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Attipate Krishnaswami Ramanujan
I recently discovered two poems this poet by looking up "Jealousy" and "Lust" in the Columbia Granger's Indexes.
I was disappointed to learn that it happened in 2006 that, at a university, some students didn't want published an essay he wrote on different versions of a mythological text. I myself have felt skepticism and caution in engaging in local communities of classical Indian dance as someone more familiar with hip-hop and latin dance.
*Adult Content Warning*
"Six Said to the Concubines to Him" by Ammūvaṉāṟ (c. 50-300; Tamil poet) in ஐங்குறுநூறு Aiṅkuṟunūṟu, (121-124, 127-128) translated by Attipate Krishnaswami Ramanujan from Poems of Love and War: from the Eight Anthologies and the Ten Long Poems of Classical Tamil
(1)
O yes, we've seen
your girl friend,
haven't we?
Splashing in the sea waves,
wetting even that wreath of water-thorn
in her hair?
(2)
O yes, we've seen
your girl friend,
haven't we?
Her gold ornaments fall
in the sand,
and all she does is ask
the small white snipe!
(3)
O yes, we've seen
your girl friend,
haven't we?
Making a din with her gaggle
of flashing girls,
she splashes
in the big cold wave,
doesn't she?
(4)
O yes, we've seen
your girl friend,
haven't we?
When the sea plays
with her sand-dolls,
she throws sand
and shrieks
at the sea
doesn't she?
(5)
O yes, we've seen
your girl friend,
haven't we?
Delicate ornaments and garlands
of white dead nettle
on your young breasts,
she jerks them way
in a sulk,
doesn't she?
(6)
O yes, we've seen
your girl friend,
haven't we?
She gives her bud of a breast
with no milk yet
to a doll with a mouth
that cannot drink,
playing at giving suck,
doesn't she
- - - - - - - - -
“Pleasure” by Attipate Krishnaswami Ramanujan (1929-1993; Karnataka, India and Illinois, United States; poet, essayist, scholar of Indian literature, philologist, folklorist, translator of writing in Indian languages, playwright) from The Poetry of Our World: An International Anthology of Contemporary Poetry
A naked Jaina monk
ravaged by spring
fever, the vigour
of long celibacy
lusting now as never before
for the reek and sight
of mango bud, now tight, now
loosening into petal,
stamen, and butterfly,
his several mouths
thirsting for breast,
buttock, smells of finger,
long hair, short hair,
the wet of places never dry,
skin roused even by
whips, self touching self,
all philosophy slimed
by its own saliva,
cool Ganges turning
sensual on him,
smeared his own private
untouchable Jaina
body with honey
thick and slow as pitch,
and stood continent
at last on an anthill
of red fire ants, crying
his old formulaic cry;
at every twinge,
“Pleasure, Pleasure,
Great Pleasure!”–
no longer a formula
in the million mouths
of pleasure-in-pain
as the ants climb, tattooing
him, limb by limb,
and covet his body,
once naked, once even intangible.
I was disappointed to learn that it happened in 2006 that, at a university, some students didn't want published an essay he wrote on different versions of a mythological text. I myself have felt skepticism and caution in engaging in local communities of classical Indian dance as someone more familiar with hip-hop and latin dance.
*Adult Content Warning*
"Six Said to the Concubines to Him" by Ammūvaṉāṟ (c. 50-300; Tamil poet) in ஐங்குறுநூறு Aiṅkuṟunūṟu, (121-124, 127-128) translated by Attipate Krishnaswami Ramanujan from Poems of Love and War: from the Eight Anthologies and the Ten Long Poems of Classical Tamil
(1)
O yes, we've seen
your girl friend,
haven't we?
Splashing in the sea waves,
wetting even that wreath of water-thorn
in her hair?
(2)
O yes, we've seen
your girl friend,
haven't we?
Her gold ornaments fall
in the sand,
and all she does is ask
the small white snipe!
(3)
O yes, we've seen
your girl friend,
haven't we?
Making a din with her gaggle
of flashing girls,
she splashes
in the big cold wave,
doesn't she?
(4)
O yes, we've seen
your girl friend,
haven't we?
When the sea plays
with her sand-dolls,
she throws sand
and shrieks
at the sea
doesn't she?
(5)
O yes, we've seen
your girl friend,
haven't we?
Delicate ornaments and garlands
of white dead nettle
on your young breasts,
she jerks them way
in a sulk,
doesn't she?
(6)
O yes, we've seen
your girl friend,
haven't we?
She gives her bud of a breast
with no milk yet
to a doll with a mouth
that cannot drink,
playing at giving suck,
doesn't she
- - - - - - - - -
“Pleasure” by Attipate Krishnaswami Ramanujan (1929-1993; Karnataka, India and Illinois, United States; poet, essayist, scholar of Indian literature, philologist, folklorist, translator of writing in Indian languages, playwright) from The Poetry of Our World: An International Anthology of Contemporary Poetry
A naked Jaina monk
ravaged by spring
fever, the vigour
of long celibacy
lusting now as never before
for the reek and sight
of mango bud, now tight, now
loosening into petal,
stamen, and butterfly,
his several mouths
thirsting for breast,
buttock, smells of finger,
long hair, short hair,
the wet of places never dry,
skin roused even by
whips, self touching self,
all philosophy slimed
by its own saliva,
cool Ganges turning
sensual on him,
smeared his own private
untouchable Jaina
body with honey
thick and slow as pitch,
and stood continent
at last on an anthill
of red fire ants, crying
his old formulaic cry;
at every twinge,
“Pleasure, Pleasure,
Great Pleasure!”–
no longer a formula
in the million mouths
of pleasure-in-pain
as the ants climb, tattooing
him, limb by limb,
and covet his body,
once naked, once even intangible.
