‘Perennial’ : This translated selection of poems provides a window to contemporary Hindi poetry

In a recent conversation, someone asked, “What do you mean by tropical poetry?” What I understood by the term is poetry that lives and breathes the seasons, smells, and colours of the Indian subcontinent. But it is also about the angst, seeds of revolution, and spirit of resilience that has strengthened and shaped our collective consciousness.

My initiation to Indian language poetry read in English was through a volume of translated poems of Rabindranath Tagore’s. Countless afternoons were spent on the coir swing of the elor mango tree, reading “I won’t let you go”. The name of the translator may have receded into oblivion, but the poems changed the way a child looked at the world, instilling a deep and lifelong love for poetry.

It is in this spirit that Perennial: The Red River Book of 21st Century Hindi Poetry, edited by Tuhin Bhowal and Sourav Roy, provides an essential window to contemporary Hindi poetry. Roy’s erudite introduction traces the evolution of Hindi poetry through the Rekhta era, the Bhakti movement, and earlier works in Apabhramsha, Prakrit, and Sanskrit. Inheriting diction, forms, idioms, and myths, Hindi literature is likened to a river, ever flowing, always renewed with fresh waters, a truly “perennial” current. Tributaries of languages have continually flowed into one another, enriching and giving rise to lasting works of literature.

Human frailty

In the poem “Dirt of the Akhada” (translated by Nidhi Singh), we read Om Prakash Valmiki. He wrote extensively about the struggles and the turmoil of Dalits in India, employing direct and unflinching language that cut open the wounds of entrenched otherness.

Whoever wrestles
it’s Simaru who beats the drum
his skilled hands
liven up the scuffle
Dirt kicks up
taak dhina dhin…taak dhina dhin
Simaru’s hands
will awaken the drum
the drum will beat
the akhada will stir
dirt will rise
Because it’s dirt alone
that accepts them all
good or bad
in all forms.

In the same breath, Valmiki’s poem “History” incantates:

In my memories
there are no demons but terrifying gods
who don’t let me sleep.

Manglesh Dabral’s poems, translated by Sarabjeet Garcha, deploy the device of metaphor and juxtaposition to lay bare human frailty and vulnerability. The poem “Madwoman” is a compelling example. “It was almost certain that she was insane, mauled appearance, tangled hair and livid face / were enough to betray her identity,” and whose language was made from “the words of all those languages that the demented use … expressing their humanity / which sane people like us can never understand.”

Ashok Vajpeyi’s poems glimmer like soulful rivers; Kedarnath Singh’s verse speaks from Sartre’s grave; and Adnan Kafeel Darwesh’s poetry captures a deep sense alienation. Each of these voices leaves an indelible imprint on the cultural and political milieu.

The poems move in a space between past, present and future, reminding us of our responsibility to protect the inheritance of our earth. Parvati Tirkey’s poetry preserves tribal myths and knowledge systems in their most vital form. Her poem “The First Showers Between the Advent of Summer and Monsoon” (translated by Dibyajyoti Sarma) speaks of rivers being born from the wombs of mountains, forests taking root from the earth’s belly and fish carrying new life.

A promise

Jacintha Kerketa’s “Angor” reinforces the fragile balance of coexistence and community living.

In the cities, a piece of coal
burns, burns
And then is reduced to ash and cinders. In villages, an ember
goes from one stove
to the other
and a fire in households kindles. 

Elsewhere, Mahesh Verma (translated by Kabir Deb and Tuhin Bhowal) declares,

Just like that I will leave in spring
with my tattered clothes and mud on my shoes
… I will start seeking a colour.

Anamika (translated by Basudhara Roy) reflects:

Salt is earth’s grief and also its taste
Three parts of earth are seawater
and the heart of man, a salt-hill.

Gagan Gill, translated by Vidya Bhandarkar, writes:

All the grind halted, suddenly
breath suspended
midair
no place to go, nor to reach
cut adrift, you fly / alone, in the sky.

We may know our monuments but it is just as essential and perhaps more enduring to know our poets. Together, the forty poets featured in this book offer a vital glimpse into contemporary Hindi poetry in English translation. The volume serves not only as an introduction, but also as a promise of what might follow in later volumes. While one does not pause to weigh the translations against their originals, it is undeniable that the translators have rendered a great service. By giving these poems another life, they have carried them beyond the heartlands of Hindi, ensuring that languages, like rivers, will continue to intermingle and enrich each other perennially.

Perennial: The Red River Book of 21st-century Hindi Poetry, edited by Sourav Roy and Tuhin Bhowal, Red River Press.