Translating Sylvia Plath

Sylvia Plath (1932-1963)

Ab ke bichhde to shayad kabhi khwabon mein mile,
Jis tarah tale hue cockroach Jaldiram’s namkeen mein mile.

(If we parted this time, we would probably find each other in dreams,
The way fried cockroaches are found in Jaldiram’s namkeen.)

Obviously, the above parody is not composed by Sylvia Plath. She certainly never tasted Jaldiram’s snacks. I am the one who gorges on export-quality (read expired-quality) packet after packet of bhujia and navrattan mix. I just thought of putting some original stuff before writing about the translation.


Last week, a very handsome friend asked me if I had the time to translate a few poems by Sylvia Plath. I don’t know what substance I was high on that day that I said yes. Maybe, I had had an extra helping of tea.

Later, when he sent me the poems titled, “Love Letter,” “Mary’s Song,” “Childless Woman,” “Mad Girl’s Love Song,” and “Lyonnesse,” I started sweating hot and cold. I thanked God for not sending me into this world as a Raghuvanshi, a family whose members are known for giving up their lives before breaking any promises.

My first instinct on reading the poems sent by the friend was to wonder if he really wanted me to translate these for the benefit of Hindi literature or he was just flirting with me. I told him that if someone sent such a "Love Letter" to his beloved, the latter would try to get rid of the former. He agreed, saying that the latter would run away even before reading the whole poem.

As for me, I never flirt with anyone. I just fall head over heels in love. Right now I am in love with you, the reader, and am sending you my flying kisses. My love is 24-carat pure and genuine like a grandma’s love.

A few days later when my anxiety subsided, I started reading about Sylvia Plath and her poems to get into the groove. I decided to translate the easiest poem, “Mad Girl’s Love Song.” Despite being diametrically opposite personalities, Sylvia Plath and I do share some similarities. Both of us are great poets and writers. She won a Pulitzer Prize. I won a BlogAdda Newbie Award. Yeah, and I also won a word scrabble game at a recent baby shower. This is why my friend might have thought that I was the perfect candidate to translate Plath’s work.

While reading the poems, I was overwhelmed by gloom. For no apparent reason, I felt emotionally distressed. Unexplained anxiety took over me, and I started mulling over the miseries of life a la Gautam Buddha. Why do I have to shower daily? Why doesn't my hair settle the way I want? Why does my nail polish chip away so quickly? Such existential questions began troubling me. I was so depressed that I stalked all the men in my friend list on Facebook, and spied on their female friends too. This went on for two days before I realized that I had been suffering from PMS.

Then I tried to concentrate on the poem and experienced the heights of ecstasies and the depths of agonies that Plath must have felt, as if her soul had entered my body. Parsing her poetry was like an aag ka dariya and I had to doob ke jao in it, meaning I had to cross a river of fire by drowning in it. In this way, I completed the following translation.

Jokes apart, I totally enjoyed the literary immersion while translating this poem. I want to thank Kishore Chaudhary for bringing up the poems. And all of you thought I only wrote about imaginary friends. Here is the translation, which I have also posted on the Hindi blog. Those who find Hindi difficult, please enjoy the original poem.

Mad Girl's Love Song

I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;

I lift my lids and all is born again.

(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,

And arbitrary blackness gallops in:

I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed

And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.

(I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:

Exit seraphim and Satan's men:

I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you'd return the way you said,

But I grow old and I forget your name.

(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;

At least when spring comes they roar back again.

I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

(I think I made you up inside my head.)

पागल लड़की का प्रेमगीत

नयनों को जब भी मूँद लूं, दुनिया हो जाती खत्म तभी;

पलकों को उठाऊँ हौले से, सब कुछ हो जाता पुन: जीवित.

(तुम्हे गढ़ा है अपने इस अंतर्मन में शायद मैंने ही.)

तारे चले नृत्यमग्न होकर लाल और आसमानी,

चला आता है मनमाना अन्धकार भर कर गुलाटी:

नयनों को जब भी मूँद लूं दुनिया हो जाती खत्म तभी.

स्वप्न में मुझे ले गए थे तुम शैय्या पर कर मोहित

गाकर मुझे मदमस्त किया, किया पागल बरसाकर प्रीत.

(तुम्हे गढ़ा है अपने इस अंतर्मन में शायद मैंने ही.)

इश्वर सत्ताहीन हुआ, नर्क की आग भी बुझ सी गयी:

देवदूत और दानव हुए निष्काषित:

नयनों को जब भी मूँद लूं, दुनिया हो जाती खत्म तभी.

विश्वास किया तुम पर कि लौटोगे मेरी देहरी

पर उम्र हो गयी मेरी, तुम्हारा नाम भी मैं भूली.

(तुम्हे गढ़ा है अपने इस अंतर्मन में शायद मैंने ही.)

अच्छा होता एक पपीहे से लगन लगाई होती;

कम से कम बसंत के आने पर चहक सुनाई देती.

नयनों को जब भी मूँद लूं, दुनिया हो जाती खत्म तभी.

(तुम्हे गढ़ा है अपने इस अंतर्मन में शायद मैंने ही.)