Wednesday, June 4, 2008

Unsung Poet


Bishnu Ghatak: How long is the road to Guinness?

How many poems should a man write before we call him a poet? Ten thousand I saw at a glance from the diaries of Bishnu Ghatak who puts pen to paper, amidst all odds with a promise to reach the highest number in Guinness Book of Records.

An Economics graduate from Calcutta University, Ghatak once worked as a time keeper of Dum Dum Cantonment - Howrah Mini Bus route. He is living in a dingy room shared with wife Tapati and their only son Sambrito, in the vicinity of Nagerbazar. His father, Late Tarapada Ghatak, a connoisseur of poetry, inspired him a lot. But, he could not back up his dear son as he was mercilessly victimized by fate. Quitting his technician job with Telco, due to being handicapped after an accident, Bishnu had to maintain his family. His father had no other option left besides seeing his son working as an errand-boy at road side tea stalls.

But the only relief for Tarapada babu was Bishnu's ardent passion for poetry even amidst such turmoil. In his own words, "when my father saw my first published poem in school magazine, he was overwhelmed. Tears brimmed over his eyes and those tears are my inspiration still today". With an invocation to his father, before his creation, Gatak has composed more than 10,000 poems; perhaps the highest number in the world. "In Bengali, Nazrul Islam is still now the highest poem writer with 5000 poems. Tagore comes second with around 3000 poems. A French poet with the bulk of 6000 poems is the highest poem writer in the world. I myself have written more than 10,000 poems and aiming for Guinness Book as the highest poem writer in the world", explains Ghatak.

The bulk of Ghatak's poems are on social evils. Being a Naxalite sympathizer, he feels that "poetry is at the bottom, criticism of life." His only published book of poems Amar Gandib Amar Indradhanu, released in Calcutta Book Fair, 1996 reflects the darker side of the city of joy -- poverty, political clashes, pollution and other vices of Calcutta.

Though a poet from the marrow of his bone, Ghatak has penchant for script writing. He won the National Award for the best script on environment consciousness from the Ministry of Forest and Environment in 1992. "I went through film director Ritwik Ghatak's script of Nagarik to get the hang of script writing. In addition I had a little practical experience that helped me a lot."

There is more to Ghatak than meets the eye. His mirror writing or reverse writing compels appreciation. Inspired, by his guru Da Vinci, the Mona Lisa icon, Ghatak mastered the art of mirror writing, perhaps in the hope of finding himself in the Guinness Records. He first composes his own poems in reverse writing for some special reason. In his own words, "It’s because no one would be able to make any sense out of it, if the page is lost.” Besides his own poems Ghatak took upon himself to rewrite Sunil Gangopadhay’s Nirar Kabita, Tagore’s Sesher Kabita and Niren Chakrobarty’s Ulanga Raja.

If winter comes can spring be far behind? Spring in Ghatak’s career might come round with his reverse Mahabharata. To quote Ghatak, “It is more difficult to do it with Bengali letters for they are not in straight line as in any European languages”.

The following is an excerpt from Ghatak's Fossil where the poet ridicules the bourgeois:
The fretful day is not far,
When your mortal frame,
Will wizen into a skeleton,
With your lusturous eyes sunk
Into sockets,
Mocking at your portrait
With a disdainful smile,
To expose in its nakedness
The rotten mass,
The inevitable Metamorphosis of life

Into fossil.



Sunday, June 1, 2008

"deceiving elf."




"fled is thy music:—do I wake or sleep?"





Tianamoon

The nocturnal sky shimmering with stars around
The trance earth lulled by odorous breeze,
Rustling the old Bacchian leaves.
The silvery moon illumes the weary land,
Makes visible the rocky river bank.
My aching legs lead me to that way,
Fatigued of sweet saunter through sylvan land.

Sitting beside the mango tree,
I watch the quivering moon,
Tempting me to gulp her down.
The starry fays around her
Form her bright necklace,
Her silvery rays all,
Form her wedding dress.
So true is her watery vision,
That fills me with sensation.

Beyond the horizon I see my mind
Luring me to catch those days.
Like stars decked in the sky
They shine but in haze.

Still amidst the rush of days,
Glistening like you the fair moon,
The elusive hours of mine in her arms.


Tender was those nippy nights,
On the carpet of the green hills.
Though now they far behind
Yet visible in sleepless dreams.
I bend to catch those greasy hours,
Only to be drenched in silvery water.
The watery moon now lost a while
To form her in some stilly eve.



- Ist published in POESIA








SWEET FANCY






"the fancy cannot cheat so well"





THE UNATTAINABLE

The clock strikes the hour of midnight.
My active mind carrying me to windy Ganga.
Far behind my sweet home, too near the temple,
Visible with its glimmering lights,
Reflected on the water ripples.


All around the sweet breeze,
Carrying the odour of Spring-flowers.
The starry night, the silvery rays,
The twinkling lights from a far distance,
Urging me to feel complacent.
It seems being out of the fretful world,
I'm in the lap of happiness.


Fast flows the vast Ganga,
Carrying me to unknown destiny.
I feel as if blessed by God,
Being out of my misery.

I turn my eyes to feel the night,
And they discover you there.
Happiness now piled with joy,
To find you sauntering here.
Come H.B., lets spend the night,
Being lost in our glittering eyes.

Your eyes are decked with the
Lustre of your youth,
Your gestures excite my nerves.
I feel forever to be in your arms,
Whose pleasure be the soothing balm,
To all my scars of misery.

But time conspires to break my trance,
With rattling carts wounding the charm.
Yet I hold you in my arms,
Till my mind allows the vision.

Now single we are in the circular world,
Locked to win the Troy of life.
But before we begin our Troy afresh,
Dawn leaps up to destroy our fate.

With tearful eyes I adieu fancy,
Crying, H.B. are you there?
H.B. now lost in ominous light
Leaving memory burning bright.


My first published poem

Soft emotions





"desire of the moth for the star,
Of the night for the morrow......"





DESIRE

The fever and the fret of reality,
The sweatiness of my hectic labor,
Amidst the din of the madding world
Exhaust me to sweet labour.


I lay upon my moon-blanched bed
With stars to induce my exotic dream.
The breeze with their breezy rustle,
Enthralls me to the brim.


My mind breaks the earthly shackles
To which my frame is bound to stay.
It moves far away and away,
To renew all my sensual sense.


Drizzling night if I chance to have,
Washes off all my weariness,
The thunder with all their splendor,
Carouse me to merriness.


Yet all these charms of nature
Fades into the stark of dawn.
I feel as if the night be long
With daylight be just temporal song
.