Nivant
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| | Tuesday, September 28, 2004 - 1:09 am: | 
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Arun Kolhatkaranchi kavita kunakade ahe ka?
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Sunilt
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| | Tuesday, September 28, 2004 - 3:46 am: |
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maaJyaamato %yaancao AaDnaava kÜlhTkr nasaUna kÜlaTkr Aaho.
Aqaa-t kÜNaakDo %yaancyaa kivata Asalyaa tr malahI hvyaaca Aahot...
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Nivant
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| | Tuesday, September 28, 2004 - 3:58 pm: |
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Sunilt,
Barobar, te kolatkar have hote.
kshamasv
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AÉNa kÜlaTkranaI [nga`jaI va marazIt kivata ilaihlyaa .jaojaurI naavaacaa %yaancaa kivatasanga`h Aaho.
maI svata %yaanaa maÜza vagaOro saÜDa pNa kvaI sauwa maanaayalaa tyaar naahI. maharaYT/at 150to 200 laÜkaMcyaa
var %yaanaa kvaI maanaNaaro laÜk nasaavaot.pNa navasaaih%yaatIla kmpUXaahImaQyao yaanao %yaacaI paz KajavaayacaI
va badlyaat %yaanao yaacaI KajavaayacaI va dÜGaaMcyaa p`isawIcaI saÜya krayacaI Asaa p`kar Aaho.30 35
vaYaa-pUvaI- AXaI ek TÜLIca marazIt yao}na gaolaI kovaL maaQyama jagatat yaaMcaI ima~manDLI psarlaolaI
Aahot mhNaUna yaaMcaI dKla GaotlaI gaolaI
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kmpUXahI vagaOro izk Aho pNa malaa mauLat vaaTt ik kÜlaTkrancyaa [nga`jaI kivata AiQak caangalyaa Ahot
maraizpoxaa. Aqaa-t Ê ho vyai>gat mat . ja,ojauir maQalyaa kih kivata [qao TaktÜ .
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Nivant
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| | Saturday, October 09, 2004 - 4:44 pm: |
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Arun Kolatkaranche kharetar mi naav dekhil eikale navate. Atta te gelyavar tyanche khup kautuk vachale -- mhanun ha BB ughadala.
Ashutosh, kavita taaK -- baghu ya kasha vaTatat te..Dhanyavaad.
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Sanket
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| | Thursday, October 28, 2004 - 1:22 pm: |
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malaasauwa vaacaayacyaa Aahot %yaaMcyaa kivata. Da^. yao} Va ²
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Rajanishj
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| | Thursday, December 02, 2004 - 12:00 pm: |
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AADI
KOSALA MI VACHALI AAHE. GREAT.
MARATHIMADHE AASE BOOK PUNHA KADHI YEIL
TE SANGTA YET NAHI.
NEMADENCHI HINDU KADAMBARI KADHI YENAR TE PAHAYACHE.
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Sunilt
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| | Friday, December 03, 2004 - 5:08 am: |
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rjanaIXaÊ naomaaDoMcyaa saaih%yaacaI cacaa- kÜlaTkrancyaa BB var kXaalaaÆ kÜsalaakaraMcaa vaogaLa BB Aaho naa.
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Rajanishj
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| | Wednesday, December 08, 2004 - 1:35 pm: |
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sunilt
sorry.
gadbad zali
o k
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Bee
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| | Monday, October 10, 2005 - 9:08 am: |
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[qao AÉNa kÜlaaTkraMcaa nausata baIbaI Aaho pNa kuNaIhI kivata maa~ ilaihlyaa naahIt. Aaho kuNaI laxaat
GaoNaaroÆ
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Bee
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| | Monday, October 10, 2005 - 9:21 am: |
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maI [qao kahI URLs dotÜ Aaho. KUp Cana gaV maaihtI vaacaayalaa imaLola.
http://www.hindu.com/lr/2004/09/05/stories/2004090500230300.htm
http://locana.blogspot.com/2004/09/arun-kolatkar.html
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Butter fly
There is no story behind it.
It is split like a second.
It hinges around itself.
It has no future
It is pinned down to no past.
It's a pun on the present.
It's a little yellow butterfly.
It has taken these wretched hills
Under its wings.
Just a pinch of yellow,
It opens before it closes
and it closes before it opens.
where is it?
-- Arun Kolatkar
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A Scratch
what is god and what is stone
the dividing line if it exists is very thin at jejuri
and every other stone is god or his cousin
there is no crop other than god and god is harvested here
around the year and around the clock
out of the bad earth and the hard rock
that giant hunk of rock the size of a bedroom
is khandoba's wife turned to stone
the crack that runs right across is the scar
from his broadsword he struck her down with once
in a fit of rage
scratch a rock
and a legend springs
---- Arun kolatkar from 'Jejuri'
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maO BaaBaIkÜ baÜlaa
@yaa Baasaabako D\yauTIpo maO Aajaa]Ð Æ
BaDk gayaI saalaI.
rhmaana baÜlaa gaÜlaI calaa]Mgaa.
maO baÜlaa [k rMDIko vaastoÆ
calaava gaÜlaI gaaMDU....
AÉNa kÜlaTkr
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Yeshwant Rao
Are you looking for a god?
I know a good one.
His name is Yeshwant Rao
and he's one of the best.
look him up
when you are in Jejuri next.
Of course he's only a second class god
and his place is just outside the main temple.
Outside even of the outer wall.
As if he belonged
among the tradesmen and the lepers.
I've known gods
prettier faced
or straighter laced.
Gods who soak you for your gold.
Gods who soak you for your soul.
Gods who make you walk
on a bed of burning coal.
Gods who put a child inside your wife.
Or a knife inside your enemy.
Gods who tell you how to live your life,
double your money
or triple your land holdings.
Gods who can barely suppress a smile
as you crawl a mile for them.
Gods who will see you drown
if you won't buy them a new crown.
And although I'm sure they're all to be praised,
they're either too symmetrical
or too theatrical for my taste.
Yeshwant Rao,
mass of basalt,
bright as any post box,
the shape of protoplasm
or king size lava pie
thrown against the wall,
without an arm, a leg
or even a single head.
Yeshwant Rao.
He's the god you've got to meet.
If you're short of a limb,
Yeshwant Rao will lend you a hand
and get you back on your feet.
Yeshwant Rao
Does nothing spectacular.
He doesn't promise you the earth
Or book your seat on the next rocket to heaven.
But if any bones are broken,
you know he'll mend them.
He'll make you whole in your body
and hope your spirit will look after itself.
He is merely a kind of a bone-setter.
The only thing is,
as he himself has no heads, hands and feet,
he happens to understand you a little better.
Arun Kolatkar from JEJURI
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A game of tigers and sheep
Who has the tigers and who the sheep
never seems to make any difference.
The result is always the same:
She wins,
I lose.
But sometimes when her tigers
are on the rampage,
and I've lost half my herd of sheep,
help comes from unexpected quarters:
Above.
The Rusty Shield Bearer,
neutral till then,
para-drops a winning flower
yellow
and irrelevant
on the checkerboard
drawn on the pavement in charcoal,
cutting off the retreat
of one tiger,
and giving a check to the other;
and quickly follows it up
with another flower
just as yellow
and just as irrelevant except
that it comes down even more slowly;
a flower without a search warrant
that brushes past her earlobe,
grazes her cheek,
and disappears down the front
of her low-cut blouse
where she usually keeps
her stash of hash
to confuse her even further, with its mildly
narcotic
but very distracting fragrance.
Traffic lights
Fifty phantom motorcyclists
all in black
crash-helmeted outriders
faceless behind tinted visors
come thundering from one end of the road
and go roaring down the other
shattering the petrified silence of the night
like a delirium of rock-drills
preceded by a wailing cherry-top
and followed by a faceless president
in a deathly white Mercedes
coming from the airport and going downtown
raising a storm of protest in its wake
from angry scraps of paper and dry leaves
but unobserved by traffic lights
that seem to have eyes only for each other
and who like ill-starred lovers
fated never to meet
but condemned to live forever and ever
in each other's sight
continue to send signals to each other
throughout the night
and burn with the cold passion of rubies
separated by an empty street.
---- Arun Kolatkar'Kala ghoda'
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Traffic lights
Fifty phantom motorcyclists
all in black
crash-helmeted outriders
faceless behind tinted visors
come thundering from one end of the road
and go roaring down the other
shattering the petrified silence of the night
like a delirium of rock-drills
preceded by a wailing cherry-top
and followed by a faceless president
in a deathly white Mercedes
coming from the airport and going downtown
raising a storm of protest in its wake
from angry scraps of paper and dry leaves
but unobserved by traffic lights
that seem to have eyes only for each other
and who like ill-starred lovers
fated never to meet
but condemned to live forever and ever
in each other's sight
continue to send signals to each other
throughout the night
and burn with the cold passion of rubies
separated by an empty street.
Arun Kolatkar 'poems of Kala ghoda'
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A LOW TEMPLE
A low temple keeps its gods in the dark.
You lend a matchbox to the priest.
One by one the gods come to light.
Amused bronze. Smiling stone. Unsurprised.
For a moment the length of a matchstick
gesture after gesture revives and dies.
Stance after lost stance is found
and lost again.
Who was that, you ask.
The eight arm goddess, the priest replies.
A sceptic match coughs.
You can count.
But she has eighteen, you protest.
All the same she is still an eight arm goddess to the priest.
You come out in the sun and light a charminar.
Children play on the back of the twenty foot tortoise.
THE HORSESHOE SHRINE
That nick in the rock
is really a kick in the side of the hill.
It's where a hoof
struck
like a thunderbolt
when Khandoba
with the bride sidesaddle behind him on the blue
horse
jumped across the valley
and the three
went on from there like one
spark
fleeing from flint.
To a home that waited
on the other side of the hill like a hay
stack.
THE PATTERN
a checkerboard pattern
some old men must have drawn
yesterday
with a piece of chalk
on the back of the twenty foot
tortoise
smudges under the bare feet
and gets fainter all the time as
the children run
THE MANOHAR
The door was open.
Manohar thought
it was one more temple.
He looked inside.
Wondering
which god he was going to find.
He quickly turned away
when a wide eyed calf
looked back at him.
It isn't another temple,
he said,
it's just a cowshed.
-- Arun Kolatkar
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kvaI tÜ ksaa Asao AananaIM Æ
AÉNa kÜlaTkr
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Bee
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| | Wednesday, July 19, 2006 - 10:32 am: |
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हा आततायी किनारा
निराधार
ज्यांनी दाखवला तुला
ती माणसंच होती का
आणि माणसं खरच एवढी दुष्टं
असू शकतात का आई
तसं असेल
तर माणूस म्हणून जन्माला येण्यात तरी काय अर्थ आहे
त्याच्यापेक्षा एक हत्ती म्हणूनच
का जन्माला येऊ नये मी ?
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Bee
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| | Wednesday, July 19, 2006 - 10:51 am: |
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पेटेल आयाळ, आवरतं घे
भाजेल शेपूट, संभाळून ने
चल रे माझ्या सिंहा, जरा नमतं घे
या जळत्या वर्तुळातून उडी मारून जा
आरपार
इकडून तिकडे
नि पुनः तिकडून इकडे
ही शून्याकार आग, ही जळती मोकळीक
रोजचीच आहे
ही सर्वस्वी सर्कस तुझीच आहे
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