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“Six Poems of a collection by the South Indian poet A. K. Ramanujan are translated into Arabic by the Egyptian Poet M. A. Matar. They are poems which combine the classical and mythic power of Indian culture with modern sensibility. The introduction by the translator presents a biographical sketch of the poet — with an emphasis on his bilingual upbringing — and introduces his multi-disciplinary interests. The contradictions of the Indian subcontinent, with its fabulous riches and wretched poverty, its democracy and fanaticism are seen as the background of Ramanujan poetics of juxtaposition. The poems translated are ““Elements of Composition,”” ““Questions,”” ““Death and the Good Citizen,”” ““On the Death of a Poem,”” ““Middle Age,”” and ““Second Sight.”” The last short poem, from which the volume takes its title, sums up the spirit of the poet: In Pascal’s endless queue, /people pray, whistle, or make/remarks. As we enter the dark,/someone says from behind,/““You are Hindoo, aren’t you?/You must have second sight.““/I fumble in my nine/pockets like the night-blind/son-in-law groping/in every room for his wife,/and strike a light to regain/at once my first, and only/sight.”

Six Poems of a collection by the South Indian poet A. K. Ramanujan are translated into Arabic by the Egyptian Poet M. A. Matar. They are poems which combine the classical and mythic power of Indian culture with modern sensibility. The introduction by the translator presents a biographical sketch of the poet - with an emphasis on his bilingual upbringing - and introduces his multi-disciplinary interests. The contradictions of the Indian subcontinent, with its fabulous riches and wretched poverty, its democracy and fanaticism are seen as the background of Ramanujan poetics of juxtaposition. The poems translated are \"Elements of Composition,\" \"Questions,\" \"Death and the Good Citizen,\" \"On the Death of a Poem,\" \"Middle Age,\" and \"Second Sight.\" The last short poem, from which the volume takes its title, sums up the spirit of the poet: In Pascal's endless queue,/people pray, whistle, or make/remarks. As we enter the dark,/someone says from behind,/\"You are Hindoo, aren't you?/You must have second sight.\"/I fumble in my nine/pockets like the night-blind/son-in-law groping/in every room for his wife,/and strike a light to regain/at once my first, and only/sight.