Poems by Chaitali Chattopadhyay

Dearest
 
My autumn landed on your spring
and a pure mayhem ensued!
I could barely see those who tore off fresh twigs
in the pretense of gathering fallen leaves.
Neither could you fathom how the girl
on the street will sell her colours
and will suffer from anemia.
You were getting me a Murakami then,
and I was fixing a terrace filled with rhythm for you.
These days, you often play with colours,
and as soon as you dip your fingers,
you seek melody and the moon.
Grief comes over me.
Lying down, I put on some Simon and Garfunkel.
Together, my autumn and your spring are a total disaster!
At night, if the body is offered, irate eyes ask,
where is the heart?
I begin to lose, again.
 


Could have been a Love Poem
 
Eight AM and eight PM are not too different to me these days.
A bone-chilling wait has taught me how a caterpillar becomes a butterfly
for a patient Myna waiting for it!
The sky gets narrower;
a scorching sun lashes out in the air.
As long as a possessed mother holds on to her stillborn baby,
so long I mistake it as my escape route
and keep straying further.
The one who rubs shaving cream,
the one who puts up the mosquito net –
like water, replicas –
on those faces any fear can be floated today, I know!

#
It had only been a minute since I began to know you as my redemption.
Slowly as my sickness too, you began entering within me.
Right then
the door in between
was yanked down.
 
Great Artwork is Not for Women
A female poet sits spreading her legs
within her confines.
Liberation, international deals, nuclear politics
whiz by beyond that.
What’s on her mind? Does this potato curry need cumin?
Is it time for another round of dusting?
Shouldn’t she get in the office cab now?
The cab takes her to another, shinier, confine.
After finding her way through the male gaze by dozens,
she settles down like a good girl.
She works.
Makes a couple of mistakes here and there too.
After work,
she will carve out a little time,
and will try with all her might
to pour some moonlight on the mud.
And then, she will give up.

​
Translated by Bidisha Mukhopadhyay

One of the powerful and vocal Bengali poets of the 80s Chaitali Chattopadhyay has to her credit, more than a dozen publications, from various prestigious publishing houses of Bengal. She is a regular contributor in leading newspapers and magazines of Bengal. She was included in the ‘voices’ published by Penguin India. As an invited poet she has visited neighboring country Bangladesh quite a few times. She is the recipient of many prestigious literary awards including Vishnu dey award, Udaybharati national award from the ministry of HRD, Govt. of India, and Meerabai award by the Bangla Academy, Kolkata among others.

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