An afternoon at the Little Magazine Archive, Kolkata
TBR's Managing Editor, Maitreyee Chowdhury, takes a trip to the Kolkata Little Magazine Archive in Tamer Lane, in the college Street area. She returned with a treasure trove worth of stories and anecdotes.
Every month, The Bangalore Review recommends a reading list, also mentioning in brief why each book must be read. This month’s list has been compiled by Urdu Novelist and Sahitya Akademi Award winner, Rahman Abbas.
3 Poems by Monibhushan Bhattacharya in Translation
Monibhushan Bhattacharya was a major poet who transformed the language of Bengali poetry in the late 1960s and early 1970s. His poems were published in famous literary journals including the Buddhadeb Basu edited Kabita, Porichoy, Chaturanga and Purbasha.
I’m tempted to allow the whole bright clamor of them; after all, they survived this weather. But even the garden is on lockdown, and there are too many for one pod. There’s only so much water to go around. Wrong place, wrong time, summer’s children.
At 1:30 in the morning, Morgan wakes, rises from the bed, and pads over to the master bath for his nightly pee. After his stiff legs and an aching back––both from handling the luggage back at the airport, no doubt––ferry him back to bed, he lies down and listens for the tank to fill up.
I remember how invigorated I felt during my first time reaching into that bag. Closing my eyes, I desperately swirled my hand around to try and feel its contents, pulling out a kaleidoscope. Peering into the hole, I shook it around some and looked back in. Colorful shards rearranged themselves into a new collage—magenta and royal blue. Lime green and canary yellow.
Anyway, they form a scooby-doo-esque gang of lovable misfits
And solve the mystery of why I keep waking up unsure of who I am
And why its so hard to explain what that means
Entering your life from the outside can be a jarring experience
Kate tells herself that today she is driving to find the quiet, to get out of town and let the houses and little feed shops and hardware stores thin and thin and thin until there are just the low-slung fences and the uncut grass, little farmhouses up on the sloping hills surrounded by leaning trees and rare shade.
Her eyes traveled over to Ezra to see if would go check on her, but he only smiled, pleased again at his discovery of this place. They were only a few inches apart in height, though Ezra was a tall man, and his slenderness made her feel too big for any space they were in together, even one this large and otherwise unwieldy.
The yard you plotted then planted has come back
wilder, the way seeming winterkill comes back wilder
for its next life. So you think, pruning-time! — when,
with a looming shadow and a gust of backwash,
the ponderous bird alights, the porch rail trembles with its weight.
a man must lean on his liquor
getting through the prayer line
walking fields with all colors
flaring soft or fired with hard light
the walnut shell his face is
the tan smeared greasy eyes
a mature man out of time
Son of Esarg
the axe-thrower, smelting and pin-lining coasts
with bronze whirls, smoothed by Macha’s shawl.
Forger of tools, lately found half-sunk in peat
in a depthless bog, with his elbow crooked upward. The gases
preserved his jacket, the raised sinew
on his small finger, and the blazoned buckle he himself fashioned.