Biography of Mohan Rana
Mohan Rana (Hindi: मोहन राणा) is a Hindi language poet from India. He has written six poetry books.
Mohan Rana was born in Delhi, India. He completed his graduate degree from Delhi University. His poetry work has been appreciated by poets. He uses techniques of free association and improvisation in his writing. The poet and critic, Nandkishore Acharya, has written that, 'Amongst the new generation of Hindi poets, the poetry of Mohan Rana stands alone; it defies any categorisation. However, its refusal to fit any ideology doesn't mean that Mohan Rana's poetry shies away from thinking - but that it knows the difference between thinking in verse and thinking about poetry. For Mohan Rana the poetic process in itself is also thought process.' Examples of his style of writing poetry are in these fifteen poems, translated from Hindi by Lucy Rosenstein and Bernard O'Donoghue.
A standard shirt
Another word for it
As the past approaches
Did you hear it too?
In your own words
Not what the words...
The blue-eyed blackbird
The colour of water
The evening news and the roof of the world
The morning post
The poet's fate
To the lost children
(Translations from Hindi)
Mohan Rana's Works:
Jagah (Dwelling 1994)
Jaise Janam Koi Darwaza (As If Life Were a Door, 1997)
Subah ki Dak (Morning's Post, 2002)
Is Chhor Par (On This Shore, 2003)
Pathar Ho Jayegi Nadi (Stone-River, 2007)
Dhoop Ke Andhere (In the Darkness of the Sun, 2008)
Mohan Rana Poems
The Colour Of Water
Rain falling, day after day, as if trying to clean off our permanent stains, but all it does is discolour
My home grew wizened on its Vivid Bharati Its highs and lows, the fluctuating waves Its knob has forsaken us in our last whitewash Cells heated in the sun turn silent by nightfall
As The Past Approaches
As the past approached, the future, even when you've lived it, remains to be seen.
In Your Own Words
They said: Don't go to the end of the Earth because your lengthening shadow will frighten you. There it is the world of winged pythons; the earth there is ablaze with the fire they spit.
The Blue-Eyed Blackbird
Is it right to speak of myself? This will do: I am a blue-eyed blackbird My wings know all directions
To The Lost Children
I want to write to the lost children, those whose clothes hung from the branches of the mulberry tree, getting smaller as the branches grew.
I saw the stars far off - as far as I from them: in this moment I saw them - in moments of the twinkling past.
A Standard Shirt
Between midday and nightfall there comes a time when the day's noise and actions are already done with,
The Evening News And The Roof Of The Wor...
While light for us is fading elsewhere it is brightening.
Did You Hear It Too?
All night long your restlessness walked the wet streets of Lisbon, pitter-patter. A silent moan
Not What The Words...
I dry out words in the rain until one day all that is left is whiteness. The verandah dazzles with emptiness, so I take them back in.
Silently watching the morning's brilliant light tear the dense clouds I forgot the sky and the aching hand
The Poet's Fate
Were this light even whiter you and I would be invisible we each would live our invisible pain never knowing
Woods on either side: light along the path down the middle. Woods on either side and loud laughter: path silent down the middle. Woods on either side, and screams: path unmoved down the middle. Woods on either side, bathed in dreams: the path released from sleep.
I saw the stars far off -
as far as I from them:
in this moment I saw them -
in moments of the twinkling past.
In the boundless depths of darkness,
hunt the morning through the night.
And I can't make up my mind: