4th Vol, No2 (April 2017)
Contemporary Nepali poets by Suman Pokhrel
A distinction can be made between the group of writers and poets who were the noted figures of the modern times and still active in their literary output and another group of emerging new generation who are striving to establish a new trend of writing poetry. Nepali poetry has come a long way since Gopal Prasad Rimal (1918-1973) rescued it from the bondage of the past, writing prose poems dealing with contemporary problems and his successor Bhupi Sherchan made prose poetry popular among the masses. A few poets around their time led Nepali poetry to obscurity in the and distanced it from Nepali social life. Poets like Bashu Shashi, Krishna Bhusan Bal, Shailendra Sakar, Parizat, Sharada Sharma, Bishnu Bibhu Ghimire, Jeevan Aacharya, Meen Bahadur Bista, Manju Kanchuli, Shyamal and Bibas Pokhrel pulled Nepali poetry from the quagmire of obscurity and proved it a beautiful creation with subtle human feelings and concern towards social unrest. Some poets among them are actively creative till the date. So the contemporary scene of Nepali poetry is the continuation of the past on the one hand while on the other a journey to the new direction.
The contemporary poets draw themes of poetry from their wounded sensibility caused by bloody insurgency at home. Their voice is that of discontentment, depression, hopelessness and satire and an ultimate desire for peace.
The newly emerging generation of poets includes——-
Dipak Samchu is a young Nepali poet and theater artist. His poems are published in several
poetry journals and anthologies. He has been awarded many awards for his works including The Best Young Poet of the Year 2010 by Vani Prakashan, one of the leading literary organizations. He holds post graduate degree in Nepali literature from Tribhuvan University falling down.
While falling down
By Deepak Samchu
I was entangled
like some water hyacinth at a riverbank,
you happened to come carrying handful of rainbow
and tied me like a rope does.
That was everything for me
and, I started to find myself within your fragrance.
I wanted the wave of my heart to echo entering inside you,
wanted, the shadow that follows me
to get faded out approaching you,
wanted, the breeze that flew away by fondling me
may gift you smiles of happiness,
and I wanted, all of my longings to get emptied
inside your desire.
I never noticed that
I had forgotten all my friends who played horse ride
on walking stick together,
the cattle lost in jungle forgetting the way back home,
the rubbles collected while
getting sheltered inside the cave in rains,
and the songs that were written
by pouring my eyes
while thinking about you.
Leaving all of my past shattered,
I melted inside you,
and we had found the rhythm of life
while blowing the MURCHUNGA together.
But while walking through the bridge to sky
you threw me down unexpectedly,
and now, whilst falling down like Icarus
every memory of past is hitting me –
Tuk tuk tuk tuk .
My gasps may have been left behind somewhere there
do find it and keep with you,
you may hear my whisper when you are alone.
Do search for the occulted memories of love
in your pocket, in the Khopis, and
at the corners of rooms,
that may help you unfold the reminiscences
when you are gloomy.
I have tied the bud of rose
that my mother had planted
on my cheeks, to your heart;
do keep it to decorate your ambience,
it may help you stare at me
I have left every melody of life
keep humming it in your solitude.
But never do carry any wish
to sing together
again with me.
(Translated from Nepali by Suman Pokhrel)
Arjun Dhungana is a talented young poet, writer and theatre artist from Nepal. His poems are published in various anthologies and literary journals within and outside Nepal. His first novel is due to publish this year. He has been awarded as The Best Young Poet of the Year 2013 by Vani Prakashan, one of the leading literary organizations. He teaches Physics at Mahendra Morang Multiple Collage under Tribhuvan University.
An Old Rickshaw Puller
By Arjun Dhungana
The sun of destiny flashed never
on his forehead,
never lit the lamppost of his heart undying
with the eyes that glitter every moment
the old rickshaw puller, together with the dawn
arrives to be positioned before the Sahuni’s shop
and sings his song –
“The morning is arrived at your door
and so am I, with money in my pouch
let me have a cup of tea n’ fun
the road of being is hard to walk on
life is alive at this second,
in a moment, it may be dead”
The dawn that has come to road
by leaving the warm slumbers right at the beds
and is on a walk to paint colors around
asks the rickshaw puller as it sees him-
“will you take me to the college?”
“hey rickshaw, will you go to hospital?”
“rickshaw, going market?”
Many of those students might have completed their study
many of those patients might have recovered from their illness
and all of those shopping might have entered into homes,
but, how many people would know his name ?
How many times
would the wheels of the rickshaw have
revolved around the age of that work-hero,
the sun has turned whose body to coal tar
the flowing sweat has turned whose face to a drain,
and who, the whole day, carries the city arduously
by stretching the veins, elongated
Form forehead to calf
like a mess of power wire ?
By tying up the squares of roads that
are skipping on the music of chaos
by taking the rushing shadows to their destinations,
being oneself the dust, in dust
converting oneself to mud, in mud,
attuning the khak khak khak of cough
with kat kat kat noise of rickshaw;
would that rickshaw puller get his sweat spilled
more than the amount of water he drinks?
Where would be the home of that rickshaw puller
who, mocking the sun that sleeps under the rug of darkness
whispering to the insomniac stars that stare downwards,
plays with winds till midnight?
“dishonest, you became
numbers of potholes are there on the road
price of goods are hiking to burn
dishonest, you became
dishonest, you became
you take all, cash and the coin
you sell water, telling it wine
dishonest, you became
dishonest, you became
you took my heart, how did you mown?
where did you go leaving me alone ?
dishonest, you became
dishonest, you became”
Drunk at midnight
pulling the rickshaw leisurely,
to whom to listen
is this rickshaw puller singing his song?
(Translated from Nepali by Suman Pokhrel)
Shubhalaxmi Lamsal is a young poet from Nepal. She has one book of poetry titled ‘Prakampit
Ujyalo’ in her credit. She is a M.A in Nepali literature from Tribhuvan University. She was awarded ‘The Best Young Poet of the Year 2009’ by Vani Prakashan, one of the leading literary organizations in Nepal.
By Shubhalaxmi Lamsal
I live the Stone Age
and seek the fire for living
by striking the pair of palaeoliths.
I get cactus to bloom, by carving my existence
right on stone,
and, I die a multiple times.
Making a fragile shed for shelter,
decorating its drip edges and gutters with desires;
I get trickling in the form of possession
I get seeping in the shape of mourning.
Wearing a mask of modernity
I, the human being,
live the stone age within me;
till date, I live carrying
the thinking, Paleolithic.
(Translated from Nepali by Suman Pokhrel)
Suraj Subedi, a promising young poet from Nepal holds Master’s Degree in English Literature from Tribhuwan University. He, in his poems meditates over the existence of human inner self through the metaphors of daily life struggle. Apart from being published in several national literary journals and webzines, he also owns his personal blog that is the montage of his several poems, stories, travelogues, articles and drama reviews. He has won several poetry prizes including the first prize in National Youth Poetry Competition in 2015, organized by Book Art Nepal and Readmore Publication. Subedi has great affection to abstract poems.
-by Suraj Subedi
Why would water
fall down from atop,
if no reason was there?
As mind visits the entire world in no time,
cloud visits the hearts of hills, and gets
water to emerge out of the source,
runs over the landscapes of sky
and creates azure identity.
Does it look like
a human walking?
The playful wind
enjoying with happiness
as if it has to tell something.
The weather becomes a leaf
and falls on water
as if, it is in immense thirst.
There seem reasons with nature
be it of flowing or of falling.
there must be a reason of, your
running away from me
in my dreams.
(Translated from Nepali by Suman Pokhrel)
Mukunda Prayas is a young poet, artist and radio jokey from Nepal. He has one book of poetry titled ‘Ek Jhola Indreni’ to his credit. He has bedecked hundreds of book covers with his paintings. Satako Sahitya, a lit-webzine, awarded one of his poems as the best poem of the year in 2014. In addition, he has received various literary awards from across the country. He is actively involved with numbers of organizations working in the area of art and literature.
Old Age Feeling
By Mukunda Prayas
On the picture of nature
made up by assembling the bright colors,
who did paint with the color of smoke ?
These eyes feel uncomfortable
to see these scenes these days.
Melodies are running away from the ears
and getting evoked in distance
by hiding itself out of sight.
Some faces seemingly that of near ones
tend to come closer, by striking
on the narrowing down walls of memories.
The tastes are scratchy
the bed is out of shape
and the former theatre of life seems in distance afar.
Besides being unable to count
the remaining numbers of steps to reach the destination
are getting fewer, and
the steep is getting harder to walk up.
Why does the pace of movement of Sun
get slower every moment?
Why do the nights sleep late night
to see the dreams black and white?
Why does the earth, without any notice
starts revolving unbalanced from the early morning.
Now, knew that
on being unable to stay firmly
one should get their body rested.
I am waiting for
the last feeling that could be gained
from the last truth.
(Translated from Nepali by Suman Pokhrel)
Birat Anupam is a young Nepali poet and columnist. He writes in both Nepali and English. His
poems are published in many literary journals, webzines and poetry portals. He contributes his articles on contemporary issues to Nepal’s national and regional newspapers and portals.
When I was a Child
by Birat Anupam
When I was a child, I used to
kite the birds,
row the clouds,
hover along riverside in search of its breath,
and, play hide and seek with the fishes.
I used to teach the newborn calf of Koili cow
to say ‘Aama’,
that was me, who taught crow and eagle
to play thief and police.
The tree of my courtyard still waves its leaf
whenever wind visits,
by imitating my habit of waving hand
while playing TaraBaji Lailai and
seeing off my uncle.
By imitating my deeds of revolving around
together with the oxen during ‘daain’,
the earth had started to revolve around the Sun
of which, I knew only after joining my school.
That was also me, who whispered to sky
to be stubborn on not getting the desired things.
When I was a child
sky too used to take care of me.
after sprinkling over trees, saplings and mud
the sky used to bring an eternal pencil for me
up to the stream near our valley to let me draw
an exact picture of bride-Nature.
Despite having desperate desire
to keep that beautiful seven-colored pencil,
I could not take it, as my mother had taught
not to take anything from anyone for free,
for, that was a sin.
(Translated from Nepali by Suman Pokhrel)
Suman Pokhrel, an eminent Nepali poet, lyricist, playwright, translator and artist; is widely reckoned as one of the most creative contemporary voices. He lives in Biratnagar, a city nestled in the foothills of Himalayas. He writes in Nepali, English, Hindi and Urdu. He has three collections of poems. Beside English, his poems are translated into Spanish, French, Italian, Arabic, Farsi, Hindi, Bengali, and Urdu; and are published in various literary journals, anthologies and webzines globally. Pokhrel has translated poems of several poets from around the world into Nepali; and has translated various Nepali language poets’ works into English, Hindi and Urdu. Recently, he wrote a solo play ‘Yajnaseni’, based on ‘Draupadi‘, one of the lead characters from the famous Sanskrit epic Mahabharata. The play was premiered in Irvin Art Center, Dallas, Texas in USA in October 2016, and was performed in other six states in the US.
The interplay of imagery and intertwining thoughts around Suman Pokhrel’s choice of words create magic in the mind of his readers. The indigenity in his writing blended with a unique style and poise make his works natural. Pokhrel, thrives on his belief that ‘poetry covers all spheres of literature, the other genres are derivatives of poetry’. He has an honest approach to writing and it is also his endeavor to break /bridge barriers through his creative pursuits. He has carved a niche’ for himself by not following any trend in poetry. He is appreciated for his own distinct style of writing. He has participated in numbers of international literary festivals. Suman Pokhrel is two-time SAARC Literary Award recipient.
WHOSE CITY IS THIS?
I was watching
a city taking shape
like raging delusions
from the deposits of migrating
lovely pristine villages.
Grown playing in dusty streets,
I was searching myself
standing on bifurcating streets
between growing houses
in times dangerous even to tread.
Someone with no shape
came suddenly in my life’s noon
and grabbing with trembling hands
asked me, lost on my own footpath
as far as the memory goes,
whose city is this?
I’m watching the rainbows
rising from the far water place
lost in the artificial light of midnight.
I’m watching birds flying hither
from far horizons
singing songs of love
dancing to sounds of confusions.
the breeze arriving
fanning coolness on me
returning now by igniting fire
pushing me aside.
bestowing life on us
entered the city and
left by tearing gardens of life,
Even one who looked like human
in meetings outside
sold a no-man inside the city
and dissolved into that act.
At moments I wish
to became part of the perennially roaring
hurricanes of abuses
and stand naked dropping
all sense of responsibilities,
And cry with the quivering speech it has taught
by mustering the sanguine spirit
made from this city’s water, with
impulses supported by its air—
This is a city of those who dance
to the senseless slogans of the crowd,
Of those who see beauty on outer paints
used to camouflage real humans,
Of those dozing contentedly on
insensitivity as their ideals,
Of those who live in dreams and die in waking hours,
Of those who lose themselves walking,
Of the lunatics.
This is a city of those
who turn the pheasant
flying from rhododendron branch
carrying music of life
into crows by consecrating them
to the staples of the temples,
Of those who leave the god
behind in old people’s homes
and search on television after returning home,
Of those who throw human baby into trash container
and suckle dog’s puppies.
carrying a mind drained
by the pain of its ugliness
and analyzing half a basket of time,
I’m visualizing this city and me
all under one perception
This city is laughing
by drinking its own disillusionments
with my anxieties,
It’s burgeoning by toying with
my unfulfilled desires,
Is sleeping under the cover
of the sweet dreams of my love narratives,
Is waking up by carrying out
demonstrations of my rebellions.
I’ve brought this city’s dust and smoke home
and washed them with my face and clothes,
I’ve picked up its raucous sounds
and carefully chiselling them
have used in my songs,
I’ve embellished my poetry
by collecting its chaotic scenes,
And by collecting its anguish,
I’ve wreathed the melody of my life.
Taking upon myself
all its virtues and vices,
this city is mine.
(Translated from Nepali by Abhi Subedi)
 Koili- Name of a cow
 Aama – Mother
 TaraBaji Lailai- A childhood game
 daain – indigenous process of graining of crops by getting folk of oxen tied together revolve around a pole with stalks having grains spread around it.
3rd Vol, No2 (August 2016)
Focus —–Emergence of Dalit Literature in Translation
Dalit poetry emerged as the radical poetry and challenged the norms, standards and principles of the so-called mainstream literature, aesthetics and literary theory. Dalit literature is not the literature of mere protest or negation. It aims at dismantling the existing structures of exploitation and restructuring the global society. These poetry , barring languages, do share the egalitarian ideology and expose the exploitative mechanisms latent in the Indian society. The rise of dalit women writers in many parts of India has raised many issues pertaining to patriarchy, dalit male chauvinism and specificity of the dalit women’s exploitation.
More than four decades have passed since dalit poetry embarked. Though dalit literature set new standards hitherto unknown and unpractised in world literature in general and Indian literature, it had to suffer negligence and severe criticism at the hands of the mainstream. For long, dalit literature was not translated into English. S Anand has attempted to provide causal relationship between the emergence of dalit literature in translation. In 1992, Mulk Raj Anand and Eleanor Zelliot translated Marathi dalit poems as An Anthology of Dalit Literature. This was the first attempt of this kind. In the same year, Arjun Dangale, one of the founding members of dalit panther in Maharashtra, edited Poisoned Bread. It was a collection of prose, autobiography, poetry, etc. Karukku, an autobiographical novel written by Bama in Tamil in 1992, won worldwide acclaim only after Lakshmi Holmstrom translated it to English in 2000. This was followed by the publication of Laxman Mane’s Upara as The Outsider in 1997 and Laxman Gaikwad’s Uchalya as The Branded6 in 1998 by Sahitya Akadami.
Dalit poetry has an effort to use symbolic images based on theexperience and they break many old poetic conventions of literature. In the images they neither follow Eliot nor pound or Freud .Instead they choose historical references and myth from a dalit point of View.
In this issue we ll discuss translation work of dalit poetry by Arunava Sinha.
1.A Kingdom of Vines Tree
You scream that
Aren’t really mine
You order me angrily
To abandon these at once
And go into the unknown
This place was
A kingdom of vines
A dense forest
Clearing the jungle
With physical labour
I made a home to live in
A happy household
If you now claim
This land and pond and farm and house
Are not mine
Have no choice but to pick up my bow and arrow
~ ( Translation of Dalit Poet Marshal Hembrom by Arunava Sinha)
2.You Murdered Me
You murdered me
I’m in the morgue now
But there’s no freedom
Even after death
Why do you look at me that way?
After all this time
Your eyes are a river in flow
Do you want me to drift
Upstream to the sandbank?
The window was open
You could have wafted in
You didn’t try
When I tried to pluck the lotus
By the maddened river
To adorn my heart
Its thorns pricked me
You murdered me
I’m in the morgue now
But there’s no freedom
Even after death
~ (Translation of Sunil Kumar Mandal’s Bangla poem Chnai by Arunava Sinha)
3.‘It’s all a lie – go away’
Those who had said this freedom is a lie
Are all kings now
Those who had said the emperor is naked
Are his courtiers today
Those who had said, break those murderous arms
Are either NRIs now
Or the faithful salariat
Occupying chilled corporate cabins
Only Meher Ali from the neighbourhood
Such an idiot
Failed at Presidency College in the Seventies
Everyone says he’s mad
Because he’s mad he still dreams of change
When they all fall asleep late at night
Meher Ali shrieks
He wants everyone to have the same dream
‘It’s all a lie – go away’
His deafening screams cut through the houses
To disappear in the darkness
No one wakes up
~ (Translation of Debashish Mandal’s poem by Arunava Sinha)
4.Their song made the sun glow
The sound of our breath in our wings
In our breasts the song of rain
And an ancient hunger
Our ancestors sang
Their song made the sun glow
And the moon beam
While the waves lapped
Still the darkness in our homes was impenetrably black
We used to fumble in that darkness
For burnt bread
All night we would be surrounded by
Time and timelessness
Life and death
And then the limitless dawn would steal up on us
The infinite sky beneath a blue oblivion
Wake up, all of you
Who have been sleeping since eternity
Who have never heard the song of the rain
~ (Translation of Shyamal Kumar Pramanik’s poem by Arunava Sinha)
5.A dialogue between the oppressor and the oppressed
This anguish over them
The revolution seems an indulgence to you people
Roasting their votes for eating
Is also our job
At least we know what’s going on with them the year round
Why have you people suddenly decided
To put up a show of revolution right now
We’re ignorant people who don’t understand, sahib
The two of you are our god
Before your eyes our boy is sacrificed
God of sacrifices
How much blood must flow to satisfy you
Go away from where you watch over us
We’ll die of starvation, even that’s better
It will save the lives of our children
We don’t need development, all that is for you
What happens in the forest
What has happened for thousands of years in the forest
Has not killed us
Don’t take our blood for your development, god
You are kings who fight one another
While poor men die
Our wounds are deeper at this age
We remember the zamindar’s soldiers
So many lives given up to protect the land
O revolutionary friends descended from zamindars
The same game by a different name and colour
Still makes so much blood flow
~ (Translation of Kalyani Thakur Charal’s poem by Arunava Sinha)
Still call you an epic poet?
You’re an epic poet, Valmiki
In the eyes of Indians you’re still an epic poet
By what power of art
Is your creation The Ramayana still an epic?
The blood that flowed through your veins
Was also Shambuka’s
Didn’t your hand shake even once when writing his murder?
You said children die prematurely
In immoral times
In your view a Shudra’s attempts to be an ascetic was culpable
Severing the head of the man
Who hung upside down to perform the deepest penance
Did not make your hand tremble even a little
And, epic poet Valmiki, people across all of India
Still call you an epic poet
~ (Translation of Manohar Mouli Biswas’s poem by Arunava Sinha)
3rd Vol, No1 January 2016
A Glimpse of the Development of Nepali Literature:Bhisma Upreti‘s Footing on it
Edited by Dhruva Harsh
The history of Nepali literature begins with the unification of Nepal, started from the 1760s. It was the time when most of the poets used to compose poetry to inspire the military so that they can uplift their courage. This type of writing was called ‘Veer Dhara’. After the conclusion of the Sugauli Treaty with the British India in 1815, Nepal lost some of the territories to the British India, which aroused deep frustration in the people of Nepal. Consequently, poets also switched their writings from ‘Veer Dhara’ to ‘Bhakti Dhara’, which epitomized writings on moral and religious epics and poems. Bhanu Bhakta Acharya led this era with the translation of the great epic the Ramayana into Nepali from Sanskrit. Shortly, some new poets set a new trend of romantic writings. Motiram Bhatta and his literary friends had introduced Ghazal in the Nepali literature at that time. He composed many love poems and Ghazals.
As the literary tradition in other societies traversed, the Nepali literature had also started with Poetry. Slowly, other genres of writings were also introduced in the Nepali Literature.
The modern era of Nepali literature starts in the 1920s and 1930s with the works of Balakrishna Sama, Laxmi Prasad Devkota, and Lekhnath Paudyal. These writers and poets started to take images from society and cultural traditions covering various aspects of social issues in their writings. At the same time, they also discarded the tradition of writing on the conventional Sanskrit influence. Balakrishna Sama introduced lyrical drama in the Nepali literature, whereas, the Great Poet Laxmi Prasad Devkota influentially introduced western style images in the Nepali literature. He set up a new trend in the Nepali essays and poetry by introducing imaginary writing with the poetic flow taken images from nature. Though Lekhnath Paudyal followed the traditional Sanskrit style of writing, thoughts and ideas were conspicuously modern in his writings. Poet Gopal Prasad Rimal introduced free-verse writing in the Nepali poetry with modern and progressive thoughts. They denied the traditional Sanskrit dominated tradition and enriched the Nepali literature using and even inventing more and more Nepali words.
Another poet, Bhupi Sherchan, emerged in the 1960s, capturing the people’s suffering and aspirations in his poetry with a very simple style communicable in people’s language. He also mixed satire to the directionless politics in his poetry. Meanwhile, Bairagi Kaila, Ishwor Ballav, and Indra Bahadur Rai raised their voices against the existing tradition of Nepali literature. They argued that people’s feeling and ideas could not feet on the flat way. Length, width, and deepness—all needed in art for the expression, they argued. They called their movement as the ‘Third Dimension’ in the Nepali literature.
The progression of Nepali literature has passed through a various movements such as Boot Polish, Third Dimension, Ralpha, Arko Jamat and so on. These movements and creative ideas have immensely helped the Nepali literature to widen the horizon and have started to spread beyond the boundary of geography and language.
The Nepali people experienced a bloody insurgency during the decade of late 90s and the first half of 2000. The insurgency culminated in destroying the historically set up of social harmony. However, at the same time it has also planted the seeds of hope for the equal rights of the indigenous people, women, and the marginalized people. Many young writers from these communities emerged during this period with a new voice of speaking their hearts. They took images from their own culture (apart from the mainstream ‘Nepali’ culture of the nation) and tradition in composing poetry, prose and story expressing their discontentment, decades long depressions, satire, and the ultimate desire for sustainable peace that has opened the new door for the Nepali literature. Today, at the same time, various generations are engaged in writing different genres of literature in Nepal, sharing their experiences, and learning from one another. They are producing experimental writings with personal imagery and symbols picking up from their own life world.
At present, various forms of writings coexist in Nepal. Bhisma Upreti is also one of the cotemporary poets and writers, writing to enrich the Nepali literature from various perspectives and paradigms.
Bhism Upreti is into the Nepali Literature
In the beginning of his career, He confesses that “I started writing poems with the appetite of name amongst the friends’ circle at his high school age.” He did his matriculation from a village school of east Nepal. He would take images primarily from the surrounding of his village. Slowly, He developed an abounding attachment with the poetry. Study and experience helped him to realize the responsibility of writing literature in reflecting the Nepalese society seeking for its betterment.
After the school education, He moved to Kathmandu, capital city of Nepal. There, He found amazing poets, writers, enriched culture, art, and abundant heritage. He started to read more books, listened more poets and writers, and started to involve in various literary and cultural activities that helped him to understand the deep saga of Nepali literature. When the poetry and literature became his passion from hobby, He started to look forward his own way to create his perspectives from the vantage point of profound social consciousness.
With the help of literature, He looks at the scenery, people, nature, society, sorrow, and mercy of the people with deference and different eyes. When he observes things and incidents happened in society, he humbly tries to raise his consciousness to a point of heightened attention; He streamlines his efforts to find different meanings in the same things and objects beyond from many ordinary eyes and sensations.The poet of this land Bhisma Upreti might be wondering in the remote and lonely Himalayan spots where man could not track and find them. We shall listen the story of mountain mystery through his words—–
I grew up here,
listening to grandpa’s tales each day
and weaving dreams of hills in my eyes.
Grandpa used to say-
part of his dream is still left in the hills
part of his soul is still in the hills.
I have within me
a deep seated ,blurred image of the hills ,
Aged people ask me–
” Boy ,which hill do you belong to?
I pine for the hills
and remember my grandpa.
My hill must be there
part of my grandpa’s dream is left behind.”
The mainstream writing of the Nepali poem is still full of the representations of the voices of aggression, protest, refusal, and the demands for new changes. Poets have made their voices aloud and very straight in many of their poems to raise the issues. However, there are many other poets and writers who have a soft writings even they write in an artistic way to put their protest against anarchism and autocratic behaviour of the rulers. He unassumingly belongs to the second category of the Nepali poets.Like
”First a way uphill
Then a come down
Strips of flat lands in between
Strewn occasionally with plains
Like mere dreams —–
And again comedowns
That’s all.” (Aesthetics of Himalayan life)
He observes and says, “People looking for peace, prosperity, and happiness. For the search of these noble but basic values, people look forward far away, get ready to wait for years, get prepared to bear all possible hardships, but at the same time we forget that there are many small things around us that can fulfill our wish and desire of being happy. These small things that we ignore or do not realize are left on the corner of our houses, garden, and in the heart of our beloved ones. They also subtly ask us for a small correction of our habits, realizing the colors of nature or/and finding kindled feelings in the innocent eyes of the children.” He decided to concentrate his poems to reflect and represent these forgotten realities. He loves to pick such small things that we are long for waiting and would like to put them before the people. He wants them realize the reality and producing the feeling of happiness and inner peace. In this way, his writing is a bit different than the mainstream Nepali poetry writing. However, He loves mainstream Nepali poems.
The ceaseless surges of feelings,
The colourful spectrum of dreams,
Love,as soft as the heart ——–
All happened to be smiling here
Procuring nature’s permission
I have picked up a bloosom of rhododendron
To be carried to the town
For you. ( A Blossom of Rhododendron)
He loves writing poems on various subjects. On the various aspects of love, vividness of nature, sufferings and happiness, success and failure, and selfishness and cooperation to others—He believes, they all are necessary components of human life. He would like to write on human beings; so all these are the subjects of his writings.
I was hurrying along
To meet the sea.
But the sea stopped me and said-
‘’I have seen a sea inside man,
Have you seen it too?
I looked into my heart,
(where I found a sea)
And for the first time I realized
that a sea exists in man—
sea of salty tears,
sea of unfathomable sorrow and bitterness.
My wish to seethe sea.
He does also believe in the selection and control over words in poetry. Control over words means control on the emotions and feelings, i.e., to be more objective and not to be carried away by emotions. Many Nepali poets do not prefer to have such control and make their poems gratuitously longer. This invites repetition of feelings and ideas that risks poetry to be ugly. When people feel bored and they do not find the things they want in poetry or representing their voices and desires in the poetry, they start going away from the poetry. He is reluctant to confirm this trend. He wants to pull readers close to the poems or make them comfort to love poetry. Readers can love poems when poems speak their hearts, their feelings, reflecting both their happiness and sufferings. For this structure and style, He believes language styles do matter. He does not want to make his poems too much heavy with myths and difficult words. But he wants readers laugh, smile, and speak of their hearts in my writing. He also wants people cry, weep, and again become fresh reading his poems and prose. As a poet and writer, this is what makes him little different than many other Nepali poets and writers. Though, his respect to them is unbounded.
Like an orphan,
The hill stands in the yard
And looks far into the horizon
With eyes blurred with tears
And enters the house everyday,
A hopeless evening on its back.
For the simplicity in structure, with a deep pursuit in meaning, his poems have been able to draw the attentions of Nepali readers as well as publishers. Also, the same quality his poems have started up to draw the attention of the publishers and translators from around the world. His works have been translated into English, Slovenian, Serbian, Tamil, Hindi, Sanskrit, Korean and Japanese. His writing is also contributing to help getting exposure of the Nepali literature beyond the boundary or outside Nepal. His literary journey is constantly and untiringly moving to achieve the goals that we all as literary figures aspire to acquire.
2nd Vol ,No1 July 2015
Edited BY –Dhruva Harsh
Three contemporary poets from Greece
Poems of Christos Papoutsis
When you arrived,
two arms were spread to hold you.
You stepped back,
because that was unfamiliar to you.
They were neither bird limes
to trap you,
nor barbed wire
to imprison you.
the two halves of a heart
that opened to enfold you.
As he was hastily
boarding the ship,
his suitcase unfastened
and one of his dreams sank.
With this dream
the sea,since then,
has remained calm.
The man of the storm
A man above suspicion
A sensitive man.
An unyielding man.
He possesses nothing,
he has no fear,
he cannot be infected.
A serene man.
A solitary man.
Man of the storm.
Poets are made of sadness
Exposed to emotional storms.
Not manageable at all.
Carried away by the erotic gravity.
With penetrating wounds.
Sadness follow them,
until the excoriation
af all their bodies.
Until the return.
You don’t change
it is water’s fault for rising.
To save yourself,
you went somewhere else.
Permanent luggage in your heart,
this is what Venice is.
You don’t change.
You sink everywhere!
Christos Papoutsis was born in Athens,Greece.He studied medicine at the National and Kapodistrian University of Athens and works as an internist.He lives in Athens,Greece.He is married and father of two daughters.He participated to the 45o International Congress of the Union Mondiale Des Ecrivains Medecins.Some of his poems were published on Greek literary magazines.In 2013 he brought out,in collaboration with the publishing house “Anemos”,his poetical collection “After the end of the sky”.This collection includes the attached five poems.
Poems of Eftichia Kapardeli
All-white arms in
my mother’s love
in the blue sky
with fancy colors
write the name of
By chrism of the
the pain of his body sweeten
the caress of
In the embrace of Mind
the hot tear
in light of her heart
Hours of whispers
opens in mid-winter
What kissing cheeks makers
and leave sweet honey
when Crochet dream
I wake up in the lap of
in harmony and
the vigil water
Crowds … purple corals
Water in gold
the bottom of the sea
Freedom, the hidden
Sun desperately seek!!!
In the crystal of silence
and that the wait
who said goodbye
in their wake
the heart with strength
with knowledge in fire
Unfulfilled the oracles
the seed of love only
Spring flowers in the rain
grass … rebels
How many years have I slept
the burnt grass
I tear clay
how to learn colors
And when it rains, the mind runs
mind go to that
when life when air
the Germa coziness
old perfume paints
the frozen sunbeams
She breathed like ….
like breath, new
Eftichia Kapardeli born in Athens and live in Patras .She writes poetry, stories, short stories, xai-kou , essays, novels. It deals with the painting Participate in treble choirs as a soprano She studied journalism AKEM (Athenian training center). He has participated in several training sessions, knowing H / Y 7 programs, English and Italian classical guitar. Was the body of the driver Greek Scouts .Is a volunteer fire department and to participate in voluntary programs.Like student listener heard the 2004 Faculty of Philology at the University of Patras. He has many awards in national competitions first, second and third prizes, accolades and honors In 2008 he took second prize in the unpublished collection of poems by the club Parnassus. Has published 16 books and has awarded nearly all Her work there is to many national and international anthologies Just a few days was author of the Indian Academy Anthology http://worldpeaceacademy.blogspot.com/2010/10/poets-for-world-peace.html The first collections of poetry are confiding and light .Has a section at the University of Cyprus in Greek culture is a member of the world poets society. The official website is http://world-poets.blogspot. com / is a member of the IWA (internasional writers) chaired by Teresinka Pereira Address Maizonos 229, TK 26222 Phone έως 2610 338248 6973930402 INTERNET: htt: / / durabond.ca / gdouridas / poetryArkadia.html
Poems of Dimitris P. Kraniotis
full of coffee,
to the fictitious line
where the eddy
to my silence.
on our forehead
the frontiers of history,
shed oblique glances
at Homer’s verses.
full of guilt
that became echoes
in lighted caves
of the fools and the innocent.
a north wind that nods to us,
a thought that flows,
with hymns of history,
words on signs
with ideals of geometry.
Rules and visions
the sunset, their exceptions.
Rain drinks up
spring, our dreams.
The eagle sees
and youth, the visions.
Waves of circumflexes,
storms of adverbs,
windmills of verbs,
shells of signs of ellipsis,
on the island of poems
to put a full stop,
in the sentence
where the road
of my dreams
upon the word of happiness
of wet logs
from the inside of me
that I dared
to turn to ashes.
A roar of cars
seals the dawn
with short-cut answers,
with unyielding denials
that are repeated
Fragments of glasses
in the empty room
of the inarticulate whispers,
the caress of our soul.
The savour of fruits
in my mouth,
but the bitterness of words
demolishes the clouds
and wrings the snow
counting the pebbles.
But you never told me
why you deceived me,
why with pain
and injustice did you desire
to say that the end
always in tears
is cast to flames.
To the dead poet of obscurity
(In honor of the dead unpublished poet)
You have won!
You should not feel sorry.
Your unpublished poems
have not been buried,
under the strength of time.
inside the soil
they never melt.
They may be late
but they will be given
to their people
to offer their sweet,
Dimitris P. Kraniotis is an award-winning Greek poet. He was born in 1966 in Stomio (Larissa), a coastal town in central Greece. He studied at the Medical School of the Aristotle University in Thessaloniki (Greece). He lives and works as aMedical Doctor (Internal Medicine Specialist Physician) in Larissa (Greece). He is married and father of one son.
He is the author of 7 poetry books: “Traces” (Greece 1985), “Clay Faces” (Greece 1992), “Fictitious Line” (Greece 2005), “Dunes”(Romania 2007), “Endogram” (Greece 2010), “Edda” (Romania 2010), “Illusions” (Romania 2010). He has won a number of awards for his poetry which has been published in many countries around the World. His poems have been translated into 20 languages. He is Academician (Academy Tiberina of Rome and International Academy of Micenei, Italy), Doctor of Literature (World Academy of Arts and Culture, USA), elected President of 22nd World Congress of Poets 2011 (United Poets Laureate International, USA), Universal Peace Ambassador (Universal Peace Embassy, Switzerland), President of World Poets Society (WPS), Vice-President of United Poets Laureate International (UPLI), Vice-President of Larissa Union of Poets and Writers (Greece), Vice-President of Thessaly Association of Letters and Arts (Greece), Editor of the Greek poetry magazine “Poetics @ GR” and Member of the Editorial Board of the Greek literary magazines “Graphi” and “Pneumatiki Larissa”, the poetry magazine “Interpoetry” (UK) and the Greek newspaper “Synchroni Ekphrasi” (Athens, Greece). He is member of National Society of Greek Literary Writers, Hellenic Literary Society, Panhellenic Literary Union, Greek PEN Centre, Hellenic Society of Physician Writers, International Society of Greek Writers, World Poetry Movement (WPM), Global Harmony Association (Russia), Poetas del Mundo (Chile), International Writers Association (IWA), etc.
His official website: http://www.dimitriskraniotis.com/