ତୋରେ ଶରଣ ଗଲିରେ ମୂରଲୀ / Dir, Flöte, gebe ich mich hin
ତୋରେ ଶରଣ ଗଲିରେ ମୂରଲୀ
କେଦାର ମିଶ୍ର
ମୁରଲୀ ମେହେର ବଇଁଶୀ ବଜାଇବାର ମୁଁ ଦେଖିଛି
ତେଲନଦୀ - ମହାନଦୀର ସଙ୍ଗମ ସ୍ଥଳରେ ।
ଧୂଳିମିଶା ପବନରେ ଭାସି ଆସୁଥାଏ
ପାଗଳା ବଂଶୀର ଗହ ଗହ ସୁର
ଦୂର ଦୂର ଯାଏ ଧଳାମେଘ
ନାଚିଲା ପରି ଲାଗନ୍ତି
ଲାଗେ, ନଦୀର ସ୍ରୋତ ବି
କାନ ଡେରି ଶୁଣୁଛି ବଂଶୀର ଗୀତ । ।
ମୁରଲୀ ମେହେର ବଂଶୀ ବଜାଏ
ଶୀତରେ ଫାଟିଯାଇଥିବା ଓଠରେ ।
ପଲାଶବଣରେ ଶୋଇପଡିଥିବା ଅନ୍ଧାର
ପାଉଁଜି ପିନ୍ଧି ଓହ୍ଲାଇ ଆସେ
ନଈବାଲିକୁ
ପବନରେ ସଞ୍ଚରି ଯାଏ
ଗୀତ ଆଉ ନାଚର ରୋମାଞ୍ଚ । ।
ସତ୍ୟ, ମୂରଲୀ ମେହେରର ପାଗଳା ବଂଶୀଗୀତ
ମାୟା, ନଈବାଲିରେ ତାମସୀ ବାଳିକାର ନାଚ
ସତ୍ୟ, ଯୁଗଳବନ୍ଦୀରେ ଗଢା ହୋଇଥିବା
ଏଇ ଜଗତ
ମାୟା, ଏକା ଏକା ମରିଯାଇଥିବା
ବଂଶୀ ଆଉ ପାଉଁଜିର ଗପ । ।
ମୂରଲୀ ମେହେର ଉଠିଆସେ
ତପସ୍ୟାରୁ,ଗୀତର ତନ୍ମୟତାରୁ
ଗୋଟେ କଳାରଙ୍ଗର କୁକୁର
ଖାଇଯାଉଥାଏ ମୂରଲୀ ମେହେର
ମାଗି ଅ ।ଣିଥିବା ଭାତ
ବଇଁଶୀ ଉଠାଏ ମୂରଲୀ ମେହେର
ଶଳା, ହାରାମ୍ଜାଦା କହି ବଇଁଶୀରେ
ବାଡ଼େଇ·ଲେ କଳା କୁକୁରକୁ । ।
ବଂଶୀମାଡ଼ରେ ଭୋ ଭୋ
ଗୋଟେ କଳାକୁକୁରର କାନ୍ଦ
ଫଟା ବଇଁଶୀରେ ନୀରବ
ମୂରଲୀ ମେହେରର ବିଷାଦ । ।
ଅପେକ୍ଷା କରନ୍ତୁ ବନ୍ଧୁଗଣ!
ପୁଣିଥରେ ମୂରଲୀ ମେହେର ଫେରିବ ବଇଁଶୀ ପାଖକୁ
ତାକୁ ନେଇ ମୁଁ ଇତିହାସରେ
ଲେଖିବି
କବିତାର ଶେଷତମ ପଦ ।
ଯେଉଁଠି କବିତା ଗୋଟେ
କଳା କୁକୁରର ଭୋ ଭୋ
ଏବଂ ଫଟା ବଈଁଶୀର ବିଷାଦ ।
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କେଦାର ମିଶ୍ର
ମୁରଲୀ ମେହେର ବଇଁଶୀ ବଜାଇବାର ମୁଁ ଦେଖିଛି
ତେଲନଦୀ - ମହାନଦୀର ସଙ୍ଗମ ସ୍ଥଳରେ ।
ଧୂଳିମିଶା ପବନରେ ଭାସି ଆସୁଥାଏ
ପାଗଳା ବଂଶୀର ଗହ ଗହ ସୁର
ଦୂର ଦୂର ଯାଏ ଧଳାମେଘ
ନାଚିଲା ପରି ଲାଗନ୍ତି
ଲାଗେ, ନଦୀର ସ୍ରୋତ ବି
କାନ ଡେରି ଶୁଣୁଛି ବଂଶୀର ଗୀତ । ।
ମୁରଲୀ ମେହେର ବଂଶୀ ବଜାଏ
ଶୀତରେ ଫାଟିଯାଇଥିବା ଓଠରେ ।
ପଲାଶବଣରେ ଶୋଇପଡିଥିବା ଅନ୍ଧାର
ପାଉଁଜି ପିନ୍ଧି ଓହ୍ଲାଇ ଆସେ
ନଈବାଲିକୁ
ପବନରେ ସଞ୍ଚରି ଯାଏ
ଗୀତ ଆଉ ନାଚର ରୋମାଞ୍ଚ । ।
ସତ୍ୟ, ମୂରଲୀ ମେହେରର ପାଗଳା ବଂଶୀଗୀତ
ମାୟା, ନଈବାଲିରେ ତାମସୀ ବାଳିକାର ନାଚ
ସତ୍ୟ, ଯୁଗଳବନ୍ଦୀରେ ଗଢା ହୋଇଥିବା
ଏଇ ଜଗତ
ମାୟା, ଏକା ଏକା ମରିଯାଇଥିବା
ବଂଶୀ ଆଉ ପାଉଁଜିର ଗପ । ।
ମୂରଲୀ ମେହେର ଉଠିଆସେ
ତପସ୍ୟାରୁ,ଗୀତର ତନ୍ମୟତାରୁ
ଗୋଟେ କଳାରଙ୍ଗର କୁକୁର
ଖାଇଯାଉଥାଏ ମୂରଲୀ ମେହେର
ମାଗି ଅ ।ଣିଥିବା ଭାତ
ବଇଁଶୀ ଉଠାଏ ମୂରଲୀ ମେହେର
ଶଳା, ହାରାମ୍ଜାଦା କହି ବଇଁଶୀରେ
ବାଡ଼େଇ·ଲେ କଳା କୁକୁରକୁ । ।
ବଂଶୀମାଡ଼ରେ ଭୋ ଭୋ
ଗୋଟେ କଳାକୁକୁରର କାନ୍ଦ
ଫଟା ବଇଁଶୀରେ ନୀରବ
ମୂରଲୀ ମେହେରର ବିଷାଦ । ।
ଅପେକ୍ଷା କରନ୍ତୁ ବନ୍ଧୁଗଣ!
ପୁଣିଥରେ ମୂରଲୀ ମେହେର ଫେରିବ ବଇଁଶୀ ପାଖକୁ
ତାକୁ ନେଇ ମୁଁ ଇତିହାସରେ
ଲେଖିବି
କବିତାର ଶେଷତମ ପଦ ।
ଯେଉଁଠି କବିତା ଗୋଟେ
କଳା କୁକୁରର ଭୋ ଭୋ
ଏବଂ ଫଟା ବଈଁଶୀର ବିଷାଦ ।
Dir, Flöte, gebe ich mich hin
Den Flöten-Murali sah ich Flöte spielen
am Zusammenfluß von Telnadi und Mahanadi.
Herrliche Töne schwebten durch die Staubluft.
Die Wolken tanzten bis zum Horizont.
Und die Strömung, so schien es, lauschte der Flötenmusik.
Murali spielt Flöte
mit vor Kälte gesprungenen Lippen.
Das Dunkel schläft im roten Palasawald,
steigt mit Schellen am Fuß hinab zum sandigen Ufer.
Die Luft mit dem Duft der Romanze von Lied und Tanz.
Es ist wahr,
die verrückte Melodie von Murali ist Einbildung, nichts als
der Tanz des Mädchens Nacht im Ufersand.
Es ist wahr,
eine Welt, erschaffen aus jenem Duett, ist eine Schimäre,
es gibt nur die Geschichte der sterbenden Flöte und jene der Schellen.
Murali erwacht aus Askese und Meditation, dem Einssein mit der Musik,
denn ein schwarzer Hund frißt seinen Reis aus der Bettlerschale.
Murali nimmt die Flöte, erschlägt das Dreckstück von einem Hund.
Das Jammergebell des Hundes zittert vom Flötenhieb,
in der gebrochenen Flöte schweigt die Trauer Muralis.
Wartet, Freunde!
Noch einmal kehrt Flöten-Murali zur Flöte zurück.
Die letzte Zeile auf ihn füge ich der Geschichte an.
Wo ein Gedicht beides enthält, das Kläffen des schwarzen Hundes
und Trauer um eine Flöte, die zerbrach.
Translation: Jan Wagner
Murali Meher and his Flute The English version below is a standard translation and not a direct result of the ‘Poets Translating Poet’ Encounter.
I have seen Murali Meher playing his flute
at the confluence of river Mahanadi and river Tel ;
the deep notes from his mad flute glide past
through the dust-laden wind ;
they seem like the white puffy clouds dancing their way to far –off lands,
they seem as if the current of the river is all ears for the melodious flute;
Murali Meher plays the flute on his chapped frost-bitten lips, and
the darkness deep asleep on the forest-fires
descends down to the sands of the river
with her anklets, and a romance
of song and dance pervades the wind, melody from flute.
Truth is
Murali Meher’s mad flute is
like the dance of a wanton young girl
on the sands of the river
and there is this life composed in harmony
of the song and the melody,
and deception is
the name of the story of the flute
and the anklet dying alone,
bereft of each other;
Murali Meher wakes up from meditation,
from the exuberance of his song ;
a dark-skinned dog licks clean the rice he had begged;
you bitch, howls Murali Meher and uses
the flute as a stick to chasten the dog;
the dark-skinned dog barks, and sobs, and
the broken flute stops making music,
like Murali Meher’s silent sorrow;
just wait for a while, dear friends,
Murali Meher will be back with his flute;
and he will complete the last few lines of my poem,
composed of the barking of a dark-skinned dog,
and the sorrow of a broken flute.
(Translated by by Prof. Kalidas Mishra)
More poems
ଗ୍ରୀଷ୍ମଗୀତ /
Ein Sommerlied
ଗପ /
Geschichte
Den Flöten-Murali sah ich Flöte spielen
am Zusammenfluß von Telnadi und Mahanadi.
Herrliche Töne schwebten durch die Staubluft.
Die Wolken tanzten bis zum Horizont.
Und die Strömung, so schien es, lauschte der Flötenmusik.
Murali spielt Flöte
mit vor Kälte gesprungenen Lippen.
Das Dunkel schläft im roten Palasawald,
steigt mit Schellen am Fuß hinab zum sandigen Ufer.
Die Luft mit dem Duft der Romanze von Lied und Tanz.
Es ist wahr,
die verrückte Melodie von Murali ist Einbildung, nichts als
der Tanz des Mädchens Nacht im Ufersand.
Es ist wahr,
eine Welt, erschaffen aus jenem Duett, ist eine Schimäre,
es gibt nur die Geschichte der sterbenden Flöte und jene der Schellen.
Murali erwacht aus Askese und Meditation, dem Einssein mit der Musik,
denn ein schwarzer Hund frißt seinen Reis aus der Bettlerschale.
Murali nimmt die Flöte, erschlägt das Dreckstück von einem Hund.
Das Jammergebell des Hundes zittert vom Flötenhieb,
in der gebrochenen Flöte schweigt die Trauer Muralis.
Wartet, Freunde!
Noch einmal kehrt Flöten-Murali zur Flöte zurück.
Die letzte Zeile auf ihn füge ich der Geschichte an.
Wo ein Gedicht beides enthält, das Kläffen des schwarzen Hundes
und Trauer um eine Flöte, die zerbrach.
Translation: Jan Wagner
Murali Meher and his Flute The English version below is a standard translation and not a direct result of the ‘Poets Translating Poet’ Encounter.
I have seen Murali Meher playing his flute
at the confluence of river Mahanadi and river Tel ;
the deep notes from his mad flute glide past
through the dust-laden wind ;
they seem like the white puffy clouds dancing their way to far –off lands,
they seem as if the current of the river is all ears for the melodious flute;
Murali Meher plays the flute on his chapped frost-bitten lips, and
the darkness deep asleep on the forest-fires
descends down to the sands of the river
with her anklets, and a romance
of song and dance pervades the wind, melody from flute.
Truth is
Murali Meher’s mad flute is
like the dance of a wanton young girl
on the sands of the river
and there is this life composed in harmony
of the song and the melody,
and deception is
the name of the story of the flute
and the anklet dying alone,
bereft of each other;
Murali Meher wakes up from meditation,
from the exuberance of his song ;
a dark-skinned dog licks clean the rice he had begged;
you bitch, howls Murali Meher and uses
the flute as a stick to chasten the dog;
the dark-skinned dog barks, and sobs, and
the broken flute stops making music,
like Murali Meher’s silent sorrow;
just wait for a while, dear friends,
Murali Meher will be back with his flute;
and he will complete the last few lines of my poem,
composed of the barking of a dark-skinned dog,
and the sorrow of a broken flute.
(Translated by by Prof. Kalidas Mishra)
Biography Kedar Mishra
More poems
ଗ୍ରୀଷ୍ମଗୀତ /
Ein Sommerlied
ଗପ /
Geschichte
