Dr. Rati Saxena (India)

Dr. Rati Saxena (India)
Dr. Rati Saxena is a Poet, Translator, and Editor. She is a student of culture, history and ancient literature, and philosophy by passion. Thus her soul is wandering in these different directions. Being a student of Vedic studies in honours and Masters, having done PhD on a subject related to Atharvaveda, she has worked more in restudy of ancient literature. In this direction, her work under Indira Gandhi Fellowship is – “The seed of mind – A fresh approach to Atharvaveda” study along many articles for journals. She has six collections of poetry in Hindi and four in English (translated or rewritten). She has translated fifteen books mostly from Malayalam to Hindi, and five poetry books (International poets) from English to Hindi. Being a natural traveler, she has two travelogues in her credit. She has also written a Memoire- “Everything is past tense” about Ayyappa Paniker’s poetic journey and one book of criticism on Balamanyaama’s poetry. Her book on poetry therapy came out with Hawakal publications, – A fist which opens, a poetry therapy from distant past to present future.
Her poetry books have been translated into many international languages like Italian, Irish, Vietnamese, Spanish, Estonian, Serbian, English and Turkey languages by international poets. She has been invited to more than 30 poetry festivals. She has been in three residencies in Germany and China. Member of the journal’s editorial board Multilingual Journal of Literature and Opto-Art “WürZarT,”2. She is a member of an international scientific board, experience in musical and literary fields (http://www.squilibri.it). Her poem was also part of a space mission by Jaxa, Japan, along with 24 other poems.
She is not a big award catcher, still a few came to her automatically -Fellowship by Indira Gandhi National Centre for Arts in 2004-5, Sahitya Akademi Award for Translation 2000, State Bank of Travancore Award for poetry 2001, Naji Naaman’s Literary Prizes (International) for complete work 2016, DJS Translation award for Chinese poetry (DJS is the acronym in Chinese for (Emily) Dickinson, the American woman poet) 2018, and best poet of the year by Rajasthan Patrika Award biggest in the country for signal poem.
I discover my feet
How strange
to have discovered my feet
only after walking
almost halfway to you!
And, now, on the road to red lotuses
where my heels once traipsed
there are blossoms between my toes
red flowers of fortune!
I love my feet
as if they had faces
O don’t stroke me
with your fingertips, friend,
O nails, please!
don’t bite me
you who sent me henna
to adorn my feet
I draw flowers on them
for you
nascent spring already here
the sun shining
stripping off his sweater, my love!
Shishir is the wintry time of ice
falling from the heavens
greeshm is the green shimmering heat
on my shoulders
and I am ready to travel
to start by stretching fingertip to toe
The poet is a waterfall
Didn’t I tell you so?
A poet is a waterfall
not a lion
Then why are you terrified of me?
The waterfall doesn’t destroy dams
the waterfall doesn’t drown the cities
The waterfall brings to the cities
the saga of the forests
It reminds the cities of those sounds
which their ears have long forgotten to listen
those melodies which were onerous to listen
the dark shadows spun in the light
the stories of beings who are entitled to the earth
I had indeed told so
A poet is not a lion
that would drink from the forest dwellers’
share of water, and become a possessor
of its own people
a poet is just a waterfall
Didn’t I tell you so?
The waterfall just calls out
and the jungle gets together
even the city comes running
the waterfall gives up its life
by merging into the river
which you throw your dirt in
The poet is just a waterfall
So why is the establishment terrified?
Why is the river silenced
The bars of the prison
can’t keep the waterfall
the wet cold floor
doesn’t free the body
but the voice of the poet
the poet is just a waterfall
my voice will reach
the womb of the earth
then it will sprout like a plant
no matter how long you put me behind bars
my voice will spread
far and wide
(Translated by Shelly Bhoil from Hindi)
The mother of the creator
That woman, who is mixing dirt with dung,
got created from prancing raindrops on the simmering earth.
Shaping dung-mixture between her palms,
She is made of sunshine that emerges from the side of rain.
The woman, who’s carving the dung cakes, is original
and the artist who created the world is her child
(Translated by Sushama Naithani)

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