Besides the talks on writing and feminism, we also had poetry readings. Because poets must, after all, do what they do best. And making speeches is not it. Highlights:
Tamil poet Salma. There were many in the audience not paying attention because of the unfamiliarity of the language but they sat up when Swarnjit Savi, a Punjabi poet who translated many of our works, started reading his translations of her poems. There were quite a few mm’s as well. This is a sound heard at poetry gatherings when the audience sort of collectively half-moans at a line they like. I first heard it pointed out at Poetry Africa by South African rap artist Ewok when he was MCeeing one of the evenings, and have subsequently noticed that it apparently cuts across cultures. Anyway, Salma got quite a few mm’s once the language barrier had crumbled. Some of Salma’s poetry is full of brutal, even grotesque images like this one in ‘Image’: “The cockroach was crushed / To pulp. All night,/ An army of ants have / Marauded its flesh..”. This lends a starkness to her poetry, a sense of darkness to the world she inhabits. This quality is disappointingly missing from some of the poems featured at Poetry Web International but came through abundantly in the poems she read. Update: I know this because I have heard the English translations by N. Kalyan Raman whose comment rightly reminded me that I had neglected to mention this. She read one of the translations at this reading and the other, I had heard at a previous reading.
Tarranum Riyaz was very affecting–her ghazals are poignant without being drippy and she reads like a dream. Her voice is magical and so is her language (Urdu). Quite clearly, the highpoint for me. We had sort of disagreed on something earlier during the session on feminism, mostly because I think we misunderstood each other. But after the poetry, we (literally) hugged and made up. The healing power of good poetry? Anyway, here is an excerpt from an Arundhati Subramaniam interview with her which I found telling because the tension she describes here was evident in her poetry as well. There was a great deal of passion but it was unusually tempered with something else, something not quite cynicism, a wry sort of wisdom.
I’ve always believed in the primacy of women, not the mere equality of the sexes. That premise informs my work. I don’t see the woman’s lot as one of mere misery. A woman is not a mere sacrificial goat; she has agency and volition and that belief enters the work as well. But while there’s rage, there’s also the fact that I still love men. I call myself a Draupadi with three men: my husband and two sons. And so there’s the deeper realisation that there’s no point turning this relationship into a World Wrestling tournament. This is our greatest tragedy, isn’t it? The fact that we have to fight those we love.
Naseem Shafi
I enjoyed Kashmiri poet Naseem Shafi’s recital as well. I’ve never heard the language before and I found it very mellifluous. Her poems had great sound and rhythm and, going by the translations, were reflective of the disturbed social situation in the Valley. Unfortunately, I couldn’t find anything about her online.
There were two poets from Karnataka–Hema Pattanashetty and Jayshree Kambar (who was also my roommate) and we had a private reading session among ourselves the night before which was great fun. I don’t really understand Kannada very well, I’m ashamed to say. It’s not due to lack of effort; I’m just dreadful with new languages and my learning seems to have halted with the languages of my childhood.
Jayshree Kambar
But Hema insisted on reading her poems to me in Kannada and looked at me very expectantly after each line, sometimes impatiently, to see if I got it. Surprisingly, after a while, I actually started understanding bits. Maybe, I’d be able to learn the language if someone read out poetry to me every day. It would certainly be more fun than learning the names of 15 types of vegetables which is what they focused on in the class I joined for three months.
Another thing I found interesting was that the Bodo and Nepalese poets were very socially engaged in their poetry. One had written a poem about the Mumbai attacks and another talked about insurgency and violence. It was difficult to judge levels of craft because they were reading English translations of their works and these sounded a bit bereft of rhythm or imagery.
There were a lot of Punjabi poets and some of it was good, especially Punjabi poet Nirupama Dutt who was smart and funny though I think her poems don’t work as well in translation because they rely heavily on rhyme and this gets lost. In a slightly older article, Sutinder Singh Noor, Vice President of the Sahitya Akademi, talked about the state of Punjabi poetry and I’m going to quote that here:
A lot of poetry is being created each day both good and bad. So while I would say that Punjabi novel has stagnated, poetry is one medium from where a lot of material is being generated, both good and bad. However the ground reality is that bad poetry is finding its way into the market faster than good one, there by diluting the entire genre. We need to sift the good poetry from bad one. We in Punjabi literature have grown horizontally but not vertically. From a few handfuls we are now thousands but our growth intellectually has stagnated. Lesser known languages like Bodo are producing much higher and better literature than Punjabi.
I did find some of the poetry a bit stagnant in terms of theme (the preciousness of grandchildren, beauty of nature and so on). It seems to be stuck in the romantic mode and I’m surprised about that because clearly, their world can hardly be that much more conducive to that than the rest of ours. So is it a conscious choice to write in a mode that seems untouched by contemporary movements? Or is it some notion that women must write about soft, sweet things? But it’s also true that among 50 poets, there are bound to be some whose work doesn’t appeal. As Marvin Bell put it, no good stuff without bad stuff. And perhaps, it’s through gatherings like this that ideas on aesthetics can be exchanged and borrowed.
Oh wow, I’d so have enjoyed being a fly on those walls. Thanks for sharing, Anu!
Dear Anindita:
In your narrative describing the reading at the Patiala conference, you have ended the section on Salma’s poems by criticizing translations of her poems featured on the Poetry International website, that they “lack this quality…[of starkness, found in Salma’s poems].” As the sole translator of those six poems featured on the PI site, I thought I should offer a response.
Your criticism may of course be valid, but it needs to be read in the light of two other passages in your own narrative.
First, “Image”, the translation of a Salma poem that you hold up favourably for its starkness, is not only done by me, it is also one among Salma’s poems featured on the PI website.
Second, the Punjabi translations of Salma’s poems done by Swarnjit Savi, which you have said elicited such an intense response from the audience at the reading, were based on my English translation of those poems, provided to him by Salma herself. The success of Mr. Savi’s translations, including the starkness thereof, could not be unrelated to their source, one would think.
I rest my case.
It seems to me that English translations of Indian literature are read in this country by two different sets of readers – the first, comprising monolingual Anglophones who are strongly tied to the “world” literary milieu; and the second, made up of readers who are rooted in the literary milieu of one or more Indian languages. In my experience as a translator, it is the latter group that takes English translations of Indian literature seriously, discerning or appreciative as the work demands. A good proportion of the exchanges between literary milieus of Indian languages are facilitated through such English translations.
In contrast, the former group (of Anglophones) tends to be dismissive, frequently judging the English language abilities of Indian translators as being not up to par. There is often a cultural barrier to be overcome, in addition to their focus, by default, on the “world” literary milieu.
Any criticism of contemporary English translations of Indian literature is best read with this context in mind.
Kalyan
@Kalyan:
I have not said that the starkness was present in Savi’s translations–I wouldn’t know considering I don’t understand Punjabi. I have said that it was present in the poems that “Salma read”. I meant the English translations, of course, both of which I have heard on different occasions. I realise that my lack of specifics may have caused some confusion and I regret this. I have added an update to rectify the situation. I hope that helps.
BUT, having said that, my comment was about the quality of imagery and frankly, I was speaking about the poet’s work, not the translator’s. Your reaction seems a little needlessly defensive, and faintly arrogant.
Now how one separates a poem from its translation, on what grounds, along what lines and so on is a debate we can have. But it might go on a bit.
I have said “This quality is disappointingly missing from some of the poems featured at Poetry Web International.” Note: Some. Not all. Clearly, I don’t think so about ‘Image’ which is why I chose to quote from it.
I don’t want to comment on your ‘Anglophone’ argument. As a reader of English poetry, I have the right to react to a poem that is presented to me in English. If it doesn’t do much for me, it doesn’t do much for me. Accusing me of lack of adequate knowledge and resorting to derisive name-calling (‘these stupid Anglophones’ and so on) seems like a strange response.
Anindita:
Thank you for clearing up the omissions and ambiguities in your earlier note.
Apart from providing certain factual information of contextual relevance to your readers, I have made no claims for my work. So, there is no scope for your reading of personal attitudes into it.
Third: in the last section, I have made the general point that not everyone reads English translations the same way and that a reader should be aware of this distinction. The factors I’ve cited as contributing to the distinction – emphasis on English, cultural barrier and global orientation – are evidently real and true. I repeat that this is a general observation. If you read that as rude and disparaging, is it necessarily my fault? I don’t think so.
Kalyan