Välj ny poet



Dipak Mazumdar




Född i Indien.
Publicerat tre diktsamlingar på engelska och
översättningar i Sverige, Danmark och Portugal,
i Sverige bland annat i Moderna Tider, Artes, DN
och i antologin Världen i Sverige.






        Encounters


        1


A day
        like any other days in summer,
brooding on wind and water,
the smoky square
        of flesh and bones,
decamped,
after a downpour had played
        Jimmy Hendrix's guitar music on awnings,
with half-closed eyes, the sun chuckled
        seeing his seven steeds on a puddle.





        2


Voices rattleed the bar,
words on profit and loss crowding the publican,

the drooping lamps with arms crossed
breathed in and out in a deep sleep.

the two o'clock in the morning had fag-ashes in its eyes,
on the table leant the bored waitress
        corkscrewing us,

we ran home,

later sat down for a brunch,
found young mothers
        knitting castles with the smiles of their babies.





        3


Somewhat grudgingly, entered a bank to pay bills.

resting her back against the counter,
smiling, the cashier hummed current interest rates,
let fall her blond hair
on the tangentboard of a computer,
played national anthems,
nine little Maos and Kissingers
waltzed on keys,
appeared eunnuchs from Institutions,
faces white as napkins,
        to honour them with a prize for Peace.





        4


Sat in a bar
drinking my frothy loneliness,
emerged the fuming belly of Kolkata
weltering in the toxic sun.

Literally.
        the bar sank under the boats of Ganga,
a shoal of hilsha fish swam in trance
        sketching a Benarasi sari on the river,
nearer, and nearer, drew the babbles of cricket fans
spiralling,
        choked above the bridge of Howrah.





        5


the zebra crossing,
the traffic lights changed from amber to green,
walked past people, prams,
two cats halted
just before a solar eclipse.





        6


Straight into a drizzle,
raindrops spinning cataracts on glasses,

in front, couples under umbrellas skipping ahead,
streetlights skid and rebound
tracing fireflies on their ears
as the road dips and rises,

behind, a mask of silence,
sudden switching off of headlights tar the road,
a story of loss, a book of darkness.





The bay of Slussen


spirals of exhaust
climbing
to fuse
with heaps
        of cowdung
in the sky,

tic tac tac, tic tac tac,
against a liner
the sea is throwing up tar,
an anxious seagull,
fretful,
a child of a saga in nightmare,

tic tac tac, tic tac tac,
sound of techno,
macho,
on the deck couples are dancing,
more robot than human,
laughters of a corroded tin-can,

down
in the old town,
recede
a crowd,
a funeral limousine,
through the mouth
        of an eel,

crescendos
of hubub,
here and far,
smell of kebab,
suffocate
        inside the hat
of an August night.