Tuesday, 16 May 2023

Soliloquy of a Sailor: Poems by Manas Bakshi Reviewed by Dr. Nibir K. Ghosh

Universal Symphony of a Transitory Existence

 (Book Review)

Dr. Nibir K. Ghosh

 

Soliloquy of a Sailor by Manas Bakshi, a veteran Indian English poet with numerous acclaimed collections to his credit, is like a breath of fresh air in a scene where one is virtually overwhelmed to see poetry of all hues and shades spilling over 24x7 in all kinds of print and online formats including every conceivable social media platform. In Preface to Lyrical Ballads, that proclaimed the advent of the Romantic Movement, William Wordsworth had categorically pointed out that “Poems to which any value can be attached were never produced on any variety of subjects but by a man who, being possessed of more than usual organic sensibility, had also thought long and deeply.” Amply displaying a sensibility that Wordsworth talked about, Bakshi’s poems in this collection reflect a serious contemplation on the kaleidoscopic manifestations of human life. Vacillating between ground reality and metaphysical ruminations, the Sailor’s imagination embraces all that is visible to him from his earthly moorings and the battle of life to his arrival at his ultimate destination on the other shore.

The Soliloquy comprises fourteen poems with each poem further spread over several sections. The titles of the poems do prepare the reader for an extensive journey of life through the pageant of wayside wonders, engaged relationships, and self-realisation to arrive at the abode of the ‘formless divine’.

 

In the opening poem, “The Journey Begins,” the poetic persona poignantly states: “Colour doesn’t matter,/ What matters/ Is depth./ What’s there beyond/ The eternal riddle –/ Between a beginning/ And an end.” Reference to colour/depth binary brings into play the dilemma of living that separates what is visually available from what one experiences intuitively.

If, at times, the Sailor is lost in reveries and memories of abstractions, mythological figures in the guise of Lord Krishna and Arjuna make their appearance in “Memory Calls Back” to evoke the need for fighting against injustice and taking  up “the cudgel/ …To fight off the felonious opponents.” In a world fraught with fear, loneliness, boredom, anxiety, distrust, and ennui, the poem “Vignette of Relationships” offers the anodyne of verifying “all relationships/ On the touchstone of true love.”

Though engaged in contemplation of the divine, the Sailor cannot resist bringing in to play the sordid boon of “Facebook relationship” of the Cyber Age that celebrates galore the empty ritual of each day of the year: “Rose Day,/ Opening petals one by one/ Propose Day, Chocolate Day, Promise Day/ Teddy Day, Hug Day, Kiss Day/ It all ripens into Valentine’s Day.” Ironically, the Sailor views these day-oriented relationships as “the sandcastle/ Thriving at the mercy of sea waves.” (“Viewing Relationships from a Different Angle.”) Likewise, in “Wayside Wonders” the poet understands how “At the crossroads of/ Myth and reality/ Transience and eternity/ Life and death” what ultimately remains is “Emptiness,” reminding one of Mathew Arnold’s lines from the poem “To Marguerite”: “YES! in the sea of life enisl’d,/ With echoing straits between us thrown,/ Dotting the shoreless watery wild,/ We mortal millions live alone.” The Sailor, however, is not unaware of the fact that in a world torn by “Religious anarchism” and “mindless terrorism” the panacea lies in people coming out of the shell of their island-like indifference to embrace with humaneness the essential wisdom of “coexistence.” (“Wayside Wonders.”)

The fate of Man Alone comes up for elaborate consideration in the reflective lines of the poem “Lonely in Life, Lonely After Death.” Here, the soliloquy turns into the melancholy strain of the Sailor who is seen as a child reconciled to find amusement even in a “broken toy.” The poetic cadence gradually changes as, adrift like the boat, he begins to imagine himself as the prime mover until the realization of “How painful it is/ To be really left alone!” dawns upon him. Nevertheless, what urges him to continue his “mystic journey” are the sights and sounds of “the flowing water, blowing air/ Charming sunlight and soothing moonbeam” that offer him endearing companionship.

The poem “Voice of the River” gives ample evidence of the poet’s ability to think long and deep simultaneously about the mundane and the sublime. Pained to see “Hoodlums, terrorists and rapists/ Ransacking faith in microcosm,” the Sailor provides an instance of what true humanity is all about in: “I offer water/ To one and all,/ Call it life..../ Never draw a dividing line/ Between countries/ And community-centric entities –/ But alas!/ It’s the pride of human beings/ To demarcate territory,/ And mark their identity./ Nature has blessed all of us/ With everything – beneficial, healing and real.”

Like Ralph Waldo Emerson, the American Transcendent philosopher, Bakshi believes in the plentiful blessings that Nature offers to mankind in order to rid the individual as well as the collective craving for gross material pursuits. This can be seen prominently in the poem “Nocturnal Musings” where the focus is not on urban society but on the life of Tribals who inhabit different corners of the globe be it “The Onga of the Andamans/ Or, the Massai of Africa.” Living in direct contact with Nature, Tribal communities continue to cherish their inheritance of culture, music and song that blissfully spring from ancient durable customs that go hand-in-hand with the pristine glory of Nature. Bakshi observes in the said poem: “It’s no myth./ The tribals still believe/ Each object of creation/ Linked up with another” and goes on to assert how, bereft of “spiritual ecology/ Humanity is incomplete.” By clipping the wings of Nature man can only hasten his own extinction.

The philosophical strain of experiencing being and nothingness as a true seeker who has learnt to shed off his ego to ensure an affinity with the Supreme godhead is brought out very effectively in the following lines from the poem “The Shapeless Divine”:

           I’m nobody.

All is He – the Almighty.

He in me – an individual entity.

Detached – I’m nobody till lost in Him.

‘Soham’ – I’m He

An iota of the divine, shapeless infinite.

 Yet, knowing that the task of renunciation to “attain Moksha” is not everyone’s cup of tea, the seeker is caught in the ambivalence akin to that of Prince Hamlet in the “To be or not to be” soliloquy in Shakespeare’s play. As a fitting finale to the ruminations on the transitoriness of human existence and the inevitability of death, the concluding poem “The Realization Begins” ushers in the dawn of realization and ultimate wisdom:

 

Born an ordinary human being

I know not what’s incarnation,

Have only completed a circle –

Circle of being myself

With own sufferings, failures and success,

…   …   …   …

All around’s water

Endless and deep

A wandering self, a sailor myself

Awaiting the final dip.

 

The distinct gleam of hope and faith expressed in this poem reminds one of the existential vision of Samuel Becket’s Waiting for Godot where Vladimir and Estragon exclaim with certainty: “in this immense confusion one thing alone is clear. We are waiting for Godot to come.”

 

Apart from very few poems where one can see an effort being made to use some rhyme scheme, Manas Bakshi admirably succeeds in engaging the interest of the reader/audience who are drawn to listen with rapt attention to the symphony of existence which he sings with gay abandon. 

 

REFERENCE

 Soliloquy of a Sailor: Poems by Manas Bakshi. Authorspress, 2020. pp. 92. Rs. 295.


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, an India-based international journal of English Letters in its twenty-second year of publication. He has authored/edited fifteen internationally 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 includes Mirror from the Indus: Essays, Tributes and Memoirs and Republic of Words: Conversations with Creative Minds from Around the Globe (with Dr. Sunita Ghosh).

The Review was published in Creative Flight: An International Half-Yearly Open Access Peer-Reviewed E-Journal in English (ISSN 2582-6158), Vol. 3, No. 2 (October, 2022) pp. 193-197 and Boloji.com (USA).

 


Monday, 24 April 2023

Nibir K. Ghosh reviews Twilight of Torment: I. Melancholy by Léonora Miano - ASYMPTOTE

 

ASYMPTOTE


Nibir K. Ghosh reviews Twilight of Torment: I. Melancholy by Léonora Miano

translated from the French by Gila Walker (Seagull Books, 2022)


Anyone familiar with the novels of the Francophone Cameroonian writer Léonora Miano would not be caught unawares by the title of her recent work Twilight of Torment, translated from the French by Gila Walker. Following on the heels of Dark Heart of the Night (translated by Tamsin Black; Bison Books, 2012) and Season of the Shadow (translated by Gila Walker; Seagull Books, 2018), Twilight of Torment visibly enhances the terrain of Miano’s exploration of African diversity. As one flips open the first page of the book, the reader’s eye is immediately struck by an epigraph from the Black celebrity writer Sonia Sanchez’s poem “Present”: “there is no place for a soft/black/woman.” The opening line of the novel, “It’s suffocating like before a storm,” seems to suggest the anxiety that precedes a calamitous situation and prepares the reader for becoming acquainted with the “subterranean wounds” from which Black women “never recover.” The main protagonist, Madame, readily avers, “There’s no room for romance, for soppiness in the lives of women here. In these lands where the sky is neither shelter nor recourse, being a woman means deadening your heart.”

In providing this backdrop at the very outset of the novel, the author reveals her intent to confront head-on the predicament of women, especially of African women, for whom even day-to-day existence is fraught with the perennial torment of “deadening your heart.” Observing a stony silence rather than giving vent to the bottled-up anger, rage, and discontent stemming from the curse of being Black and a woman seems the norm. However, not content with being an accomplice in the conspiracy of silence, Miano allows her protagonists to believe that “being a woman in these parts means evaluating, probing, calculating, anticipating, deciding, and shouldering.” Consequently, Black women are free to realize what Virginia Woolf stated in her essay A Room of One’s Own (1929): “Life is not a series of gig lamps symmetrically arranged. Life is a luminous halo, a semi-transparent envelope that surrounds us from the beginning of consciousness to the end.”

It is by delving deep into the consciousness and interiority of events, memories, desires, ancestral history, and tradition that Miano’s four protagonists are able to convey not only their agony and anguish but also their resolve to discover panaceas located beyond torment and torture.

The novel is spread into four distinct narratives that showcase the life and experiences of each of the significant figures—Madame, Amandla, Ixora, and Tiki. The blurb indicates how the four women speak to the same man, who is not there. He is the son of the first, the great-yet-impossible love of the second, the platonic companion of the third, the older brother of the last. Speaking to him in his absence, it is to themselves that these women turn, examining their own stories to make sense of their journey, from twilight to twilight, through a mysterious stormy night in the middle of the dry season.

Dio is the absent character addressed by the four women in turn. Their tales show how each one of them, in their complex relationship with him, have been affected by Dio's inexplicable approach to life and people. Léonora Miano, as the blurb continues, skillfully brings together various stories to offer a panoramic view of “femininity, sexuality, self-love, and the intrusion of history into the intimate lives of people of African descent.” Through these interconnected narratives, Miano successfully creates a comprehensive picture of women caught in an intricate web of multiple relationships that governs the action the course of action that each may adopt to survive in a seemingly hostile world impacted by considerations of gender, patriarchy, masculinity, ancestry, lineage, superstition, and violence.

The Madame Mususedi’s narrative occupies significant space in Twilight of Torment, and she articulates the relationships with the other major characters in the novel. In marrying Amos, who carries with him the tag of royalty, she bargained her material resources for the reflected glory that she thought she would find in the union with him. The marriage took place in the north, against her parents’ wishes. Disillusionment soon follows, as the brutality of Amos’s domestic violence becomes a regular feature of her life. Amos’s sisters also play their part in taming her to keep her in her “place.” She exclaims wistfully: “Royalty is forged in women’s wombs, but the power that it confers is held by men.” She also accepts that “What I lived in this house is an atrocity.” It may be pointed out that the “North” figures quite a few times in the novel though there is no reference to any specific country. Perhaps, Miano is using the term to designate a space inhabited by black African women irrespective of nationality and culture.

Madame’s son Dio and daughter Tiki who constantly witness the spectacle of violence at home deeply resent Amos’s inhuman behavior and often encourage their mother to abandon her husband and live a life of freedom and dignity. She does give the prospect serious thought when she goes on a vacation with her children and meets a lady called Eshe. Through her brief but intense relationship with Eshe, Madame experiences the feeling of warmth and security that a durable association with her could provide: “A door opened, revealing an expanse within that I did not even know it existed. A territory so vast that I had no idea how to cross it. What I would find at the end of the road was visible from the threshold. All I needed to do was make the journey. Make up my mind to set out on one of the courses, all of which would bring me safely to harbor. I was free.” While she is contemplating going ahead with what her heart and soul earnestly desire, the ghosts of propriety, fear, and shame make their presence felt and dissuade her from giving free rein to her personal desire. As a result, she returns to her husband with her children.

In due course, Dio leaves for the North where he develops a deep friendship with an immigrant. Following the sudden death of his friend in an accident, Dio reaches out to the deceased’s family and takes on the responsibility of looking after his wife Ixora and son Kabral. He gets close to them and ultimately leaves the North and returns home to his mother with Ixora and her son. The return of Dio with the two newcomers greatly offends Madame, who takes an instant dislike to Ixora but gradually warms to her son. Madame scorns Ixora for her lack of a family lineage. She finds her ordinariness detestable. Madame’s narrative also includes a description of Amandla and her relationship with Dio, which somehow never matures into a union of any kind. In comparison with Dio’s ambiguous relationship with Ixora, Madame finds the relationship with Amandla more acceptable.

The three narratives that continue the novel poignantly bring into focus not only the experiences, trials, and tribulations of Amandla, Ixora, and Tiki with respect to their relationships with Dio, Madame, and other characters who appear in their lives, but also reveal the author’s concern with bringing into bold relief elements of African culture that were cast into oblivion and replaced with French culture through stratagems of colonial design. In this regard, the novel may be seen as in conversation with Gabriel Okara’s poem “The Piano and the Drums,” where he writes of the colonial strategy of overpowering the sound of the drums with that of “a wailing piano / solo speaking of complex ways / in tear-furrowed concerto.”

                                             Leonara Miano
Amandla’s story begins with the reference to her relationship with Dio, which began while she was a teacher at Heru School, an institution that she had founded with the avowed purpose of teaching the values of African culture and tradition to girls. She acknowledges that she had, by choice, taken responsibility for the preservation and propagation of African customs against the onslaught of what the colonial powers call modernism. She recounts:

I was a child when my mother taught me to reject the names used to trample on our identity. Words by way of which our humanity was denied. I knew very early on that the land where the human race was born was called Kemet. That we were Kemites. Not Blacks. The Black race was invented purely to cast us outside humankind. To justify the transatlantic dispersion. To make chattel of us to be bought in instalments.

She points out that the invaders never bothered to learn the language of the people they colonized. They, according to Amandla, prioritized material happiness over the love for life: “They disdain us for not always asking more of life than what it gives us. For not setting our sights on where they set theirs. Our civilization is at odds with all their conceptions. This is why they still know nothing of us. This is why modelling on their example would be suicide.” Amandla’s view echoes what Ralph Waldo Emerson, the American Transcendentalist philosopher, had warned his fellow Americans about blindly following the British in his essay “Self-Reliance”: “Imitation is suicide.”

Amandla attributes the failure of a union with Dio materializing to incompatibility arising out of his lack of concern for her as a person. He was there and yet not there. What seems to characterize Amandla is her faith in a relationship based on what D. H. Lawrence would call the “religion of blood.” The fulfillment of her desire comes to her in the form of her new lover, Misipo, an already married man. This is made apparent when she declares to the memory of Dio:

 

I don’t love him like I loved you but he gives me what you always denied me. What your body withheld. What I need more than anything. I can admit it now. I am a woman with him. It’s important to me. To be touched. To be taken . . . What happens between two people who surrender completely to each other is beyond the flesh. It’s a spiritual act . . . To discover too that desire is more than a craving. It’s a feeling.

Ixora’s account begins with her disclosing how she had been beaten violently by Dio and thrown out of his car amid a torrential downpour for breaking off her engagement with him. Even in such a perilous moment of agony, Ixora experiences a feeling of deliverance from her plight: “I don’t care, I feel free, even though I’m lying here in the mud, without the slightest idea how I’ll get out of this situation, I’m not in pain, you bashed me too hard for there to be any pain left, it hit me like a torpedo blast, causing numbness all over, such things happen it seems, when the pain is too strong, you feel nothing anymore.” What is evident from Ixora’s outburst is her resilience in fighting back against injustice without fear and anxiety about what the future has in store. She reminds Dio that they were an odd pair “that never mates, that never seeks warmth from each other’s bodies, a couple founded on the loss of a friend . . "

The epigraph from Audre Lorde’s poem “Who Said It Was Simple,” placed at the beginning of the fourth and final chapter of the novel, offers a glimpse into the consciousness of Madame’s daughter, Tiki: “There are so many roots / to the tree of anger / that sometimes / the branches shatter / before they bear.” Like the trees and people that face the ravages of the storm, Tiki is determined to “rebuild again.” She points out the importance of ancestral language in preserving and sustaining time-honored traditions that unite communities. Tiki calls it the folly of destiny that their mother, Madame, had to contend with “two lineageless women, two descendants of slaves” in her life. She makes a reference to Eshe, whom they had met on their vacation, and the letters from her to Madame that Tiki discovered in her mother’s closet: Letters that spoke of the pain of “having dreamed too brightly, of having to wake up and learn how to breathe again.” Accusing her brother Dio of not showing any concern, Tiki says, “You know nothing of the forces that have always oppressed her, you didn’t take enough interest in your parents to find out who they were, the kind of people they were.” She adds, “That’s the way it is for everyone in our community . . . we know we are the fruit of a tree that no one will take responsibility for cutting down.”

Towards the end of the novel Tiki muses over her relationships with various men and remarks how, in her conversations with her mother, she has cleverly avoided answering “specific questions on the thorny subject of my love life. The fact that she loved a woman will not enable her to understand my way of loving men. It’s my life, my affair.” It is obvious that Tiki assumes responsibility for her own future and mentions about her present companion that “Our sexual needs are in harmony, we like alternative medicine and we’re vegetarians. I’m a bit down in the dumps, but no one dies from that. You’re going to call, Big Bro, I’ll be here.”

Taken together, the four different, though interconnected, narratives provide a comprehensive foray into the issues and challenges that African women have to contend with in freeing themselves from the oppressive fetters imposed by social, political, and cultural mores that torment them ceaselessly. The hope of redemption lies in this connectedness despite their individual differences, a fact that is outlined by the epigraph from Ayi Kwei Armah’s novel Two Thousand Seasons (East African Pub. House, 1973) in the section on Amandla: “Our vocation / goes against all / unconnectedness. It / is a call to create the / way again, and where / even the foundations / have been assaulted / and destroyed, where / restoration has been / made impossible, simply / to create the way.”

It is pertinent to mention here that Léonora Miano moved to France as a student in 1991, where she adopted the French language as a medium to give expression to her creative endeavors. In the manner of Chinua Achebe, Miano intuitively chose the language of the colonizer to ascertain her African identity. Going against the norms of assimilation that demanded forsaking one’s own cultural roots, Miano, unlike many Francophone-African writers, opted to ground her concerns in clearing the mist of anonymity that shrouded the “dark” continent. While African-American writers celebrate “Black is Beautiful”, it is heartening to see Francophone African writers beginning to proclaim to the world the innate beauty of Africa in terms of both natural and human resources.

Miano’s statement that she “thinks and writes” in French brings into the limelight the credit that must go to Gila Walker for translating Torment of Twilight into English with obvious expertise. The powerful and lucid passages cited from the translated version amply show that not much has been lost in the process of translation. On the contrary, Walker’s aesthetically beautiful renderings will win for Miano a hugely enlarged audience in comparison to those who read her in the French original. The context and the content of this novel are bound to draw both lay readers and scholars who agree with Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., that “injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.” 

Read bio

Nibir K. Ghosh was a Senior Fulbright Fellow at the University of Washington, Seattle, USA, in 2003–2004, and is currently UGC Emeritus Professor of English at Agra College, Agra, India. He is chief editor of Re-Markings, an India-based international journal of English Letters in its twenty-second year of publication. He has authored or edited fifteen books, including Calculus of Power: Modern American Novel (Creative Books, 1997), Multicultural America: Conversations with Contemporary Authors (Unistar, 2005), W. H. Auden: Therapeutic Fountain (Raj Publications, 2010), Rabindranath Tagore: The Living Presence (Author Press, 2012), Gandhi and His Soulforce Mission (Author Press, 2014), and Beyond Boundaries: Reflections of Indian and U.S. Scholars (iUniverse, 2007). His most recent works include Mirror from the Indus: Essays, Tributes and Memoirs (Author Press, 2020) and, with Dr. Sunita Ghosh, Republic of Words: Conversations with Creative Minds from Around the Globe (Author Press, 2022).

https://www.asymptotejournal.com/criticism/leonora-miano-twilight-of-torment-i-melancholy/

Friday, 24 March 2023

Creation and Criticism

ISSN: 2455-9687  

(A Quarterly International Peer-reviewed Refereed e-Journal

Devoted to English Language and Literature)

24. March 2023

Vol. 07, Joint Issue 26 & 27: July-Oct 2022



Book Review


Mirror from the Indus: Essays, Tributes and Memoirs by Nibir K. Ghosh


Nibir K. Ghosh. Mirror from the Indus: Essays, Tributes and Memoirs. New Delhi: Authorspress, 2020. Pages: 208.  Price: Rs. 800/- ISBN:  978-93-90155-24-8. 


  

Reviewed by Shanker Ashish Dutt

 

As an academic, Dr. Nibir Ghosh is singularly free from the guilt of not writing enough. While the global contagion dislocated and altered quotidian schedules, for him it served as an antidote to what Eric Hyot terms ‘virtuous procrastination’. Mirror from the Indus: Essays, Tributes and Memoires published by AuthorsPress (2020) bears testimony to Ghosh’s, energy and diligence and scholarly recapitalisation.

 

The opening essay on Tagore as an ambassador for universal understanding sets the tenor, as the prophet of literature without borders bequeathed to humanity an intellectual and spiritual legacy of freedom, pluralism and peace in his writings. The India of his imagination emphasised the spiritual virtues of a sustainable civilisation based on mutual respect and understanding among peoples and nations.

 

Kipling comes next in which Ghosh attempts to balance the pejorative image of an imperialist who advertise the White Man’s Burden as ‘benevolent humanism’ and a positive one that provides an algorithm for the struggles of life that needs to be faced with resilience, equanimity and grace. The poem ‘If ’is addressed to one half of humanity since the notions of gender inclusion probably enter his consciousness much like the masculinist imperial project. It is rather interesting to observe Kipling strategically sandwiched between Tagore and Gandhi, the two apostles of non-violent, anti-colonialism. Ghosh unequivocally valorises Gandhi’s contemporary ethical relevance. However, the offices of privilege and profit seem to have cynical disregard for the Seven Social Sins enumerated in Young India in 1925:

Politics without principles

Wealth without work

Pleasure without conscience

Knowledge without character

Commerce without morality

Science without humanity

Worship without sacrifice

 

These tenets for an endurable polity germinated from Gandhi’s experiments with truth to become universal codes of human worth.

 

The vocational trajectory of Sri Aurobindo from being a member of the Lotus and Dagger Society, a committed revolutionary to a spiritual philosopher is a journey of ascending civilisational pursuits. On returning from England, Aurobindo was distressed by the material and spiritual poverty, irrationality, bigotry: ‘baser ideas underlying the degenerate perversions of the original caste system, the mental attitude which bases them on a false foundation of caste, pride and arrogance, of a divinely ordained superiority depending on the accident of birth’. Ghosh writes, as a nationalist, Aurobindo knew that Purna Swaraj could be achieved through the participation of each constituency of Indian society and that its heterogeneity was its strength that could be the driving force of the freedom movement.

 

Among the other essays that would be of interest to the readers are Subramania Bharati and Indian Independence, Netaji Subhash Chandra Bose. The Quest for the Good Place in the Essays of W. H. Auden, History in the Future Tense; Girish Karnad’s Tughlaq and Dom Moraes’: The Disenchanted Voyager. Each one of these essays is crafted with a design to focus on relevance and cultural progress in our times.

 

This contemporary relevance has been incisively articulated by Subramanya Bharati who wrote: ‘In ancient times, do you think that there was not the ignorant, and the shallow minded? And why after all should you embrace so fondly a carcass of dead thoughts. Live in the present and shape the future, do not cast lingering looks to the distant past for the past has passed away, never again to return'.

 

Mirror from the Indus bears testimony to Ghosh’s multidisciplinary scholarship that has a purpose to build a good place in the manner of Auden: ‘tell them particular stories of particular people with whom they may voluntarily identify themselves, and from which they voluntarily draw conclusions’.

 


 

About the Reviewer:



 

Shanker Ashish Dutt is Professor and Former Head, Department of English, Patna University & Former Chairman, Bihar Sangeet Natak Akademi. As writer and editor, his publications are in areas of Cultural Studies and Liberation literature. He has been a theatre actor and director, a debater and a columnist. 

 




 

Friday, 3 March 2023

‘I DRAW INSPIRATION FROM WHAT I OBSERVE’: A CONVERSATION WITH VERONIQUE TADJO - Nibir K. Ghosh Re-Markings March 2023

 

‘I draw inspiration from what I observe’:

A Conversation with Veronique Tadjo



Nibir K. Ghosh

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Dr. Véronique Tadjo is a writer, artist and professor of French and Francophone Literature. Born in France and raised in Côte d’Ivoire (Ivory Coast), she did most of her studies in Abidjan before earning a doctorate in Black American Literature and Civilization at the Sorbonne, Paris IV. In 1983, she went to Howard University in Washington, D.C. on a Fulbright research scholarship. Writing in multiple genres in both French and English, she has distinguished herself in whatever she has turned her inspiration to. Her internationally acclaimed publications include novels and poetry collections entitled Queen Pokou, As the Crow Flies, The Shadow of Imana, The Blind Kingdom, Latérite/Red Earth, besides books for young people: The Lucky Grain of Corn, Talking Drums, Lord of the Dance among others. Her work has been translated in many languages. She is the recipient of  numerous awards like the Los Angeles Times Book Award for Fiction, the Commandeur des Arts et des lettres medal by the French ministry of Culture, Le Prix d’Excellence du président de la République de Côte d’Ivoire, Writing residency at The Rockefeller Bellagio Centre in Italy, Carnegie Sandwich Grant from the University of the Witwatersrand Trans-formation program, the Iowa International Writing Program residency in Iowa, USA, Writer in residence and Equity Scholar, Carnegie Transformation Grant at the Writing Centre, University of the Witwatersrand in Johannesburg, South Africa and Le Grand Prix Littéraire d’Afrique Noire in Paris, France. Currently, she is Visiting Professor at the University of the Witwatersrand in Johannesburg (South Africa) and shares her time between London and Abidjan.

Véronique Tadjo’s works amply display the spirit behind Tennyson’s poem wherein Ulysses says, “I am a part of all that I have met.” Widely travelled, she admits she has “an aversion to telling a story in a linear form,” probably reminding one of T. S. Eliot’s line, “I must borrow every changing shape/ To find expression.” The immensity of the power of her writing can be gauged from the following lines taken from two of her poems that were featured in A World Assembly of Poets, published by Re-Markings as a special number in November 2017 and guest-edited by Dr. Tijan M. Sallah:

What burden do you bear

In this foul world

Heavier than the city

Dying of its wounds?

What power

 Links you to this frigid earth

That births twins

Only to separate them?

That raises buildings

Only to crush you

Under tons of cement

And steaming asphalt? (RED EARTH/LATERITE).

Bound by strong affinity for the “wretched of the Earth,” the writer in her asserts with conviction:

In truth, loneliness has no name, since it hides in the recesses of your body. It hides following the path of your veins, the curve of your spine and the dense swamp of your waking spirit. Interrogate the cracked mirror, the fragments of your soul that tell you the truth. Interrogate the fracture, the dispersion. Interrogate, interrogate to the point of exhaustion” (HALF-WAY/À MI CHEMIN).

In this conversation, the author spares no effort to discuss various facets of her life and work with simplicity and frankness that are the hallmarks of her personality.

----------------------------------

Ghosh: You combine within you multi-dimensional attributes of a novelist, poet, author of books for young people, illustrator and painter. How do you manage to strike a balance among so many artistic engagements?

Tadjo: For me it is equivalent to speaking different languages or simply using various modes of expression. I lost a lot of time thinking that when you build a career, whatever the field, you must concentrate on only one thing. But at the end of the day, I realized that what mattered to me was being in a creative process. And this can take different forms. Most of the time, the writing process takes precedence but I also like to explore other avenues. For example, I believe that I am a better writer when I paint.

Ghosh: When did you discover your urge and flair for writing? What were the influences that shaped your sensibilities as a writer? Do you remember your first composition?

Tadjo: Poetry was my first calling. I owe a lot to the Négritude movement. I read Léopold Sédar Senghor, Birago Diop, Aimé Césaire, Léon-Gontran Damas. They opened my eyes and my heart to what was happening around me. I was also touched by French poets like Arthur Rimbaud, Jacques Prévert and Charles Beaudelaire. At a later stage, I discovered Raymond Carver and Sylvia Plath as well as Japanese Haikus. I would write poems on bits of paper dotted all around the house. Then I used notebooks and I never stopped writing. My first published collection of poems, Laterite (1983) was conceived after I crossed the Sahara desert and ended my trip in the north of Côte d’Ivoire where I taught English in a school for three years. I fell in love with the region and the Senoufo people.

Ghosh: What academic training went into the shaping of your career as a writer?  What encouragement did you receive from your parents?

Tadjo: I took a BA (licence) at the English department of the National university of Abidjan. Then I went on to the Sorbonne to further my studies in African American Literature and Civilization. I also took African Literature as a second degree. Although I had started writing when I was young, I really developed my skills when I had already left home. Right from the beginning my parents were very supportive. It gave me a lot of confidence to choose two careers: academic and literary.

Ghosh: Like Tennyson’s Ulysses, it appears you “cannot rest from travel.” Considering the many countries you have straddled in your academic and creative career, how have such frequent sojourns impacted your writing?

Tadjo: I am the product of travel. My parents met when my father left Côte d’Ivoire to further his studies in Economics and Law in France. My mother left her small hometown in Bourgogne to study Arts in Paris. Thereafter, my life was again defined by travelling as we would spend many holidays going back and forth between Côte d’Ivoire and France. I married a journalist and the travelling intensified even more. I can almost put a little flag on each of my novels as the various countries where I have lived have had an impact on my writing. I draw inspiration from what I observe, feel and learn. Travelling helps me to see the world in its complexity.

Ghosh: W. E. B. Dubois had declared way back in 1903 that "the problem of the twentieth century is the problem of the color line.” A century and twenty years later, what is your perception of the “color line” that Dubois referred to? From the Harlem Renaissance and the Civil Rights’ movement to the Black Lives Matter initiative, what changes, if any, do you visualize?

Tadjo: I am saddened by the fact that the problem of the “color line” is still so prevalent today. One would have thought that a lot had changed since the Civil Rights movement and all the struggles against discrimination but unfortunately, Black Lives Matter protests have demonstrated that there is still more that needs to be done. Police brutality is a symptom of institutional racism. Yet the paradox is that on November 4, 2008, Barack Obama became the first African American to be elected President of the United States. And there are many more high profile Black and African personalities who have risen to the fore. However, an exception is not the rule. You can’t take any gain for granted. The fight for justice and equal opportunities for all has never been more relevant.

Ghosh: What occasioned your interest in Black American Literature and Civilization as the subject of your doctorate degree?  Who are your favorite African American male/female authors?

Tadjo: The subject of my doctorate thesis was: “The process of acculturation of Black Americans through slavery.” I was interested in looking at the change that occurred in African slaves when they arrived in the plantations. They first had to shed their former cultural identity before they were able to acquire a new and hybrid one at first. Through adversity, they overcame many obstacles to survive and find their rightful place in American society. Cultural syncretism is a fascinating phenomenon that comes from the clash of cultures. It is the fusion of different beliefs and practices to create a new culture. It is something that occurs everywhere in the world. So I thought that looking at Black Americans would help me better understand the changes taking place on the continent as through the violence of colonization, Africans have had to abandon many of their traditions to adopt a more “modern” way of life. It is undeniable that Black Americans have influenced the world with their achievements on many fronts; literature, the arts, politics and theoretical thinking. Toni Morrison is at the top of my list with James Baldwin and many other authors.

Ghosh: You worked on “The Black Church and Black Theology” for your Fulbright project at Howard University, Washington, D.C. What initiated you into this particular area of research? What were your primary findings?

Tadjo: I was interested in Black theology and its powerful message of change. The Black Church in America has been instrumental in the birth of the Civil Rights movement. At its heart is the idea of social justice and its transformative force. God is on the side of the Oppressed. It is a message of resistance and hope as opposed to the usual perception of religion as “the opium of the people.”

Ghosh: You have been the recipient of the prestigious Fulbright scholarship. Please narrate your experiences as a Fulbright scholar. To what extent were you able to meet Senator Fulbright’s ideal of “humanizing international relations and turning nations into people” through the scholarships he initiated? Does the spirit of the Fulbright program enter somewhere in your writings?

Tadjo: Being a Fulbright scholar was very important for me because it gave me the opportunity to study at Howard University and to immerse myself in Black American civilization. I lived with a Black American family in Washington, D.C. and learnt a lot. I was also able to consult key documents in the many libraries on campus. I had a research director at the Divinity School. In two of my novels (As the Crow Flies and The Blind Kingdom) you can find markers of my time during the Fulbright scholarship period. Not directly but definitively linked to it.

Ghosh: What similarities and/or differences do you find in your views of African American and Francophone African writers?

Tadjo: I rarely compare because American and Francophone writers operate in very different linguistic and cultural spheres. I am glad that there are more and more translations from English into French and vice versa. We have common themes of course. They mainly centre on questions of oppression and identity. Moreover, we share the feeling of black consciousness.

Ghosh: Two of your novels – The Shadow of Imana (2000) and In the Company of Men (2017) – have for their subject matter two major crises on the African continent. What motivated you to undertake a creative journey to fathom apocalyptic realities like the genocide of the Tutsis in Rwanda and the recurring outbreak of the Ebola epidemic? Can these two works be called political novels?

Tadjo: There are lots of events happening in the world, some good, and some bad. We live in a world that is in permanent crisis and within this situation; Africa has its own challenges. When a specific issue occurs on the continent, I want to understand the why and how. As I am emotionally involved (rather than just intellectually involved), it pushes me towards a creative project. For me, writing is an exploration of pain and a desire to exorcise it. As an author, I feel a responsibility to record key moments in our history. It is a privilege to be able to write and to be published. I do not self-censor myself. It is not because I have talked about the genocide in Rwanda that I will not speak about environmental degradation and the emergence of the Ebola epidemic. Yes, you could say that both The Shadow of Imana and In the Company of Men are political novels. However, I would prefer to qualify them as “Committed literature” or what is called “Littérature engagée” in French.

Ghosh: The Rwanda genocide of 1994, termed by the BBC as “100 days of slaughter,” saw the extermination of 800,000 people from the minority Tutsi community by the demographically dominant Hutus. How did you manage to capture the graphic details of the grim tragedy in The Shadow of Imana: “These dead are screaming still. The chaos remains palpable. The events are too recent. This is not a memorial but death laid bare, exposed in all its rawness. … The bones of the skeleton-corpse are disintegrating before our very eyes. The stench infects our nostrils and settles inside our lungs, contaminates our flesh, lingers in our bodies and our minds"?

Tadjo: I wrote The Shadow of Imana as part of a project called “Rwanda, writing as a duty to memory” that took place in 1998. It was set up by Fest’Africa, a festival of African literatures and cultures based in Lille, France and founded by Nocky Djedanoum (Tchad) and Maïmouna Coulibaly (Côte d’Ivoire). The project involved a dozen African writers from different countries. We went together to Kigali to observe life in post genocide Rwanda. Each one of us wrote a book from our experience. Being physically present in Rwanda and having the opportunity to talk to survivors helped us to capture some of the graphic details. It was essential for me to be among Rwandese. You must also take into account that the genocide took place in 1994 and our trip to Rwanda took place four years later. The country was still reeling from the tragedy; a lot of things were still raw and unprocessed. We wanted to tell it as we saw it.

Ghosh: You appear to mix, what T. S. Eliot would call, “memory and desire” when you lyrically say in The Shadow of Imana: “May my eyes see, may my ears hear, may my mouth speak. I am not afraid of knowing. But may my mind never lose sight of what must grow with us: hope and respect for life." What are the sources of your “hope and respect for life” in a world ruled by tyrants, despots and power-hungry fundamentalists? What is the significance of the presiding tribal deity “Imana” in the title of the novel?

Tadjo: We cannot give up. Wanting a better world may sound like a hopeless quest but it is the only one worth fighting for. I am a writer so that’s what I do. Silence is no option. The respect for life is part of the survival of humanity; from the fight against violence and extremism to the preservation of the Earth and the need to reverse the destructive effects of climate change. Each gene-ration has its part to play. “Imana” is the name of God in Kinyarwanda. Therefore, the title refers to the erasure of traditional spirituality that took place during the various periods of colonization from Germany and Belgium followed by France’s involvement in its affairs. It created a vacuum that was filled by a superficial understanding of Christianity. The breakdown of ancient cultural references may have caused a trauma of unknown proportion.

Ghosh: You published your epoch-making novel, In the Company of Men, in 2017. What inspired you to write about the Ebola epidemic that originated in 1976 near the Ebola river in Congo and continued to make its presence felt with its outspread becoming more severe in 2014 with over eleven thousand people losing their lives in Guinea, Liberia, and Sierra Leone?

Tadjo: When we talk about Ebola today, it is usually in reference to the 2014 Ebola epidemic in West Africa. This is because it was by far the deadliest. It also received intense media coverage. The previous epidemics were minor in comparison and therefore engendered little attention from the world. Small villages being stricken by the disease did not make news. Diseases like malaria among others did not make news either, until recently (as they are starting to cross borders). My aim was to take the 2014 Ebola epidemic as a defining moment. It showed Africa and the world the terrible state of our health systems and the urgent need to reform them. A catastrophe remains a catastrophe if it is not followed by qualitative change. The book is a call for such a change made more urgent because of environmental degradation.

Ghosh: Did you have to undertake extensive research into various manifestations of the cause-effect relationship pertaining to the Ebola crisis? How did you go about writing the novel?

Tadjo: I would say that from 2014 when the Ebola epidemic became a prime concern, all the way up to the writing of the book I was busy gathering information. And the more I researched the subject, the more it strengthened my resolve to continue with my project. I learnt that there had been at least ten previous Ebola epidemics that occurred in the Democratic Republic of Congo where the virus was first identified and that there were different types of Ebola viruses known to be present in Sudan, Uganda, Côte d’Ivoire, and even Asia with various degrees of lethality. Very recently, an outbreak was declared on 20 September 2022 in the Western Region and Central Region of Uganda. It is Uganda's fifth Ebola outbreak.  The problem is not over.

Being an academic helped me tremendously (in terms of the methodology to adopt) when doing the research because the same skills can be applied to creative writing. When producing an academic article, it is said that you have to withdraw behind “neutrality” and stay on the ‘rational’ path.  On the other hand, when you write creatively, you tend to put the emphasis on emotional knowledge. You are appealing to the readers’ sense of identification with the characters because you want to break the cycle of indifference. To a certain extent, this multidimensional form opens up new possibilities.

Ghosh: There is a 1997 film In the Company of Men on a totally different theme. Is it a mere coincidence?

Tadjo: Yes, there is absolutely no link with this film. The title of my book refers to a change of gaze. Non-humans and nature are “in the company of humans” because they share the same territorial space, the Earth.

Ghosh: Do you have any plans of rendering into fiction how the COVID-19 pandemic changed the world like never before? If yes, what lessons, according to you, would you like to share with your readers?

Tadjo: I am sure that the COVID-19 pandemic will feature in my writing. I have already written several short pieces of the subject. It has deeply affected every one of us. It was devastating in Latin America, India and Brazil for example. But the pandemic has not been experienced with the same intensity all around the world. What shocked me was the injustice in the access to treatment. Vaccine nationalism was a low moment for humanity as too many Western countries kept more vaccines than they needed. I think that we will talk about the pandemic for a long time to come, looking at its various ramifications. Viruses know no borders, race, faith or political affiliation. As a human species, we will keep the world safe only through solidarity.

Ghosh: Is your remark, “I follow the African tradition of storytelling which gives me a great freedom of interpretation of our myths and legends. I am interested in preserving the richness of our cultural heritage for the generations to come,” an extension of the legacy of writers like Chinua Achebe? Also, how did you get to acquire significant insights into the African oral tradition with its myths and legends?

Tadjo: I was raised in Côte d’Ivoire. I grew up with oral traditions which have played an important part in the fabric of society. They are very resilient and are still alive in people’s imaginary landscape even though we have lost so much. I am fascinated by myths and legends. Many people tend to think that they are irrelevant in today’s world. I tend to disagree; I think that they continue to shape our vision of the world and our place in it. Writers like Chinua Achebe knew their power and his writing is an exploration of the encounter between tradition and modernity. On the francophone side, the great Malian writer and historian, Amadou Hampâté Bâ has had a strong influence on my work.

Ghosh: You mention that you chose English as your scholarly profession with French as your creative profession. What led you to such a decision? Which language do you use frequently while communicating with your family and friends in Côte d'Ivoire?

Tadjo: Having lived in several Anglophone countries and in particular in South Africa where I headed the French and Francophone department for seven years as a professor at the university of the Witwatersrand in Johannesburg, English has imposed itself as an academic language for me. Emotionally, I am attached to French. It is my main creative medium, although I do also write creatively in English. In Côte d’Ivoire, we have our own French which has been influenced by the various local languages spoken in the country (a kind of creole). We immediately switch to it when we are among family and friends.

Ghosh: What motivated you to take up painting? You have designated your art work as "magic realism." Do you find this technique of mixing myth, magic and memories useful in unravelling the mysteries of contemporary realities? Is Gabriel Garcia Marquez an influence?

Tadjo: My mother was a painter and she became a sculptor towards the end of her life. She gave me the passion for visual art. I started with illustration because I was abroad and wanted pictures to go with my books for young people. I then ventured into painting on canvas. She encouraged me to find my “voice”. She used to say, “Just do it, go ahead.” I have adopted the literary term coined by Gabriel Garcia Marquez because it is the closest to what I try to do visually. I start painting something that is recognizable, and then I distance myself from it in order to enter another realm.

Ghosh: How would you describe your experiences as a professor of Literature at various universities? In terms of teaching and learning methods how would you compare teaching in Africa with that in the USA?

Tadjo: There is a big discrepancy between Western and African universities in terms of academic resources. Even in South Africa where you find some of the best universities on the continent, funds are limited and cannot cover the great educational needs of a country coming out of the oppression of the Apartheid regime. In West Africa, most educational systems would benefit from reforms. Education needs to become again “the priority of priorities” as it was thought at independence. There is a great desire to learn and a lot of talent.

Ghosh: What response did the anthology Talking Drums: A Selection of Poems from Africa south of the Sahara evoke from African as well as Western audiences? Do the diverse new voices in the collection signal a bright future of poetry from the said region?

Tadjo: I conceived the anthology as an initiation to African poetry. It starts with traditional poems and moves to contemporary ones. My intention was to tell the story of the continent through poetry. It was very well received. Poetry is alive and well on the continent. There are many diverse voices. The Spoken Word movement for example has taken poetry into the open again thanks to an oral art that is based on performance.

Ghosh: You have made an impressive mark in the domain of Children’s literature. What ideas and approaches do you bring into play when you are writing for children? Who would you consider a role model in writing stories for children?

Tadjo: Today, children living in cities do not have access to stories easily. I started writing albums with pictures because I wanted to bring my contribution to the development of literature for young people in Côte d’Ivoire. In the 80’s in collaboration with my publisher we started several collections. I enjoy writing for different age groups. When I wrote my book on Nelson Mandela, No to Apartheid! it was to celebrate the life of an icon of the liberation, to keep his memory alive. I am attracted by stories from all over the world and by traditional storytelling.

Ghosh: In recent parlance what is your take as a writer on the Russian invasion of Ukraine?

Tadjo: I am a believer in non-violence as a citizen and as a writer. For me the Russian invasion of Ukraine and the on-going conflict that followed has had a profound negative impact on the world. We see an escalation of violence with a call for more and more weapons and a terrifying threat of nuclear disaster. I would have wanted more emphasis on negotiation and diplomacy. This is the very opposite of weakness. As we stand now, the possibility of a World War III has become less remote. We need peace to come back quickly. We are living in dangerous times. I wonder what Mahatma Gandhi, Martin Luther King, Jr. or Nelson Mandela would have made of our dire situation.

Ghosh: In the context of protests in Iran over the death of Mahsa Amini in police custody, what is your message to young women writers across nations and cultures?

Tadjo: The death of Mahsa Amini on 16 September 2022 in police custody, after she was arrested by morality police officers for allegedly wearing her hijab too loosely, is absolutely incomprehensible. It is absurd and it shows the level of oppression and the denial of fundamental human dignity suffered by Iranian women living under the Islamic republic. The protests that continue to spread in spite of the severe repression are about ending religious extre-mism. They have grown into a broad movement against the theocracy that has ruled Iran since the 1979 revolution. What we must retain from this is that fighting for your rights is an on-going battle that requires collective consciousness and action.

Ghosh: Many thanks Dr. Tadjo for this engagingly enlightening conversation.

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   Dr. Nibir K. Ghosh is UGC Emeritus Professor, Agra College, Agra. A Senior Fulbright Fellow at the University of Washington, Seattle, USA during 2003-04), he has authored/edited 15 widely acclaimed books. He has interviewed till date 35 celebrity writers, statesmen, historians and poets from around the world that have been published in two collections entitled Multicultural America: Conversations with Contemporary Authors (2005) and Republic of Words: Conversations with Creative Minds from Around the Globe (2021).

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This conversation was featured in Vol. 22 No. 1 March 2023 issue of RE-MARKINGS (www.re-markings.com) pp. 21-30. 

Copyright: March 2023, Nibir K. Ghosh