Biography: Pankhuri Sinha
Bilingual young poetess and story writer from India. Two books of poems published in English, ‘Prison Talkies’ and ‘Dear Suzannah’. Two collections of stories published in Hindi, called ‘Koi-bhi-Din’ and ‘Kissa-e-Kohinoor’ with Gyanpeeth, one of the most prestigious publishing houses in Hindi, and two more coming soon. Five collections of poetries published in Hindi, and many more are lined up. Has been published in many journals, anthologies, home and abroad. Has won many prestigious, national-international awards, like the Girija Kumar Mathur Award for Hindi poetry while studying for her Bachelor’s in 1995, Chitra Kumar Shailesh Matiyani Award for her first collection of stories in 2007, Seemapuri Times Rajeev Gandhi Excellence Award in 2013 for outstanding writing, First prize for poetry by Rajasthan Patrika in 2017, Pratilipi Award for poetry in 2018, Mathura Prasad Gunjan Award for her second collection of poems in Hindi in 2019, Kumud Tikku Award for a story in Hindi in 2020. Her script for the UGC documentary ‘Cobra-God at Mercy’, won the best film award in 1997.
Her poems have been translated in over twenty two languages, and some translations have been published in magazines in Serbia, Romania, Spain, Czech republic, Macedonia, Peru, China, Bangladesh, Nepal, Italy, France, Venezuela, Tunisia to name a few. She has also published her original poems in English in magazines and anthologies in India, in the UK and the USA, Romania, and the world over. She has set up an international group of poets called ‘Poets Without Borders’ and regularly organizes theme based poetry readings.
She won the best correspondence prize for her short story in the first Chekhov literature festival, in Yalta, Crimea in 2019. She has received awards from Albania, Romania, Nigeria, Tunisia, among other countries for her writings in English, and won the special jury award in the Premio Besio International Poetry contest in Italy in January 2021. Most recently, she won the Galateo prize for poetry in mother tongue in Italy on 3rd June 2021, ‘Sahitto Excellence in Literature’ Award in Bangladesh on the 30th of April and 3rd prize for her poetry ‘Chekhov in my Heart’, in the category, geography of Chekhov’s places. She has been regularly participating in zoom reading events in the UK, India, and other places.
Her writing is dominated by themes of exile, immigration, gender equality and environmental concerns. After doing her BA from Delhi University, and PG diploma in Journalism, from Symbiosis Pune, Pankhuri did her Master’s in history from SUNY Buffalo, and has an unfinished Phd from the University of Calgary, Canada. She has worked in various positions as a journalist, lecturer and a content editor.
Uncommitted love
Like commitment would come later
Like it would be the next step
Just a decision to be made
No notarized papers
No rings, no gems in sight yet
Not even close
The single thing achieved
Is no parting notes
No leaving
After each meeting
But why meet on such terms
Just chasing a wild wind
Or that concept of western independence
That came to be realized
In the men of the second world
The most
Like trekking on a mountain
With bad curves…………….
Not calling it a relationship
Not calling it a relationship
Was worse than
Running away
Or just not facing things
But the bizarre act
Of texting
Right after a kiss
Texting good bye
In a flamboyant display
Of commitment issues
Like it was in vogue
Like it was
On the cover page of vogue
The bizarre act of leaving
And making up
Again
Through texting
Weirdly
Texting in between gyming
In between exercise
At home
Again
The surveillance question
From which he freed me
When I was with him
And so took me away
Again
The freedom he promised me
Each time
Became the confinement…………
Loosing the last ally
You too Brutas! Loosing the last ally!
The last friend
The last mentor
The last protector
The last person to think of
In war!
In battle field!
Loosing my way
On a totally unknown road
In a totally unknown land
Where I have waited for my papers
For a time so long
No one in this age does
No one of my age does
No one should have to
But Brutas! You too!
Took a stab!
Will I die, will I live
Was so much a question of somebody’s will
Collecting mandate
Of people against me
Daily
But the last one
Was a support
Suzannah!
You misread it
And died doing so
And so the fault lies with you
Loosing the last ally
Was painful
You too! Brutas!!!!
The beginning of the stealing
She remembered
The first stealing of her chocolate
Like she got the fingerprints of the guy
Like she was going to get the thief
The chocolates had been here
The day before
The chocolates had been taken
Very recently
She was going to trace the guy
Who had been so cleverly
Emptying her pockets
Rather
Who had so cleverly
Emptied her pockets
Emptied them
Of even the dimes and the pennies
In that great game, of speaking
In a free voice
Rather
In that great game
Of letting her speak
In a free voice
Bestowing that free voice
Upon her
Of course
Always stating
That some had it
Always
Regardless
Of anything
And everything
Its just
That they hardly spoke
Against power
And for the weak
Always studied
The familiar
Never ventured too far
Always curbed the paths of the own
And made the perfect coterie.
The timeless, ageless coterie.
The beginning of the stealing
She remembered
The first stealing of her chocolate
Like she got the fingerprints of the guy
Like she was going to get the thief
The chocolates had been here
The day before
The chocolates had been taken
Very recently
She was going to trace the guy
Who had been so cleverly
Emptying her pockets
Rather
Who had so cleverly
Emptied her pockets
Emptied them
Of even the dimes and the pennies
In that great game, of speaking
In a free voice
Rather
In that great game
Of letting her speak
In a free voice
Bestowing that free voice
Upon her
Of course
Always stating
That some had it
Always
Regardless
Of anything
And everything
Its just
That they hardly spoke
Against power
And for the weak
Always studied
The familiar
Never ventured too far
Always curbed the paths of the own
And made the perfect coterie.
The timeless, ageless coterie.
Why we name names?
Indeed, Why do we name names?
Why name names at all?
Not just in police reports
Not just in news reports
But in that lovely thing
Called fiction
Called story telling
Why do we keep names
Of people dear, we create
Nurture, embolden
Make them exist
Like living, breathing people
Allow them to act
Leave the scene
Yet, be with us
But the trouble was
About the kind of story
She had constructed
As if someone gave her a name
Merely, a name
And asked her to write a story
And she wrote the wrong one
For there were caveats about how the events took place
They revealed things about wishing
There were slow turns
About stands
About positions
About what had been said
What was being said
And lately
The trouble was, that somebody
Was totally
Constructing her life
Her story
In reality
In actuality
Not in a book of fiction
Not in a magazine
Not even in real life
But having totally taken over it
In the taken over life
Using her own words
Her kind of metaphors, expressions
Sometimes
Borrowing her entire sentences against her
But, again
Why do we name names?
The script about the temple dancers
The politics of picking your move
Is not exactly picking on every move
Just that limb of your face
A tissue probably
Not even a muscle
Which shook
As you spoke of the dances downstairs
Lovely indeed
You would even like to
Dress up as a dancer
Actually all of them
Except Kathakali
For that script
You are writing
Which talks a lot about Kathakali
And the temples
Of India
The script
You are holding
So close to your heart
As you go down
Come back up
Talk of dance, music, color
Celebration, happiness
In the middle of an invisible war
Unbearable pain
Your face twists
Twitches
As you smile
Pull off the day
Unbearable pain
Indeed
You can step out
They say
From it all.
Indeed.
“Ruscellante”, poesie, 2021, Volturnia Ed. Isernia Italia.
Il giorno dopo il tempo
Avevamo dimenticato i passi lenti
accanto al fiume tra i crochi
e i biancospini dimenticato l’acqua
la melodia delle api selvatiche.
E Il giallo del camion della posta
il rosso delle gru.
Ricordavamo a malapena le insegne
cubitali diverse e sempre uguali.
E oggi ci sorprende la sinfonia della città
le sue voci in dissonanza
armonica – sciolte in unico spartito
(e più non duole ai sensi)
Ritrovo il treno che trasporta il grano
sferraglia e stride negli ingorghi dei binari
mi riempie il naso d’infanzia
di campagna estiva.
E siamo questo. Siamo questo
Mondo. Siamo qui piantati nella Storia.
Particelle ignare d’infinito
navighiamo a vista in questa
geometria.
The Day after the Time
We had forgotten the slow steps
along the river among the crocuses
and the hawthorns, we forgot the water
the melody of the wild bees.
And the yellow of the mail truck
the red of the cranes.
We barely remembered the neon signs
different and always the same.
And today the symphony of the city surprises us
its voices in harmonic
dissonance – dissolved in a single score
(and the senses no longer ache)
I rediscover the train carrying the grain
by sight in this
clanging andscreeching in the traffic jam of tracks
it fills my nose with childhood
with summer countryside.
And we are this. We are this
World. We are here, planted in History.
Unaware particles of infinite
we navigate clanging and screeching in the traffic jam of tracks
it fills my nose with childhood
with summer countryside.
And we are this. We are this
World. We are here, planted in History.
Unaware particles of infinite
we navigate clanging and screeching in the traffic jam of tracks
it fills my nose with childhood
with summer countryside.
And we are this. We are this
World. We are here, planted in History.
Unaware particles of infinite
we navigate.
Poesia di Pankhuri Sinha, India
Traduzione Lucilla Trapazzo
Pankhuri Sinha è una poetessa e scrittrice di racconti di origine indiana. Con le sue poesie, tradotte in ventidue lingue, ha vinto numerosi prestigiosi premi nazionali e internazionali (i più recenti sono: il premio Galateo per poesia in lingua madre in Italia, il premio ‘Sahitto Excellence in Literature’ in Bangladesh e il terzo premio di poesia all’11° Autunno di Checkov in Crimea).
La sua scrittura è dedicata a temi di esilio, emigrazione, parità di genere e questioni ambientali. Ha pubblicato numerosi libri di poesie e racconti; due dei suoi libri sono stati pubblicati anche in inglese. Le sue opere sono state pubblicate in molte riviste e antologie, in tutto il mondo. Ha istituito un gruppo internazionale di poeti chiamato “Poets without Borders” e organizza regolarmente letture di poesia a tema.
Dopo aver conseguito la laurea presso l’Università di Delhi e il diploma PG in giornalismo presso la Symbiosis Pune, Pankhuri ha conseguito un Master in storia presso la SUNY Buffalo. Al momento studia per un dottorato di ricerca presso l’Università di Calgary, in Canada. Ha lavorato in varie posizioni come giornalista, docente e redattrice di riviste.
Di nuovo primavera
In attesa di esplodere in milioni di colori
primavera mi straripa dalle
scapole dalla punta delle dita!
Sgorgando dalla Madre Terra, il terreno
su cui muoviamo i passi si prepara a conquistare la città!
Me lo ha detto il vento ed è mutato in brezza
Un uccello nero dalle ali rosse
mi ha chiesto di mantenere il segreto!
Era di api il ronzio
e di farfalle migratorie il silenzio!
Per te i suoi narcisi
i tulipani canteranno
l’erba sboccerà di giallo e prima che
le pozze di fango si vestano di verde
guardiamo il cielo diventare chiaro,
rosseggiano gli alberi
vermiglio il colore si estende sui rami carnosi!
Immagino i pioppi
Lo spettacolo dell’acero, i candelabri del salice
Ditemi, o cari! Del giorno in cui il sole disciolse la neve!
Anche qui la primavera è.
Mi circonda!
Quanto conta che alcuni dei fiori siano importati?
Quanto è poi biologica la primavera?
È qui, è vera, spontanea, autentica
carichi di polline i fiori di mango dal profumo pungente
inondano l’aria ed i sensi!
Ma questo richiamo del cuculo dall’altro emisfero?
Mi chiedi: cosa c’è, mia cara?
Come posso dimenticare che volevo piantare dei meli?
Molte le cose che possiamo dimenticare
ma non il modo in cui fioriscono i ciliegi
le pere dondolano e come il sentiero porta dritto
a quella casa sul lago
che una volta era tua!
Spring again
(Pankhuri Sinha)
Waiting to burst into a million colours
Spring is jutting out of my
Shoulder blades and finger tips!
Oozing out of this mother earth, the ground
we walk on, its ready to take the town!
The wind told me and turned into breeze
Red winged black bird
Asked me to keep a secret!
The buzzing was of bees
And the silence of migrant butterflies !
Its daffodils for you
And tulips will sing
Grass will bloom yellow but before that
Muddy patch wears green
lets look up at the sky clearing ,
Trees blushing
Redness sweeping the fleshy branches!
I imagine the poplars
The maple show, the chandeliers of the willow
Tell me o dears ! Of the first day, the sun melted the snow!
There is spring here too
Surrounded am I !
Imported might be some flowers, but who cares
How organic is Spring ?
Its here and real, native, authentic
The pollen laden, tangy scented, mango blossoms
Filling the air and your senses!
But this cuckoo call from the other hemisphere?
You ask me, what is it dear?
How can I forget, I was just going to plant apple trees?
There are many things you can forget
But not the way, cherry blooms
Pears dangle and the path leads straight
To that house from the lake
That was once yours!