Hasan Koozagar by NM Rashid
Zafar
Angraizee tarjuma paish e Khidmat hai. nazm kaa Urdu matn yahaaN
mulaahiza kiyaa jaa saktaa hai,
http://www.eurdubazaar.com/images/nmrashid/g1.html. janaab Rahul ne jo
Roman matn paish kiyaa thaa, us meN chand KhaamiyaaN theeN, jinheN is
'aajiz ne (maqdoor bhar) durust kar liyaa hai.
HASAN KOOZGAR
[NM Rashid]
Jahanzad, neeche gali meiN tere dar ke aage
ye maiN soKhta-sar, Hasan koozagar hooN!
tujhe subh' baazaar meN booRhe attar Yusuf
ki dukkan par maiN ne dekha
to teri nigaahoN meiN wo taabnaaki
thi maiN jis ki hasrat meN no saal deewana phirta raha hoon
Jahanzad, no saal deewana phirta raha hoon!
ye wo daur tha jis maiN meN ne
kabhi apne ranjoor koozoN ki janab
palaT kar na dekha ...
wo kooze mere dast e chaabuk ke putle
gil o rang o rauGhan ki makhlooq e bejaaN
wo sargoshioN meiN ye kehte:
"Hasan koozagar ab kahaN hai?
wo ham se, khud apne 'amal se
Khudawand ban kar KhudaaoN ki manand hai roo e gardaaN!"
Jahanzad, no saal ka daur yooN mujh pe guzraa
ke jaise kisi shehr e madfoon par waqt guzre;
taGhaaroN meN miTTi
kabhi jis ki Khushboo se waarafta hota thaa maiN
sang-basta paRi thi
suraahi o meena o jaam o subu aur faanoos o guldaaN
meri hech-maaya ma'eeshat ke, izhaar e fan ke sahaare
shikasta paRe the
maiN Khud, maiN Hasan koozagar, paa-ba-gil, Khaak bar sar, barahna
sar e chaak zhauleeda-moo, sar ba zaanu
kisi Gham zada devta ki tarah waahma ke
gil o laa se KhaaboN ke sayyal kooze banata rahaa thaa
Jahanzad, no saal pehle
tu naadaN thi lekin tujhe ye Khabar thi
ke maiN ne, Hasan koozagar ne
teri qaaf ki si ufaq taab aankhoN
meiN dekhi hai wo taabnaaki
ke jis se mere jism o jaan, abr o mahtaab kee
rah guzar ban gaye the
Jahanzad, Baghad ki Khaab-gooN raat
wo raud e Dajla kaa saahil
wo kashti, wo mallaah ki band aankheN
kisi Khasta-jaaN, ranj bar kooza gar ke liye
aik hi raat wo kahrubaa thi
ke jis se abhi tak he paiwast us kaa wajood ...
us kaa paikar
magar aik hi raat kaa zauq darya ki wo lehr nikla
Hasan koozagar jis meN Dooba to ubhraa nahin hai!
Jahanzad, is daur meiN rauz, har rauz
wo sauKhta-baKht aa kar
mujhe dekhti chaak par paa-ba-gil, sar ba zaanu
to shaanoN se mujh ko hilaati ...
(wuhi chaak jo saal-haa-saal jeene ka tanhaa sahaara rahaa thaa!)
wo shaanoN se mujh ko hilaati:
"Hasan koozagar, haush meN aa
Hasan, apne weeran ghar par nazar kar
ye bachchoN ke tannoor kyonkar bhareN ge
Hasan, aye muhabbat ke mare
muhabbat ameeroN ki baazi
Hasan apne deewar o dar par nazar kar"
mere kaan meiN ye nawa e hazeeN yooN thi jaise
kisi Doobte shaKhs ko zer e gardaab koi pukaare!
wo askhoN ke anbaar phooloN ke anbaar the haaN
magar maiN, Hasan koozagar, shehr e auhaam ke un
KharaaboN kaa majzoob thaa jin
meN koi sadaa, koi junbish
kisi murGh e parraaN kaa saaya
kisi zindagi kaa nishaaN tak nahiN thaa!
Jahanzad, maiN aaj teri gali maiN
yahaaN raat ki sard-gooN teergi meN
tere dar ke aage khaRa hooN
sar o moo pareshaan
dareeche se wo qaaf ki si tilismi nigaahaiN
mujhe aaj phir jhaankti haiN
zamaana, Jahanzad, wo chaak he jis pe meena o jaam o subu aur faanoos o
guldaan
ke maanand bante bigaRte hain insaaN
maiN insaaN hooN lekin
ye no saal jo Gham ke qaalab meN guzre!
Hasan kooza gar aaj ik tauda e kaak hai jis
meN nam ka asar tak nahiN he
Jahanzad, baazaar meiN subh' 'attar Yusuf
ki dukkan par teri aankheN
phir ik baar kuchh keh gayi haiN
un aankhoN ki taabinda shauKhi
se uTThi he phir tauda e khaak meiN nam ki halki si larzish
yehi shaayad is khaak ko gil banaa de!
tamanna ki wus'at ki kis ko Khabar he, Jahanzad, lekin
tu chaahe to ban jaooN maiN phir
wuhi kooza-gar jis ke kooze
the har kaaKh o ku aur har shehr o qariya ki naazish
the jin se ameer o gada ke masaakin daraKhshaaN
tamanna ki wus'at ki kis ko Khabar he, Jahanzad, lekin
tu chahe to maiN phir palaT jaooN un apne mehjoor koozoN ki jaanib
gil o laa ke sookhe taGhaaroN ki jaanib
ma'eeshat ke izhaar e fan ke sahaaroN ki jaanib
ke maiN us gil o laa se, us rang o roGhan
se phir wo sharaare nikaalooN k jin se
diloN ke Kharaabe hoN roshan!
===================================
HASSAN, THE POTER
[Frances Pritchett]
Jahanzad, down in the street before your door
Here I am, burnt-out Hasan the Potter
This morning in the bazaar when I saw you
At old Yusuf the perfumer's shop
In you glance was that brilliance
I've longed for, wandering nine years in madness
During that time
I never looked back
At my ailing pots -
Pots formed by my deft hands,
Lifeless creatures of clay, color, oilglaze
They whispered:
"Where is Hasan the Potter now?
He left us, his own creations
He created us, then turned away like the gods!"
Jahanzad, nine years passed for me
As time would pass in a buried city;
Clay in the clay-vats
Whtih its fragrance that used to ravish me
Lay stone-hard
Flaong a flask, jug and cup, candlestick, vase
Props of my trivial life, of my art
Lay broken
I myself, Hasan the Potter, mud-mired, dusty-haired, naked
Besied my wheel, hair disheveled, head on knees
Like some grieving demigod, from fantasized
Clay-and-nothing I molded pliant pots out of dreams.
Jahanzad, nine years ago
You were a child, but you knew
That I, Hasan the Potter
Had seen in your talisman eyes, you sky-warming eyes
Brilliance
Which made my body and sould an open road
For cloud and moon
Janhanzad, the dream-colored Baghdad night
That bank of River Tigris
That boat, the boatman's closed eyes
For a worn-out, grief-burdened potter
One night was the charged amber
His static being clings to, even now.
His soul, his shape
But that night's flavor was a river-wave in which
Hasan the Potter sank and has not come up.
Jahanzad, in those days, day after day
That ill-starred woman came
When she saw me by the wheel, mud-mired, head on knees
She shook me by the shoulders -
(that wheel which had been, year after year, my life sole prop!)
she shook me by the shoulders:
"Hasan, look at you desolate house
how will the children's hollow stomachs be filled?
Love-struck Hasan
Love is a rich man's game
Hasan, look around at your house!"
In my ears this mournful voice was like
A call to a drowning man in whirlpool.
Those heaps of tears were flower-beds, no doubt
But I, Hasan the Potter, lived among ruins
In a fantasy-city where not
A voice, a movement
A flying bird's shadow
Not a trace of my life existed.
Jahanzad, here now in you street
Her in the cold-colored darkness of night
I stand before you door
Head and hair disordered
>From the window those spell-drowned talisman eyes
Flance at me once again
Time, Jahanzad, it the wheel aon which like flagon and flask, cup,
candlestick, vase
Humans are made and unmade
I am a human but
Those nine years that passed in the mold of grief!
Hasan the Potter is now a dust-mound without
Even a hint of moisture.
Jahanzad, this morning in the bazaar
At Yusuf the Perfumer's shop, your eyes
Spoke once again
Their brilliant mischief
Calls forth again in the dust-mound a quiver of wetness
Perhaps to turn the dust to clay
Who knows the scope of longing, Jahanzad, but
If you want, I go back to being
That potter whose pots
Were the pride of every house and street, city and town
Whose pot shone in the homes of rich and poor
Who knows the scope of longing, Jahanzad, but
If you want, I will go back to my forsaken pots
To the dried-out vats of clay-and-nothing
To the props of my life, my art
So from this clay-and-nothing, color and oil glaze, I
Can again strike sparks
That light up the ruins of hearts.
Afzal A. Khan
Zafar wrote:
>
> NM Rashid kee mash'hoor nazm Hasan Koozagar, Part 1, aur us kaa
> Angraizee tarjuma paish e Khidmat hai. nazm kaa Urdu matn yahaaN
> mulaahiza kiyaa jaa saktaa hai,
> http://www.eurdubazaar.com/images/nmrashid/g1.html. janaab Rahul ne jo
> Roman matn paish kiyaa thaa, us meN chand KhaamiyaaN theeN, jinheN is
> 'aajiz ne (maqdoor bhar) durust kar liyaa hai.
>
> HASAN KOOZGAR
> [NM Rashid]
> ===================================
>
> HASSAN, THE POTER
> [Frances Pritchett]
Many thanks, Zafar Saheb.
In the title of the English translation, it should be
"The Potter".
Afzal
raahul
First I want to post something by Meeraji-one of my favorites.
simaT kar kis liye nuqta nahi banti zameeN? kah do
ye phaila aasmaaN uss waqt kyuN dil ko lubhata tha?
har ik simt ab anokhe log haiN aur unn ki baateN haiN
koyi dil se phisal jaati, koi seene men chubh jaati
inhiN baatoN ki lahroN par baha jata hai ye bajra!
jisse saahil nahiN milta
maiN jiss ke saamne aaooN mujhe laazim hai halki muskaraahaT meN kaheN ye
hoNT
"tum ko jaanta hooN"
dil kahe "kab jaanta hooN maiN?"
inhi lahroN pe bahta hooN mujhe saahil nahi milta.
simaT kar kis liye nuqta nahi banti zameeN, kah do!
wo kaisi muskaraahaT thi, bahan ki muskaraahaT thi, mera bhai bhi hansta
tha
wo hansta tha, bahan hansti hai, apne dil meN kahti hai
ye kaisi baat bhai ne kahi, dekho wo ammaN, aur abba ko hansi aayi
magar yuN waqt bahta hai tamaasha ban gaya saahil
simaT kar kis liye nuqta nahiN banti zameeN kah do!
ye kaisa pher hai, taqdeer ka ye pher to shaayad nahi, lekin
ye phaila aasmaaN uss waqt kyuN dil ko lubhaata tha?
hayaat-e-mukHtasir sab ki bahi jaati hai aur maiN bhi
har ik ko dekhta hooN, muskaraata hai ke hansta hai
koi hansta nazar aaye, koi rota nazar aaye
maiN sab ko dekhta hooN dekh kar kHaamosh rahta hooN
mujhe saahil nahi milta
And then, I want to ask a question; Who are the other urdu poets in the
tradition of N.M. Rashid and Meeraji?
Black Wind
effectively captures a forgotten time and brings out live caricature
of a
traumatized mind. Unfortunately it also leaves us a little confused due
to
its flawed sequential narrative. The back and forth switch in time and
cryptic clues left to decipher reason for the koozaGar's zombie like
trance
for nine years and hope for his redemption is a little confusing.
Apparently infatuation turned a simple potter into a zombie yet the
object
of that infatuation seems to have been in close proximity( "tu naadaan
thi
lekin..., sahaanoN se mujhe hilaati, "Hasan koozaGar hosh meN aa..")
and her
concern for him obviously clouds reason for his present state.
Finally the question or rather the statement "Tu chahe to maiN phir..."
seems to have been directed at no particular person, as obviously it is
unlikely that anyone would want it any other way. So we end up guessing
if
the poem has tragic ending!
Aadaab arz hai
A.Kala