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Saturday, April 03, 2021

April 4 TSL's NAPOWRIMO THE LAZY MUSIC IS STILL

 April 4 TSL's NAPOWRIMO Prompt given by

Satbir Chadha

"The Lazy Music is Still"

A Purely Mystic Poem
When Being spoke to Nothingness
Explosion of white heat
When the universe began to pulse, unfold, and expand
The Big Bang beat and the galaxies twirled
The lazy music went still
When something came from nothing
When chaos yielded to order
When the simple evolved into the complex
When matter brought forth energy and life
The lazy music was still
When the stars threw down their spears
When tyrannosaurus fought pterodactyl
When King Kong faced off with Godzilla
When the comet hit the earth and they all perished
The lazy music was still

Consider behemoth eating grass
Consider leviathan and take heed
Consider the unicorn
Consider the dragon, or the snake who used to talk
The lazy music of all of them was stilled
When the waters of the flood rose and covered the earth
When the people who survived worshipped the sun
When life began again to multiply
When the wild ox and the sea serpent were slain
The lazy music was still
When time zeroed in on the cross, death and grave
When the stone was rolled back and the Man arose again
When the centre of the earth was the centre of history
When the calendar was split like the curtain of the temple
The lazy music was still
When the woman fell in love with the man
When she forgave him fully the way Blake has said
When they made love and it was like nothing on earth
Nothing before and heaven and earth became one
The lazy music was still
When God is Father and the Jerusalem from above is Mother
When the Son is shining and the Bride is waiting
Waiting to enter the bridal chamber
When the children born of that communion
Are the children who are the new race, the future
The lazy music is still
When this is read and it is not understood
When this is sung and it is not heard
When there is a new earth and paradise
When every tear is wiped and every tongue confesses
And every knee bows at the name I leave unsaid
The lazy music is done or undone. Finally.
The lazy music is moving or still.

April 3 TSL NAPOWRIMO A haibun

 Today's prompt in TSL's NAPOWRIMO given by

Gauri Dixit

is "Monsters under the bed" to be written as a haibun

Day 3 April 3
I close the monitor at night. When I wake up in the morning, the white lights light up as if smiling. As if in. Greeting. Under each silver key. The dot-like black ants come out, from the circuitry inside. Why are you in there?! I ask. I am amazed by their answer. We thought it is someone's bed, and the crumbs of food we take in for our parties under it makes our nights a pleasant revelry with these artificial lights to make it bright as day like the moon and the stars do it for you. Monsters, I think! Just not under my bed, but my keyboard!
Miniscule black ants
Come out from asdf
Go into lk
All rights reserved by Koshy AV

Thursday, April 01, 2021

NAPOWRIMO TSL 2021 First three poems by Koshy AV

 TSL's NAPOWRIMO early bird poem by Koshy AV

Early Bird Poem
(for the Napowrimoers)
Take out those pencils
Find those sharpeners
What about them erasers?
Only in India called rubbers.
Oops, and rubbers
Are something else, elsewhere!
Get some nice paper
Quills, pens, dot-pens
Whatever your fetish
Ink blue or rainbow-colours
Notch the poems on your wall
Four lines and then crossed out
Store them in a blog or file
Nothing less than thirty, go!
Post them, see if others will read
Make it sing and they will plead
"Give me more", like Oliver Twist
Come, it is that time of year
NAPOWRIMO's finally here!

A place on the body - TSL prompt 1 given by me

1st April.
Write a poem on the idea of "A place on the body."
Places on the body can be outside/inside as well as parts of the body and the body can be metaphorically seen etc,
Humorous poems are also welcome.
- Dr. Ampat Koshy
{{Example poem
In spite of her sniffle
Isabel's chiffle.
Some girls with a sniffle
Would be weepy and tiffle;
They would look awful,
Like a rained-on waffle,
But Isabel's chiffle
In spite of her sniffle.
Her nose is more red
With a cold in her head,
But then, to be sure,
Her eyes are bluer.
Some girls with a snuffle,
Their tempers are uffle.
But when Isabel's snivelly
She's snivelly civilly,
And when she's snuffly
She's perfectly luffly.
-Ogden Nash}}
Poem 1
When she disrobed
I could see all the times on her body
The infant, the child, the young lady, the woman
Where in eternal lines to time she kept growing
But she said find me a place on my body
Standing before me unabashed and free
I had always been bad at geography
Parts of her body were metaphors for me
No place suggested itself to fancy
Placeless, she stood in her nudity before me
No space could bridge her or bind her when naked
She touched every place and was infinite like space
Expanding like the universe and lovely
If I touched her with even a finger
I touched history and all its layers
Her eyes were from the North of the fortresses
Her lips were the South
Her breasts were some West
And the jewel between her thighs
East of the explorers, all topsy turvy
Her thighs were fountains
Her nipples were standards
Surreal was no new word for me, confused
No words being able to describe her beauty
Her tresses and everything best described madly
She was all place and each move spacious
Small as quantum and large as a galaxy
What can you say of a place on the body
When place was all that bewitching poetry

2nd April
The hymns of the night - Lopa Banerjee.
The night carries in its body, texture and being a million splinters and shards of poems and the nocturnal souls like me breathe in their incense and peel off ourselves layer after layer in its dark, esoteric presence.
Welcoming the poets and wordsmiths to weave their nocturnal hymns and unravel the beauty and purity of the night and its sinister dark :)

Surreal Hymns of the Night
In the night you open the sluice
Seas slide in, the gushers are on
The grass is a bed that gets wet
The singing of cicadas is a song
At midnight the oil runs free
The second hand of the clock ticks on
I love you and you love me
I undress you and you undress me
Our bodies are pelicans hung out to dry in the sun
Our bodies are wound around the peccadilloes of the town
I paint every fence of yours red
Come burn me, secret agent, I cry
You are armed and you are a spy
I long to be taken in your arms and be denied
We will fry in the hot desert sands
Walk sideways like crabs and disappear into land
Take me to the swimming pools of your eyes
Let the night write lyrics, let the guitar troubadour us
Take me past the lush slopes of your breasts
If this is poetry let me write you hymns tonight
Near the oases there are psalms and palms
Keep me reading the lines on your palms
I am your 'palm wine drinkard' and I drink from your thighs
There is space enough for us under my canopy or tent
Cradled, your head upon my muscles
We look at the sky, we wish on shooting stars
Our love is a threnody full of pain
An elegy of sorrow and an ode to joy's train
Hymns of the night or hymns to the night
I watch the lights flicker on your skin
Candles are glowing in your skin's folds
In mine, glowworms dance to nautch gone south skies
I am the carousel you ride upon
My rod spouts golden and the whirlpools fall
There are gales hidden in the eaves of your ears
There are lies destroyed in the gait of your hips
Tsunamis unfurl in the dark horses of time
I show you my spoor and you smelling salts decry
This is a twister, my tongue in yours tied
There are lullabies like butterflies and poetry unrhymed
No hymn a crescendo that matches its height
Open your mind to the ecstasy divine
Open and don't close, let bliss have it side
When being becomes non and existence the sun
When two become one and melt into none
When the graves open and dead walk and run
When orgasms multiply and tantra is done
When God is found in the space between the lies
The truth is unburrowed and exhumed at night
We kiss and lean into each other, no fright
We are children again in the arrows of light
We sing and have sung hymns of and to the light

Friday, January 08, 2021

Postmodernism in Indian Subcontinent Literature in English (Talk given for EFLU 1/9/2021)

I saw a Hindu Keralite woman who is pro Dalit but believes in intersectionality, all details I gathered from the comments to her post, write on FB a sentence as a post which read "Every man is a Brahmin." I do not know if the post was a barb at Brahmins or a compliment (said tongue in cheek) but from the comments it seemed like a barb, but the point here is that it made me think of discourse, text and context, subtext, and finally, my topic for today, postmodernism. So let me launch into it with full vigour and vim. The said lady was not aware whether she was inverting the tradition of awe and reverence surrounding the word Brahmin or not, but not giving a context was centering her discourse on India, Hinduism and caste, not aware that her readers may not be from India or Hindus or aware of the nuances or implications of the layers of meaning a word like Brahmin used in such a context may have. Postcolonial writing or fiction in India has such a seeming drawback by becoming too national, regional and local, unlike the writing that deals with theory,  but to come to postmodernism, this reminded me of the writer I consider the first postmodernist of India, someone Salman Rushdie also considered that, namely GV Desani. I need to start with him as I am going to speak of Postmodernism in the Indian subcontinent's literature in English briefly

But first the usual definitions of postmodernism.

Brian Dunigan says: "Postmodernism is a late 20th-century movement in philosophy and literary theory that generally questions the basic assumptions of Western philosophy in the modern period (roughly, the 17th century through the 19th century)." He means the philosophers of the Enlightenment as we all know. " Postmodern philosophy is characterized by broad scepticism or relativism and a general suspicion of reason. It also broadly asserts that Western intellectual and cultural norms and values are a product of, or are in some sense influenced by, the ideology of dominant or elite (political and economic) groups and at least indirectly serve their interest." "Many postmodernists hold one or more of the following views: (1) there is no objective reality; (2) there is no scientific or historical truth (objective truth); (3) science and technology (and even reason and logic) are not vehicles of human progress but suspect instruments of established power; (4) reason and logic are not universally valid; (5) there is no such thing as human nature (human behaviour and psychology are socially determined or constructed); (6) language does not refer to a reality outside itself; (7) there is no certain knowledge; and (8) no general theory of the natural or social world can be valid or true (all are illegitimate “metanarratives”)."Although some postmodernists reject the relativist label, many postmodern doctrines constitute or imply some form of relativism. Many postmodernists deny that there are aspects of reality that are objective or that there are statements about reality that are objectively true or false (implying metaphysical relativism), that it is possible to have knowledge of such statements (implying epistemological skepticism or relativism), and that there are objective, or absolute, moral truths or values (implying ethical subjectivism or relativism). Instead, reality, knowledge, and value are constructed by “discourses” (shared linguistic practices) and can vary with them."Some famous thinkers associated with postmodernism are Jean BaudrillardGilles DeleuzeJacques DerridaMichel FoucaultPierre-Félix Guattari, Fredric Jameson, Emmanuel LévinasJean-François LyotardRichard Rorty, and Slavoj Žižek."

My personal footnote is that postmodernism has two streams, for explaining it simply, one being that anything that follows modernism can be called postmodern but I am more interested in this second narrower stream limited by theory and defined by what I read out in this talk though I will be shifting from one to the other at my own sweet will and pleasure.

My entry into post-modernism will not be through theory but through literature, having done my research on Samuel Beckett. That his later plays, novels, short stories, short prose pieces, short pieces of criticism, and poems are post-modernist there is no doubt. Anyone who has read Beckett on Joyce and then the third part of his trilogy Unnameable will get what I mean.

Beckett says of Joyce in his essay "Dante...Bruno. Vico..Joyce": Why, Mr Joyce seems to say, should there be four legs to a table, and four to a horse […]? He cannot tell you because he is not God Almighty, but in a thousand years he will tell you, and in the meantime must be content to know why horses have not five legs, nor three. He is conscious that things with a common numerical characteristic tend towards a very significant interrelationship. (32)

Beckett, Samuel. “Dante… Bruno. Vico.. Joyce.” Disjecta Miscellaneous Writings and a Dramatic Fragment: Samuel Beckett, edited by Ruby Cohn. Grove Press, 1984: pp. 18-33.

This Joyce who is on the way to omniscience bothers Beckett as he later says of himself, in comparison, in contradistinction:  "I am a non can-er, a non know-er." This fundamental Cartesian doubt without reaching Cartesian foundationalism which comes to be predominant in the work of Samuel Beckett is at the same time Socratic as well as deconstructive of the Enlightenment philosophers who begin with Descartes and who are postmodern to the core. 

If we trace out post-modernism's major writers who follow his footsteps or go on parallel journeys at the same time but in their own ways we would have to mention Nathalie Sarraute, Claude Simon, Alain Robbe Grillet, B S Johnson, Sam Shepard, and several others, one of whom I will come to later.

The Nobel Prize in Literature 1985 was awarded to Claude Simon "who in his novels combines the poet's and the painter's creativeness with a deepened awareness of time in the depiction of the human condition."

He says in his speech receiving the prize: "Nothing is sure, nor does it offer any other guarantees than those Flaubert, following Novalis, speaks of: a harmony, a music. Searching for it, the writer makes only laborious progress. Feeling his way forward like a blind man, he goes up culs-de-sac, gets bogged down and starts out anew. If we at all costs must find some edification in his efforts, one could say it lies in seeing that always we are advancing across sands which shift under our feet."

This strikes the note of postmodernism in creative writing so well that it needs no further explication, except to point out that by still talking of words like harmony and music and advancing it suggests that it is not a totally destructive or nihilistic enterprise.

To come to GV Desani and his All About H Hatterr, Rushdie says: "  "H. Haterr is the first post-modernist Indian novel if you like. It's much more self-conscious and reflexive than Midnight's Children." The sentence is self-evident, Rushdie considers postmodernism as self-consciousness and reflexivity and of course complexity in the use of language and experimentalism/experimentation with it in the Joycean rather than the Beckettian tradition. Rushdie is echoing Linda Hutchinson here, knowingly or unknowingly in her book on Metafiction, that was once staple diet for us researchers who wanted to know about (postmodernism. https://www.researchgate.net/publication/236818644_Salman_Rushdie_A_Postmodern_Reading_of_His_Major_Works_review)

But first, before coming to Rushdie, more on Desani. "Desani's penetrating insights that a) there are no small deeds, that b) thoughts are things, and that, c) sincere, energetic practice of any faith or religion can lead to personal peace — conclusions from his decades of mental culture and researching religious practices worldwide — is an underappreciated contribution to world religious dialouge." "Desani's teachings are respectfully summed up as follows: The ancient goals of Vipassana and Enlightenment are real and attainable. However, the quest is difficult. It is not for everyone. Others should simply try to live good, ethical lives."

https://www.desani.org/Home#h.p_pkQhfFXgTndW

According to me these are already there in ab ovo in his first novel and he too would agree as effect according to him could bring about cause in his study of nadi texts, and so the post modernism is not in his self consciousness or reflexivity but in the abyss opened up by his use of language which is opposed to his content which is an attempt to reconcile East and West, whether successful or not, a "positive trajectory." towards peace by one firmly entrenched in the East more than the West. What I mean by abyss here is that he did knowingly, not at all like Amos Tutuola, author of the "Palm Wine Drinkard", constructively, to language, that decolonisation that has led to its present "bastardization", but in the process making the West acknowledge that he knew what he was doing. This deconstruction of language to make it Indian English is what makes him post-modern uniquely.

While for Rushdie the definitive text of Indian postmodernism is this novel on Hatterr, for me it is Rushdie's Satanic Verses. This is because while Desani is a wider ecumenical in his outlook, like thinkers like Ramakrishna Paramahamsa, Bede Griffiths, Ken Wilber to some extent, and Raimondo Panikkar, Rushdie is guardedly deconstructive of the tradition he belongs to.  His novel has the points noted above which are 1. a suspicion of metanarratives, in this case his own Islamic one, and 2. a suspicion at the same time of the narrative process itself whether as practiced in the past in the writing of the Quran or in the present in its practice by himself as the controversial parts are put as magical realism or a series of magic dream vision narratives that may or may not be taken as a serious or playful subversion of the story telling's ideological notion that it has to be "truthful", which is one of the reasonable assumptions of Enlightenment philosophy. He also demystifies the idea that writing is "Sacred" in some inspired Grecian sense of coming from above and not from the unconscious. 

Since this is about subcontinental literature let me now come to the one writer in Pakistan who to me merits the title of postmodern more than any other.  That is Zulfikar Ghose who was a friend of BS Johnson and influenced by Beckett. His concerns and Rushdie's and Desani's have some overlap but what makes him interesting is his transition from modernism to postmodernism, that is from Woolf, Eliot, Pound, Joyce, Proust and Beckett but for him form, style, aesthetics and images as well as a creative pattern and chance matters and the sentences that lead to the unfolding of what happens along with the imagination. This is very postmodern especially in his trilogy on Brazil which some call magic realism and some a travelogue but he calls a  superimposition of the story of Jason and the Argonauts on South America and America, the first part coming from chance in taking it on from Bullfinch's Anthology. I refer to "New History of Torments".

In Bangladesh, post-modernism is often connected to a writer like Taslima Nasreen. While hers is postmodern in being a criticism of the majoritarian discourse in her own country from the standpoint of a suffocated minority whether it remains the same when in exile is something we cannot be sure of. Other writers we need to consider are Arvind Adiga and Arundhati Roy but I do not know if they fit the post-modern bracket as well as a Jeet Thayyil may in Necropolis which is more experimental. we can also consider a Shyam Selvadurai and Queer Theory in works like Funny Boy if we want to bring in Sri Lanka.

More interesting than these writers who seem to me to be more modern than postmodern is Jhumpa Lahiri's novel in Italian and what Homi Bhabha says of it:

  1. HOMI BHABHA: She's going to Italy, where she moved and lived for many years
  2. until quite recently.
  3. I think she's just returning to Princeton.
  4. But I think that for her, it's again a theatrical move.
  5. It's like saying, scene change, you know, scene three.
  6. Now you are in Italy.
  7. Now do what you do.
  8. Make your life again and your work in this other language.
  9. And of course, the interesting thing about the book
  10. is that I think it's a bilingual tradition.
  11. It's published both in the, as I understand it--
  12. DAVID DAMROSCH: Right, bilingual, right.
  13. And then a translation of the Italian.
  14. HOMI BHABHA: So you have both side by side.
  15. DAVID DAMROSCH: Yeah, yeah.
  16. HOMI BHABHA And I think that is a very interesting and courageous
  17. interpretation because in the seam of the book where the two pages end
  18. and meet, you begin to get this notion of what is translatable
  19. and what is untranslatable.
  20. And of course, if we just extrapolate from that,
  21. the possibility of people living side by side,
  22. whether they are in a migrant situation or a situation of refugees,
  23. living side by side demands not a fence or a wall between people
  24. so that they can tolerate each other.
  25. But what it demands is that people are able to experience
  26. that scene, that untranslatability.
  27. In some ways, I know it sounds pious, but to respect that
  28. and then to work around it, its difference has to be worked.
  29. Difference is not what you come with in a negotiation of peoples.
  30. And that's what I tried to suggest when I wrote
  31. and continue to write about hybridity as a form of translation.  "https://learning.edx.org/course/course-v1:HarvardX+HUM12x+1T2019/block-v1:HarvardX+HUM12x+1T2019+type@sequential+block@09f75f946df940e5a290ed500fd93eec/blockv1:HarvardX+HUM12x+1T2019+type@vertical+block@782a43583c6b4196bad1380d0899d7b0"
    "This novel consists in a series of short chapters, between 2 to 6 pages long, in which we follow a nameless narrator as she occupies different spaces. The titles of these chapters in fact refer to the place—not always a ‘physical’ one such as in the case of the recurring ‘Tra sé e sé’ chapters (an expression that for the life of me I cannot translate in English)—she is in or thinking of. She’s on the street, in a bar, a restaurant, a museum, her apartment, by the seaside…you get the gist. The novel takes place during a single year, and our narrator will often remark on the current season. She’s a solitary woman, and although she’s deeply aware of her loneliness, she’s not burdened by it. It is perhaps because she’s alone that she can get lost in her surroundings or in her thoughts. Even in those occasions where she interacts with others—who also remain unmanned and are referred to as her former lover, her friend, a professor, etc—she remains a lonely person. By seeing the way she interacts or navigates certain spaces, we learn more about her. Ultimately, however, she retains an air of mystery.
  32. "Dove mi trovo, which will be published in English as Whereabouts next spring, is the first novel Jhumpa Lahiri’s has written in Italian. Having read, and deeply empathized with, Lahiri’s In Other Words—a nonfiction work in which she interrogates her love for and struggles with the Italian language—I was looking forward to Dove mi trovo. Although I bought this book more than a year ago, during my last trip to Italy, part of me wasn’t ready to read it just yet. A teensy-weensy part of me feared that I would find her Italian to be stilted. As it turns out, I should have not second-guessed Lahiri.
  33. https://wishfullyreading.com/2020/10/22/dove-mi-trovo-whereabouts-by-jhumpa-lahiri/
  34. This brings us back to Samuel Beckett and his ability to write first in French first and then translate it back into English in a sense,  affirming that there is nothing new under the sun as he says in his novel Murphy echoing Ecclesiastes, but also to post modernism where the onus is not on meaning in any common or usual sense of the term.
  35. Footnotes:
  36. Modernism/modernity 10.4 (2003) 789-790 Salman Rushdie: Postmodern Reading of His Major Works. Sabrina Hassumani. Madison, NJ: Fairleigh Dickinson University Press, 2002. Pp. 154. $35.00 (cloth). If the status of Salman Rushdie's fiction is still in doubt—and for all his post-fatwa fame and the fact that Midnight's Children won the Booker of Bookers in 1993, there are still many critics who share Indian novelist Pankaj Mishra's opinion that it is but "a marvel of clotted sententiousness an alarming new kind of anti-literature"—few would deny the eloquence and force of Rushdie's non-fiction writing. His essays and reviews, many of them collected in Imaginary Homelands and Step Across the Line, are more often than not sharp-toothed but illuminating polemics on topics as various as the failure of black film-makers to tell populist stories, the Raj revival of the early 1980s, and the relationship between politics and the novel. They try—succinctly and with the fevered intensity that deadline-driven journalism induces—to grapple with metamorphosis, cultural hybridity and many of those themes enumerated in The Satanic Verses: "broken memories, sloughed-off selves, severed mother-tongues, violated privacies, untranslatable jokes, extinguished futures, lost loves, the forgotten meaning of hollow, booming words, land, belonging, home." Given this rich archive of self-scrutiny and auto-critique, scholars who choose to write on Rushdie are faced with particular challenge: namely, that Rushdie has almost certainly tackled or theorized the same issues they are now raising."




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