Sushama I don't think so my friend, Artaud makes a plea full of common sense, this text is taken from "La Révolution Surréaliste n°3, 1925." history: Much has been said about Antonin Artaud's joining the surrealist movement, even more about the disagreements that caused the break. No one has ever really tried to analyze the reasons which made this separated man participate, isolated in himself ("I can say, I, really, that I am not in the world, and this is not a simple attitude of mind.”), to the activities of a group. No doubt a certain attraction to the marvelous brought him closer to André Breton, the systematic research of the surrealists in the domain of the unconscious seemed to him close to that which he practiced so cruelly on himself; nor is it impossible that he glimpsed a hope of resolution to this difference which was his, in the fact of incorporating himself into a group which did not want to be only literary and artistic but claimed to act in life and about life. The fact remains that Antonin Artaud participated so closely in this movement that the direction of the “Centrale du bureau de recherche surréalistes” was entrusted to him for a time, like that of number 3 of La Révolution surréaliste, to which he imprinted his violence. From this period date a certain number of short texts, more closed in on themselves, sorts of prose poems, which together constitute L'Art et la Mort (Paris, 1929). To surrealism can be attached his film scripts and some theoretical articles about cinema. Only one of these scenarios, La Coquille et le Clergyman, was produced in 1927 by Germaine Dulac.

 Wearing a robe of light

when the night is raining stars

comes the star child up in the sky.

A little speck of light, a foetus kicking in the mother's womb,

it gathers limbs and grows

into a magnificent cluster of life.

A tide of milky glow makes a way

for the child to walk and run

across the shining, shimmering firmament.

From The Path Of Broken Roses. Courtesy Rebeca Barcenas

 - I give myself to you as poetry, knowing that in you my days I want to spend, because I trust that is the reason for the smile of your soul. I want to be an extensive poem in your story, a poem that only you hear in the mornings, that only you feel in the afternoons, and that only you hug at nights. I want to be the light that your eyes reflect, the melody that composes your voice and the spell that your lips provoke me. I want to belong to you without more, provoking the desire to never stop being. I want to be what you long for most after dusk.

मैं वह प्रकाश बनना चाहता हूं जिसे तुम्हारी आंखें प्रतिबिम्बित करती हैं, वह माधुर्य जो तुम्हारी आवाज बनाता है और वह मंत्र जो तुम्हारे होंठ मुझे उत्तेजित करते हैं। मैं और अधिक के बिना आपका होना चाहता हूं, कभी न रुकने की इच्छा को भड़काता हूं। मैं वह बनना चाहता हूं जो आप शाम के बाद सबसे ज्यादा चाहते हैं।

 The Candle In Her Eyes

The eyes, burning calm on the midnight of lamps,

disembarked from the flow, behold the night unveil

like a candle in the wind,

defiant,

caught in the backwaters of the familiar sea,

something hit the waters without a wave or a ripple.

The candle in her eyes burnt steady.

Sushama Karnik

 Dainty, crisp and witty, the woman

stares at the crystal green,

the window half closing and half revealing

what was aimed and what was gained.

A body still supple and lean and a mind still scintillating.

The stars and the sky are best revealed

when watched from a window, crystal green.

Sushama Karnik.

Thanks for the image Karine Kergroac'h

Billede: Charles Sprague Pearce - Archetron, The Free Social Encyclopedia

 Some days are there when nothing works

Despite the meticulous planning

an unforeseen error has to happen!

The youngest sibling had volunteered

to see through it all and dreamt of a perfect time out

by the sea and everything was taken care of.

What went wrong? Something missing?

The sisters wait patiently and

let her work it out. "Patience", they seem to say.

But the suspense is writ large on their faces.

I can understand the panic in the sibling's heart.

A moment of Deja vu for me.

I was there some day and seen it all.

Sushama Karnik.

Image charles sprague pearce: solitude

Billede: Charles Sprague Pearce - Archetron, The Free Social Encyclopedia

 कितनी दूरियों से कितनी बार

कितनी डगमग नावों में बैठ कर

मैं तुम्हारी ओर आया हूँ

ओ मेरी छोटी-सी ज्योति!

कभी कुहासे में तुम्हें न देखता भी

पर कुहासे की ही छोटी-सी रुपहली झलमल में

पहचानता हुआ तुम्हारा ही प्रभा-मंडल।

कितनी बार मैं,

धीर, आश्वस्त, अक्लांत—

ओ मेरे अनबुझे सत्य! कितनी बार...

और कितनी बार कितने जगमग जहाज़

मुझे खींच कर ले गये हैं कितनी दूर

किन पराए देशों की बेदर्द हवाओं में

जहाँ नंगे अंधेरों को

और भी उघाड़ता रहता है

एक नंगा, तीखा, निर्मम प्रकाश—

जिसमें कोई प्रभा-मंडल नहीं बनते

केवल चौंधियाते हैं तथ्य, तथ्य—तथ्य—

सत्य नहीं, अंतहीन सच्चाइयाँ...

कितनी बार मुझे

खिन्न, विकल, संत्रस्त—

कितनी बार!

How often having covered distances,

in derelict boats

have I travelled to come to you,

There were times when the fog hid you from my view

but within the fog was a shimmering light,

a light that did not dim,

and in that light I would know the aura that was only you.

How often, I, steady, assured, never tired,

O my light, my truth that would never be put out;

And how often, how many tall ships, dazzling me with their lights

lured me far away to the inclement climates of foreign lands

the naked darkness of which was all the more exposed by

a naked, hurting, alien light,

a light that had no place for auras,

a light which displayed only blinding facts,

facts, facts, and nothing but facts, but never the truth!

Never the truth, only endless realities

which dazzled me , o so often!

And made me sad, distraught, restless...

O how often!