Saturday, March 25, 2017


Text of my Plenary Session talk in the National Seminar on Contemporary South Asian Literature in English, 20 – 21 March 2017, at The Centre for Foreign Languages (English), Central University of South Bihar, Gaya
Venue: Renaisance, Dayanand-Sushila Cultural Centre, A.P. Colony, Gaya

                                                                                                --Professor R.K. Singh

Abstract:      The paper presents characteristics of contemporary Indian English poetry in a   general way with a view to drawing attention to the need for research on new/less known/marginalized poets of the last three decades.  Mention is made to a few poets who express themselves freely and creatively in emerging genre such as haiku and tanka.  A plea is made to critically explore the fresh and marginalized voices before dumping them as inconsequential.

Emphasis is also laid on developing a research policy which promotes identification and study of fresh/less known   authors at local/state, regional, national, and international levels, either singly or in a group, comparatively, as well as intra- and internationally.

I am most grateful to the organizers of the Seminar, especially Professor Prabhat K Singh and his colleagues in the Department of English for inviting me to speak on some marginalized voices in contemporary Indian English writing. He particularly wanted me to reflect on haiku poetry, now so popular that almost every poet has been trying their hand at it, both in English and their mother tongue, not only in South Asia but all over the world.  Haiku is poetry of the present.

My poet friend also wanted me to talk from the perspective of a practitioner of poetry as well as the academic profession.  Thank you, Prabhat ji.

You will agree we as poets belong to the present, which shapes our creative consciousness.  Some of us have also been writing vis-à-vis the crises of essential ideas, beliefs and systems and suffering isolation in our own mind but not without leading to a reconciliation in some way.

To quote Octavio Paz from his Nobel lecture on Dec 8, 1990 at Stockholm, “It may seem paradoxical to say that we have been expelled from the present, but it is a feeling we all had at some moment.  Some of us experienced it first as a condemnation, later transformed into consciousness and action.  The search for the present is neither the pursuit of an earthly paradise nor that of a timeless eternity: it is the search for the real reality.”  Discovering this “real reality” could be tricky because we ourselves are part of it, its disintegration, division or disappearance, or its conversion into a the instant or fixed present.  To quote from Shiv K Kumar’s poem, ‘Coromandel Beach’:  “I know/if I probe any deeper/all the particles will/slither into the hole--/the sea will belch/and all evidence descend/into the subliminal bed.”

The despairing dehumanizing influences of the socalled civilized existence—its socioeconomic realities, the tragic mess one is obliged to suffer—have left deeper marks on the contemporary psyche.  To quote O.P. Bhatnagar:  “We’re afraid of speaking the truth/And resisting whatever is unjust/Foul and corrupt in our bones.” (The Inaudible Landscape,p. 10)

Several sensitive poets derive sustenance from encounter with the immediate and the tangible; they act by trying to understand what it is vis-à-vis their own dreams, often seen in half sleep—restless and fraught with countless dangers and surprises; they explore their own mind, body, psyche, their own life. sometimes  with an awareness  of lack of harmony with their surrounding.  They are baffled at the life and living in the shadows of those religious, political,  social systems that sustain us at the same time as they oppress us.  Sometimes their anguished awareness invites them to self-examination, at other times the sense of being different or not belonging appears as a challenge, a spur that incites them to action, to go forth and face the outside world, to reflect on its genesis, the past and the future.

They reflect on the condition of the individuals isolated from the society and ponder over various levels of human relationship and problems of existence; perversion, corruption, degeneration, morbidity, privation, insecurity; terrors of bloodshed; pain and agony of aimless killings and death; feeling of helplessness; awareness of political and social turpitude; mockery of idealism, values and morality; tendency to manouvre truth; game of convenience; exploitation of the poor and innocent; in short, the hypocrisy operating at all levels. They address themselves to embodiments of modern corruption even as they try to betray what it is like to be a human being vis-à-vis new set of vulgarities every now and then.

Some of them make poetry out of arguments with themselves: they are driven to understand themselves, their lives.  Their ‘personal’ voice is animated by issues and arguments around the mind/body relation, around what most people try to keep concealed—the sexual feelings, the sensations of the flesh; like any good artist, they also seek to make life show itself.  They write with the awareness of what is denied in our ordinary existence, what is beneath  the skin of things around, the psychospiritual strains, the moral dilemmas, the betrayals, and the paradoxes. 

There are certain poets who combine  personal memories with history while there is some kind of a neo-mysticism  in the pursuit of others, showing subtle absorption of motifs and memories from their own roots/past in exploring the meaning of their various co-existing lives.  The  philosophical insight and artistic value of poetic creation make many a recent poet authentic.

My observations, howsoever general, should motivate teachers and researchers to explore new voices and study them as part of the curriculum.  It disappoints me, and damages the cause of South Asian  writing in English, when a young teacher or researcher tells me that in their college or university research on new or living authors is not permitted. Speaking as a poet, and if we claim a belonging to what we call Indian English Writing, then, as academics, we should ensure that poets like me (or Prabhat K Singh, or others present here) are not dumped without being read or evaluated.  A little large heartedness is necessary in our own interest, that is, for being remembered as Indian English poets and writers. The dynamics of recent writing needs to be  understood through analysis and criticism.  Otherwise, the cause will die, repeating the praise for a handful of socalled well known poets and writers, and recycling research. Let’s shed our ego.

Speaking as an academic, let me share with you that before I retired in December 2015, and as long as the one-year MPhil programme continued at ISM (now IIT), I, as Professor and Head, not only encouraged students to write their dissertations on new authors and poets but also on new books of their choice. They explored works of such marginalized or new poets and authors as R. Rabindranath Menon, Pronab Kumar Majumder, Niranjan Mohanty, V V B Ramarao, Y S Rajan, A P J Abdul Kalam, S L Peeran, Syed Ameeruddin, Hazara Singh, P K Joy, D C Chambial,  I K Sharma, Maha Nand Sharma, B Ahmad, Pashupati Jha, Vihang Naik, Manas Bakshi, Biplab Majumdar, P. Raja, R K Singh, Jaishree Misra, Mamang Dai, Tamsula Ao, S Radhamani, Sudha Iyer, Nirmala Pillai, Venu Arora, Dipanwita Mukerjee etc  and a little better known Mani Rao, Tabish Khair, Manu Joseph, Raj Kamal Jha, Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni, Jhumpa Lahiri, Eve Enseler (who wrote Vagina Monologues), Raewyn Alexander (who wrote Fat), and Ross Donlon. My other colleagues there continue to guide research on several new authors from Pakistan, Bangla Desh and Sri Lanka. 

A seminar like this provides us with an opportunity to discover and interact about new talents.  Many of them have been writing and publishing against various odds.  Let me mention my latest discovery, Kalpna Singh-Chitnis. Like Tabish Khair, she is born, brought up and educated in Gaya. She taught Political Science at Gaya College before moving to the USA to pursue her interest in film directing at the New York Film Academy Universal Studios in Hollywood.  A Bihar Rajbhasha awardee, translator, editor of a literary journal  Life and Legend, and founder and director at Silent River Film festival,  Kalpna Singh is now based in Los Angeles, California.

Her poems are refreshingly fascinating. “Let’s just be, whoever we are”—this is how she seeks to bare the soul, our being at every level.  Bare Soul (published by Partridge India, 2015) is her fourth poetry collection. She writes simple, sensuous and passionate poems that are spiritually elevating. She uses natural elements as metaphors for a complex of human emotions that connect her to the whole world.  Her voice is “as original and cross-cultural as it is universal and classic.” One can hear the mystic in her quest:  “I have come all the way/not to try your love for me;//I’m here to tell--/I can’t afford not to love any more!” (p. 12).  Like many women poets the world over, she too declares: “My body is no longer my limitation” (p 19)  and “we savor the darkness bestowed upon us/leading us toward  each other/our wings are bruised/and there is no sky above our heads,/but we have what the heavens don’t;//like a twine in the candle/we burn together, we light together.” (Ancient Love, p. 29)

Kalpna is innocent, deep and perceptive, as she explores the ancient question, “Who am I?” and  wonders if she’s “a bare soul without any face?” adding:  “I’m able to see myself in a moment/beyond past, present and future/walking my way” (p 82). She exposes in Bare Soul a woman’s “wild inner beauty” as she articulates in varying tones male-female relationship: “I can’t be a disaster for nothing” (p 19) and “It’s now time for me to empty my soul/roll into the abundance of silence/to hear my voice…”

The women poets in-look, and outlook too, is challenging.  They examine, as  their poetry reveals, their private and public life, or everyday experiences boldly.  They integrate the flesh into their beliefs and representations just as they have been traditionally linking themselves to their home, family, motherhood, social life, solitude, god, nature, myths.  With the profound changes that have taken place in their lives, their choices, and their opportunities in the recent period, their status, roles, occupation, and legal position, they now voice their own visions and understanding of the everyday life, often cutting across cultures and regions.  When they portray their sexuality, or comment on our sexual politics, they also tell us how woman is also master of her own place in poetical creation.

Several new collections that I could lay my hands on demonstrate their sensitivities and struggles that appeal for their lack of pedantry, moral commentary, or unnecessary romanticizing.  They exploit the medium to understand why and how of  life on the one hand, and to enrich and celebrate the female consciousness, redeeming their physical and spiritual existence, on the other. They sound warm, vibrant and capable. 

Let’s also take note of certain obvious realities. Quite a number of our  contemporary poets – male or female, in their 30s, 40s, 50s, or 60s, with a 20th century consciousness—have learnt to live with a world in upheaval.  They have grown up in very disappointing external conditions of living.  It has been normal for them (in fact, it’s one of our collective cultural traits as Indians) to think intuitively, and/or turn personal, inward, godward, or spirit-ward;  their capability lies in their emotional sensitivity than in intellectual abstraction.  It is not their escapism but an urge for changing the situation for themselves.

A Kashmiri woman poet, Syeda Afshana, boldly disapproves of politicians and people who hold anti-women views, is critical of the media for reducing Kashmir to “propaganda symbolism.”  She touches themes such as bloodshed, violence, insurgency, loss, sacrifice, and relationship.  It is, however, her  “different” attitude that makes her notable.  Her sadness is evident when she says, “A scream/that is only mine, just mine/and has remained unchanged/since times immemorial.” (The Fugitive Sunshine, p. 24)

Writing in response to the gang rape of a 23-year old girl  (Nirbhaya)  in New Delhi three years ago, Chandni Singh feels part of  every woman that gets raped. Let me quote from her poem ‘I am a Woman in India’:

I can hold my own on issues
about the environment.
I can wax eloquent about literature and music.
I am told, I am the future;
and for a moment I am bent into believing
in the  bubble I have bought into.

But every morning
I cower.
My ego slouches
as it is castrated at the hands of
crotch-clutching goondas.
I have lost count:
there are too many to fight.
I may be liberated. And educated,
but my fire has been doused.
Neither rhetoric nor review can
bring me solace.

And so, I turn the other cheek.
I have become deaf to the whistles and
blind to the lewdness.
I adjust my dupatta
and look straight ahead
as they line the streets and pucker their mouths.

I am just a woman in India.

Let me mention a couple of other recent instances reported in the media. In the neighbouring Afghanistan, some dozen Kabul women, who call poetry their sword, are determined to protect their new-found freedom despite constant death threats from the Talibans.  Poetry is their form of resistance in a taboo-ridden, extremely conservative and almost illiterate society that treat poetry writing as sin.  Karima Shabrang, for example, uses explicit images of intimacy:  “I miss you…my hands are stretching from the ruins of Kabul…I want to  invite you to my room for delicious smoke… and you will give me refuge in your shivering red body.”  More and more women there are waging fight for the rights, including their rights to write and be heard.


Freedom to express themselves freely and creatively is something most women find hard to have, but some of them, not necessarily subscribing to feminist practices, have honestly and boldly shown how their modernity lies in fashioning a new language for themselves, for new ways of seeing, understanding and interpreting humankind and the world, for their attempt to change “thinking and growing.”  Here haiku writing comes in handy. It’s in keeping with the current minimalist trend. Some examples:

“Bathing in bubbles/my breasts turn into mountains--/glistening with snow”  (Pam Penny)
“May morning green fly/in my pink lipstick, you chose/a beautiful death” (Susan Kerr)
“Remembering last/summer’s infidelity:/your tongue in my cheek” (Sheila Glen Bishop)
“my youth has gone--/a solitary crow circles/adding his lament” (Janice M Bostok)
“pregnant again--/the fluttering of moths/against the window” (Janice M Bostok)
“cleaning the bedroom--/the warmth of her shirt/left in the sun” (Michael Dylan Welch)
“her fingers push/the roots into the earth--/touch-me-not” (R.K.Singh)
“green stones--/ the moss conquers/ the mountain” (Mohd Azim Khan)

I began with poets’ quest for the present. They are always in search of new ways of saying, the new experience of language, the new ways of expressing what we see, feel and think.  Now as I talk about haiku writing, which is the shortest lyric poem, let me clarify: haiku poems always deal with the present; they are written in the present tense to create a sense of the moment of experience as a rule.  It’s three lines, conventionally consisting of 5-7-5 syllables and one season word (or Kigo, as they call), follow the principles of  comparison, contrast, or association between the images. In the words of a Canadian haiku poet Betty Drevniok, “In haiku the something and the something else are set down together in clearly stated images.  Together they complete  and fulfill each other as  one particular event.”  That is, haiku is a complete poem for the audience to relate to. 

 For example, “a spring nap/downstream cherry trees/in bud.”  What is experienced, but not said, is the thought that buds on a tree can be compared to flowers taking a nap.  The image  of cherry bud could also be compared to a number of items  just as something else in  spring landscape can be compared to a nap without naming the thing? The reader is free to imagine, or experience, and create  a new haiku!

I have been reading and writing a variety of haiku over the last three decades or so, and have developed a taste for only such haiku (without differentiating between haiku, which is conventionally objective, impersonal, and relates to nature, and senryu, which is light and has humour, irony or satire related to human events) that make use of concrete imagery, or sensation of a lived moment, and not abstractions.  

Over the last few decades, haiku has developed as world poetry, and the 700 years old traditional Japanese form has been internationalized, providing to the poets in every language, and especially in English, an immense possibility to experiment.  They have been sharing their moments of various experiences of poetical value in three (short-long-short) lines, reduced to minimum details. (That is, there is no room for adjectives, adverbs, mean details or comments, no rational analysis, no amplification, but just the essential of the moment of experience or observation, in  a good pragmatic use of the language. The poet lets the readers connect with his/her context.)They have used the short poem form to convey their personal feelings and emotional states, everyday reality, sensual vitality, wit and humour, and even reflections and opinions.  But what matters for the right effect is whether these point to, or relate to an actual, lived experience and evoke deep feelings in the reader; whether the poet could catch certain bright moments of life with his/her internal eyes.

The important thing is to write in a stripped down, terse style the exact experience, or the image (of it), and not about the feelings themselves, or meaning; leave it to the reader.  The feelings will be most powerful  if suggested indirectly, by letting the reader experience the image or action  that the haiku conveys, rather than by trying to tell the reader what to feel.  

Reading new haiku poets is a reminder that life is so rich in happenings that one can concentrate on a specific moment and create a haiku, not necessarily all cool,dry and objective,but emotionally fulfilling as well.  Several new poets of the subcontinent --  Sonam Chhoki, Namgay Wangchuk, Kinely Tshering, Tashi Gyaltshen (Bhutan); Abhi Subedi, Mukul Dehal, Bamdev Sharma, Janak Sapkota, Anand Raj Joshi, Haris Adhikari (Nepal); Athar Tahir, Naeem-ur-Rahman, Mohd Azim Khan, Sohail Ahmed Suddiqui, Shaheen Shah (Pakistan); Malintha Parera (Sri Lanka); Rahman Mustafizur, Sadiq Alam, Quamrul Hassan, Khan Munia (Bangla Desh); Angelee Deodhar, Radhey Shiam, Vishnu P Kapoor, Vidur Jyoti, Pravat Kumar Padhy, Rebba Singh, Ajaya Mehala, K. Ramesh, Gautam Nadkarni, R.K. Singh, Kala Ramesh and scores of others (India)  demonstrate something more than skill and style—haiku sensibility—which naturally makes room for readers to imagine what remains unexpressed, to “make connection.” Readers become part of the poets’ creation of “here and now.”

But there are also many haiku poets, I won’t like to name any, who offer a poetic or literary or philosophical view of the thing observed rather than the thing itself. They appear romantic, sentimental, didactic, or cleverly manipulating the simple truths of nature’s wonders, or life’s experience.  Some poets attribute a purpose or aim to their objects of observation, and prevent readers from making connections.  They tend to explain and elaborate (as in their regular poems) rather than sketch their experience of the moment.  Some others end up writing ‘sublime’ poetry, or adhering to the ‘form’ and not spirit, the spirit of here and now, as I said. 

It is the spirit behind the words that counts: the pauses, hesitations, and the silences between words and between the lines, the silences that make a poem live and breathe.  That is what makes a good haiku, and not teaching, preaching, moralizing, philosophizing, intellectualizing, or what they do in epigrammatic poetry.

My experience of reading and writing haiku convinces me that the best haiku just happens, or gets easily written, just as the brief poem with its directness, naturalness, and simplicity of the keenly observed moments in life and union of mind and nature conveys something so evocative and dynamic that one is filled with a sense of being alive, or one with what is called the “haiku moment.”

Since haiku is a different poetic tool, if one uses two images and a key word, if one juxtaposes two things that happen to be somewhat “together” with an eye on the dynamics of relationship, if one is down-to-earth and conveys sensuousness with or without the traditional kigo (season word), or if one practices free-form  and experimental haiku in 3-5-3, 3-4-3, 4-7-5, 4-6-4, or even 7-7 syllables, or just short-long-short lines—I enjoy them. What matters is precision, perception, and awareness; sound and rhythm, but not rhyme.

Classic haiku do not rhyme, though rhymed haiku, as tried by I H Rizvi or T V Reddy, are very much possible. If for structural reasons there are only two lines in a haiku, or the last words of any two lines rhyme with each other, I enjoy them too, provided the haiku image or haiku spirit remains intact, and everything is clear and reads well.  If rhymes happen naturally and fluently, not artificially, it adds to the beauty of the three-liners. 

If a South Asian poet is well-versed in the genre of haiku and demonstrates sensitivity for the medium, s/he appeals to a wider regional/nation al/international audience. They understand what and how of haiku, and so, their ‘style’ can be explored in terms of local/regional usages as part of a national norm.  The authenticity of expression of the poets sheds light on the multilingual /multicultural situational context and their English.


Researchers can examine the socio-emotional contexts and problems too: Haiku and tanka allow for tension, contradiction,and emotional expressiveness, each of which is essential to explore the complexities of native identity. They can study their communicative devices, highlighting not only the use of the typical kigo (season) words unique to the poet’s region and/or contexts but also ‘deviances’ which is a significant constituent of pragmatics and stylistics, as part of the process of adaptation of the Japanese tradition and use of English in the SL contexts.

As I think aloud, it is also possible, for example, to explore heteronyms (which  are different in form, have identical reference, and share stylistic equivalence (e.g. autumn/fall, hood/top, corn/oats/maize, pavement/sidewalk, pancake/hotcake, trailer/truck/tractor trailer etc) and relate to Indian kigo words, besides helping the international audience to understand the attitude of speakers’ regional preference/territorially desired variants for the same word or set of words in a context. There are so many new expressions and innovations in haiku and tanka.  

There is so much experimentation in word-formation, code-mixing, code-switching, and loan translations  going on, and it is challenging to describe South Asian Englishes, or the English used by poets in the region.  Researchers have an opportunity here for international and intereregional  comparison, and possible lexicographical study. 

Those of you interested in stylistics, literary pragmatics, discourse analysis, or view literary activity as communicational might find it rewarding to  explore the new grammar of poetry via Japanese poetry form as adapted in English not only in India but also South Asia, Europe, North America and Africa.   The poets use metaphors, irony, humour, words with double meanings, puns, word-plays, riddles/puzzles, paradox, besides Japanese techniques of shasei (sketch from life), shajutsu (reality),  depicting something as it is, sabi (loneliness, solitude, pity), wabi (poverty, austerity), yugen (mystery) etc differently. Their text structure and communicative function of aesthetic experience calls for serious academic study and research, if you trust my observations as a practicing poet and academic, who is committed to the promotion of creativity in Indian English and its criticism.

Let me assure you the canon need not repudiate the new and marginalized voices (I may be biased if I mention some and leave out the others), but the tendency of academics, the power politics apart, to simply reject the native Indian English poets in favour of a handful of names, even after maturity of Indian English, is not positive.  Nor is there any sense in recycling information (in the name of research) about already firmly established authors such as Mulk Raj Anand (about 100 theses), R.K. Narayan (about 140 theses), Raja Rao (about 70 theses), Kamala Markandeya (about 70 theses), Anita Desai (140 theses), Sri Aurobindo (75 theses), Ruth Prawer Jhabwala (50 theses), Arun Joshi (45 theses), Shashi Deshpande (over 45 theses), Salman Rushdie (47 theses), V S Naipaul (45 theses), Kamala Das (42 theses), Nissim Ezekiel, Manohar Malgonkar, Bhabani Bhattacharya (each over 30 to 35 theses)—these data are dated by 5 to 6 years.  What new is being said when each of these writers have over 20 to 70 full length books already published on them? Those who have been evaluating PhD theses can tell you better how frustrating it is not to find something new and exciting in a study and yet okay it!

A change in attitude is necessary.  Unless the academia explore the literary imagination and linguistic inventiveness of  the new and the marginalized Indian and other South Asian writers as they negotiate their varied cultural identities, or their search of alternatives for the creation of another world,  they won’t be able to familiarize students and researchers with rapidly changing styles of writing, here in our country, be it fiction or poetry.  Fiction is readily accepted because the form has adapted to the fast changing world and writers have been trying new storytelling methods. They have been innovative and readers who buy their work support them.  Recent fictioneers such as Ashwin Sanghi, Amish Tripathi, Mohan Vizhakat, Rajiv Menon, Jaishree Misra and others have been successful for their creative innovation and myth-making.  They are worth studying for academic degrees. Poets too need support.

In whatever little way we can help, let’s try to make research relevant, refreshing, challenging, innovative, and adding to new knowledge by examining, for example, the emerging cultural dimensions and discourse; the different worlds-as-experienced, conceived, and talked about to explore the great diversity of experience and talk of the world  (there is no one world-as-conceived-by-us at all); the ‘otherness of English’ in all its creative and critical manifestations; the relationship of one language (that talks about) to another (that in which we talk). With appropriate theoretical approaches, it is possible to promote cross-cultural dialogue.  We need an eclectic understanding of creativity, as Wole Soyinka once pleaded, for an awareness of “universal catalogue of metaphors of art.”  William Harris even speaks of  “a kind of cross-cultural psyche of humanity, a cross-cultural psyche that bristles with the tone and fabric of encounters between socalled savage cultures and socalled civilized cultures.” 

We need to be judicious and yet tolerant to appreciate a multifarious creativity and promote “reasonable discussion” without being hegemonic, antagonistic, condemning, or threatening.  It is possible to probe new literatures in a spirit of good faith, understanding, and reasonable disagreement.  The university research programme can be geared towards multiculturalism, valuing and encouraging individual thinking, but discouraging dominance, conformity and subservience.

Thinking aloud, I would  like to suggest for relevant research, each teacher in his/her university and college should identify three to five new, or less known, or marginalized authors (poets, novelists, dramatists) each at (i) local/district/state level; (ii) regional level; (iii) national level; (iv) international level, and study each of them for MPhil and PhD theses singly, or in a group, or collectively, and/or comparatively, both intra-  and inter-regionally and internationally, and negotiate creative and critical differences.  This will help generate a large number of new ‘topics’ and promote a positive cross-cultural mediation on the basis of equality, rather than one the basis of dominant versus dominated. 

Academic and poet friends such as Dr I H Rizvi and Dr Satish Kumar have published works drawing attention to scores of poets and authors from Uttar Pradesh just as Dr C L Khatri and Dr I K Sharma have done books and articles on poets and  authors from Bihar and Rajasthan. Muse India, an online literary journal, has devoted issues on writings in English from several other  regions of the country.  Similarly, another new online journal, Creation and Criticism, edited by Sudhir K Arora , Abnish Singh Chauhan and others, from a small city like Moradabad , has been promoting new talents and linking them to international  audience.  This kind of exercise has to pick up to give new life to literary and scholastic studies at local, regional, national, and international level with newer theoretical approaches that may interest a scholar.

With empathy, recognition, and responsiveness, the literary scholastic orthodoxies of the earlier decades can be replaced with fresh contexts, unaffected by monopolistic approaches.  Instead of pronouncing the demise of Indian English writing or lamenting over its poor quality, as the authors of Indian English Literature: 1980-2000 (2001) M K Naik and Shyamala A Narayan do, if academic critics could demonstrate professional dedication and commitment, in a short time we would be able to locate many good poets, fiction writers, and playwrights besides fostering the art, harnessing the taste, developing the talent, and promoting criticism.

Thank you


Saturday, February 18, 2017

S.L.Peeran reviews SENSE AND SILENCE

R.K. Singh. Sense and Silence: Collected Poems. Jaipur: Yking Books, 2010, Pages 347, Price: Rs. 995/-, ISBN 978-81-910588-2-6

Reviewed by: S.L. Peeran

R.K. Singh is an academician, a poet of standing, who has been acclaimed as a major voice in post independent era. A well known critic and a person who cares for the voiceless and marginalized poets in the country.

Yking Books, Jaipur, India, has brought out the entire collection of poetry of R.K. Singh Sense and Silences:Collected Poems: 1974-2009 with an extremely aesthetic cover with a picture of a nude  women lying in grass surrounded by pipal leaves signifying love,  beauty and wisdom. The back side of the cover page has the latest photograph of the poet, in the background is a Muslim period monument with calligraphic writing of holy scriptures.

The blurb speaks about R.K. Singh’s achievement as an academician in as much as he has authored more than 150 research articles, 160 book reviews and authored 35 books which include 12 collections of poem, which have been translated in many local and European languages. R.K. Singh is an innovative Haiku and Tanka writer, having won acclaim and prizes in international contests. He is also well known ESTist and currently heading the Department of Humanities & Social Sciences, Indian School of Mines, Dhanbad.

The outstanding feature of the poetry of R.K. Singh is its sensuousness, explicit and graphic description of intimate relationship with his best half and bed mate in his initial work ‘My Silence’ and other subsequent works, As a young man, R.K. Singh was thrilled, excited and uninhibitedly details his sexual release, his passion and love. He is a great connoisseur of beauty, love and sex. But that is not all, the poet is sincere and honestly deals about social issues and hypocrisy. He calls a spade a spade. He is truthful in his exposition and never minces words.

R.K. Singh does not title his poems, but they are numerically numbered. In the words of I..K. Sharma the poetry of R K Singh displays the power of plain words, scaring the puritans and taunting the purists, speaking for love, sensuality and meaning of life. I K Sharma has done a thorough analysis of R.K. Singh’s work. In his foreward to his latest collection “Sexless Solitude and other poems”, I.K. Sharma states that the poet articulates his perceptions, his experiences in a very unconventional way. Not at all shy of using words associated with sex, he puts them to different uses in his poems. He further states the poetry of R.K Singh “makes purists of literature believe that the poet is a shameless hawker of sex in the street of literature. His poems, they think, have soiled the white house (not White House) of literature; such persons in fact suffer from agoraphobia.” I.K. Sharma further states that: “Dr Singh manages to tell his experiences, bitter or sweet, mostly bitter, in minimum possible words. He would eliminate all the non essential from his compositions. He would chiefly exploit, like Hemingway, the vigour of verb in his poems, and avoid the pomp and vanity of adjective altogether. This way of writing makes his poems far different from the poems we often come across in Indian English poetry magazines.” He further notes: “Dr Singh’s poems are sober, mature and disciplined. Though written in free verse they are yet compact. Neither the words nor emotions go astray. No clichés exists there. Only  the power of plain words on display.”

R.K. Singh’s poetry is not “run of the mill” one and following the traditional and much beaten path. His poetry is mostly sensual, imaginative, original and innovative.

Among all his work the ‘Sexless Solitude” section in the Collected Poems  is monumental, classical, and his masterpiece. The poet has poured forth his emotions in a most chiseled form, bare like “the tree/green and wide/abundantly dressed/over flowing/ spreading her sleeves/ blesses all/ in her cool shades/ solitude teems /with breeze songs/ I feel nearer God.” These are the poet’s opening lines in praise of his beloved, but the poem  sums up the poetry of the narrator.

The poet is not ritualistic nor an atheist but he has broken the cocoon of religiosity and considers himself neither a Hindu, nor a Muslim, nor a Christian. The poet is influenced by the Bahai’s faith, its message of universal love and brotherhood of man.

R.K. Singh’s  poetry is far from being didactic or philosophic, but the poet does show concern for the underdogs, sidelined persons, fallen women and those women who are rejected, put to hardship and difficulties. The poet speaks about the happenings around him, about himself, about his best half’s response with him in his bed, the attitude of his children, his colleagues, his critics about the world and the people in the society. The poet has gone further to write about too intimate relationship with his best half, which is generally neither spoken of nor written.

The poet has shown concern for the environment, about the dust and fumes of Dhanbad , the place where he has been living for more than three decades. He has observed the lives of the down trodden coal miners and the hardships faced by them, about the water shortage, about the pollution, garbage and pseudo personalities and hypocrites.

The poetry of R.K. Singh cannot be classed with any of the western poets or class poetry but his is innovative, creative, fresh and new, and can be classed as post modern, current and contemporary. The poet is sure to open up a school of his own, with his own appreciators and fans. The poet’s work has been acclaimed and a  number of PhD scholars have taken up his poetry for study and research work. Innumerable articles have appeared in poetry journals about the his  poetry. Contemporary scholars, professors and poets have brought out books on his poetry. R.K. Singh is hugely adulated, appreciated, criticized and some have condemned his earlier collection for being too sensuous and comparing his poetry to that of D.H. Lawrence.

His  poetry is bereft of rhetoric, and far from being prosaic or thematic; it is untitled,  unrhymed and unmetered. It is also  ironic and  satiric, especially  against religious taboos and irrational customary practices. There is a tinge of pathos as well,  and his personal suffering and suffering of people of all classes are brought out well. Many  poems are reflective and meditative, and sometimes they tend to speak about his personal philosophy,  views, perceptions and sensitivity about  the world and people around him. The poet is at once simple and complex but he hardly taxes  the readers’ mind with verbosity and high bombastic language.

R.K. Singh has experimented with language  in his own way, leading to a new path in the annals of Indian English Literature, or for that matter, in  English Literature. His  expression is bold, truthful and straight away, catching the eye, startling, and sometimes shocking and amazing. The poet has never theorized but has put to paper all that he has felt, experienced and experimented. He is a very clear thinker and level headed. He has spoken about his personal life of sex, insomnia, hope, fear, quietness, wakefulness, dream state, semi-dream state, sublime state, despair, frustration, dejection, pessimism, personal likes, dislikes and even personal secrets.

The poetry of R.K. Singh can be classed also as metaphysical in as much as he  does not reject God but keeps  away from all forms of religiosity. He is mystical in that  one can live a full and rich life, enjoy the company of ones mate, satisfy oneself fully and be above board, above the rigmarole of life, reach higher stage of consciousness and attain the supreme bliss, ‘moksha’ or ‘Nirvana’. For the poet living a fuller sensual life is not an impediment but the poet never  sounds amoral, promiscuous or a cheat to his genuine love. He does not want to betray his love nor be half hearted but would like to be fully devoted and live in full measure and satisfy his beloved fully. The poet desires to live a pure, simple, straightforward and truthful life and detests hypocrisy of all kinds. He is against make ups, fashions, showiness and pretences of people. He is against the politicians who promise and cheat the electorates; make tons of money, loot the common man and stove off the money in foreign countries. He  laments  the exploitation of poor and down trodden in the name of religion, customs and politics or for any other purposes. He speaks  about the Bhopal gas tragedy, about the suffering of common man due to floods, earthquakes, droughts, famine, civil wars, chaos, confusion, looting, and havocs created by Nature. About the exploitation of poor nations by civilized ones and about failure of democracy and various systems in the society.

The poet decries  the unnecessary idolatry about the exploitation of devotees by priests and religious taboos, about the pollution of the holy rivers in the name of God by His so called ‘god men’. The poet speaks  about the petty mindedness of people “living (in) their smallness in a small world (and ) they cease(d) to grow and be human”. The poet bemoans  the loss of meaning in  life and says that he can’t be comfortable with their bragging ego as they are “corrupt to the core /they eat into our fabric: /I must search my own way/ through empty cups and alleys/ in body rain love/ or plant new phonies.” Thus the poet being dejected with the systems, religiosity, hypocrisy and meaningless of life around has undertaken a lone unbeaten path in search of truth and light. He ends up in finding love being the only source of solace, tranquility and to reach the sublime and higher realms of consciousness.

For him,  “poetry is prayer/in life’s vicissitudes:/ a saving grace against manipulated or /unmanifested odds/ overwhelming without/ warrant or patterning.” The poet in his opening lines in the section  ” Above the Earth’s Green” says that ” I do not write the sun, storm or sea/ but recreate myself and others/ in verses turn time and pluck stars/ to find my way through masked trenches/ witness to my sinking into mud/ that curves the memories into bias/ disgrace dust, sky wind, and all relations/ windows of emotions I must chain/ to breathe a pure breath without passion/ and discover essence of beauty/ spring a move towards self harmony/ perfection and peace, prelude to nude/ enlightenment to carve life in full.”

I find  R.K. Singh’s Sense and Silence extremely readable and elevating the mind and consciousness.

Bangalore                                                                       S.L.Peeran
Poet & Editor, SUFI WORLD

Saturday, February 11, 2017



NE PAS me condamner
Il est toujours lié mais je ne comprends pas
ou ne veulent pas comprendre parce
Je suis trop bien avec moi et d'inquiétude
À propos de sa libido et mon train de mourir
propres au milieu de la diminution du sexe salsa chill
Bihu fièvre, Vishu rituels
jour sonner le vide et la nuit secouer
l'âge gainé de la jeunesse pour jouer un seul bord
en flamme en forme de fourche carve image du ciel
pour contester le Dieu jaloux défaire
péchés de races qui coule dans mon sang:
Je l'aime à travers les corps Il a fait
mais ils ne comprennent pas la rédemption
et la séparation dans le barattage de la mer
ils ne se réjouit pas les flammes de henné
sur ses paumes, ni laisser la fleur de lys
dans les vallées utiliser les fentes et les falaises
de défigurer la beauté et la voix de Spike
ne condamnez pas à moi si je ne suis pas blanc
l'eau coule encore dans ma rivière



Ma fenêtre s'ouvre

à l'arrière d'un garage

où des gardes de rendre l'eau
à la fois montrer leur bite

à la femme de chambre dans ma cuisine:

ils prennent soin de none
Comment puis-je me plaindre

si les garçons et les filles font l'amour

dans la brousse entre
le parc pour enfants et

Mon arrière-cour? Ils sont éloignés

par une clôture en fil de fer barbelé



Tourne mal

le circuit électrique

dans les cellules du cerveau
dans mon sommeil, drogués

Je jurons prononcer

les victimes:

Je ne peux pas aider mon sensorielle


4. HAZY dim.

Transpiration désir

inhale sketches nouveaux

avec une plume esprit
sur l'oreiller

image par image

nuit se passe
ne sachant pas

comment un ciel voilé

sortait de la mer.


Supprimé le lien entre les arbres

il ne sait pas que sa famille

stands des questions à l'écart,
ancêtres ne changent pas

l'humeur de la météo:

La Feuille lit son nom

6. Mission de paix

Il est étonné de voir

tant de corruption

dans le système

de la paix mondiale:
ses collègues envieux

de son escapade étrangers

avec l'ONU

et le bénéfice
en dollars, en hausse si tôt

dans la carrière et

avoir le meilleur des

Life and Style
alors que je m'inquiète

liberté au Congo

l'homme sauvage

coffre-fort de séjour


La journée est plus courte

la nuit plus longue

et pourtant sans sommeil
souffrent le noir

dans l'air dans le lit

Je l'écoute à rugir
ou murmure de
aptères soucis

pas de poésie de haute
Mais les cauchemars de parage

le soleil et le ciel

qui ne pourrait jamais être


Les heures d'éveil puante

son tour sur les violations des solides

dans l'abîme de la tête

après minuit, les drogués

trous de l'esprit arracher

les voiles Je n'ai jamais porté
ils sont naturellement perturbés:

tour d'insomnie à découvrir

les sophismes stupide

d'un poète-professeur

pas en mesure de réparation

ses balances intérieure

 9. Again And Again

Encore et encore

Je me trouve sur le lit

Mon espace sacré

mais ne peuvent pas se détendre

méditer ou rêver
maintenant manquer d'avoir

ce que j'ai toujours eu

sa compagnie nu

rire avec fourmillements

pâteuse avec passion
ne peuvent pas célébrer Yoni

profondément dans le silence

Paru le renouvellement du scrutin

sans finalité

encore et encore


Militants des droits humains

discuter de l'éradication

collecte manuelle des rejets

et la construction de

humides des latrines dans les villages

dans la salle de conférence

bouffées de chaleur se plaignent de la mauvaise

dans la toilette NHRC

et la censure systématique

le personnel subalterne

avant de chercher dispositions

pour la réhabilitation

libéré charognards


Je ne comprends pas

leur ciel mystique ou frissons

logé dans la sensibilisation
subtilités du Temps

ou de sources de brume en plastique

grâce à des profondeurs mythiques
les ailes de ma pensée

sont trop courts pour gravir la hauteur de Dieu

ou les profondeurs bleues de la paix
Je me tiens sur le bord

de la physicalité de la Terre

attendent sur le bord
avec des lignes d'ombre

et les courbes à mars image de <> br>
Eyeless Jagannath
Si personne ne voit

l'effondrement de la procession

et de la zone sombre
ne blâme pas les poètes:

il ya trop de vide

et la tristesse à ignorer


Chaque mort est un passage

de surprendre les morts

La sensibilisation du
aucun réconfort la queue de la vache

, au milieu de la rivière

le ciel, loin, trop loin


De hautes maisons semblent

de croître comme des arbres de l'avion

légèrement à la hausse élevée
les gens se tournent tiny

les voitures avec des oiseaux d'eau et les bêtes

dans la flamme d'été
nerveusement inquiets

Regarder la masse en mouvement des nuages

partir de la fenêtre
éternelle modèles

merveille de la nature sur le bord

une bande d'Orange
milliers de lumières

Twinkle dans des couleurs comme des étoiles --

ceinture de sécurité attachée

14. Pour son anniversaire

Je veux que le meilleur de la vie pour vous

mais trop vous comprendre

ce que je ne peux pas faire
Vous devez être patient et ne

ce que vous pouvez -

Je ne peux pas créer les fruits
Je mai créer de l'espace

pour vous reposer, mais je ne peux pas

deviennent les jambes
vous devez exécuter la course

toi-même et être

ce dont tu rêves
la rougeur de Mars

et la blancheur de la lune

fusion en vous
vous avez des mondes à conquérir

et des miles à parcourir, ma chère
vous devez l'arrière de l'oie

et ont de l'or chaque jour


Tracing the corridors

dans mon esprit pour les graines

des rêves égarés se tourna

cauchemars médicaments ne peuvent pas contrôler

pas d'utilisation moqueur méditation

Yoga Dieux ou psychique

Mumbo-Jumbo pour échapper à

les bêtes dans nurturned depuis des années

maintenant je crains chaque déménagement

une offre publique de suicide, mais de mourir

est plus difficile lorsque

les morts sont trop agité

16. IGNITE esprits avec scintille

Je les lis, mais mes prières

n'a pas pu être des nouvelles de demain
non plus que les images signifient

surf canaux avec du café
à la fin de la journée ne peut pas refléter

quelque chose de positif à prendre
fierté de me justifier

l'âge ou les heures de prolonger simplement
l'existence des animaux

révéler pire que des animaux avec
petitesse du milieu et des préoccupations

oubliés comme les nouvelles éclatent dans
médias sans vision

glorifier les chaînes de la
Bluff obscurité de Dieu et les humains

encore enflammer les esprits avec scintille

17. RÉTRÉCISSEMENT en elle-même

Comment mettre en balance le souffle

la flamme de l'âme ou la cendre

recèle la carrosserie:

Je ne peux pas tourner mon Inside Out

ni de connaître le poids de la vie quand inanimé
entre ciel et terre

elle disparaît une avec

calme éléments

il n'y a aucun moyen de savoir le fil

ou son mécanisme qui lie
sécurise la vie maintenant ou

au-delà de ce que si je ne sens pas

le poids de la couleur

sur les feuilles sur l'arbre peut-être

rétrécit sur lui-même

18. On m'a promis un nouveau soleil

Marcher dans un long couloir

un faisceau de lumière fait signe

à partir d'une fenêtre lointaine
Up Ahead un chiffre

motions m'a gentiment de se déplacer

plus loin sur le passage
une porte de chêne semble

gravés dans la pierre sur le mur

près de la porte bizarre
symboles de l'alphabet inconnu

J'essaie de pousser le loquet d'or

sur le manche mais ce n'est pas
ouvrir une clé d'or

dans la main brille

dans la démarche que je sombre dans
de l'intérieur de la fenêtre s'ouvre

à la mer une énorme yacht

déplace lentement vers
A Kings manoir occupés

avec la richesse rare et le pouvoir:

Je suis promis un nouveau soleil

19. Je veux dormir

Vivre parmi les malades

et l'écoeurant quoi d'autre

dois-je procéder à l'exception

les germes et les allergènes qui gardent

me tournait et se retournait

peut-être du premier jour

Je n'ai jamais bien dormi et maintenant

Je veux dormir sans comprimés

zines de limonade »ou le sexe

irréfléchie sans prière dans la paix


Neige tout autour

pour les sept derniers jours

aucune provision ni d'avions

la piste toute blanche
survivant grâce à leur petit magasin

pour l'hiver dans des cabanes en fibres

elle s'ennuie, elle boit plus souvent

et attendre que le bulletin a rencontré


Trois fois par jour permanent

à la cuisine, elle évier


pour sauver des larmes et des souvenirs

des souhaits brisés odorat

de l'oreiller sur le craquage

linoléum dans cagibi


Sentiment de sécurité avec des ombres

Vive le scintillement des images
Les chaînes vendent trompeuse:

la télécommande dans la main
tunes changement pour les chansons de ma mère

fredonné et ils chorégraphier
avec des filles et des mecs qui jouent le sexe

sans goût dans zipouch Cheeky

23. C'est tout?

Avec un cocktail de prière

l'existence des animaux vivants

et se vanter, est-ce tout?
l'auto-même cocon

champignon d'illusions grandir

champignons de damned tractus



sans aucun sens de l'orientation

aucun contrôle sur

destin ou de la destination

Je ne peux pas être fiers de scintille
ou clignote sur leurs visages

dans le train, ils vont et viennent

avec la même indifférence

ombres des maisons éloignées

collines et les arbres Keep Passing


Où trouverai-je mon repos?

aux portes du séjour des morts?

dans la poussière? ou à la lumière

de la vie? toujours debout
parmi les impies?

pour rompre les liens et jeté

leurs cordes que la foi fracture

avec la langue flatteuse
transformer une bonne partie de la mer

ou de prêcher l'hypocrisie

épargnée par le feu ou l'air:

O Dieu me sauver du péché
de les appeler les pécheurs

et bénir l'esprit dans

temps et de moi que je ressens

votre guérison par le toucher dans la pensée
et l'ours sans regret

les charges du monde

perte de l'amour, ni même espérer

de vivre comme une feuille de lotus


Je voudrais pouvoir nettoyer les toiles d'araignée de légendes

ce voile la vision, de moraliser l'avenir

avec gloires douteuses, nous poussent à aller en arrière:
échos des morts retentissent; pas d'utilisation

Réglage de l'alarme de partir 2010
planqué en quelques secondes des slogans vides de la vie

périodiquement exhumés est une parodie

de l'obsolescence du soleil jamais obscurci
Porte de l'Inde ou de cirque, de Delhi

souffrent luxure minuit avec les rites de consommation

comme la conclusion d'un poème tragique

27. Sexless SOLITUDE

Je ne cherche pas le bol en pierre

Bouddha utilisé pendant ici:

elle habite sur la lune de poutres
Je peux la voir sourire

avec le vent du sein ciselé

dans la solitude sans sexe
sa lumière n'est pas un prix

mais doué d'éclairer


28. Je pends NOBODY'S IMAGE

Il s'agit simplement de la couleur qu'ils remplacent

pas le contenu et faire de la distance

avec des slogans rachitiques engloutir les vagues

que les larmes piège avant la révolte des rêves
quoi se lamenter sur le naufrage dans le vide

ou bravant la morale reste

ou le tissu fragile de la journée dans un monde mort:

pas bon comme filtre pour les malades
ou linceul pour les mourants: leurs drapeaux tromper tous

au nom de l'indépendance

ils se moquent des millions avec un bruit sans consistance

tandis que les rêves des funérailles hantent mon sommeil
Je pends photos de personne dans ma chambre

mais voir leurs ombres se masturbent

dans les coins humides ou les séduire à la lumière de pavot

les escrocs et justes comme


La culture n'est pas la répression

mais la sublimation par l'expression
pourquoi ont-ils la police

l'art pour lesbianisme


nu sexe ou de blasphème?
la politique de vandalisme

manettes tradition

aggrave les plus vils instincts
Connaissent-ils leurs métaphores

défier le divin qui crée?

détruit l'âme, la vision?
l'avenir n'est pas leur grand vent

mais l'honnêteté des artistes à percer

dans l'enfer de potentiel et

revenir avec des portraits que nous craignons de voir


Je ne sais pas quels psaumes à chanter

ou quelle église d'aller à sentir

la flamme dans un instant
s'asseoir ou de s'allonger encore avec

Météo foi l'agitation

brassage souffle à souffle
Je ne connais pas le dieu

ou de la déesse ou le mantra

de chanter quand dépasse la peur

mon être et me fait souffrir
plateaux de cauchemars

paralysant l'esprit de vivre

et par l'accomplissement promis
Je ne vois pas venir sauveur

à mon secours lorsque embourbé

Je cherche la liberté de moi-même:
mes épreuves sont à moi seule

dans la vallée de l'auto

Je dois apprendre à effacer les nuages

la flambée des hautes ou basses

Copyright: rksingh
Indian School of Mines
Dhanbad 826004 Inde