40 years' of Bangla-German friendship celebrated through poetry
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Poetry recitation at the Goethe-Institut
(© Press Section, German Embassy, Dhaka)
Dhaka, 12 January – on occasion of the 40 years' celebration of diplomatic relationship between Bangladesh and Germany, the Goethe-Institut organised a poetry evening in cooperation with the poetry club “Meghdut” in the premises of the institute. The Guest of Honour was the Foreign Minister of Bangladesh Dr. Dipu Moni.
One of the highlights of the evening was the recitation of Seema Nusrat Amin's "Dhaka, nightly":
Dhaka, nightly
by Seema Nusrat Amin
We should have vacated the land ages, ages, ago.
But we do, the Dhaka, nightly
I.
Now the flame is clear.
A ballpoint, a silence,
not a snaky fire—no wind,
No nearness inflammable.
Mouths as though never opened.
What was that flute like?
‘There, in that one he sings,
and in this one, someone
is enchanted out of nowhere.
For what? For nothing.’
Your flute put me to sleep,
disembodied
in the heated dark—this coolness, the same
stillness of the flame.
Someone is searching
with a flashlight, the trees.
mm…
I render that
The back roof to your house
The wind was unfinished
Majesty.
The faint smell- not-yet-musks
breezes, dogs, an opening door...
As I child I came here, and everything in you
fainted into tunnels—you,
night of alleys and unknown brown depths;
horizontal, like waves that were sea-horses
and became, frogs of the land.
But today I live In your catalytic house,
an analogy to myself.
As pearls to the crows, as crows to the
bare, sound-mists of the roof;
as your house to the light from the construction.
So I to the night, to the dawn of dawns.
II.
‘We were made to leave the land, swollen
in the running blood-- of the rive of our world,
not so long ago.’
There was a riddle in the mould-sweet door,
fresh from opening.
I am a failed state from the fifteenth century:
prehistoric, anachronistic, blamed.
I am a modern nation, ruled by two and tens of thousands.
Bombastic am I, mute-- in my incorrigible Word.
Everyday, I do the dhaka nightly…
I hear you glow beneath me,
callous the very stars. An hourglass crystal ball
by Louis Kahn, Louis Kahn; some spying palace
overcome by the island of Refuge. Grey monsoon!
Jungle of cities!
no more the parrot-magenta of Barasha
or the primordial red, and green.
All in one, mere am I, above me you see me roll
And like a thousand shining blooms in a pagol
fall. Shrill am I,
the beggar of beggars, the crier of criers, howling
Gooood….give, give, give.
I hear you wheeze throughout the year,
hunched multitudes, dreaming the footpath; fragrant
with Jica-waste disposal, by the crows of the bazaar
and the rats of the fruit stalls.
I am half and half
And no one’s darling
Everyone’s backless child.
On a feeble road, this side of the unwalkable park,
second day of Eid.
What am I? What am I?
This child in the road
will not stop twisting—Is it a spoon, that
foams from the mouth thus? What was she asking me?
Kill me, that’s not my mother.
I would have known, Thing, not to help you
And that Mother, Thing, would not have
come, wondering at my furtive zakat.
Helpless more helpless than the thing,
the spoon on the road.
First gift of the holy feast:
‘Feed on your children,
Banquet, Bengal.’
but that was a strange backflip —
all but the First, and Last, day
--the story that is your timelessness--
No one redeemed that back,
has moved on…
And in the block on the door,
behind God is Great,
‘But we couldn’t go very far.’
_______________________
Born in Winnipeg (Canada) Ms. Amin grew up in Thailand and studied at Sarah Lawrence College in New York and in French in Paris, and also at the University of East Anglia in England. She worked as a teacher, editorial assistant and activist in London, Geneva (ILO), Thailand and Bangladesh.
