Paranoia | Poetry | Hemant Divate |
Translated by Mustansir Dalvi | Paperwall Publishing (2023) |
Paperback | ISBN: 978-8196059286 | pp 74 | Rs. 300
 

An intricate and potent poetic weaving .
 

It’s just a story. About now.
About the space between truth and lies.

Though the story has no central character
There are conditions on the way the story should be told
In fact, there are conditions on the way it should be heard.
                (Shall I tell you a story? 10)
 

When one embarks upon the exploration of Hemant Divate’s collection of poems meticulously translated by the adept Mustansir Dalvi, an immediate immersion occurs amidst the tumultuous tapestry the poet weaves from the depths of his being. This intricate and potent weaving doesn't merely evoke the seething anger within the work; it affords a revealing peek into the poet’s cognitive labyrinth. Acquainted with Divate's antecedent oeuvre, this particular book is a repository of exceedingly unbridled emotions, systematically rending the reader's façade to expose the fundamental essence of humanity.

In every city, I was able to live like a human being
I was able to comprehend that every city is one long poem

While a half-done line or a stray word
Can be given to us by some unknown city

Which is why before you arrive in that unknown city,
Know this –
You cannot leave without repaying what you owe it  
          (I’m unable to leave this city, 32)
 

This narrative spurns embellishments and eschews ornate language, presenting the reader with a world devoid of the illusory entanglements or ‘maya jaal’. What unfolds is the sight of a primal force, an elemental dynamism demanding a reckoning. The poet, unflinchingly audacious, articulates lines that defy conformity with unapologetic resolve:

When I look in the mirror
I see myself being dragged away
Tied to a Jeep
Crowds are watching me
They’re laughing like fools
Waiting for their number to come up
            (Mubaarak, 13)
 

The linguistic tenor throughout the volume is no conciliatory entreaty to the reader. It is a brusque and unyielding lexicon replete with a cavalcade of vivid, though not overtly graphic, images. This thematic rebellion against the shackles of conformity and the venting of expression underscores a struggle for liberation from the bondage of societal norms.

There’s a transparency in the poet’s corner
That goes beyond words, dialects,
Hometowns and nationalities
The poet too is beyond
The world’s directions and conditions…

…In that world, there is only
The language of the poet
There is the poet
And there is the game that only
The two of them can play

The game to change the language of the world.
            (The Language Game, 27)
 

A perusal of the poems reveals a speech that emanates from wounds - each scar narrating a tale, each wound endowed with a voice. The poet adeptly articulates his narrative, causing a disturbance in the historical retelling of personal identity. Hints of confessional poetry permeate the work, naturally leading the reader into their subterranean recesses to confront the demons that lurk within or perhaps have taken possession. Through the incorporation of confessional elements, Divate inadvertently facilitates a sense of belonging, wherein the poet assumes the persona of the reader, enabling exploration of realms the reader might otherwise hesitate to tread alone.

As I entered Mumbai’s belly
A baby python
Entered me
Little by little it grew larger and larger
By the time I realised
The tremendous fire in that python’s belly
Was far larger than the fire in my head
The human inside me was dead
             (Paranoia, 4)
 

In her seminal essay, “Use of Anger”, Audre Lorde posits, “Anger is loaded with information and energy”. This formidable energy courses through the pages of Divate’s creation, skilfully transposed by Dalvi to resonate with the primordial roots of the original language. This seamless fusion, coupled with an astute comprehension of the source text, underscores the translator’s ability to convey the essence of the poet’s expression. For readers unversed in the original language, the translator metamorphoses into a conduit where poet and reader converge for a profound discourse.

I lie spreadeagled outside the poem
Sometimes, with the help of a line of poetry,
I force myself to get back in
After a while
I’m pushed back
Out into the paralyzed world
    (Spreadeagled outside the poem, 30)
 

The fluidity coursing through these verses serves as a testament to the translator’s artistry, endowing the translated poems with a new identity, a manifestation of Dalvi’s creative prowess and dexterity in navigating the delicate interplay between languages. As one navigates through, one needs to pay close attention to the cover of the book. The encapsulated persona, though seemingly submerged in stillness, exudes an undeniable vitality, lending an eerie vibrancy to the tableau. The most poignant detail lies in the silencing of the figure’s mouth, either through a seal or tape. This deliberate act not only symbolises the stifling of verbal expression but, more poignantly, accentuates the struggle inherent in the enforced silence. The inverted suspension becomes a metaphorical battleground where every struggle is intensified, the silent protest against an unseen force palpable.

These days,
poems have begun reeking of the death of language
But they cannot smell their own deaths

Even in dying, poems
Can enrich a life
        (Death of a poet, 25)