An
exciting
new voice
Dr
Johnson, when once asked about a woman writing poetry, replied "It is
like seeing a dog dancing on its hind legs. One does not expect to see it
done well but then one hardly expects it to be done at all." So one
might say "A woman writing feminist poetry in a regional language?
One hardly expects it to be done well, but then...”
However, the fact of the matter is that Attiya Dawood has done it
and done it very well. And Asif Aslam Farrukhi has written a very good
introduction. Just the right sort of introduction which does not remain
trapped in its own brilliance but whets your appetite for the poetry, to
which it leads you by slow steps of understanding and revelation.
Farrukhi has titled his introductory note A roar on the other side of silence. A roar of course gives the
impression of a beast rather than anything feminine. But of course feminist has often been ;the opposite of
feminine. However, Farrukhi's
text is not as pretentious as this title would lead one to imagine. In
fact one would give him full marks for a substance in itself ‑
insightful and sensitive, which takes us to handshaking distance of the
poetry and leaves us there.
I
don't know if Attiya Dawood has read Kate Millet or Germaine Greer, or the
latest icon Adrienne Rich but if she has, she has the poetic tact and
sensitivity of response not to refer to their work in her poetry. Instead
she draws upon the images and symbols of her native Sindh ‑ and
these words, and images drenched in the colour and the tears of the
immemorial soil of Mehran, carry with them a deep resonance and music
which returns again and again to haunt the reader.
Mir
Taqi Mir's father gave him this brief advice "Beta
ishq karo." Attiya Dawood gives the same advice to her daughter
"Live to love," but she is compelled to add "even if they
stone you as a kari" thus showing the continuing slide of our society
into violence, intolerance and oppression of women.
Attiya
Dawood is a voice from the goths and villages of rural Sindh. It is a
voice of pain and harrowing anguish. As a rural Sindhi woman she finds
deprivation everywhere: she faces oppression piled on oppression. As a
woman, oppression of women by men, as a Third World woman, oppression and
exploitation by the advanced capitalist countries. As a rural woman she is
marginalised in favour of the voice of the first person singular – I,
but they are not autobiographical the events written about are not
necessarilly drawn from her own life. The poems may be considered a form
of dramatic monologue in which she assumes the voice and persona of a
suffering woman and articulates the anguish arising out of some concrete
situation. She has summed up with breath‑catching immediacy in the
poem Journey which I am tempted
to quote in full
"The
journey of my life
From home to graveyard
Like a dead body
I weigh heavy on the shoulders
of
father, brother, husband, son.
Bathed
in the name of Religion
Nailed
to the coffin in the name of traditions,
I am buried in the graveyard of Ignorance."
In
a poem like On the wings of time, the
dust, the heat, the vertical sunlight is internalised into an interior
landscape:
"I
travel within my loneliness..
Walking
barefoot on hot sand
under the blazing sun.
I
have known desert for centuries.
I
know
shadows do not exist here. "
The
echo of Eliot's Waste Land, in
the above poem, has probably been imported by the translator. I wonder if
it exists in the original?
Again
in The Murder in Marriage we
have a juxtaposition of images which reinforce each other
"Brandishing
religion like a sword
Riding the blind horse of desire
You trampled over my heart.
You condemned my faith in you to the gallows
And you married for a second time.”
The
imagery is some times startlingly modern, as in the following lines:
“Like mercury in the tube of obedience
I
am dependent on the seasons. "
The
free unconstrained quality.of her imagery, the sense of remoteness, of
open spaces and blowing winds mark her out as a true poet. Thus in The
Time Rider, she says:
'Traveller,
these winds of pain that confront me today
Are
they a gesture
Indicating
that the season of separation
is about to begin?"
The
poignance of Lamenting a lost moment
is reinforced by the simplicity of expression
"Friend,
let go of my hand.
How
can it be possible
for
us to go in opposite directions
And you keep holding my hand?"
The purity of impulse in Attiy’s poetic productions is marked.
She does not write to exploit a literary form or to comment upon
international affairs or to take part in literary politics. She writes
when she has something to say. Her literary
oeuvre is very slim. It is not clear from the preface whether this is a
selection of her poems or it comprises all her poems, and if a selection
what principle has been adopted in making the selection. No bibliography
is given in the end listing her complete writings Farrukhi's comment (page
9) ',she does not have a prolific output and her poems can be contained in
a volume as slim as this" seems to indicate that this is all there
is, however, improbable it may seem.
Her
poems speak to the reader of deprivation and pain and the loss of hope; of
age‑old suffering and sacrifice. The preface tells us something of
the literary milieu from which Attiya Dawood has emerged in the context of
Sindhi poetry and of feminist poetry. But she is a good enough writer to
be able to stand without these qualifying crutches around the word poet.
Both the regional and the feminist labels are best avoided as they import
a touch of strident propaganda which detracts from the essential human
quality of her inspiration.
The
preface enriches our understanding of the poetry by bringing in the
reference points of Adrienne Rich and Sara Shagufta. Urifortunately I am
precluded from a propei assessment of these influences, being
well‑versed neither in Sindhi poetry nor in modern feminist poetry, Diving
into the wreck being Rich's only collection which I have seen, along
with some startlingly good adaptations or free translation of Ghalib which
she did for Aijaz Ahmad.
In
an introductory piece like this when a poet's first collection is before
us it is best to give the maximum quotations and let the reader make up
his own mind. Two things remain to be commented on. One, the excellence of
the translation (and the word excellence is advisedly used) I do not know
to what degree the meaning of the poem! diverges from the original but the
translations read as good poetry without any of the clumsiness inherent in
translation. Secondly, the appropriateness of the illustratiom which have
been painted by the author's husband Khud Bux Abro.
A
word about the publicatioin itself. The book does not give the impression
that it has been printed and published locally It is simply elegant. Maktaba‑t Danigal, who have built up their reputation as
publisher of Urdu books, make an impressive debut in the field of English
language publication with Attiya Dawood's collection of poems.
Courtesy:
The Star Weekend
