Imagine a poet approaching you flashing a smile and waving her/his visiting card at you — asks Indian-English poet Arundhathi Subramaniam, of the largely-young crowd of literature enthusiasts, stirring up a laugh.
To make their voice heard above the deafening cacophony that the literary world is now riddled with is a tall order for poets. But then through networking and a deft use of new-media platforms, they have managed to do just that — she introduces the topic, ‘Being Heard in Decibel Hell: Poetry in a Noisy World’, as the panellists, all poets of standing, enliven the discussion.
The third edition of the South India Writers’ Ensemble, while showcasing a cross-section of literature from the Northeast, also put the spotlight on contemporary poetry — with the discussion on ‘being heard’ setting the tone.
“I’m getting anxious that poets are suddenly becoming glamorous,” chuckles Arundhathi in a chat with The Hindu.
There are ways in which poets connect with each other and with the readers all over the world, she says, disputing the notion that poetry has a receding readership and currency.
Ironically though, after all the grumble that poets are capable of there’s freedom in the level of marginality, she insists.
Ananya S. Guha, poet from Shillong and regional director of the Indira Gandhi National Open University at Jorhat, is more direct. “Readership for poetry in English is wider, thanks to the Internet,” he says, recalling a conversation he had with Malayalam poet K. Satchidanandan when the latter was editing an online anthology of Indian poems.
Rejection comes in the way, even from online forums and journals, but that doesn’t deter him from pursuing his first love — poetry, confesses Ananya, who also pens political commentary, book reviews and literary essays.
When jaded, or in need of a palate cleanser, it’s poetry that offers the primal excitement about the language of emotion, argues Arundhathi. Poetry, to her, is the most effective form of verbal enchantment.
Her rage poem against attempts at pigeonholing poets — ‘To The Welsh Critic Who Doesn’t Find Me Identifiably Indian’ — is in fact a declaration of freedom. “You don’t simply respond to the diktats of cultural fashion” is how she puts it.
Ananya, too, feels strongly against the search to fix the meaning of a poem. “It is an absolute rejection of the process of writing,” he says, taking exception to the way poetry is taught.
Among the veteran litterateurs at the three-day fest held in the sleepy town of Chengannur was poet Kalpetta Narayanan, who flagged the centrality of the moment as triggering poetry. Early morning on the last day, the poet climbed up ‘Pandavan Para’, a heap of overturned rocks held together by mythology surrounding The Mahabharata. The local legend has it that what resembles a large footmark on one of the rocks is that of Bhima, who stayed with the others in a cave while in hiding. ‘The beauty of the place is marred by a concrete flight of steps to the top and concrete and steel pipe constructions all over, including a public announcement system atop a precariously perched rock,” says the poet.
While poet Vishu Rita Krocha from Nagaland relished the beauty of the Alappuzha beach after the fest got over, acclaimed poet and translator from Manipur Robin S. Ngangom travelled to Thiruvananthapuram to release a young poet’s anthology.
Festival director T.P. Rajeevan, poet-novelist, would want the event, held on the banks of the Pampa river, to also turn the focus on the protection of the river.
