is with me!
one, this self-aware unawareness which is also the substance of my consciousness
and also outside the acumen of my consciousness
a life in life, arrived from the skies…whose soul is earth!
Original Poem: “SaatoN AasmaanoN” (from Farda) in Kulliyat-e-Majeed Amjad (New Delhi: Farid Book Depot (P) Ltd., 2011), p. 648.
*****
Notes
Cover image courtesy: https://www.artisera.com/blogs/expressions/k-r-santhana-krishnans-door-paintings-evoking-memories-of-simpler-times
Majeed Amjad 9104-1974) an Urdu poet from Pakistan was described as a “philosophical poet of depth and sensitivity” Ignored for years by mainstream Urdu literati in South Asia, Amjad was introvert and reclusive, lived in a small town away from the literary glitter of Lahore. He published sparingly in his lifetime, constantly worked on his poems and it was only after his death that his poems in different stages of completion, notes and letters were found in his small apartment. They were brought out as a collection, Shab-e Raftah ke Ba’d (1976). Subsequently, his collected works or Kulliyat were also published.
——-
Riyaz Latif is an art-historian of Islamic cultures. After a postdoctoral fellowship at the MIT, he taught art-history at Wellesley College in Massachusetts, and Vanderbilt University in Nashville, USA. He emerged as a significant voice in Urdu poetry during the last decade of the twentieth century, and his poems have been published in reputed Urdu literary journals of India & Pakistan. In addition to two collections of Urdu poetry, Hindasa Be-Khwaab Raton Ka (2006) and ‘Adam Taraash (2016), as well as a book of translations into Urdu from European poetry, Mera Khoya Awazah (2014), he has published articles on composite dimensions of literature, culture, art and architectural history. He also translates from Urdu and English, and some of his work can be found in the Annual of Urdu Studies. ------------ Riyaz Latif in The Beacon
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