Sex Without Love

“How do they do it, the ones who make love
without love?” Getting into a priest’s position
or some monk or monkey’s position, they glide
like gliders, they skate in circles like skaters,
forward, backward, up, down, down, up
and move like machines in rhythmic motions
as if never coming to stop, till their faces are red,
like red wine their hearts are racing like
Indy 500 racing, their lungs are bursting,
huffing, puffing as if balloons are bursting. Like
at the instant of death dying, dying by coming,
coming, coming back to life, reborn, like born
again Christians coming to see their god. Why should
the love making be only in making love
to lovers? Why can one not make love
only for one’s own pleasure?

Don’t tell me lies

Don’t tell me lies:
You love me.
You can’t live
Now without me.

You pick up street women.
You pick up horny whores.
You’ve fucked your office girl.
You’ve fucked your secretary.

I have known all this.
And have never told you I loved you.
I’ve been with you for your money.
Now tell me how does it feel?

The Suicide's Song of Rainer Maria Rilke - A New English Rendering

Original in German:

Das Lied des Selbstmörders

Also noch einen Augenblick.
Daß sie mir immer wieder den Strick
zerschneiden.
Neulich war ich so gut bereit,
und es war schon ein wenig Ewigkeit
in meinen Eingeweiden.

Halten sie mir den Löffel her,
diesen löffel Leben.
Nein, ich will und ich will nicht mehr,
laßt mich mich übergeben.

Ich weiß, das Leben ist gar und gut,
und die Welt ist ein voller Topf,
aber mir geht es nicht ins Blut,
mir steigt es nur zu Kopf.

Andere nährt es, mich macht es krank;
begreift, daß man's verschmäht.
Mindestens ein Jahrtausend lang
brauch ich jetzt Diät.

~Rainer Maria Rilke
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The Suicide's Song

All right, just a moment.
That they always take the rope away from me
and cut it.
Lately I've been so prepared,
and there was already a little bit of eternity
in my guts.

Hold me the spoon here,
this spoon-fed life.
No, I want to and I don't want to anymore,
let me give in, throw up.

I know that life is whole and good,
and that the world is like a full dish,
but for me it doesn't get into my blood,
it just goes straight up to my head.

For others it's nourishment, me it just makes sick;
Understand, that one can despise it.
For at least a thousand years
I'll have to fast.

Translated by Cliff Crego
http://picture-poems.com/rilke/voices.html#The%20Idiot's%20Song
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In Hindi/Urdu:

Ek Hatya ka Gaana

Achha, ab ek pal ruko
Wo hamesha phansi ka rassa
Meray say door lay kar
kat detay hain.
Thora sa pehlay say main tayaar hooaa baitha hoon,
Aur meray andar ek thora sa
Hamesha zinda rehnay ka josh aayaa hai.

Yeh chamcha meray pass rakho
Is chamchay nay mujhay zinda rakha hai.
Nahin, mujhay is ki zaroorat hai aur zarorat nahin bhi hai
Mujhay jaanay do, isay phenk do.

Mujhay pata hai kay zindgi sab kuch hai aur achhi hai
Aur duneeya khanay ki bhari ek thhali hai,
Lakin yah meray khoonn main nahin basti,
Yeh mujhay ek dum pagal kiyay rehtee hai.

Doosron kay leeyay yeh khurak hai, meray leeyay bimari hai:
Samaj lo, koee es ko nafrat bhi kar sakta hai.
Kum say kum ek hazaar saal tak
Ab main koee khana na khaoon ga.

Translated from Cliff Crego's English translation.

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The Suicide Song - A New Englsih Version

OK, wait for a moment.
They cut and keep
The rope of hanging
Always away fro me.
I’ve been ready for long
I have no longings left for living.

Keep this spoon near me
It has kept me alive.
No, I don’t want it
And yet I want it.
Let me go now
Throw it away now.

I know life is everything
And it is good
And the world
Is a plate full of food.
But it doesn’t live in my blood.
It makes me mad all times.

It’s food for others
It’s sickness for me.
Consider this: one can hate
It too for a thousand years.
I’ll now partake no food.

Translated back into English from the Urdu/Hindi version.

A poem of Prathibha Nandakumar, and my poem

The Tigress

He is the animal trainer
makes even the fiercest of fierce animals
crawl, jump, stand on hind legs
just by the crack of his whip.

He puts his head between
the dangerous teeth of the tiger
pats his appreciation
waits in anticipation
of applause.

This tigress
that roamed the deep jungle,
terror of the forest,
now sits cross-legged in front of him.
Is she a tigress or what?

Someone once asked her about it.
She just smiled and brought out
her long sharp nails
hidden well under her paws
and scratched her head.

~Prathibha Nandakumar

***

she thought for a moment
and if further provoked,
could have clawed
his jugulars and devoured his
head deep down her gullet.

but it was love
she gave birth to the trainer.
it was love
she performed for the trainer.
she’s a tigress
but she lives for love.

~Ravi Kopra