Desicritics Category: Culture: Poetry

Mdantsane Dancing- Poetry of Mdantsane

Amitabh Mitra — Tue, 16 Mar 2010 11:43:42 EDT

the summer wink has left
a stray color shine leaps on an everydaycloud
an everydaystreet
grass flowers bloom around shacks
she touches her eyes
and her hips again
in other patterns
mdantsane moves in unision
i jump out
on an ecstasy river
my long hair
my face rushes
a changing sky
in perfect congruency.

Poem and Watercolor on a handmade paper by Amitabh Mitra

Book Review: The Tunnel at the End of Time

Amitabh Mitra — Wed, 10 Mar 2010 18:14:00 EST

I met Adam at Oslo. A big bear of a person with the gentlest nature and a lovable personality, he remains one of my closest friends.

Yet time and again I have tried to understand him, understand the mind that seems to work overtime, the art of reproducing the images on canvas and words remains a perennial obsession. I have read his other poetry books and marvelled at this superlative mind.

To me, it always seems that he has been able to grasp the aura and time, a steady stream of images that is unstoppable, sometimes virulent yet simple in afterthoughts.

The Armageddon was inevitable...
We needed it, and so we created it.
But it is only illusion...

But what happens next -

The Tunnel at the End of Time is a collection of poems, prose poems and story like poems by Adam Donaldson Powell and Richard Davis. The Foreword is jointly written by Adam and Azsacra Zarathustra. Azsacra is a well known Russian Mystic Poet and has been widely published.

Where am I, Vrebatima?
I am lost in my own transformation …
in the winter of my own samadhi.
Wake me up from my dreams …
but let me hold onto my illusions
and my delusions.

The eventual clash of illusions and delusions are inevitable, it with and within us at all times and strange enough nobody gives the thought of liberating it. The book starts with such ultimate sense of fulfilment but then the poetry and the eventual flow of plasmic willingness happens in multiple streams, multiple layers and multiple living thoughts.

The book reminded me of the movie, Matrix directed by Larry and Andy Wachowski which mentioned for the first time, a simulated reality. The DVD sold three million copies in the US in 1999.

The reader is caught in an iron clasp grasp and taken in strange speeds that seem to stay along with the mind. There are simulations of words and images in a three dimensional effect, sometimes even in reverse moving strata at the same moment when we are going ahead.

So what really is Tunnel at the end of Time, where does it start and where should it end? I as a medical doctor and a poet have often encountered such simulations which aptly brief, seemed to jolt me out of consciousness and that is where the eternal mystery lies. What seems as poetry and the poet a conjurer of words may not be so, they are mere pathways to reach collusion levels in an unsettled time.

I beg to differ from other reviewers who have compared Adam’s poetry to British Romantic Age Poetry and others who have tried to unveil his poems using crutches from modern literature. Contemporary Poetry has broken the realm of sensibilities, a huge dam that has finally enveloped aesthetic congruency in a highly developed notion of sheer flexible imagery.

Adam’s poetry remains unclassified, as it is a class in its own. I would portray him and his friends in cult dimensions in Europe, their poetry would be read and reread in times to come.

Pastel Drawing by Amitabh Mitra

Shri RamChandra Kripalu Bhajman (Prayer by Tulsidas, With Translation And Notes)

Vivek Sharma — Mon, 8 Mar 2010 08:51:14 EST

Introduction (for the initiated, for foreigners, for skeptics and for believers)

Ramayana is the most important and influential epic ever written. The epic has defined the code of Indian customs and morality for at least twenty to twenty-five centuries, and by sheer numbers, been the book or saga that has affected, influenced, educated, enlightened over one-fifth of the humanity that has existed since it was written. While Illiad and Odessey claim a greater fame in the West, among ancient epics, only Mahabharata (which is longer, includes stories of the great battle between the cousins Pandavas and Kauravas, the whole history and genealogy of kings, people and beasts that existed in India or Bharatvarsha before its time, the life-story of Lord Krishna, with his romances, battles and finally also his conversation with Arjuna, in form of Bhagavad Gita: which rephrases the essence of classic Hindu-Vedic-Indic philosophy, and includes many more stories, discussions on nature of being, good and evil and so on), only Mahabharata comes close to Ramayana in grandeur and impact on the combined psyche and daily living of a large section of humanity.

While Valmiki wrote Ramayana originally in Sanskrit, almost every major poet of Indian subcontinent has rewritten, reinvented, translated, transcribed, memorized and rephrased the whole epic in the language closest to his age/time and his heart. Tulsidas brought out his version of Ramcharitmanas in sixteenth century in a language that can be thought of a bridge between Sanskrit and Hindi of present times, as well as between the khadi boli (spoken language) of his time and the divinity. The hymns from Tulsidas are imbibed into our culture to the extent that we cannot usually trace these back to his writing. The cultural identity, diversity and evolution of India, I believe, can be tracked by looking at the versions of Ramayana and by watching versions of Ramlila in different villages, towns, cities, streets spread not only in Indian subcontinent, but also in Eastern Asian countries like Cambodia.

Ramayana or the travels of Rama or the epic story of Ramchandra, the obedient son of King Dashratha, son-in-law of sage-king Janaka, the loving husband of Sita {incarnatation of Goddess Laxmi, who appeared out from earth (and not from womb)}, the glorious archer-warrior who destroyed all-powerful demon Ravana and his monstrous kith and kin, the protector of poor and downtrodden, who ate berries picked by untouchable Shabri, who brought Ahalya back into life, who killed Bali to make Sugreev the king of monkeys and then raised an army of monkeys to defeat powerful demons, the just king who did not even hesistate before exiling his own wife to uphold the law of the land, the eternal legend of the incarnation of Vishnu, MaryadaPurushottam: the one who respected and knew the bounds/limits of ethical/right conduct, and is the greatest or best among men... Even the description of Ramayana requires an epic to be written down. Some of the greatest Indian festivals are based on the story of Ramayana, and many names, pilgrimage centers, temples, fasts, rituals, and an endless source of karuna / piety and priti / love emerges from this one grand poem.

About the translation

In this post, I present a sincere and humble attempt at the translation of a prayer invoking Bhagwan Ram (and I will continue to work throughout my life to provide a better translation for my favorite poems, hymns and verses in Hindi and Sanskrit). Bhagwan is sometimes translated as lord, but the regard for a Lord is often due to fear or due to custom, and regard for Bhagwan Ram arises from the admiration of his deeds and virtues, as well as his spiritual, conceptual, physical and emotional beauty. Fear never features in admiration, dedication for Ram. While the person is submissive in prayer, the submission comes from the recognizition of something greater than one self, something grander than mere personality of the own self and of the diety. Hence old poets called themselves Das, or slave; but again slave is a tainted word, for slavery comes with forced subjugation and denial of basic rights to the slave... where 'das' is voluntarily curtailing his personal desires and demands to present himself or herself in the service of someone or something. Tulsidas, Surdas.. Kabirdas.. In Ramayana, Hanuman is presented as a perfect and appropriate example of being a seeker, a sage, a das, a disciple, a 'servant of greater man and cause', a believer, a doer, a warrior and his greatness lies in using his strength for the service of others. The Hanuman Chalisa again underlies this belief system, this thought process, this devotion. The essential lessons of Ramayana are piety scores over pride, sacrifice over selfishness, obedience over defiance, fidelity over lust, and the ways of just, even if besotted by setbacks and hardships, bring them joy, riches, victories and love in the end. As Tulsidas was one of the greatest or perhaps the greatest poet in Bhakti (unbridled devotion for 'beloved' God) tradition in medieval world, his verses approach divinity through unbounded affection, where every beautiful form is attributed to the Godhead, and the final goal of the worshipper is tocease being a separate entity.

In this translation, I have tried to use words that are closest in meaning to the original. But Indian Sansar is not Western World, as in the West, Man lives in the World as he is exiled from Eden, brought down by his following the advice of Eve and Snake. World in West is a region that man inhabits once, and his deeds here decide whether he will go to heaven or Dante's hell in the end, on a judgment day. Indian Sansar is a stage, where beings appear in different acts, each performance determines the role in next birth, and the woes of the world are left in the world: the being seeks to reach union with perfect being after which there is no need for further performances. Hindu Mann is not just mind, Indian/Hindu aatma is not just soul and Anand is not just bliss. Anand is state of perfect joy, the joy of child happy in its mothers arms is a partial manifestation of it, the joy of person who finds that his/her beloved loves him equally is a partial manifestation, joy of father whose son wins a medal or grand praise or prize, is a partial manifestation. In complete manifestation, anand is a joy without bounds, an end in itself, a manifestation of the unmanifest (God), unity with both nothingness and with everything... ultimate goal of man is Sat-Chit-Ananda (poorly translated as Truth-Beauty-Joy), another name for Bhagwan). The lack of proper words in English shows that Indian, Hindu, non-Western notions, beliefs, philosophy, lifestyle, religion, actions are best analyzed, understood, taught, transmitted, expressed and paraphrased in Indian, Hindi/ Sanskrit, language. Even there, the language can take us only so far...

Sanskrit (better to say Samskrit, for Sam is Good, Krit Made/Designed), as I have written in posts earlier, contains many words that carry contradictory connotations. The word kama means both love and lust, attachment of spirit as well as of flesh, and in poetry, the use of such words allows several levels of meaning. Since detached action, which can be identified as something done for its own sake, irrespective of what ultimate result is, is identified as a virtue, kama in both or any meaning can be undesirable. Yet according to Ved Vyas in Mahabharata, the Grihasta Ashram, or married state, is the best phase of life; grander thanthe Brahmacharya (abstinence before marriage) as well as Sanyasa (renouncing world, family at old age). The interplay between kama as a life-force as well as materialism and vairagya (abstinence) or tyaag (self-sacrifice) or selflessness as symbol of spirituality is a constant theme in novels like Banbhatta ki ataamkatha by Hazari Prasad Dwivedi, Gunahon ka Devta by Dharamveer Bharati, Chitralekha, etc. The similes in the verse below abound in references to lotus. It must be remembered that lotus plays a central role in Hindu mythology: Laxmi sits on Lotus, Humanity is derived from lotus in some versions of mythology, and lotus, because it manages to remain clean in spite of growing in mud, always invokes beauty, purity, divinity. The verse evokes a richly decorated, fully-limbed, handsome physical image of Ram; but the symbolism is, as always, only to create a focus on the deity, on Rama. The last couplet reminds us that the ultimate being, the Godhead, the joy of Mann (Mind or that element in us that desires and hesitates, thinks and meditates), the joy of Muni (wise), of Shankara (of devout, of godly beings), and so on, is within our own heart... or we ask of Rama to reside within, and save us from fears and vices. The aatma, the soul, the self (that goes beyond ego, body, knowledge gained through senses) is where the mighty deity is requested to reside. Perhaps the prayer will be realized only when the self is ready to receive the one desired, and hence it is useful to invoke him through song and symbol...

Shri Ram Chandra Kripalu Bhaj Mann

(Listen to Lata sing the Bhajan on Youtube)

O (Mann) mind! Invoke the benign Shree Ramachandra,

the rescuer from the fears of the harsh sansar (world).

Whose eyes are blooming lotuses, face and hands lotus-like,

and feet are like lotus -- with the hue of crimson dawn.

His image exceeds myriad Kaamdevs (Cupids),

like a fresh, blue-hued cloud -- magnificent.

His amber-robes appear like lightening, pure,

captivating. Revere this groom of Janaka's daughter .

Sing hymns of the brother of destitute, Lord of the daylight,

the destroyer of the clan of Danu-Diti demons

The progeny of Raghu, limitless 'anand' (joy),

the moon to Kosala, sing hymns of Dasharatha's son.

His head bears the crown, ear pendants, tilak (mark) on forehead,

his adorned, shapely limbs are resplendent,

Arms extend to the knees, studded with bows-arrows,

who won battles against Khar-Dooshanam

Thus says Tulsidas, O joy of Shankara,

Shesh (Nag), (Mann) Mind and (Muni) Sages,

Reside in the lotus of my heart, O slayer

of the vices-troops of Kaama and the like.

श्रीरामचन्द्र कृपालु भजु मन हरण भव भय दारुणं।
नवकंज-लोचन कंज-मुख कर-कंज पद-कंजारुणं॥१॥

कन्दर्प अगणित अमित छबि नवनील-नीरद सुन्दरं।
पट पीत मानहु तड़ित रुचि शुचि नौमि जनक सुतावरं॥२॥

भजु दीनबंधु दिनेश दानव-दैत्यवंश-निकंदनं।
रघुनंद आनँदकंद कोशलचंद दशरथ-नंदनं॥३॥

सिर मुकुट कुण्डल तिलक चारु उदारु अंग बिभूषणं।
आजानुभुज शर-चाप-धर संग्राम-जित-खरदूषणं॥४॥

इति वदति तुलसीदास शंकर-शेष-मुनि-मन-रंजनं।
मम हृदय-कंज निवास कुरु कामादि खलदल-गंजनं॥५॥

मनु जाहि राचेउ मिलिहि सो बरु सहज सुन्दर सांवरो
करुना निधान सुजान शील सनेहु जानत रावरो॥६॥

ऐहि भांति गौरि अशीश सुनि सिये सहित हिये हर्सि अली।
तुलसि भवानिहि पुजि पुनि पुनि मुदित मन मन्दिर चली।।७।।

जानि गौरि अनुकूल, सिय हिय हरसु न जाहि कहि।
मन्जुल मंगल मूल, बाम अंग फ़रकन लगे।।

Poetry: Maqbool Fida Hussain - A Qatari Citizen

Amitabh Mitra — Tue, 2 Mar 2010 17:30:12 EST

they hounded him
off the blue skies
off the bold strokes
past the giant canvases
and color streams
they hounded him out
because he painted
strange life forms
and stranger
shadow times
he painted unframed pride
in stretched bylanes
he painted you
and me
in the darkest of nights
and its aroma
in the kindest
thoughts
he painted the earth
in a fallacy of stillness
his bare feet burnt
the collage of seasons
shed in sudden travails
unveiled to raptures
of quietude
today a wind blew
stopped and fell
familiar colors blurred
a nation stayed speechless
a ninety-six years old
became a foreigner
to himself.

Poem and Drawing by Amitabh Mitra

Whenever a sparrow flew, Poems of Gwalior

Amitabh Mitra — Tue, 2 Mar 2010 06:24:27 EST

when you wrote with your nose on my arrogance
in close knit whispers of a dark
you said this is just another end
of all those rendezvous on skinstreets
our lips a breath of untoward moments
a tongue curtailing the history of mankind
and you and me
unafraid of galaxies
persisting in us
but today
i won't see you anymore
nor your eyes where I once travelled
in the beginning of another time
nor your smile
of the victor and vanquished in
insane memories
and your saree that draped them always.
today
not far from us are the deserts of innocence
where camels ran the density of moon
and we had once grown there
collaterals of an even wilder sky
today
say again
i haven't lived beyond an ardour
of that lost white flower in your hair
of summers that bled in silence
of the ruby river that woke us up each night
and your smell I have now learned to disbelieve
a death I had always lived
whenever a sparrow flew away
whenever another day arrived.

Poem and Watercolor by Amitabh Mitra

poetry: whirling

temporal — Sun, 28 Feb 2010 10:04:28 EST

said the cab driver
as he swooshed and swirled
through the desi roads
with cars and carts
and men and machines
rushing, idling, squeezing
with a foot on the pedal
and a hand on the horn
'it is not my fault'

fault? blame? confession?

adam would have smiled

quakes, tsunamis,
holocaust, ethnic cleansing
greed that blinds
individuals and nations
precariously countered
by grit, will and concern
for adam's progeny
by eve's children
who descend to salvage
flustered dignity

conflict borne of heaven
fermented by earth
moving in circles
between the many dazed
and the unconfused few
who whirl

hirsute adam
unabashed and shaved
would have revealed
mona's first smile
(leonardo tells me)
metonymy for
'not-my-fault'

Poetry: West Midnapore

Amitabh Mitra — Tue, 16 Feb 2010 18:14:58 EST

forty thousand kilometres
parched land defying boundaries
of hunger and rights of existence
rights of a sun to drench its own
nobody talked to the broken sky
the broken heart
the broken earthen pots
once harbouring tears
instead rifle butts broke
but not the bones
nor the lame mind
and one day
at west midnapore
somebody
cut open the sun
people looked in awe
at the lame mind
corporate confines shook
on a stolen territory
a country talked
and talked.

Poem and Drawing by Amitabh Mitra

Keiskammahoek - Poetry of South Africa

Amitabh Mitra — Sun, 7 Feb 2010 12:19:20 EST

geese scream
a keiskammahoek sky falls apart
mountains go adrift
sun enters a serenity
meditates the following
day.

Poem and Watercolor by Amitabh Mitra
Keiskammahoek is a town in Eastern Cape, South Africa

Poem: Everlasting Night

Sandeep — Thu, 4 Feb 2010 13:13:27 EST

As this everlasting night lapses into silence
Our hearts lit with moonlight, eyes sparkling that light,
We waggle together with this voiceless accent.

Our lips part to talk but stop and tremble;
Like baiting, half-blossomed flower-petals,
Speaking the tongue of the tender night-breeze--
Only we know what we entreat each other
In this everlasting silent night.

Poem: The Dance of Solitude

Kashkin — Tue, 2 Feb 2010 18:17:50 EST

The solitude and its silence
Stands there, the grand empires
Built from dreams of the past
The old chaos of times
From distant corners,
Come they to examine
To see, how this life, spent
Through opium years to its magic
Hear they not, the deafening soul

The rapturous routines
The old peaceful moments
Built for the dreams of future
From distant corners
Come they to examine
Their own past and the colours
Through the years of violence
Hear they not, the drowning heart

The perpetual existence
In time and its space
In this grand scheme of life
From distant corners,
Travel they far, to examine
Themselves and the light
Through years of creation
To the end of time, hear they not
The Dance of Solitude!