Money is what money does, goes a famous quotation. Strangely, it could apply to poetry too. But in the case of poetry, it has to be something beyond the sum total of the words it contains.
In his latest collection of poems, Ksha Valikkunna Kuthirakal, Latheesh Mohan chooses to find an idiom, a way of expression that does not aim at achieving or securing anything beyond itself. Trying to find meaning, even allusions in the conventional sense, amongst or between his lines may leave a reader baffled, starting right from the headings of the poems. ‘I sing about storks, in hiding, while two cops cross the fields,’ goes a title. Bordering on the absurd, they, at once, tickle and agitate that part of your brain that you thought could ‘understand’ poetry. Being unapologetically unexpected is the basic nature of these poems.
When Latheesh asks Mananchira square “to stop surveillance around people,” ( Sasidharanum njanum thammilillaathathu ) you are instantly taken to a scenario being turned on its head and start chewing the lines until you remember to go back to the pages and read the rest. Then, in Antigone , you confront the lizard named Ajayan that unequivocally defies your attempt to give an honourable funeral to a butterfly that died after hitting the fan in your room.
When the world is being turned into not only a global village, but a permanent carnival in it, art has to prod us beyond mere celebrations. It is no accident that graphic novels are gaining popularity now even as newspapers have dedicated teams to present you facts and incidents in a chronological, digestible format. We are now used to finding short-cuts and bribe our way to knowledge, emotions, and sensations.
When literature or poetry, to be precise, starts being a play of words, and intends to be nothing else, we are bound to take a second look. Both within and outside. It is fine for a writer to not be a sloganeer; It is okay if he or she does not ‘react’ to injustices at every single instance. Poetry is very much a function of chaos, of chance.
When a poem by Latheesh talks about a man who loses his way every single day, your sense of ‘right’ or ‘wrong’ path is challenged ( Ottakkaalina: Ekkiyum Chnadranum ). At many junctures throughout the book, you trip and falter, wondering what to do with an image, an impression that is complete in itself and does not need supporting beams of further explanations. You may even feel angry that it is not an ‘easy’ read, a fluent melody, but a tough one that will agonise you like a mathematical problem, long after you have finished reading it.
Aami Athmaja's illustrations and Zinul Abid's cover design add depth and dimension to this carnival of chaos.
Ksha Valikkunna Kuthirakal may not be my cup of tea, or the literature I may choose to read in my leisure. But it does make me reflect that literature has never been about being ‘light’ or ‘easy.’ Just like life.
Ksha Valikkunna Kuthirakal
Latheesh Mohan
DC Books
Rs.120
