In memory of a lost poem
Ratnakar Sonthi (ratnakar@smartcad4.me.wisc.edu)
Mon, 04 Nov 1996 10:47:06 CST
In light of the recent discussions about satIsh candar and his poem
(paMcama vEdaM), I began to ask myself why I liked the poem. To
answer that, I went down my memory lane only to realize that I had
forgotten my original feelings about the poem and had lost the
"original(?)" poem. As discussions about satIsh candar and his poetry
progressed, my views and feelings about the poem had taken different
shades. As each new interpretation was put forth the lens through
which I viewed the poem changed "colors". And, before long, I was so
deep in the mire of the discussions that I had forgotten my original
feelings and only the impressions are left with me.
When I first read the poem (paMcama vEdaM), the poet was unknown to
me. In fact, it did not matter to me who the poet was. I had
abstracted the poem out from the poet's clutches and had taken
ownership of the poem - for brief moments it was *my* poem. During
that span of time, feelings within, feelings that were previously
unknown to me, were brought to fore and I seemed to
understand the poem and its owner, the Self. Only after this
understanding did I venture to seek out the poet's feelings. And in
some sense I could empathize with him. "Maybe he felt the same way
that I do". I had established an imaginary link with the poet and I
branded the poem "nice". Thus, the feelings had cast their
impressions on me. Mind you, this is not to say that every poem does
this to me. More often than not I cannot take ownership of a poem.
In which case, I console myself by at least *trying* to understand the
poet.
As each "side(?)" put forth its views and interpretations about the
poem, I began seeing the poem more and more through the dark lens of
logic. Somewhere along the way the poem probably must have drifted
away from me. I might have stopped had I known that it was drifting
away. But, I was so caught up in the whole business of logic and
analysis. You see, its become a habit of mine to "rationalize" the
world around. Maybe we all are beings of this habit. Oftentimes,
after a spell of silence within, I tell myself that no analysis is
complete. That a system of logic needs premises and that, in reality,
there is no logical means by which one could decide on the premises to
build the system itself. But, I conveniently and sometimes annoyingly
forget what I have told myself and proceed to build a seemingly
logical system with its premises built on-the-fly. And then I try to
fit the world around into this seemingly logical system. I forget,
only to repent later, that something as fundamental as "understanding"
others or the world around is what gives me joy and happiness.
Coming back to the poem. I have now built several layers between
myself and the poem I first read. Though, in retrospect, I really do
not care about the poet's political inclinations or any other
*details* about him or the scripture(s) the poem referred to, I have
built layers between myself and the poem, without in the least bit
verifying the veracity of the statements I had read. Now I see the
poem in a different light. It no longer seems as beautiful as before.
The charm is lost. The old poem is lost maybe never to come back
again. At least not until I wipe out a part of my memory. The only
consolation is that there is a new *poem* in front of me, imploring me
not to lose it like I did the previous one. I would like not to lose
the new poem in front of me. On the other hand, maybe I am doomed to
lose it too. Maybe we all are doomed!
ratnAkar.