Mind’s Monologue

My mind is in a great commotion,

Tossed in a storm of emotion

Disillusioned; what’s in my future lies,

Alienation, detachment spread before my eyes

Sympathetic? Want to know who am I?

This is my predicament, Indian Muslim am I

‘Indian’ and ‘Muslim’ both are part of my identity

Not ready to lose either, no matter come what calamity

This is my native land yet myself a stranger

Alas! My own people have put me in this danger

Orphanatic sense in my mind raises some question

My mind’s monologue gives me unbearable tension

Smell of my blood and sweat in this earth are mixed

My experiences, thoughts and feelings in its heart are fixed

My sacrifices remain unnoticed, my cries unheard

My patriotism being questioned, identity blurred

Hopelessness, Darkness surrounds me everywhere

Genocide, massacres, O Lord! Am I safe anywhere?

Everywhere its same concrete jungle with civilized beast

From white foxes in West to Saffron vultures in East.

The Death of a Naturalist: Adieu! Seamus Heaney

A Tribute by Haris Qadeer

The Nobel Laureate Seamus Heaney (1939-2013) was born in a catholic family of farmers of Northern Ireland; a country torn apart by colonial, communal and political strives. He not only made his mark as one of the most popular postmodern English poet but also as an essayist. Heaney’s credentials include various academic positions and literary honours. His greatest literary achievement was Nobel Prize in 1995. 

He saw himself as the custodian and celebrant of lost culture, forgotten history and diminishing heritage. Heaney‘s poetry is for the cause of rehabilitating the culture and traditions, manners and morals, language and identity and history and politics of Northern Ireland. His negotiations are pleas for reconciliations and peace. Heaney’s oeuvres mirror the plight of marginalized Irish people and the trauma of British colonization on culture, traditions, identity and language of Northern Ireland. It throws in relief the attitude of hegemonic society.  In his poetry Heaney was preoccupied with the concern of redeeming the pride and reclaiming fragmented identity of the Irish people. For this purpose he opted to be a digger and dug deep into the layers of Irish history and English literature to expose and fill the voids of historical amnesia. Heaney‘s poetic digging suggests his desire to restore the dignity of his nation through his writings. In the opening poem ‘Digging’ (Death of a Naturalist, 1966) he made his intention clear: ‘’Between my finger and my thumb/ The squat pen rests/I’ll dig with it. . Heaney, unlike his ancestors, could not use the inherited spade and instead turned to pen.

Heaney revived and used Irish legends, associated himself with the rural environs, used the Irish tradition of ‘dinnseanchas‘ as the signifier for rehabilitation native Irish culture. Although Heaney lamented the loss of the original Irish language but he saw English language as a practical alternative. He had a divided loyalty for the English language. The English language reminded him of colonial and racial cruelties, cultural domination and Irish misrepresentations but it is the same language that made his works popular in the literary circles across the world. He dealt with linguistic genocide of the Irish language and cultural massacre of rural Ireland. He captured the same dilemma dealt with in the poem ‘Traditions‘ (Wintering Out,1972), an allegorical elegy written for the loss of native Irish language: “Our guttural muse /was bullied long ago/ by alliterative tradition”  The concept of re-writing history through literature and amalgamation of past and present became hallmark of Heaney’s poetry.

Heaney delved into the past to interpret the present scenario. His ‘Bog poems’ are known for his endeavour to give voice to the historically muted victims of Iron Age. Heaney drew parallel between the sacrificial victims of the Iron Age and the sectarian killing of contemporary Ireland.  The dead corpse of people from Iron Age returned in Heaney’s poetry. Heaney gave proper literary spaces to these victims, returned their voices and celebrated them as any other object of beauty. The bogs in Heaney’s poetry represent a storehouse of the memories that, when released from its depth, sometime underscore, and sometime contradict the verdicts of history.

With the conferment of Nobel Prize in 1995, Heaney poetic horizons were broadened. He moved from the domains of nationalism and incorporated the concerns and vision of the whole world. Heaney was sensitive to the psychology of the whole humanity. Heaney peopled his poetry with- men, women and children, young and old, farmers and soldiers, saints and gods. He paints the canvas of his poetry with the people living in different and contradictory worlds. In some of his poems Heaney dealt with a number of people with handicaps. He showed how these physically challenged people become the other of the society because of the indifference of people.

In the collections that Heaney published in the later phase of his career such as The Spirit Level (1996), Electric Light (2001), District and Circle (2006) and Human Chain, his childhood memories are littered with the imagery of the World War II and the wars of contemporary times. In  ‘A Sofa in the Forties‘ (The Spirit Level), Polish Sleeper‘ and Anahorish 1944‘ (District and Circle) the poet remembers the impact of World War II, the ethnic cleansing of Balkan region is recalled in Known World‘ (Electric Light) and in ‘’Anything can Happen‘ (DC), the terror strike of 9/11 is projected.  Through the portrayal of the war-ridden world, he wished to bring home the horrors of wars and the apathy of man for man.

Heaney‘s poetry is for all of mankind in its holistic magnitude, prospective of peace as the ultimate destiny which is the inscrutably sacred, inalienably sublime and integrally woven with the examples of virtues of saints and Christ. In The Spirit Level St. Kevin and Jesus Christ appear, the journeyman tailor becomes Buddha of Banagher. The references to Lourdes, and the pilgrimage site of St. Bernadette in France and the philosophy of love, harmony universal brotherhood preached by the Stoic Heraclitus in Electric Light suggest that Heaney propagated peace and harmony through his poetry. Heaney‘s poetry is against all such divisions. He dreamt of a healthy society sans narrow divisions. The Nobel Laureate, with such humanitarian concerns elevated himself to a pedestal where he undoubtedly, can be admired as the World‘s Poet. He wrote in collection Electric Light:

Q. and A. come back. They “formed my mind.”

“Who is my neighbour?” “My neighbour is all mankind”

In Between the lines...
Deceptive epiphanies, musical sadness among fading roses, moving arms of clock, and impatient eyes…beautiful memories to look back…Unfulfilled promises to look ahead…amidst them is the disillusioned present….how beautiful are some small betrayals of life…

In the twilight of memory….

Tired from the fatigue of this Orwellian world…. carrying the burden of my thread bare existence…I was running…running away from the selfishness of the masked civilized beasts, who were hovering around me as vultures, ready to relish my flesh and bones…I was tired…completely exhausted….then at one of the labyrinth of life…I met somebody…a stranger…..yet he seemed acquainted…amidst faceless numberless crowd he stood out with his own identity...his presence was like a cool shade under the scorching sun…or like the first few drops of much awaited rain on the thirsty and cracking ground…he came like a breath of fresh air when I was gasping for air …his smile was enough for healing thousand wounds…the epitome of goodness…after meeting him I forgot everything …even the scars of time….he was the most beautiful thing that ever happened to me…..he gave me a rose tinted glasses through which the same world appeared differently…more lovely…more beautiful…but I was weak…unable to articulate my feelings…I wanted to tell him that I needed him…loved him but unable to express….he was lost..…but in those few moments I lived my life….I have treasured enough memories…still down memory lane I walk with him…holding his hand…he often comes back in the twilight of memory to teach me to build another tower in the sky…..thank you stranger for everything you did…

Unspeakable Confessions...

I am the only survivor of the atrocities of life

Lend me thy ears

rescued from the tsunami of emotions

I have certain confessions to make..

Tired from the masks which I have to wear

want to unmask myself, relieve the burden

I am no saint perhaps the manifestation of satan

Takes my robes away, Naked I want to walk.

My heart is a casket of desires

Some desires are lovely and tender

some are dirty and blasphameous

But Why should I be ashamed of them?

Let me speak the unspeakable

Let me confess the unspeakable confessions

Iam no angel, the perfect creation

But a man, carrying the taint of Original Sin

Torn between Satan and Angels

Oscillatng between Good and Evil

If father Adam was not perfect

How can I be?

Let me live the life, The way I like to live

Atleast for this moment

Let me unburden myself from

The rewards and punishments