Sensation
Jibanananda Das
Into the half light and shadow I go. Within my head
Not a dream, but some sensation is at work.
Not a dream, not peace, not love
Inside my heart a sensation is born.
I can not escape it.
For it places its hand on mine,
And all else pales to insignaificance- futile so it seems.
All thought, an eternity of prayer,
Seems empty.
Empty.
Who can go on like the simple flok?
Who can pause in this half light of darkness
Like the simple people? - Who can know
For certain anymore? - Who seeks to understand
The carnel savors anymore? - Who knows the joys
Of life again, like everyman?
And now seeds like everyman anymore?
What is that ralish? And who, for hungry for harvest,
Has smeared itself with the scent of earth,
Has anointed himself with the scent of water,
Has gazed toward light with rapt attention,
Has gained a peasant heart,
Who would any loger remain awake upon his earth?
Not a dream - not peace - but some sensation is at work
Within my head.
When I walk along the beach, or cross from shore to shore
I try to ignore it.
I seize it as I would a ded man's skull
And wish to smash it on the ground. Yet it spins like a living head
All around my head,
All abount my eyes,
All about my chest.
I move, it too comes along with me.
I stop --
It too comes to a halt.
As I take my place among other beings
Am I becoming estrainged and alonne
Becuse of my mannerism?
Is Just an optical illusion?
Are there only obstacles in my path?
Those who are born in this world
As children,
Those who were spent their time
Giving birth to children,
Or those who must give birth to children
Today, or those who come to the sown fields of this world,
For to give birth - to give birth -
Is my heart
like theirs, their heart and head? Are not their mind
Like my mind?
Then why I am so alone?
Yet I am all alone.
Did I not raise my head to see it to hold a peasant's plough?
Have I not drawn water in a pile?
Have I not often gone home with sickle to the fields?
How many warfs and rivers have I been to
Like those who fish?
Algae from the pond, the smell of fish
Engulfed my body.
__All these tastes.
__All these I have had. My life has flowed
Like unchecked winds.
My mind sleft as I lay benith the stars
One day.
All these desires
I knew once - unchecked unbounded.
Then I left all behind.
I have looked upon woman with love.
I have looked upon woman with apathy.
I heve looked upon woman with hate.
She has loved me,
And come near.
She has paid no heed of me.
She has despised me and gone away when I called her time and again,
Loving her.
Yet it was actually practiced one day -this love.
I paid no attention no her words of contempt,
No attention to the wrath of her hate,
And went my own way. I have forgotten
That star - the sinister influence of which
Blocked my path of love over and over again
Still this love -this dust and mud.
Within my head
Not a dream, not love, but some sensation is at work.
I leave all gods behind
And come close to my heart-
I speak to this heart.
Why dose it mumble to itself like churning waters?
Is it naver weary? Does it naver have the moments peace?
Will it naver ever sleep? Will it not enjoy just
Resting clamly? or not know the joy
Of gazing at the face of mab?
Of gazing at the face of woman?
Of grazing at children's face?
This sensation - only this desire
What does it gain, immense - profound?
Does it not wish to leave the batten paths
And seek the starry span of the sky? Has it vowed
To look upon that man's face?
To look upon that woman's face?
To look upon those children's face?
Those sickly shadows under eyes,
The ears that can not hear,
The hunchback - a goitre that arose upon the flesh,
A spoiled cucumber - chancered pumpkin,
All that is within man's heart
All that.
Translation by Clinton B. Seely
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