I will not sing—
I will sing today no rose song, no song of the nightingale,
No song of the iris, no hyacinth song,
No
song to ravish nor song intoxicated
Not
languor’s sweet, slow songs—
Not the least song—
I will not sing—
Not when the dust
cloud of war skins the iris for its hue—
When the thunder of guns tears out the tongue from the nightingale—
When I hear the clamor and clatter of chains, here
Where there
were hyacinths—and the diseased eye of lightning is webbed closed,
And mountains recoil
Back onto their
haunches; when black-death gathers close
Cloud tops to embrace—
I will not sing
For now warlord and bureaucrat stand
Girt-about in guard; here remain in watch
Over my Kashmir.
I will not
sing—
I will sing today no song of Nishat or Shalimar, no annealed song of waters
Engraving terraced gardens, no bower songs of bedded flowers;
No soft songs flush or sweetly fresh, not green dew songs
Nor songs gentle and growing—not the least song—
I will not
sing—
Not the least song—
Not today—not when here is no place
Where the day’s
white-seething pan of light is not set, poised to distress,
Setting shake, spilling from quavering vessels what life there was yet
To blight my waking garden—
So the rose holds its breath, and
The tulip its
brand; quick rivers stall their song and keening koels shake
In their palpitating hearts
Where throbbing song is stilled—all fearing,
A wild starling
idly sinks into the quiet of its unsettled perch.
I will not sing
For now the warlord and bureaucrat stand
Girt-about …
I will not
sing—
I will sing no song today of incipience, no late songs favoring spring
of first friends, the fevers willed, of new love and wildness in
longing;
I will stage no song to effloresce red and yellow, with tender crests
Of
the blue and green stuff growing—not the least song—
(An Ongoing Translation of Dina Natha Nadim's Bi Gyavana Aaz by Sonam Kachru)
Here, for the first minute before the overdub begins, you can hear the Master himself. Note how the visuals miss the irony of using them as yet another picturesque reduction of the valley.
Here is the poem, set to song, and part of the after-life of Nadim's strong music. I prefer the rhythms of the poem as Nadim offered them to us, demotic and unharnessed by narrow musical measures, but patterned around the breathing voice. Still, important:
