Sahitya Akademi award winning book, Relationship is a trend setter that takes us back to the time of making of the canon in Indian English poetry– how Indian English poetry evolved in and around Jayanta Mahapatra who arrived in the poetry scene in 1971 with the title, Close the Sky Ten by Ten. In the 1970s his poems were published in major poetry journals in the world and he earned accolades from different shores. During the 1970s Jayanta was invited to read poems from many important places including, University of Iowa, Iowa City, 1976, University of Tennessee, Chattanooga, 1976, University of the South, Sewanee, 1976, East West Center, Honolulu, Hawaii, 1976, P.E.N. Centre, Sydney, 1978 and Australian National University, Canberra, 1978. These made valuable grounds for making him a significant poetic voice in the decades to come. A Rain of Rites appeared from the University of Georgia Press, USA in 1976. Vernon Young praised the work in The Hudson Review, and later Emily Grosholz reviewed both Relationship and The False Start in the same New York journal. Poetry (Chicago) published a review of his books and it was done by the poet Dick Allen. His publications were noticed by Paul Engle, poet and Director of the International Writing Program in Iowa, and he invited Jayanta to be a participating poet from India for 1976. It was a significant phase for Jayanta, 1975-1976, because it coincided with the publication of his collection of poems, A Rain of Rites, from the University of Georgia Press, Athens, USA. During these days his manuscript was chosen from among the many poetry manuscripts submitted to the University by the final reader and editor, George Core, who is, and has been the Editor of the literary quarterly, The Sewanee Review. In 1976 he was in Iowa city, with twenty other writers from different countries.

This is not a critique of Jyotirmayee’s poems which comprise this anthology. I will rather share with the readers my impressions the poems have created in me. I feel tempted first, to say a few words about two poems; “Gopal” and “Victory” which engaged my attention more than any other poem in the anthology did. I will try to say why.

“Gopal “is about an uncomplaining old mother, whose son takes him to Kumbha Mela, not on a pilgrimage but consign her to its massive crowd and declare her untraceable and lost. She is conscious of the intrigue of her son and daughter-in-law for whom she is now a dispensable burden. But she makes it to the Mela not on a pilgrimage as she consoles herself to have the Supreme Gopal, Sri Krishna, as her emotional and spiritual replenishment. The mother, as always, through this sacrifice, becomes resplendent and pervasive.

The world offers alternatives to cling to even when it appears to be a void with all possibilities non-existent. This sense of hope permeates most of her poems in this anthology. Jyotirmayee’s anguish is evident as the spectacle of cruelty, hypocrisy, deception and rape etc. engulf values and block the path to the moral realm. This divinely ordained Mother Earth is battered and maimed by these evils, but ultimately these evils, gloom and frustration will be dissipated by the miraculous flute bringing bliss and ecstasy to the soul. This hope, I repeat, is echoed in several poems; there is an end to the present tunnel; there is always a promise of a green territory; birds chirping in gay abandon; bees collecting honey and above all, the gloom-dispelling tune of Sri Krishna’s flute who is envisioned as the final saviour. Her conviction is rooted in the Indian philosophy of Time’s cyclic order as hinted in the poem “River”.

The second poem I have in mind is “Victory”. A seed accidentally dropped in an inhospitable place, sprouts. Green stem carrying pink flower symbolises the eternal flow of life. Unafraid of hostile condition, the plant in fact registers victory of life. This reiterates the poet’s perception that this world is a divine domain where good will emerge victorious.

Some of the poems are the poet’s meditation as she leads a life of forced quarantine due to Covid-19. At one end such life is contrasted with the free movement of butterflies. Owing to despair, the world turns out to be godless, patients die in quarantine hospitals. The dignity of a corpse does not matter as it is distanced due to fear of the pandemic.

The despair and hardship forced upon man by this deadly epidemic are real. Man must endure it as long as it is not eliminated. On the other hand, however, as the poet looks at it, this curse is a passing phenomenon. Finally, life will remain triumphant.

Besides some of these, there are others based on current events which have national, racial, human and even feminist connotation. The tragedy at Galwan Valley, the murder of George Floyd by White police in Minneapolis, the death (call it murder) of a pregnant elephant that follows the fatal bombs masquerading as food and the protest of Kangana that a part of her house was demolished exemplify the above observations. Jyotirmayee’s penchant for myth is another aspect in this anthology which arrests the reader’s attention. Ganga, Mist and even Taapoi etc. are given poetic treatment in the mythic perspective. Myth as a part of cultural heritage is never obsolete. It retains its relevance and enriches thoughts through ages.

The poetic statements are varied, characterized by simplicity and clarity. Jyotirmayee avoids intellectualizing or philosophizing her statement. Such ostentatious exercise has created enough mischief in the realm of contemporary poetry and has distanced poetry from the reader. Her poem reveals itself in an autonomous and effortless manner.

Rupasi is a long poem by Mukul Mishra, a young poet from Odisha. It has thirty six sections. Mukul Mishra (born February 18, 1979) has three poetry collections in Odia to her credit, Apoorna (2015), Meghamanaa (2016) and Maayalagna (2017) published by Paschima. She has received 2017 Bhubaneswar Pustaka Mela award in 2017 and Odisha Lekhika Sansad Prafulla Kumari Jena Samman in 2018.

AFTER YOU LEFT

I come back to cold bed sheets, perfectly ironed and without a single wrinkle. My feet take me to the coffee table. I work and read until I pass out. Sleep doesn’t knock on my door these days. The roses that you gave me are still fresh enough in the vase and so are my wounds. In this life of what has felt like a thousand years, I realize, I have died a trillion times and lived only when you carried my corpse in your arms. I see shadows in the rainbow and the jasmine bleeds. Oreo still demands the cookies you make for her and my kitchen is weirdly neat as we no more make weird dishes out of potatos. I kiss your photo umpteen times a day and look for a hand to hold as the lost child searches for a little finger in the crowd of predators. An abandoned child is never afraid of loss, they are only afraid of the mirage that love creates.