Anindita Sengupta

Some time back, a Facebook friend posted a link to the Poetry Foundation article on the decade in poetry and commented that it should have been called a decade in American poetry since it didn’t reflect British or Irish poetry.

Or Indian or African or Caribbean, I pointed out feeling a little miffed, perhaps unjustly so since there’s much more English poetry happening in Britain than in India. But it got me thinking about the surfeit of discussion available to us about what’s happening in the west poetrywise. In contrast, there’s very little writing or discussion on what’s happening here. There are the introductions to the anthologies edited by Parthasarthy and Mehrotra. Online, PIW has some essays. Bruce King’s essay talks about Indian poetics with regard to a number of poets right up to Arun Kolatkar and Meena Alexander. Other than this, I haven’t come across much. Muse India’s latest issue focused on Indian English writing but there was no essay on Indian English poetry as such and the editorial gave suitably vague nods to the fact that Indian English poetry is “alive and kicking”. That’s good news but in which direction are the feet pointing?

All of this is a bit limited compared to the vast gigabytes of west-centric lists, reviews and manifestos we can consume.

Partly — and only partly — the reason for this lacuna is that the world of Indian English poetry is so small and incestuous. Nobody wants to disagree with each other on what constitutes good poetry, or even poetry for that matter. The small and incestuous problem exists everywhere to some extent. A few months ago, there was an avid discussion on Harriet about reviews, the necessity of truth and so on. It’s hard to tell a fellow poet that you think their work sucks. It’s even harder in our situation when there are fewer of us. But forget giving nasty reviews, we* seem reluctant to talk about what we think about poetry even in general terms, its purpose, means of production, craft and so on. This is despite all the freedom the Internet allows. Maybe we should have a site where people can post anonymous opinions about these things.

A few days back I wrote a snarky post pointing to a poem published on the front page of The Hindu Literary Review. An hour later, I was guilt-ridden because I’m rarely nasty in public. I removed the post. Of course, by this time super-efficient feed readers had picked it up and some people read it anyway. Some people agreed with me. Some said I should put my post back online. One reader argued with me because he liked the poem and that I should’ve explained why I didn’t like it. I realised that he was probably right. If I was stepping into choppy waters, I needed to wade in a bit more.

I couldn’t bring myself to post the full critique that I wrote quite painfully. It seemed too rude, even cruel. So the culture of politeness clearly has me in its grip. But in a nutshell: the thought does not work for me. At its worst, it subsides into a public service message against using your cell phone while driving. There are hints of interesting themes in there but they’re never fully developed and buried too deep in ugly lines, banal words and cliche. Cheesy horror film images like “statued stalkers” do not help. Plus I do not like poems that say “Slap!” to convey the sound and sense of a slap.

I’ll also say that Eunice D’Souza’s collected poems Necklace of Skulls has just been published and Dilip Chitre died last month and deserves to be remembered. There is no lack of good poems (and poets) to choose from if HLR has decided to encourage poetry. I hope they won’t stop publishing poetry on the front page of Literary Review. I hope I’ll like the next one more.

I also think we should be less attached to individual poems we write and less ‘careful’ about critiquing other poems. Though they’re often compared to babies, they’re not really. You can’t revise a baby’s nose (oh well, now you can but you know what I mean) and you don’t have hundreds of them. A poem, one can revise. And since hundreds are expected, we’re going to keep trying to get it right. We may as well tell the truth about our relentless progeny. It will help.

*By ‘we’, I mean my generation of Indian English poets.

Toto Funds the Arts
in association with

The British Council
& the Association of British Scholars

is delighted to invite you

to Ruth Padel’s reading of her poetry and fiction.

Ruth will also be in conversation with poet-novelist Anjum Hasan.

Venue: Crossword Bookstore, ACR Towers, Ground Floor, 32 Residency Road, Bangalore – 1

Date and time: Friday, 8 January 2010 at 7.00 pm

Coffee/tea and refreshments will be served from 6.30 pm onwards

Ruth Padel, Fellow of the Royal Society of Literature and Zoological Society of London, is a prize-winning British poet. Her seventh poetry collection, Darwin – A Life in Poems, is an intimate verse biography of her great-great-grandfather Charles Darwin, bringing out connections between his personal life and his work. She has written an acclaimed book on tiger conservation, Tigers in Red Weather, for which she explored forests in South East Asia, Sumatra, Russia, China, Bhutan and Nepal as well as India. She is visiting India on a British Council Darwin Now grant, to complete research for her first novel, which will focus on king cobra conservation. She will read from Darwin – A Life in Poems, Tigers in Red Weather, and her forthcoming novel, Where the Serpent Lives. To find out more about Ruth and her work, visit www.ruthpadel.com

Anjum Hasan is the author of the novels Neti, Neti (2009) and Lunatic in my Head (2007), and the book of poems Street on the Hill (2006). Her poems, short fiction, essays and reviews have appeared in anthologies, magazines and journals in India and abroad. She is Books Editor, The Caravan.

Dilip Chitre, poet, critic, painter and film-maker, passed away today.

“Alternatively, I may start running
If it’s not too late already, down the slope
My eyes cataleptic, my motion blurred

Blinded by the wind and bitten in the face
With frost-burnt nostrils and cracked lips
I may go vaguely towards the end

Of this wayward narrative.”

~ from ‘Post-Climactic Love Poem’ by Dilip Chitre (Atlas 01, edited by Sudeep Sen)

But then…

“I am exquisitely here and now
And where I never before was
Nor ever will be.
Moreover, this is not an end.”

~ from ‘Absence from Myself’ by Dilip Chitre (Mascara Literary Review)

Some of his poetry here.

His recent translations of Namdeo Dhasal’s poetry at Almost Island.

Some recent poems at Mascara Literary Review. And some at Muse India.

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.

…on this whole Oxford Poetry fiasco, and then I’ll stop (or maybe, not). But apparently our nominee AK Mehrotra had this to say:

“From India where I live, these extra-literary goings-on appear more unfortunate than amusing. I hope that some lessons are learnt from this, not least that the private lives of poets should, occasionally, be allowed to stay private.”

Sexual harassment = a man’s ‘private life’?

Dennis Loy Johnson at Moby Lives has been covering this quite a bit. Katy Evans Bush, who also wrote a piece on this at Guardian’s Cif, left a comment at Moby Lives which nails it:

I quoted Hermione Lee on my blog and I quote her again in my CiF piece, saying: “We are purveyors of poetry, not chastity.” As if it were just a sexual peccadillo.

Funnily enough, to the girl who was told that, unless she slept with him he would prevent her play (written for his course) from being produced, it probably didn’t seem like it was just about sex. It was more like being directly about her academic record. And if I’m not mistaken she only went public with it in the end because she heard about two other girls who had had the same treatment; one of them became depressed and the other had left the course entirely.

I’m sure Professor Lee, the great feminist biographer, would have expected to be taken more seriously than that when she was a student.

A culture that can’t even distinguish “sex” from the adjective “sexual” that modifies, in this case, the noun “harassment” isn’t anywhere near being ready even to debate the vexed question of whether this should debar Walcott from what is essentially a guest lectureship, not a pedagogic role.

The worst part is that Padel’s unfortunate behaviour has made people forget that the charges against Walcott were serious, and whether he should have been debarred or not was a serious question. It’s a question worth engaging with, because it cuts to the heart of what we expect from poets and public figures, and what we think of the relationship between ethics and poetry.

Instead, now Walcott is wronged hero, Padel is humiliated vamp, and all the real issues can go right back where they belong — under those university carpets. Plus you have some poets making vapid, dismissive statements about the whole issue like ‘who cares?’ or ‘what matters is that Poetry has suffered’ as if poetry exists in some sort of vacuum unaffected by (and un-affecting of) the real world. As if what happens in the real world, including sexual harassment, were not important to poetry at all.