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Triveni
In Triveni are birds perched on branches, moonstruck musings, a house of straws, walking roses and unbridled desires of the heart. The poems are inhabited by lost lovers, unreturned books and bloodsucking rumours. A poetic form unique to Gulzar, Triveni is a confluence of three of India’ s majestic rivers— the golden-hued Ganges, the deep green Yamuna and a third, the mythical one that lies beneath the former two, the Saraswati.
A form Gulzar began experimenting with in the 1960s, Triveni comes close to several classical Japanese forms of poetry such as the Haiku, Senryu and Tanka. The closest Indian forms to Triveni are the doha and shayari . In this stunning translation by Neha R. Krishna, Triveni have been transcreated as tanka and are ladled with musicality, breaking away from the charm of rhyme and metre. This collection, too, is a confluence or sangam of forms and nothing short of a gift from one of India’ s most beloved poets.
A form Gulzar began experimenting with in the 1960s, Triveni comes close to several classical Japanese forms of poetry such as the Haiku, Senryu and Tanka. The closest Indian forms to Triveni are the doha and shayari . In this stunning translation by Neha R. Krishna, Triveni have been transcreated as tanka and are ladled with musicality, breaking away from the charm of rhyme and metre. This collection, too, is a confluence or sangam of forms and nothing short of a gift from one of India’ s most beloved poets.
200 pages, Hardcover
Published February 6, 2024
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Displaying 1 - 2 of 2 reviews
June 21, 2024
ask your eyes
to not be this loud
in public...
everyone
gets to know my name
***
on seeing
we talked and even smiled
for old times' sake
with just a glance putting down
a day-old newspaper
***
fire runs through my body,
with what flame did the Lord
carve you?
my house is a stack of straws
what will happen if you come?
***
some in waiting
some in separation
some in union...
last night many were on the moon boat
yet no one longed for dawn
***
to whom shall I tell
it aches in the springs
***
books' pages rustle
when wind barges
into the house
you too, like the wind
come and go, sometimes
***
a few friends
living with me, left with someone
and never returned -
on the shelf there're empty spaces
from where books were removed
***
some rays of sun
scatter in the universe,
I untangle
the dreadlocks of the sky...
she flicks wet hair with a towel
***
your face
always fills the eyes,
strangers too
seem familiar to me -
I knitted a world around you
***
hold the palette
of colours and fragrance -
I unfurl
the canvas of the sky
draw again 'a man's portrait'
***
this side of beloved's wall
I live, yet my shadow falls
on the other side -
such a weak fence
our body and soul possess
***
fondling chandelier
the breeze when sways through
the house,
it splatters your voice
on being tickled
you would laugh alike
***
days and nights
like a broken string of pearls
have scattered
it was you
who kept me threaded
***
sudden arrival
of your memory
like a path through trees
in the deep forest of the past
I find you
***
took off from a hanger,
the coat collar bears
a long hair strand
I recall
wearing it last winter
***
sensing you close
I turn around and look
while sitting on the bus
someone is fragrant
with your scent
to not be this loud
in public...
everyone
gets to know my name
***
on seeing
we talked and even smiled
for old times' sake
with just a glance putting down
a day-old newspaper
***
fire runs through my body,
with what flame did the Lord
carve you?
my house is a stack of straws
what will happen if you come?
***
some in waiting
some in separation
some in union...
last night many were on the moon boat
yet no one longed for dawn
***
to whom shall I tell
it aches in the springs
***
books' pages rustle
when wind barges
into the house
you too, like the wind
come and go, sometimes
***
a few friends
living with me, left with someone
and never returned -
on the shelf there're empty spaces
from where books were removed
***
some rays of sun
scatter in the universe,
I untangle
the dreadlocks of the sky...
she flicks wet hair with a towel
***
your face
always fills the eyes,
strangers too
seem familiar to me -
I knitted a world around you
***
hold the palette
of colours and fragrance -
I unfurl
the canvas of the sky
draw again 'a man's portrait'
***
this side of beloved's wall
I live, yet my shadow falls
on the other side -
such a weak fence
our body and soul possess
***
fondling chandelier
the breeze when sways through
the house,
it splatters your voice
on being tickled
you would laugh alike
***
days and nights
like a broken string of pearls
have scattered
it was you
who kept me threaded
***
sudden arrival
of your memory
like a path through trees
in the deep forest of the past
I find you
***
took off from a hanger,
the coat collar bears
a long hair strand
I recall
wearing it last winter
***
sensing you close
I turn around and look
while sitting on the bus
someone is fragrant
with your scent
October 27, 2024
दूसरी जंग-ए-आलम को तो बंद हुए भी बीते साल
अब भी कुछ जापानी अफ़सर, छुपे मिले हैं डयूटी पर
तुमसे अब कब मिलना होगा? या अब भी नाराज़ हो तुम?
some Japanese soldiers
in hiding are discovered
years after world war II—
when can we meet?
or are you still upset?
I chose this particular poem from the book because it beautifully highlights Neha R. Krishna’s sensitivity to the nuances in Gulzar’s Triveni. She retains the cultural weight of the original—referring to Japanese soldiers discovered on duty years after World War II, a lasting reminder of unresolved history. Yet, she expands it to mirror a deeply personal longing. The line “when can we meet?” echoes with a bittersweet vulnerability, turning the historical distance into a symbol of the emotional gap between the poet and a loved one. It’s as if the ache of separation, both personal and historical, hums through the verse.
In the transformation to Tanka, the first two lines of the Triveni open up into three lines in the Tanka, shaping a more vivid, layered image. This isn’t just a shift in format; it’s an expansion that breathes into the technical demands of the Tanka form. Here, Gulzar’s original wit and sharpness take on a quieter, more introspective tone, enriched by the Tanka's "show-don’t-tell" style. The original three lines split and stretch, with the final line of the Triveni unfolding into two lines of Tanka, creating a pause that makes the poem feel like a photo of time itself.
This is just one instance in the book that reveals Neha R. Krishna’s skill in translating Gulzar’s Triveni simultaneously into English, and Tanka. This is no mean feat. You feel the ambition in each adaptation, the inventiveness needed to capture the spirit of Gulzar sahaab's timeless verse.
Gulzar’s Triveni is often a concise thought, closing with a powerful twist in just three lines. But the five-line structure of Tanka lets that thought stretch out, adding layers of reflection. Krishna preserves the core of Gulzar’s emotions, using the expanded lines to amplify the quiet revelations within his work. Her translation blends Indian and Japanese aesthetics seamlessly, enhancing universal themes of vulnerability and the fleeting nature of time. In her hands, Triveni becomes accessible not only in English but also through the contemplative resonance of Tanka, letting readers experience Gulzar’s vision in a way that feels both true and newly profound.
अब भी कुछ जापानी अफ़सर, छुपे मिले हैं डयूटी पर
तुमसे अब कब मिलना होगा? या अब भी नाराज़ हो तुम?
some Japanese soldiers
in hiding are discovered
years after world war II—
when can we meet?
or are you still upset?
I chose this particular poem from the book because it beautifully highlights Neha R. Krishna’s sensitivity to the nuances in Gulzar’s Triveni. She retains the cultural weight of the original—referring to Japanese soldiers discovered on duty years after World War II, a lasting reminder of unresolved history. Yet, she expands it to mirror a deeply personal longing. The line “when can we meet?” echoes with a bittersweet vulnerability, turning the historical distance into a symbol of the emotional gap between the poet and a loved one. It’s as if the ache of separation, both personal and historical, hums through the verse.
In the transformation to Tanka, the first two lines of the Triveni open up into three lines in the Tanka, shaping a more vivid, layered image. This isn’t just a shift in format; it’s an expansion that breathes into the technical demands of the Tanka form. Here, Gulzar’s original wit and sharpness take on a quieter, more introspective tone, enriched by the Tanka's "show-don’t-tell" style. The original three lines split and stretch, with the final line of the Triveni unfolding into two lines of Tanka, creating a pause that makes the poem feel like a photo of time itself.
This is just one instance in the book that reveals Neha R. Krishna’s skill in translating Gulzar’s Triveni simultaneously into English, and Tanka. This is no mean feat. You feel the ambition in each adaptation, the inventiveness needed to capture the spirit of Gulzar sahaab's timeless verse.
Gulzar’s Triveni is often a concise thought, closing with a powerful twist in just three lines. But the five-line structure of Tanka lets that thought stretch out, adding layers of reflection. Krishna preserves the core of Gulzar’s emotions, using the expanded lines to amplify the quiet revelations within his work. Her translation blends Indian and Japanese aesthetics seamlessly, enhancing universal themes of vulnerability and the fleeting nature of time. In her hands, Triveni becomes accessible not only in English but also through the contemplative resonance of Tanka, letting readers experience Gulzar’s vision in a way that feels both true and newly profound.
Displaying 1 - 2 of 2 reviews