થોડું અંગત અંગત..A letter from Father Valles

નવા વર્ષની શુભેચ્છાઓ! આજે જે પત્ર રજૂ કરું છું એ પત્રવ્યવહાર શરૂ થયા પછીનો પહેલો કે બીજો જ પત્ર હશે. એઓના પુસ્તકો, જીવનકથા વાંચીને મને ઉદ્ભવેલા કેટલાક પ્રશ્રોનો જવાબ અહીં આપવામાં આવ્યો છે. વાત તો સાવ ટૂંકી ને ટચ જ છે પણ સમગ્ર જીવન જીવવાની ફિલોસોફીનો નિચોડ અહીં છે અને નવા વર્ષે આનાથી સારું મનન-ચિંતનનું ભાથું બીજું શું હોઈ શકે?!
… …. …. … … …

ચિ. નેહલ,
તમારી વાત ગમી. પણ જુઓ, મને સ્મશાનવૈરાગ્ય તો થયો નથી! મને આનંદ છે, મઝા છે, જીવન બહુ ગમે છે. જીવન મંગળ છે, પ્રભુએ આપેલું વરદાન છે, અને પૂરા દિલથી માણવાનું છે. એ વિચારો શોભે. ત્યાગ કરીએ તે ફક્ત જીવનને વધારે સૂક્ષ્મ સ્વરૂપે પામવા માટે. એટલે પ્રથમ આનંદ, ઉત્સાહ, મનનું સમાધાન અને દિલની શાંતિ જોઈએ. પછી જે સહજ રીતે થાય તે ખરું.
આનન્દ સાથે
ફાધર વાલેસના
આશિર્વાદ

…. …. ….. …. …. ……

Wishing you all a very happy new year, filled with wonderful moments shared with family and friends!!
Today on the first day of 2017, I want to share one of the letters written by Father Valles in a response to my letter, in which I had asked him few questions after reading his books and his biography. He answers in short, meaningful sentences, but one can ponder upon them for days and if understood well can lead a fulfilling and happy life! 🙂
… .. .. … .. … .. … … …
A simple english version for you all….

Dear Nehal,
I liked your thought. But see, I did not choose the path of renunciation due to tragedies of life! I am happy, enjoying, I love my life. Life is auspicious, It’s a God’s gift and to be cherished fully.These kind of thoughts you are supposed to have. When we renounce something it’s only to understand the deeper meaning of life (to embrace life with all it’s intricacies). So, first of all you should feel happy, enthusiastic, mentally fully convinced and calm in your heart(before going for the path of renunciation) and then do whatever you can do effortlessly.
Blessings from Father Valles

……..

હાલમાં એમની website http://www.carlosvalles.com છે

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The People

 

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The People 
I recall that man and not two centuries
have passed since I saw him,
he went neither by horse nor by carriage:
purely on foot
he outstripped
distances,
and carried no sword or armour,
only nets on his shoulder,
axe or hammer or spade,
never fighting the rest of his species:
his exploits were with water and earth,
with wheat so that it turned into bread,
with giant trees to render them wood,
with walls to open up doors,
with sand to construct the walls,
and with ocean for it to bear.

I knew him and he is still not cancelled in me.

The carriages fell to pieces,
war destroyed doors and walls,
the city was a handful of ashes,
all the clothes turned to dust,
and he remains to me,
he survives in the sand,
when everything before
seemed imperishable but him.

In the going and coming of families
at times he was my father or kinsman
or perhaps it was scarcely him or not
the one who did not return to his house
because water or earth swallowed him up
or a tree or an engine killed him,
or he was the saddened carpenter
who went behind the coffin, without tears,
someone in the end who had no name,
except those that metal or timber have,
and on whom others gazed from on high
without seeing the ant
for the anthill
and so that when his feet did not stir,
because the poor exhausted one had died,
they never saw what they had not seen:
already there were other feet where he’d been.

The other feet were still his,
and the other hands,
the man remained:
when it seemed that now he was done for
he was the same once more,
there he was digging again at the earth,
cutting cloth, minus a shirt,
there he was and was not, like before,
he had gone down and was once more,
and since he never owned graveyards,
or tombs, nor was his name carved
on the stone he sweated to quarry,
no one knew he had come
and no one knew when he died,
so that only when the poor man could
he returned to life once more, without it being noted.

He was the man, no doubt of it, without heritage,
without cattle, without a flag,
and he was not distinguished from others,
the others who were him,
from the heights he was grey like the subsoil,
tanned like the leather,
he was yellow reaping the wheat,
he was black down in the mine,
he was the colour of stone on the fortress,
in the fishing boat the colour of tuna,
and the colour of horses in the meadow:
how could anyone distinguish him
if he was inseparable, elemental,
earth, coal or sea vested in man?

Where he lived whatever
a man touched grew:
the hostile stones,
quarried
by his hands,
took on order
and one by one formed
the right clarity of a building,
he made bread with his hands,
moved the engines,
the distances peopled themselves with towns,
other men grew,
bees arrived,
and by man’s creating and breeding
spring walked the market squares
between bakeries and doves.

The maker of loaves was forgotten,
he who quarried and journeyed, beating down
and opening furrows, transporting sand,
when everything existed he no longer existed,
he gave his existence, that’s all.
He went elsewhere to labour, and at last
he was dead, rolling
like a stone in the river:
death carried him downstream.

I, who knew him, saw him descend
till he was no longer except what he left:
roads he could scarcely know,
houses he never ever would live in.

I turn to see him, and I await him

I see him in his grave and resurrected.

I distinguish him among all
who are his equals
and it seems to me it cannot be,
that like this we go nowhere,
that to survive like this holds no glory.

I believe that this man
must be enthroned, rightly shod and crowned.
I believe that those who made such things
must be the masters of all these things.
And that those who made bread should eat!

And those in the mines must have light!

Enough now of grey men enslaved!

Enough of the pale ‘missing ones’!

Not another man passes except as a king.

Not a single woman without her crown.

Golden gauntlets for every hand.

Fruits of the sun for all the unknowns!

I knew that man and when I could,
when he still had eyes in his head,
when he still had a voice in his mouth
I searched for him among tombs, and I said
grasping his arm that was not yet dust:

‘All will be gone, you will live on,

You ignite life.

You made what is yours.’

So let no one trouble themselves when
I seem to be alone and am not alone,
I am with no one and speak for them all:

Some listen to me, without knowing,
but those I sing, those who do know
go on being born, and will fill up the Earth.
by Pablo Neruda

Theodore Roethke – In a dark time

In a dark time, the eye begins to see,
I meet my shadow in the deepening shade;
I hear my echo in the echoing wood—
A lord of nature weeping to a tree.
I live between the heron and the wren,
Beasts of the hill and serpents of the den.

What’s madness but nobility of soul
At odds with circumstances? The day’s on fire!
I know the purity of pure despair,
My shadow pinned against a sweating wall
That place among the rocks- is it a cave,
or winding path? The edge is what I have.

A steady storm of correspondences!
A night flowing with birds, a ragged moon,
And in broad day the midnight come again!
A man goes far to find out what he is—
Death of the self in a long, tearless night,
All natural shapes blazing unnatural light.

Dark, dark my light, and darker my desire
My soul like some heat maddened summer fly
keeps buzzing at the still. Which I is I?
A fallen man, I climb out of my fear.
The mind enters itself and God the mind
And one is one, free in the tearing wind
(In a Dark Time)

Theodore Roethke (1908–1963)

Source: The Collected Poems of Theodore Roethke (Doubleday, 1961)

From Poetry Foundation website
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થોડું અંગત અંગત..

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થોડું અંગત અંગત..

ફાધર વૉલેસ નો પરિચય આપવો એ સૂર્યને દીવો ધરવા જેવું છે. જે ત્રણ-ચાર વર્ષ દરમ્યાન મારે એમની સાથે પત્ર વ્યવહાર થયો અને એમણે એક પિતાતુલ્ય વાત્સલ્ય સાથે મારી જીવન પ્રત્યેની સમજ કેળવી, જીવન નું ઘડતર કર્યું એમનાં લખાણ, પત્રો દ્વારા, જે મારે માટે અમૂલ્ય ખજાના સમાન છે અને આજે એ જ હું આપની સાથે વહેંચી રહી છું. હેતુ એક જ છે કે આવા મહામાનવનું જીવન દર્શન બધા માટે છે, બોક્સના બંધિયારપણામાં મૂકી રાખવા નહીં.

એમના  જન્મદિન નિમિત્ત  અનેક શુભકામનાઓ ( 4th November)

..   ..   ..

ચિ. નેહલ,
પરિણામ માટે અભિનંદન. હવે જરુર વાંચવામાં લાગી જજે અને ઉત્તમ ડૉક્ટર થવા માટે અત્યારથી તૈયારી કરજે. ખૂબ આનંદથી અને શ્રદ્ધાથી કામ કરજે. અને આમ કેમ થાય અને એનું કારણ શું હશે એ વાત જવા દે. ખરું વલણ નિરીક્ષણનું છે, પૃથ્થકરણનું નહિં. બધું જુઓ, નિહાળો, ઝીલો, પચાવો. તટસ્થ ભાવ અને જાગ્રત મન. તું પૂછે છે કે હું શું કરી રહ્યો છું, તો એ જ કરું છું. લખવાનું અને બોલવાનું ચાલે છે, મુખ્ય વાત એ જાગૃતિ, એ તટસ્થતા, વાસ્તવિકતાની સાથે સમાધાન અને જીવન આવે તેવો એનો સ્વીકાર. પ્રશ્નો ઘણા છે, પણ એ શાંતિ, એ નિખાલસતા, એ પારદર્શક્તા આવી જાય તો બધાં કામ સારાં થઈ જાય અને બધી વાતો ઉપકારક નીવડે.એક નવું અંગ્રેજી પુસ્તક પ્રેસમાં આપી આવ્યો. છેલ્લાની થોડા મહિનામાં ચાર આવૃત્તિ થઈ. છેલ્લા ગુજરાતી પુસ્તક “શબ્દલોક” માટે ઘણા સારા પત્રો આવે છે. કાલે રાત્રે ઊંઘ આવી નહિં. તટસ્થ ભાવે રાતના પૂજા કરી. આજે સ્ફૂર્તિ છે. તારો પત્ર આવ્યો. મારું દિલ ખૂલ્યું.
પ્રેમ.
ફાધર
… … … … …

હાલમાં એમની website http://www.carlosvalles.com છે

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એક સૂકી કવિતા

હવે મનમાં
મધુર, સૌમ્ય ભાવ ઉઠતો નથી
કુમળી કવિતા ઉભરતી નથી
સૂકી, કઠણ, કઠોર ભૂમિ પર
બસ જાણે કેકટસ જ ઉગે
તેમ
મનમાં હવે શબ્દ
કાંકરા જેવા ખખડે
બરડ ડાળીઓની જેમ તૂટે
સૂકા ઘાસ જેવા
પીળા પીળા
ગોખરુના કાંટા જેવા
અણિયાળા,
મનને ઉલઝાવે, તરડાવે
બોરડીની ડાળી જેવા
વાક્યો.
ચકરાય ગીધ ને સમડી જેવા
વિચારો
નેહલ
(જૂની ડાયરીમાંથી)

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નનામી શબ્દો – અનુવાદ- ઉત્પલ ભાયાણી

નનામી શબ્દો

થોડોક વખત સુધી
નીલી હરિયાળીનો પ્રેમી
પછીથી
કવિ
ક્રાન્તિકારી
અને એવું બધું
આખરે
અને ઉપસંહારમાં
ટીવી ની પ્રતિભા
-છતાં
અમે
આજે
એને દાટીએ છીએ.
જહોન એસાલેસ
અનુવાદ- ઉત્પલ ભાયાણી
(જૂની ડાયરીમાં સંગ્રહીત)

આ કવિ કે ઓરિજીનલ કવિતા અંગે જેને જાણ હોય એમને અહીં રજૂ કરવા વિનંતી

Pablo Neruda

Granted one poet’s experience
with manual metaphysics
doesn’t make a poetics;
but I’ve pared my nails to the quick
to temper my craft
and these shabby prescriptions
I learned for myself, at first hand,
If you find them uncouth
for a poet’s vocation,
I agree – no apologies needed!
I smile toward the future
and I am gone before you can give me your reasons.
Pablo Neruda
( from one of my old diaries )

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આ કવિતામાં- યાનિસ કોન્ટોસ

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આ કવિતામાં

ગમે કે ન ગમે
તું આ લીલીછમ કવિતામાં ગોઠવાઈ જઈશ
અહીં હુંફ છે
થોડીક હરિયાળી, થોડુંક આકાશ,
થોડુંક સપનું તને મળી રહેશે.
કોઈ પણ રીતે છેવટે તો કવિતા કાચની છે
એટલે તું બહાર જોઈ શકશે.
મારો આટલો આગ્રહ
તને સમજાવો જ જોઈએ
સિવાય કે મારા નસીબનો ભાગ તને જોઈતો હોય
જોને અત્યારે પણ આ તને કહું છું ત્યારે
હું કયાંય નથી.
યાનિસ કોન્ટોસ

( જૂની ડાયરીમાંથી )

kontos_2

The distinguished poet and author Yannis Kontos passed away at the age of 71. In his 49-year career Kontos published numerous poetry collections, two books with prose writing and three children’s books.

Kontsos was born in Aegio in 1943 and after studies in finances he worked as an insurance agent. Between 1971 and 1976 though he operated the “Iniochos” bookstore with Thanasis Niarchos, where intellectuals and authors would meet during the dictatorship.

He published his first poems in 1965 and his first book in 1970. In 1973 he received a scholarship from the Ford Foundation. Later in his life he worked for newspapers and periodicals, including To Vima, in Greece and abroad.

A record collection of his poems set to music entitledApopira (“Attempt”) was released by composed Nikos Kallitsis in 1980, while in 1992 Kontos collaborated with painter Dimitris Mytaras, who illustrated the limited edition When a Drum is Heard Over the Citycollection.

In 1998 Kontos was honored with the State Poetry Award for his collection entitled Absurd Athelete and in 2009 the Athens Academy awarded him the Ourani Foundation Award for his poetry.

( from an obituary on Internet )

A Poem – Juan Ramon Jimenez

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you are all in yourself, sea and yet
How much of you is not you, how lonely,
And forever far from yourself!
Open in a thousand wounds, each instant,
Like my forehead,
Like my thoughts your waves come and go,
And come and go,
Kissing withdrawing, sea,
In an eternal friendship,
And estrangement
You are you and do not know it,
your heart beats and it does not feel it…..
What a fulfilment of solitude,lonely sea!
Juan Ramon Jimenez ( 1881-1958)

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Juan Ramón Jiménez (1881-1958) belonged to the group of writers who, in the wake of Spain’s loss of her colonies to the United States (1898), staged a literary revival.His early poetry was influenced by German Romanticism and French Symbolism. It is strongly visual and dominated by the colours yellow and green. His later style, decisive, formally ascetic, and dominated by white, emerges in the poetic prose of his delicate Platero y yo (Platero and I), 1914, and is fully developed in Diario de un poeta recién casado (Diary of a Newly-Wed Poet), 1917, written during a trip to the United States, as well as in Eternidades (Eternities), 1918, Piedra y cielo (Stone and Sky), 1919, Poesía (Poetry), 1923, and Belleza (Beauty), 1923. In the twenties, Ramón Jiménez became the acknowledged master of the new generation of poets. He was active as a critic as well as an editor of literary journals.Selections from most of his works were published in English translation in Selected Writings of Juan Ramón Jiménez and Three Hundred Poems, 1903-1953.He received Nobel prize in Literature in 1956.
[ from Nobelprize.org]

પાનખર

તારા માટેની
સાચવેલી ક્ષણો, સ્પંદનો, લાગણી
સંઘરું? વહેંચું?
અસમંજસમાં બેઠી છું!?
ગુલમ્હોર તો… સૂકી, પીળી પાંદડી ઝરતો
કૂંપળો સાથે ગોષ્ઠીમાં મગ્ન.
પારિજાત…કોમળ, મૃદુ પુષ્પોને
પરવા કર્યા વિના ખેરવતું.
બદામડી…બધાં જ સૂકા પાંદડા ખંખેરી
મુક્ત થઈ ખુદને શણગારે લીલી પાંદડીઓથી.
બધાં જ નિષ્ઠુર છે !?
શું હું ય તને ભૂલી જાઉં??
– નેહલ

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