Sunday, 14 August 2022

HAPPY INDEPENDENCE DAY TO ALL INDIANS -- Nibir k. Ghosh

 

Happy Independence Day!

Nibir K. Ghosh



As I greet my fellow-Indians on this 75th Anniversary of our nation's Independence, I am reminded of particular spectacles from the recently concluded Commonwealth Games that best expressed for me the meaning and value of what love for the motherland could really mean. As time and again Indian recipients of the coveted gold medal mounted the victory stand to the lyrical accompaniment of Jana Gana Mana I was deeply touched by the sight of the tears in the eyes of our gallant victors who did the country proud with their spectacular performances. I do not know whether these were tears of joy in the moment of triumph, or tears of gratification that come from giving the best you can for the nation you belong to! I sincerely believe that if one truly loves his/her motherland, it is not easy to restrain one's deep emotions that spring from the innermost depths of the heart and soul reminding us what we can do for our motherland and not what our motherland can do for us. 

Let us, therefore, display our love that should be synonymous with sacrifice, discipline and with carrying out our professional responsibilities with utmost honesty, integrity and unfailing sense of commitment, irrespective of the nature of our calling. If one and all, who are an integral part of India, could love this ancient land with a sincere sense of belonging, I have no doubt that when we sing the national anthem by holding the Tricolour in our hands it  would be difficult for us to restrain our tear drops of love.

Happy Independence Day! 

Jai Hind!

--Nibir K. Ghosh

Comments

I read your blog and agree wholeheartedly to each and every word of it. Self discipline, integrity, and love for one's country and fellow men, one's profession and familycan make us develop our potential to the full. - Dr. Dipa Chakravarty, Amity University, Jaipur

Thank you Sir, for sharing your observations. It is indeed very overwhelming for me too, whenever I sing the National Anthem. Dr. Suman Swati, Jagran Lakecity University, Bhopal

Thank you for your Independence Day greetings. Best wishes to you, Mrs Ghoshji, and to the contributors to Re-Markings for a happy Independence Day. In one of your editorials your accent was on the value of liberty in the "social context". May this social context engage people's minds to  lead towards greater ethical concern and collective effort for humane engendering!. May your forum for scholarly exchange on a variety of literary, cultural, and social aspects provoke society to reflect on Ramachandra Guha's observation that India is an "election only democracy" so as to restrain us from increasing and unabashed Mammon worship! -  Prof. C.R.Visweswara Rao   Former Vice-Chancellor





Friday, 15 July 2022

Otis Redding’s Loneliness and My Own - Personal essay by Jonah Raskin


                                                                        Otis Redding

(Sittin’ on) The Dock of the Bay:

Otis Redding’s Loneliness and My Own

 By Jonah Raskin


 How lonely was the legendary singer/songwriter Otis Redding, dubbed “the King of Soul,” who died at the age of 25? Was he as lonely in Sausalito, California as I feel here in Ocean Beach on La Playa Street in a one-bedroom apartment a minute from the surf? How do you measure loneliness, anyway, I wonder? Surely, not by the ounce, the quart, the inch or the mile, but rather by some inexact and incalculable yardstick that plummets the depths of one’s psyche. Loneliness, aka the Blues, belongs to the human condition and isn’t limited by time and space, though circumstances, like Covid, can augment it. Still, at the height of the pandemic, I was happy in my own rented little room in Cotati, California, where I wrote a novel set in San Francisco in 1955. I was alone but not lonely. The characters talked to me and I talked to them. We kept one another company.

 If you’re a Redding fan, you might remember that he died in a plane crash on December 10, 1967, just days after he made the second recording, on December 7, 1967, of his signature song, (“Sittin’ Here) On the Dock of the Bay.” The first session took place on November 22. It lasts just two minutes and 38 seconds, and became the first ever posthumous single to top the charts in the US. “Dock of the Bay” made Redding both beloved and immortal. It’s my go-to song when I want to hear the sounds of loneliness and remember that I’m not alone.

Psychologists and sociologists tell us over and over again in books like Olivia Laing’s The Lonely City, that loneliness has hit epidemic proportions globally. Like other loneliness mavens, Laing describes how to practise “the art of  being alone.” I’m just beginning to learn the basics. What’s essential to nip the Blues in the bud, at least for me, is to get out of bed when I wake and go about my day, not lollygag, which makes matters worse.

My longtime friend, Sarah Baker, a lyricist and piano player, tells me that she often feels isolated and lonely, even in a crowd. Her blues make her an excellent interpreter of the Blues, which is often music for and about Blues people. “I'd take ‘Dock of the Bay’ with me on a desert island,” Baker tells me.

 In an article published recently in Street Spirit, journalist and photographer, Martha Cast, writes eloquently about “the loneliness of living unsheltered” in the Bay Area.  Redding himself would understand. He wasn’t homeless, but he wrote an early draft of “Dock of the Bay” when he was living by himself on a houseboat in Sausalito, shortly after his history-making performance at the Monterey Pop Festival, the previous summer— “The Summer of Love,” when no one was supposed to be lonely.

 According to Wikipedia, Redding continued to “scribble lines of the song on napkins and hotel paper” after he left Sausalito, went on the road and performed before appreciative audiences. With help from guitarist and producer Steve Crooper, he finished it in Memphis, a city notable for the Blues, far from San Francisco Bay. The sounds of seagulls and the ocean were added to the song in the studio, along with whistling by the singer himself.

 Listen to “The Dock of the Bay” and you’ll likely conclude that the song, which was released on January 8, 1968, captures, perhaps not the essence of everyone’s loneliness, but common denominators shared by many lonely souls: a sense of hopelessness and even despair. All together, the mix of words, images (“the dock of the bay,”and “resting my bones”)—plus the tune itself and Redding’s voice—express emotional pain that can amplify one’s own loneliness.

 And also release it. Called “a lonely lament,” it has helped listeners accept pain and suffering, find inner peace and move on. So Redding’s fans say on a BBC program devoted to (“Sittin’ On) The Dock of the Bay,” its birth, origins, reception and meanings.* 

 If Redding could make art from his own sorrow and sense of living on the edge, then others can likely do the same.

 In “The Dock of the Bay,” Redding is homesick. So am I. A year ago, I left Sonoma County, where I had lived for 40 years and moved to the city, not far away in terms of miles, but it has felt like culture shock. There, I belonged to a community of poets and farmers, and felt connected to the earth itself. Here, in the city, I'm not literally on the dock of the Bay, but rather on the edge of the city in a foggy, chilly neighborhood that, by virtue of its geography and topography, can feel like it breeds loneliness and isolation. Friends from Sonoma who visit tell me Ocean Beach is “the end of the world.”

 Redding explains in his lament that he has roamed thousands of miles, before his arrival in San Francisco. (He calls it “Frisco”). He sits by himself on the water's edge, watches the rising and the setting of the sun, the tides that roll in and roll out and the ships that come and go. (In 1967, SF was still an active port). The rhythms of nature and the cycles of shipping don’t alleviate his suffering.

 Redding says he has “nothin’to live for,” that “nothing is gonna change” and that he’s not going to change, though people tell him what to do. Loneliness is a constant companion. In that sense, ironically, he’s never really alone. I know those feelings and try not to allow them to overwhelm me, though they seem to have overwhelmed Redding when he wrote his quintessential loneliness lament. Still, at the end of 1967 and the start of 1968, he was on the cusp of success and fame. “(Sittin’ On) the Dock of the Bay” propelled his career like no other song he sang and recorded. From the ashes of his own anguish, he created beauty.

 For all my sense of loneliness and isolation, I do feel connected in Ocean Beach to my neighborhood bar, bookstore, library, café, organic grocery store and to family members who live near-by. The N Judah is two minutes on foot from my front door and takes me far and wide. Still, connections have not totally eliminated the existential sense of loneliness that weighs down on me, especially when I wake in the morning.

 Another often-played song about loneliness, is the Beatles “Eleanor Rigby,” a double A-side single, also on the 1966 album “Revolver,” and written by John Lennon and Paul McCartney. With characters like Father McKenzie, who writes sermons no one hears, and Eleanor Rigby who picks up the rice at a church wedding, but who will never marry, the song delivers a distinctive British take on loneliness. Lennon and McCarthy returned to the loneliness theme in “A Day in the Life,” which is on Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band, in which a nameless young man blows his brains out.

 Was there something about that time in the mid-1960s that led the Beatles and Otis Redding to explore loneliness? Smokey Robinson recorded his own loneliness song, “The Tears of a Clown,” in 1967. Tony Richardson’s movie, The Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner was released in the US in 1962, and spoke to and for far more than  marathon runners and the “angry young men.”

 The mid-1960s was a lonely time for me as a student living in Manchester, England, a long way from my own family and in a culture and society not my own. I was in my mid-20s, nearly 60 years younger than I am now. Back then, I got through the loneliness and the Blues by reading and writing, attending classes at the University of Manchester, listening to the BBC and Dylan on my little record player, making friends with fellow students and carousing with them at a pub near the campus.

 Today, my salvation lies in part with new found friends and family, and also by walking alone on Ocean Beach with other solitary walkers, and, like Otis Redding listening to the tide come in and go out again.  

  *Sittin' On The Dock of the Bay was written while Otis Redding was reflecting on his life on Sausalito Bay in California in the summer of 1967. Its upbeat, laidback melody belies the loneliness of the lyrics. Just a few months later Otis Redding was killed in a plane crash and the song was released, becoming the first posthumous number 1 record in the US. His musician contemporaries including Booker T Jones and guitarist Steve Cropper, who co-wrote Dock of the Bay, tell the story of the song's genesis, and people in their twenties to their seventies reveal why they relate it to dramatic periods in their lives. https://www.bbc.co.uk/sounds/play/m000dgxx







Dear Nibir,
This is not a personal email, but it is a personal essay that explores how I am these days.  
Love,  Jonah

Poem on Ukraine by Tuncay Gary

 



Taras Shevchenko

 By Tuncay Gary




 

 Ukraine is in Berlin

flag waving

we welcome

incoming

 

For how much longer

 

Blue yellow

decorates the city

in the spring trend

and the unsuspecting sing along

 

Glory of Ukraine

Slava Ukrayini

Glory of Ukraine

 

“It was all about the hearts,

who marched and shouted loudly

<<Honour to Ukraine, honor to the Hetmanate>>”

wrote Vsevolod Petriv

before coming to Germany

died of malnutrition in the camp

 

Blue yellow

the flowers are blooming

on the balconies

and in meadows

in Berlin

far from Ukraine

 

--Berlin, May 02, 2022


Saturday, 28 May 2022

Karyalayi Hindi evam Computer by Dr. Sunita Rani Ghosh



Karyalayi Hindi evam Computer (2022)

by 
Dr. Sunita Rani Ghosh



 Highlights

The book published by RM Publications, Agra, addresses all dimensions of Hindi Computing from the basics to the most advanced intricacies pertaining to the use of Computers. Accolades and appreciations are pouring in from students, scholars and teachers for the valuable contribution of the author, Dr. Sunita Rani Ghosh, in bringing to them in lucid and accessible terms what had seemed complex and beyond reach.

Heartiest felicitations to Dr. Sunita on her path-breaking endeavour!

Dr. Sunita Rani Ghosh is Head, Department of Hindi, Agra College, Agra. Visiting scholar in the Department of Asian Languages, University of Washington, Seattle, USA during 2003-04, she is Co-author and Co-editor of the following books



       







                

Monday, 11 April 2022

‘The flower faded but the pain remained’: Reflections on Nature in Literature -- Plenary Talk by Nibir K. Ghosh at International Conference on “Literature, Environment and Climate Change” RGNUL Punjab, 7-8 April 2022

 

International Conference on “Literature, Environment and Climate Change” RGNUL Punjab, 7-8 April 2022


‘The flower faded but the pain remained’: Reflections on Nature in Literature

by

Nibir K. Ghosh


I will begin with a poem The Miller of the Dee attributed to Charles Mackay

 

There dwelt a miller, hale and bold,
Beside the river Dee;
He worked and sang from morn till night -
No lark more blithe than he;
And this the burden of his song
Forever used to be:
"I envy nobody - no, not I -
And nobody envies me!"

"Thou'rt wrong, my friend," said good King Hal,
"As wrong as wrong can be;
For could my heart be light as thine,
I'd gladly change with thee.
And tell me now, what makes thee sing,
With voice so loud and free,
While I am sad, though I am king,
Beside the river Dee?"

The miller smiled and doffed his cap,
"I earn my bread," quoth he;
"I love my wife, I love my friend,
I love my children three;
I owe no penny I can not pay,
I thank the river Dee,
That turns the mill that grinds the corn
That feeds my babes and me."

"Good friend," said Hall, and sighed the while,
"Farewell, and happy be;
But say no more, if thou'dst be true,
That no one envies thee;
Thy mealy cap is worth my crown,
Thy mill my kingdom's fee;
Such men as thou are England's boast,
O miller of the Dee!

From this simple melodious poem celebrating the life of an ordinary Miller, let me take you to a monumental work that amplifies the theme of this conference on “Literature, Environment and Climate Change.”

Way back in 1762 Jean-Jacques Rousseau initiated a serious discourse on the relationship between man and nature in his monumental book titled The Social Contract. In the insightful opening lines of his powerful treatise he stated emphatically, “Man is born free, and everywhere he is in chains.” Implying that the freedom which man had originally experienced in the “state of nature” was forsaken by his enslavement to his own increasing material needs, Rousseau acknowledged that people can never be as entirely free in modern society as they are in the state of nature. Consequently, at the end of The Social Contract, Rousseau advocates a “return to nature.” Inspired by Rousseau’s philosophy, William Wordsworth voiced his concern over man’s limitless greed in his popular poem, “The World is Too Much with Us” wherein he laments: “The world is too much with us; late and soon,/ Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers;/ Little we see in Nature that is ours;/ We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!”

It is perhaps providential that two-and-a-half centuries after the publication of  The Social Contract the city of Paris, from where Rousseau launched his prophetic work, became the nerve centre of the International Summit on Climate Change. As inhabitants of an extremely endangered Earth, heads of nations representing the environmental anxiety and dread of their respective citizens from every corner of the globe assembled in Paris at the end of 2015 to adopt the first-ever universal, legally binding global climate deal. The global ecological crisis that we are now confronting is unprecedented in human history. The terrifying scale of this crisis and our increasing awareness that it has emerged out of deliberate human policies to interfere with Nature itself has virtually compelled us to realize and understand that we can no longer take Nature for granted. John May in The Greenpeace Story rightly says: “When the last tree is cut and the last fish killed, the last river poisoned, then you will see that you can’t eat money.”

To make you aware of the magnitude of the calamitous problem of environmental crisis created by our anthropocentric attitude and behaviour, let me share a recent happening in Canada’s British Columbia. In the emergency department of Kootenay Lake Hospital, Dr. Kyle Merritt, the head, saw a patient enter literally gasping for breath. After carefully examining the patient, Dr. Merritt announced his diagnosis: "climate change." When asked why he chose to make the unusual diagnosis, Dr. Merritt stated: “If we’re not looking at the underlying cause, and we’re just treating the symptoms, we’re just gonna keep falling further and further behind.”

The question now is how do we use literature to confront and control the ever-worsening situation.

                                        Reflections on Nature in Literature:

The following lines from William Wordsworth's poem "Lines Composed a Few Miles above Tintern Abbey, On Revisiting the Banks of the Wye during a Tour, July 13, 1798" reveal among other things what is paramount about the relationship between Nature and Man/woman. 

 

These beauteous forms,

Through a long absence, have not been to me

As is a landscape to a blind man's eye:

But oft, …

I have owed to them,

In hours of weariness, sensations sweet,

Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart;

And passing even into my purer mind

With tranquil restoration:—feelings too

Of unremembered pleasure: such, perhaps,

As have no slight or trivial influence

On that best portion of a good man's life,

His little, nameless, unremembered, acts

Of kindness and of love.

Likewise, in a poem, “I Plucked you Flower” (The Gardener, Poem No. LVII),  Rabindranath Tagore shows the impact of human aggression on Nature:

I plucked your flower, O world!

I pressed it to my heart and the thorn pricked.
When the day waned and it darkened, I found that
the flower had faded, but the pain remained. (1-4)

But here I wish to emphasize that merely reading or writing poems and stories of Nature, planting saplings on World Environment Day, or sharing selfies at beautiful natural resorts on Facebook or Instagram, or writing profoundly scholarly papers for Climate Change conferences will not take us closer to comprehending the problem or determining what role we can play to mitigate the crisis. We really need to explore in literature elements that can sensitize us and others to human misery, poverty, malnutrition, debilitating diseases, discrimination and oppression of man by man.

W. H. Auden in “Refugee Blues” says: this city has ten million souls,/ Some are living in mansions, some are living in holes. These lines took me this morning to doing a bit of research on ground reality of the human condition.

In the process, I googled ‘Dharavi Slums.’ I am sharing details: The slum, like many others, lacks provisions for sanitation, drains, safe drinking water, roads or other basic services. The film industry has played a key role in bringing this slum to prominence. It was featured in films like the Oscar-winning Slumdog Millionaire and the more recent Gully Boy. The sprawling Dharavi became the favourite tourist experience of 2019 in India and even beat the Taj Mahal, says  travel site TripAdvisor’s Travellers.’ I was shocked at the available data: in less than 535 Acres of land, live close to 12 Lakh people which means 17 sq ft per (4x4 sq ft per person) inhabitant. In contrast I was amused to learn that a single family whose affluence and popularity is common knowledge live in a tiny house that is built on 4,00,000 sq. ft. which leaves only 40000 sq ft per person. If by studying and teaching literature we continue to turn our heads away from the continued misery of our own human kind, does it really matter what we talk and write about?

To contribute our share to resolving the dreadful environmental crisis, let me take you back to Rousseau who defined the principles of the Social Contract where  “All citizens should participate - and should be committed to the general good - even if it means acting against their private or personal interests.”

What we need is passionate involvement and dedicated commitment to leave the world better than we found it in. If we can become courageous like Gaura Devi, a woman who became a widow at the age of 22, and who, with just 27 illiterate women, hugged the trees to prevent them from being felled way back on March 26, 1974 to initiate what is now recognised globally as the Chipko movement, there is still hope.

I, therefore, exhort the young participants in this international conference and the students of RGNUL to explore in their own little way how they can substantiate their ideas and resolutions with concrete action to justify their commitment to environment conservation even at the cost of their personal materialistic priorities and pursuits. I strongly affirm that it is incumbent upon us all to join hands together to feel the innate joy of seeing the flower in bloom rather than find ourselves plucking them and living with the “pain” as Tagore had warned.  

Thank You!

 





Saturday, 26 March 2022

Review by Nibir K. Ghosh in ASYMPTOTE: Tijan M. Sallah's I Come from a Country

 


I Come from a Country by Tijan M. Sallah, Africa World Press, 2021

A Storehouse of Affection

Nibir K. Ghosh

If The Gambia as a nation figures on the globe as “one of the world’s poorest and least-developed countries,” according to a recent article in The Guardian, there may be much cause for despair. As I leaf through the pages of Tijan M. Sallah’s latest poetry collection I Come from a Country, I can see a great deal of hope emanating from the vigorous pen of The Gambia’s leading poet, writer, and critic. The very first poem “I Come from a Country,” that gives the collection its title, shows how Sallah negotiates the dark terrains of poverty, unemployment, illiteracy, and urban squalor through images and pictures of what he considers essentially human. The opening lines of the poem, “I come from a country where the land is small, / But our hearts are big,” immediately suggest that it is the people who constitute a nation rather than geographical lines or boundaries. This is a land where “every one knows your name / . . . Where poverty gnaws at our heels, / But we have not given up hope / We continue to work.”

The collection’s recurring image of the sun signifies hope eternal. Hope, for Sallah, is not a “thing with feathers” as Emily Dickinson would have us imagine in her poem, “Hope is the thing with Feathers,” but it is a reassurance that “rises daily with the sun.” Life is difficult but with the resilience reminiscent of Hemingway’s Santiago, the common folks of The Gambia believe that “a man can be destroyed but not defeated”:

And if resilience were a person,
She will live in my country.
She will be a calloused-handed woman
In sun-drenched rice-fields,
With a child strapped on her back;
But with a love enormous as the sea.

. . . Where we still believe in such things as
Sweating with your hand,
And still remember God and family.
And still support the indigent,
And carry Hope like oysters,
Sun-peeping from their shells.

Though based in the USA, Sallah’s intimate relationship with The Gambia remains deeply embedded in his sensibility. It is not restricted to a mere poetic expression of “imaginary homelands.” He seems to be carrying The Gambia within his heart and soul. If he is eager to show his love and esteem for the people of his homeland, he is no less vehement in offering his harsh indictment of tyrants like Yahya Jammeh who brought untold misery to the subjects for whom he was elected to be their custodian. Celebrating the overthrow that led to Jammeh’s exile, Sallah warns his fellow Gambians in “Jammeh-Exit”:

The detractors of freedom prey
On the unfulfilled pledges to the poor . . .
We must not be fooled;
That history does not repeat itself.
But, damn well, it does, if
Those who guard the doors of liberty
Sleep like dunderheads at sunrise.

Sallah is equally unsparing of leaders with dictatorial intent as is evident from the poem “Nasty Palaver of Donald Duck,” where his target is Donald Trump. Infuriated by Trump’s reference to natives of Africa as “people from the shit-hole continent,” Sallah castigates the “insolence from a drake, holding the scepter” for creating fissures in the most powerful democracy in the world with his hate-speeches against immigrants and people of colour. Sallah desires to see the earth rid of “such unbridled / Arrogance and greed” that cannot treat fellow human beings with respect and dignity.

This slender collection of thirty-two poems showcases amazing diversity and an encyclopaedic range of topics that cover people and events, cultures and civilizations, society and polity, calamities and pandemics. Poems like “Of India, I have hope for the Sun” evoke the poet’s ability to travel in his mind to distant lands as a cultural ambassador to share the message of freedom, peace, tolerance, and prosperity that comes from recognizing the otherness of the other with empathy and love. He imagines flying to India on the “chariot of his dreams” and, “sitting by the Ganges and the Brahmaputra,” desires to “watch pilgrims sail deep into their atman.” Inspired by Mahatma Gandhi’s ideals, he says:

That Mahatma, who taught the world
The enduring lesson of satyagraha.
Who knew that a spindle and a thread
Can defeat the depraved canons of Empire.

He visualizes Rabindranath Tagore sitting by “the date palms of Santiniketan” and “proliferating the wisdom among gurus/ About the enlightened path of Brahmo Samaj.” The India of Sallah’s dreams corresponds with Tagore’s vision of a “Heaven of Freedom”:

Of India, I have hope for the sun.
And of the rays of the sun,
Of the shadows of Dalits merging with the Brahmins
In mutual empathy and regard;
Of the silhouettes of Hindus, Muslims, and Christians
Melding love into an unrecognizable whole.
Of the rich breaking bread with the poor
To form a circle of incestuous kindness.
Of men and women, breaking the miseries
Wrought by fate, to shape a virtuous destiny.

Sallah seems to value the freedom of the individual as well as the collective. He derides the “Mending Wall” syndrome and asks in his poem, “Walls”: “How can a country grow that erects walls?” His rhetorical questions, in the same poem, “What would have happened to Relativity, / If Einstein was put in a cage? / What happens to caged children / When you set them free?” demonstrate his innate concern for issues that we normally turn away from. He castigates the gross materialism that has led humanity astray in the name of modernity. He is disturbed by the yawning gulf between the roaring rich and the utterly poor even in a land of plenty such as America. This is evident from his poem “Washington,” in which he avers “You have seen the world’s perfections and imperfections,” if you have seen the capital of the USA.

What makes this volume noteworthy is the intrinsic humanity of the poet, allowing him to offer exemplary tributes to the people he has loved, admired, adored, and revered. The epigraph by Stephen Spender—“I think continually of those who were truly great”—appended to the poem “Ballad for Mother” shows Sallah as a storehouse of affection blended with gratitude. He concludes the poem with the lines:

Among the many greats I know,
My mother was truly great.
If your mind racks with doubt,
I wish you had met my mother.

No less effusive are his remembrances of Dr. Lenrie Peters: “He loved the country like dolphins loved its river”; Chinua Achebe: “We will remember you for your dreams to make Africa fly”; and the Nobel Laureate for Literature Nadine Gordimer: “You loved truth like your birth.”

In these grim times, when the world continues to come to terms with the hazardous COVID-19 pandemic, Sallah writes in “Season of Vengeance”:

It is the season when death visited us
With a vengeance.
Corona crowned itself the king of the earth.
And we all prayed for the first time
For we were frightful.
We knew we had been careless
About things that really mattered.

The poem begins with the description of the traumatic fear that King Corona created by emerging as the great leveller that reduced to “a scandalous dungheap” all our “accumulated knowledge” of dealing with pandemics. As “Hospitals roiled with the drama of masks and ventilators” and “Mortuaries lay overwhelmed by / The rapid march of death’s spell,” Sallah points out how a complacent world was sent into a spin “by the scourge of the tiny” virus that wrought havoc on all fronts of human territory: social, economic, and political. Citing the warning given by Greta Thunberg, the young Swedish environmental activist, regarding the impending existential crisis from climate change, the poem laments how the world, lost in the funhouse of material greed and comfort, had to pay a heavy price:

We knew we had been careless
About things that really mattered.
Greta warned us, but, hey, did we listen
Earth is one; emissions must sink.
But the world blocked its ears,
And continued with business. Pests jumped,
And found free rein.
Arrogance, if not tempered, is poison for the world.

Sallah’s concern for the environment that we notice in “Season of Vengeance” is not an isolated instance. Many poems in the collection bring to the forefront his essential sensitivity in approaching events and issues as a caring poet. In “Slaying A Banjul Crocodile,” he shows his extreme displeasure when a group of children launch a brutal attack on the helpless crocodile. The crocodile’s attempt to defend itself makes the poet in Sallah remark: “one defenseless soul / Against a mob is / Sinking David against Goliath. / It instilled not fear in the mob. / It only spurred their excitement.” Likewise, a poem like “Moth” brings into bold relief the satisfaction and happiness that come to him from saving the life of the “blackish brown moth” trapped between the glass and wire gauze of a window: “I thought of leaving it alone. / But I noticed that sometimes / Leaving things alone may / End their fate.”

With a perfect rendering of emotions in multiple forms—ballad, haiku, and free verse—I Come from a Country is bound to command attention from both practitioners of poetry and lay readers. The easy conversational tone used by Sallah in his poems should remind one of Robert Frost who took pride in saying: “My poems talk.”

Dr. Nibir K. Ghosh, former Senior Fulbright Fellow 2003–4 at the University of Washington, Seattle, USA, is UGC Emeritus Professor of English at Agra College, Agra, India. He is Chief Editor of Re-Markings (www.re-markings.com), an India-based international journal of English Letters in its twenty-first year of publication. He has authored or edited fifteen books that include Calculus of Power: Modern American Novel, Multicultural America: Conversations with Contemporary Authors, W. H. Auden: Therapeutic Fountain, Rabindranath Tagore: The Living Presence, Gandhi and His Soulforce Mission, and Beyond Boundaries: Reflections of Indian and U.S. Scholars, among others. His most recent work is Mirror from the Indus: Essays, Tributes and Memoirs.



COMMENTS

Dear Prof. Ghosh, I am delighted to see that the review finally came out.  You have done a fantastic job. Thank you for taking the time to write a thought-provoking and comprehensive review.  Certainly, the best review done on the book so far…!    If you don’t mind, I will share it around with friends. I have shared your review around, including with my publisher, who was very happy with your thoughtful piece.  It is the best review so far, and I am grateful to you. Tijan M. Sallah

***

Indeed a rich tribute to the poet!

You've captured the theme of hope and resilience and the likeness to Hemingway's eternally true "man can be destroyed, not defeated" is commendable ...  of anguish and desire for the home that was ... of political tyrants and their loudmouths ...

You have a very lucid style of writing, Sir. It appears to be written so effortlessly ! I marvel at your genius.   So fortunate are the ones who are your students.

More power to you, Sir. Please keep sharing your analytical and perceptive writings more often. Let me learn and grow under your wings --Dr. Ashoo Toor, Department of Agricultural Journalism, Languages & Culture, Punjab Agricultural University, Ludhiana.

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It's really an illuminating experience for me to go through the review. you have  done it with moving sympathy for the sufferers of racism. The lines you have quoted are powerful as they're born of struggles the working people wage in their every day life. --Dr. G.L. Gautam, HOD English, Lajpat Rai College, Sahibabad, Ghaziabad

                                                                    


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I don't know much about this writer Sallah but your Review has kindled a desire in me to read more about him. I will certainly do so whenever I can. Excellent write up Sir. Fabulous 👌👌-- Dr. Gunjan Chaturvedi, HOD English, BDK Girls College, Agra

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Thank you Sir, for sharing such a wonderful piece of your writing, & for introducing us to the beautiful poems of Mr. Sallah that speak of his patriotism. His faith in love, hope & humanity impresses us. His compassion for the poor helpless crocodile reminds us of the great philosophy of "live, and let live." While he dares to speak about the arrogant world leaders of their vain pride; his love & gratitude towards India, Tagore & Mahatma Gandhi reveals his humbleness. I really wonder what Mr. Sallah would be writing about the present times when the whole world is at the verge of another world war. Thank you Sir for sharing such a beautiful article full of wisdom. No doubt, I feel inspired & motivated. Thank you Sir. 🙏—Dr. Priti Verma is HOD English, P.C. Bagla College, Hathras

                                                                     


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This article/review served as a window to Gambian literature to me. Tijan Sallah's poetry has been part of World Contemporary... too but this book is actually profound as it covers larger depth of issues faced by the country. I came to know about the "Shithole countries" remark for first time. Congratulations to you for another wonderful publication. -- Saurabh Agarwal, Entrepreneur and Literary enthusiast.

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I read your review and I felt an urge of reading the whole work. The way you've portrayed everything is extremely insightful and at the same time tends to put forth the fact that it is merely our self created boundaries that set us apart... I, as a reader, felt strongly of how much atrocities is the world facing and how people are being fragmented at heart, forgetting that before anything else they are human beings... I haven't read the poetry but I can make out the voice of the people of Gambia and their suffering...

It is written in a quite understandable manner yet brings to light such complex issues and events with ease and serenity...Thank you for giving me the opportunity to read it. -- Ashna Taneja, BA I, DEI, Dayalbagh, Agra