Poetic Compliment!

My tribute to Pablo Neruda’s Book of Questions:

Does brightness conceal the coat of dark or does darkness hide behind the cover of light?

Do colors truly ever mix?

Can music live without instruments?

Where can I buy sleep?

Why do stars hide when they are needed the most?

How loud is the breaking of a heart?

What color is the sky when it’s feeling blue?

Marasim

Kisi Mausam Ka Jhoka Tha, Joh Iss Deewar Par Latki Hui Tasweer Tirche Kar Gaya Hai
Gaye Sawaan Mein Ye Deewarein Yoon Seeli Nahin Thi
Na Jaane Is Dafa Kyun Inmein Seelan Aa Gayi Hai Darare Pad Gaye Hai
Aur Seelan Is Tarha Bhaithti Hai Jaise Khushk Rukhsaroon Pe Geele Aansu Chalte Hain

No, this isn't something that I have penned- I can't even think in Hindi- this is the maestro Gulzar at his usual which also happens to be his best most of the time. At a time when it's easier to find a needle in a haystack than finding a meaningful Hindi song, Gulzar makes us believe that the words lyrics and poetry can be used in the same sentence and can be in fact, employed to describe a Bollywood song. With a career spanning decades, Gulzar sahib has established a relationship (marasim) with his audiences via his written thoughts and expressions and has made a very wordy contribution to the Hindi Film industry.

There's this whole basket of romantic numbers- soulful melodies that are soothing and comforting more so coz of the lyrics.
Khamosh Sa Afsaana, Paani Se Likha Hota
Naa Tumne Kaha Hota, Naa Humne Suna Hota

Roz Roz Aankhon Tale, Ek He Sapna Chale
Raat Bhar Kaajal Jale, Aankh Mein Jis Tarah Khawab Ka Diya Jale

Kabhi To Kuch Aisa Yeh Hua Tha, Neend Mein Thi Tumne Jab Chuaa Tha
Girte Girte Bahaon Mein Bachi Mein, Sapne Pe Paun Padh Gaya Tha

The basket is so very full and its brimming over- songs from movies like Khamoshi, Aandhi, Ghar, Masoom, Ijazzat, Libaas, Dil Se, Saathiya, Yahaan- an endless list.

How many Hindi songs talk, that too so beautifully about the night-after?
Raat Ka Nasha Abhi Aankh Se Gaya Nahin

One thing I really like about Gulzar's work is the smattering of English in predominantly Hindi-Urdu lyrics and the occurrence is so sudden and unexpected, it makes you question your linguistic and hearing abilities.
Aankhein Bhi Kamaal Karti Hain, Personal Se Sawaal Karti Hain
Ghoomti Machhli, Aankh Nishana, Ek Ungli Par Globe Ghumaana
Aaja Aaja Dil Nichode, Raat Ki Matki Phode, Koi Good Luck Nikale, Aaj Gulak Toh Tode

Something that makes poetry weave its magic is personification- the process of blowing life into inanimate objects and Gulzar plays this God-role so very well.
Chand Ki Utar Le Hai Dono Baliyaan
Dekhna Asmaan Ke Sire Khul Gaye Se Zameen Se
Thaka Thaka Suraj Jab Nadi Se Hoke Niklega, Hari Hari Kayi Pe Pau Pada Toh Phislega
Raat Ko Khidke Se Chori Chori Nange Pau Chand Aayega

There was an Asian Paints ad that used to so very make me look forward to buying my own house. (I still don't have one, but that's a different story.)
Har Ghar Chup Chap Se Yeh Kehta Hai, Ki Andar Isme Kaun Rehta Hai
Chath Batati Hai Kiska Aasman Hai, Rang Kehte Hai Kiska Yeh Jahaan Hai
Kamron Mein Kiski Kalpana Jhalakti Hai, Iss Farsh Par Nange Pair Kiske Bache Chalte Hai
Kaun Chun Chun Ke Isse Aapne Haathon Se Sajata Hai, Kaun Iss Makaan Mein Apna Ghar Banata Hai

Sometimes, it's just the audacity of the words- like they have taken a life of their own and decided to perform a little dance.
Kabhi Chaand Ki Tarah Tapki, Kabhi Raah Mein Padi Paaye, Athanni See Zindagi
Kya Karein Zindgai Isko Hum Jo Mile, Iski Jaan Kha Gaye Raat Din Ke Gille
Humne Gilheri Ke Jhoote Matar Khaye The (Really?)

And well, how can I forget my current favorite?
Meri Aarzoo Kamini, Mere Khawab Bhi Kaminey
Meri Dastaan Kamini, Mere Raaste Kaminey
Meri Dosti Kamini, Mere Yaar Bhi Kaminey
Kabhi Hum Kaminey Nikle, Kabhi Doosre Kaminey

And that's wherein lies the genius of Gulzar, he makes even a swear word sound poetic and melodious.

Just BMB- Beautiful, Mesmerizing, Brilliant!

RUMInations

I have been meaning to discover Rumi's work for a very long time but I guess my purpose just took on a form of intent. Isn't it said that there's always a designated time and place for everything? Doesn't time have a way of taking time? All said and done, I finally did embark on my RUMInations journey and it has been one kick of a start. For the uninitiated, Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Rumi was a 13th-century Persian poet and mystic.

The general theme of Rumi's thought, like that of any other mystic and Sufi poet of Persian literature, involves the concept of tawhid- union with his beloved (the primal root) from which/whom he has been cut off and become aloof- and his longing and desire to restore it.¹

Rumi composed 3500 odes (Ghazals), 2000 quatrains (Rubaiyat), and a vast spiritual epic called the Mathnawi. It is considered one of the best known and most influential works of both Sufism and Persian literature and some Sufis label it as the Persian-language Qur'an. The Diwan-e Šams-e Tabrizi is another of Rumi's masterpieces. A collection of lyric poems that contains more than 40,000 verses, it is written in the Dari dialect and named in honor of Rumi's great friend and inspiration, the dervish Shams Tabrizi. These sheer numbers give a fair idea of the volume of Rumi's work.

Just a few snippets of his all-encompassing devotional & inspiring poetry:

Last night a friend asked me, "Where is your homeland?"
I said nothing, for what could I say?
My homeland is not Egypt or Syria or Iraq.
My homeland's a place that has never had a name.
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As salt resolved in the ocean
I was swallowed in God's sea,
Past faith, past unbelieving,
Past doubt, past certainty.

Suddenly in my bosom
A star shone clear and bright;
All the suns of heaven
Vanished in that star's light.
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Flowers every night
Blossom in the sky;
Peace in the Infinite;
At peace am I.

Sighs a hundredfold
From my heart arise;
My heart, dark and cold,
Flames with my sighs.
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I sought a soul in the sea
And found a coral there
Beneath the foam of mine
An ocean was laid bare.
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From now on I will make burning my aim,
for I am like the candle: burning only makes me brighter.
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All theologies are straws His Sun burns to dust;
Knowing takes you to the threshold, but not through the Door.
Nothing can teach you if you don't unlearn everything
How learned I was, before Revelation made me dumb.
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One day you will look back and laugh at yourself.
You'll say, "I can't believe I was so asleep!
How did I ever forget the truth?
How ridiculous to believe that sadness and sickness
Are anything other than bad dreams."
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This poetry. I never know what I'm going to say.
I don't plan it.
When I'm outside the saying of it,
I get very quiet and rarely speak at all.
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What I want to tell you is that all of these words I speak, out of love and inspiration and whatever knowledge God has graced me with, are for the sake of the person who needs words in order to understand. As for the person who understands without words, obviously he or she doesn't need words at all. In fact, to the one who really understands, the heavens and the earth themselves are "words"; after all; they came into being through "words"- the Divine Words "Be! And it is." If someone can hear a low, subtle whisper, is there any need to shout and scream?

Make everything in you an ear, each atom of your being, and you will hear at every moment what the source is whispering to you, just to you and for you, without any need for my words or anyone else's. You are- we all are- the beloved of the Beloved, and in every moment, in every event of your life, the Beloved is whispering to you exactly what you need to hear and know. Who can ever explain this miracle? It simply is. Listen and you will discover it every passing moment. Listen, and your whole life will become a conversation in thought between you and Him, directly, wordlessly, now and always.

It was to enjoy this conversation that you and I were created.²

I don't know whether I'd be able to make everything in me an ear (have always been a little hard of hearing) but will try to keep an open eye (not that the eyesight is all that great) for all that the Mawlana has to say.

In case any of you'd like to ruminate, please visit the following links which also happen to include References:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jalal_ad-Din_Muhammad_Rumi¹
http://www.poetseers.org/the_poetseers/rumi
Light Upon Light by Andrew Harvey²

And it was at that age...

I have always wondered what makes poetry tick. It's such a drab art form- nothing concrete, nothing tangible. Every verse, couplet, sonnet is open to interpretation. Poetry stretches the phrase “to each his own” to the max. You can take whatever you want to from a poem. Can you ever guess, come even close to taking a pot-shot at, what a poet was thinking when he penned a line? For someone who’s been brought up on a staple diet of literary fiction, poetry baffles me. I find it a tad difficult to appreciate its various forms, the myriad genres, the numerous meanings.

What, though, one cannot deny is that poetry is beautiful. You just cannot escape it. It’s everywhere and so really, there is no point in running away from it, and that’s exactly wherein the splendor of poetry lies- that it will find you, and as Pablo Neruda so wonderfully puts it- And it was at that age...Poetry arrived in search of me.

He, of course, was talking about how poetry arrived for his writing; I’ll just change the meaning, to my convenience, and apply it to my reading.

Pablo Neruda was the pen name the Chilean writer and politician Neftalí Ricardo Reyes Basoalto. If all it takes to write soulful poetry is a long real name, am changing my name to Niyati Revarto Reshmaiyyes Budhvaro!

Neruda was the winner of the 1971 Nobel Prize for literature; he was an accomplished poet who skillfully handled many poetic styles. I came across Neruda quite late, to my dislike, but then when one has never really made an effort to be acquainted with the field of poetry, one can’t really complain enough or much!

It was, in essence, like a rush- the rush of discovering Neruda. Below are few of my favorite lines from the little that I have unearthed of Neruda:

From the Book of Questions:

What does autumn go on paying for with so much yellow money?
In what language does rain fall over tormented cities?
Tell me, is the rose naked or is that her only dress?
Why do trees conceal the splendor of their roots?
Is the sun the same as yesterdays or is this fire different from that fire?
How does rumor of the sky smell when the blue of water sings?
What did the tree learn from the earth to be able to talk with the sky?
Where did the full moon leave its sack of flour tonight?
And at whom does rice smile with infinitely many white teeth?
Why don't inanimate things do something?
What will they say about my poetry who never touched my blood?
Do tears not yet spilled wait in small lakes?
Whom can I ask what I came to make happen in this world?

Personification is something Neruda is a natural at. And with just questions, he conveys half-hidden answers, long-lost conversations, and implied, unsaid feelings. My question to you Mr. Neruda is: What can I give to have an imagination as yours?

From Statues:

May whatever breaks
be reconstructed by the sea
with the long labor of its tides.
So many useless things
which nobody broke
but which got broken anyway.

From Too Many Names:

No one can claim the name of Pedro,
nobody is Rosa or Maria,
all of us are dust or sand,
all of us are rain under rain.
They have spoken to me of Venezuelas,
of Chiles and of Paraguays;
I have no idea what they are saying.
I know only the skin of the earth
and I know it is without a name.

When I sleep every night,
what am I called or not called?
And when I wake, who am I
if I was not while I slept?

I have a mind to confuse things,
unite them, bring them to birth,
mix them up, undress them,
until the light of the world
has the oneness of the ocean,
a generous, vast wholeness,
a crepitant fragrance.

I particularly like these lines above- a mind to confuse things. Maybe that’s exactly what the mind is good at, at getting confused and muddled. Mine certainly is, and I’m happy that my mind has been brilliantly described by Pablo!

From I Like For You to be Still:

And let me talk to you with your silence
that is bright as a lamp, simple as a ring.
You are like the night, with its stillness and constellations.
Your silence is that of a star, as remote and candid.

I like for you to be still: it is as though you were absent,
distant and full of sorrow as though you had died.
One word then, one smile, is enough.
And I am happy, happy that it's not true.

Neruda is wickedly famous for his erotically charged poems. In fact, Twenty Love Poems and a Desperate Song, is his most critically acclaimed and best-known work. His passionate love sagas are set to love’s yearning, its loss, its damage, its death.

From For Everybody:

It's nobody's problem
Not for them, nor for you,
And if you listen well, in the rain,
You will be able to hear
That I come back and go away and stay.
And you'll know when I must leave.

If my words aren't heard
Don't doubt that I'm the one I was.
There is no silence that doesn't end.
When the moment arrives, wait for me,
And let everyone know that I'm coming
To the street, with my violin.

There is no silence that doesn’t end. Can this be true? It’s so difficult to believe, easier said than done. But then that’s what the maestro is so good at- at filling you with an all-consuming hope that maybe, just maybe, all silences will break.

From here and there, still all his:

They may mow down all the flowers, but they can't stop spring.
Someday, somewhere - anywhere, unfailingly, you'll find yourself, and that, and only that, can be the happiest or bitterest hour of your life.
I don't have a never, I don't have an always.
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

All I can wish for is that this rush lasts a lifetime!

P.S.- My favorite poem has not been listed here, Neruda, after all, does deserve some privacy!