Possibly amongst the most popular poems of the Sangam canon, and unsurprisingly so, yāthum ūrē yāvarum kēḷir is traditionally attributed to Kaṇiyan Pūṅkuṉṟaṉār, a travelling bard whom we understand not as describing the ethos of his age, but articulating the lived creed of his vocation: a radical cosmopolitanism anchored in a sincere groundedness. Unornamented and stark, the poem is composed in the akaval meter common to the Puṟanāṉūṟu, the Four Hundred Poems of the Public Life, whose terse, speech-like cadence mirrors a worldview stripped of illusion.
Canonical English translations, such as those by the legendary A.K. Ramanujan or the erudite George Hart (with Hank Heifetz), capture the ethos, essence, and meaning of the poem remarkably well. Their free verse reflects (each in wildly different ways) the dynamism of the akaval, which approximates the conversational flexibility of English blank verse. However, English free verse can easily lose the musicality inherent in Tamil prosody.
It is in the attempt to recapture the sonic texture of the original that I make use of iambs, alliteration, and rhyme. More controversial, perhaps, is the subversion of the default subject–verb–object order of English. In addition to mimicking the object–verb(+subject suffix) structure of Dravidian syntax, these subversions help maintain parallel sentence structures within stanzas to highlight the poem's dualisms—fortune and suffering, bloom and dearth, awe and scorn. For me, translating Pūṅkuṉṟaṉār is an attempt to recover that balance: a refusal of both despair and hubris.
Every town, our home
Every one, our own.
All our fortunes arise within
All our suffering too, our sin.
No cheers we give for life's sweet songs
No tears we cry for sorrows and wrongs.
Assured that death is ours by birth
Steadfast we are through storm and earth.
Through the visions of those who see
We see life, with its hardships
hurtling like a ruptured raft down a roaring river—
bereft beneath storms
striking stubborn rocks
lashed, by lightning.
Through storms endured, we draw our quiet creed—
No awe we hold for those whose names we read
Nor scorn we cast on those whom none give heed.
யாதும் ஊரே யாவரும் கேளிர் / yātum ūrē yāvarum kēḷir
தீதும் நன்றும் பிறர்தர வாரா / tītum naṉṟum piṟartara vārā
நோதலும் தணிதலும் அவற்றோ ரன்ன / nōtalum taṇitalum avaṟṟō raṉṉa
சாதலும் புதுவது அன்றே ; வாழ்தல் / cātalum putuvatu aṉṟē
இனிதுஎன மகிழ்ந்தன்றும் இலமே; முனிவின் / vāḻtal iṉiteṉa makiḻntaṉṟum ilamē muṉiviṉ
இன்னா தென்றலும் இலமே; ‘மின்னொடு / iṉṉā teṉṟalum ilamē, miṉṉoṭu
வானம் தண்துளி தலைஇ, ஆனாது / vāṉam taṇtuḷi talai'iyāṉātu
கல்பொருது இரங்கும் மல்லற் பேர்யாற்று / kal porutu miraṅku mallal pēriyāṟṟu
நீர்வழிப் படூஉம் புணைபோல, ஆருயிர் / nīrvaḻip paṭū'um puṇaipōl āruyir
முறைவழிப் படூஉம்’ என்பது திறவோர் / muṟai vaḻip paṭū'um eṉpatu tiṟavōr
காட்சியின் தெளிந்தனம் ஆகலின், மாட்சியின் / kāṭciyil teḷintaṉam ākaliṉ,māṭciyiṉ
பெரியோரை வியத்தலும் இலமே / periyōrai viyattalum ilamē
சிறியோரை இகழ்தல் அதனினும் இலமே / ciṟiyōrai ikaḻtal ataṉiṉum ilamē
யாதும் ஊரே, யாவரும் கேளிர் (புறநானூற 192 – கணியன் புங்குன்றனார்)
Tinai: potuviyal / Turai: porunmolikkanci