Dr. Mushtaque B Barq
Life and literature are inseparable entities enriching the profound requirements of mankind. Life without literature is dull and uninspiring. Literature without life is a fallen leaf ready to be crushed mercilessly, leaving no trace behind to be traced. The reason is obvious: literature decks up the life, brings to the fore the shades of living, and above all, glorifies the events and moments. And life encourages literature to expand its horizons, besides aiding the writer with myriad themes. Literature without life will be resemblance of forgotten glamour. Life without it may be an ecstasy etched on the weary face, hard to find a mention. If literature fails to impart to the richness and enthusiasm of life, it is futile. It represents man’s endeavour to hold the realities of life. Literature impresses upon mankind great truths, which alone can bring about a melioration of the human race. The forms of literature vary; it can take a form in prose and poetry as well. Poetry is a strong and concentrated form of literature that purifies human emotion, experience, and rhythm besides imagery and language. ”Genuine poetry can communicate before it is understood” is what Eliot writes. Poetry is thus a potent means that transmits human emotion, agony, plight, feel, and blissfulness. Percy Bysshe Shelley regards poetry as “the unacknowledged legislators of the world.” The influence of poetry on society cannot be ignored, as Matthew Arnold says it: “The most beautiful, impressive, and widely effective mode of saying things.” Things do not end here only as Edgar Allan Poe describes poetry as “the rhythmical creation of beauty in words,” and Coleridge further embellishes it by saying, “Poetry is the best word in the best order.”
Keeping in view the above-mentioned public presentation by bards and critics, one is encouraged to analyse a poem, keeping in view Arnold’s argument: The Role of the Critic. He advocates that criticism should be an impartial undertaking to learn and pass on the best that is known and thought in the world. This statement encourages me to deal with an extraordinary poem by Shahnaz Rashid entitled : At times, days go like this.
At times, days go like this…
At times, the seven-hued butterflies of dreams,
Draped in their colourless attire,
Amidst the spring breeze, gently reviving
Descendant-free bench in the park,
Blossoming with relaxing gracefulness.
At times, in the solitary corner of a poetic gathering,
Four and four…….within eight niches,
A song echoes on the heart’s rhythm………
At times, by the ancient bay of Veth,
A lively café
Serves coffee and fried rice,
Bestowing titles upon Nazms
Making the unlettered table to talk
At times, amidst the scorching heat
A Sumo van navigates unknown paths,
Making the eyes, steps and faces converse with the blue vast
Making the hands and the fingers refreshed up by dew, sparkle like stars
Halts at those shopfronts
Where a traveller remains stranger to all
Hardly , any public tap offers a handful of water
At times, it so happens
The entire market resonates in quiet harmony
Then all of a sudden it appears
As if from the wild silent ways
Emerges a crimson fairy
Cradling every fragile dream with care
To cup the moonlight for the traveller
Wide opens its eyes the Gulrez of the ‘within’
Radiating light in all directions
A glow at its best
The throne of Maqbool Shah
Seems at a stone’s throw
Rahim of Sopore , somewhere nearby
Offers to his beloved
A glimmering ray
The loneliness makes the entire abode of loneliness tremble
At times, before dusk,
While traveling in the train,
Engulfed by the shadow of nothingness,
No one but the ‘self’ seems to be traveling in the train.
The farther the train moves ahead,
The more it seems like a return to its origin
The poet has set an expedition to navigate the ups and downs to bring to the surface the agony of individual occurrences and the quest for meaning within both personal and cultural contexts with an undercurrent of life cycle, birth and death, bitter memories, and the sweetest anecdotes, carting unendurable observations and hard-hitting yearnings. The poet has allowed his thoughts to move along like a gush of wind holding a magnifying glass in his hand to aid his complex findings out of ordinary life situations. His photosensitive eye has let the butterflies holding dreams view the landscape of his thoughts. The technique that has been employed needs a mention. Butterflies, though highly vibrant in chromaticity, yet their attire in the poem is transparent. This reversal of common order is a mastermind stroke by the poet to represent his consciousness of deconstruction. This experiment doesn’t end here; the poet goes on with the intention to make an acknowledgement of an unprogenitive bench, which further intensifies synthetic inversion. This kind of experiment is rare on one hand, yet on the other, the poet has succeeded in carrying joy to the readers mind by decking up the isolated bench with relaxing grace. One has to keep Arnold’s argument into consideration when he advocates that a critic is a partner in the creative process of the poet that, in reciprocity, encourages a collaborative effort between creator and critic where both share their contribution to the progress of literature and culture. Shahnaz Rashid’s effort at synthetic inversion is deserving keen attention. I am reminded of Robert Frost’s reflections on poetry: Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words. It simply clears the dust and explains that poetry enriches the kernel of literature, it offers intensity, imaginative process and everlasting human experience.
The travel of experiments and observation continues as the poet’s next station of investigation is wider than his previous. This time he is navigating through unknown paths in the Sumo car, making his eyes, face, and senses indulge in a conversation with azure blue, which further qualifies his synthetic inversion in the poem. The scorching heat amidst unexplored ways compels him to halt at shopfronts where people irrespective of region and religion meet yet bearing their unidentified faces as a vehicle without a number plate. The culture in this stanza of the poem is highlighted subtly, as the poet’s eye can never ignore the culture and credibility of it in promoting life. It reminds me of the old days when people would come out of their homes to discuss, debate, and criticise, or, for that matter, give vent to their suppressed emotions at the shopfronts, which would in the past act as a social podium for our common narratives. Shahnaz Rashid has once again made use of another device commonly known as the ‘condensed version’. A handful of water from a public tap is an unimaginable synthesis of allusion and irony. This seems like an ordinary life experience, but Shahnaz Rashis is taking us into the profound depths of history, thereby amalgamating the past to which he is subconsciously connected and the present to which he is consciously a part and parcel. Although a handful of water can never quench the thirst of a traveler, at times a mere drop of water can save a precious life. I would like to mention what was in the cup of Socrates, Hemlock to say. A mere sip from the cup has not killed Socrates but eternalised him. So the question that arises is: has hemlock killed him or has he surpassed the impact of it? A handful of water may not suffice the needs of the traveler, but the poet has used this nourishment as a tool to carry on the journey.
The next station of the poet is a busty market place where silence makes a symphony with echo, and this phenomenon reversal has reconstructed elements of the past, where the poet finds easy access to historical Gulrez and to the throne of Maqbool Shah, besides one of the Sufi’s saint’s embracing moments. Shahnaz Rashid has brilliantly connected his place of birth, where he is rooted, for a few purposes. He has mentioned that Rahim Sopori, an eminent Sufi poet of Kashmir, belongs to his land, of which he seems proud, and that of Maqbool Shah Kralwari, a prominent Kashmiri poet and writer known for his contributions to Kashmiri literature. Shahnaz has for many reasons layered his poem with cultural heritage, literary acumen of legends, and above all, he has connected his personal observation to bridge the gap of past and present. He is a contemporary Kashmiri poet who has not only enriched the nazm but has also rejuvenated his verse with impalpable rhyme and diction.
Finally, his train of thought arrives at the station before the dusk, where he finds himself alone in the company of shadows. The poem has ended as the train has reached its last station, where all the passengers have deprived the buggies as a reality of life. The life, too, reaches to its logical end leaving behind all mundane concerns as one returns to his origin. A reality no one can deny. The poem has a perfect ending, it ends with the end of life. Hence, one can easily proclaim that literature and life are deeply intertwined and a serious and sincere poet adheres to this golden rule to rule the hearts of his readers.
Dr.Mushtaq B.Barq is a Columnist, Poet and Fiction Writer. He is the author of “Feeble prisoner, “ Wings of Love” and many translation works are credited to the author like “ Verses Of Wahab
