Jayant mahapatra biography of mahatma

Creation and Criticism

ISSN: 2455-9687  

(A Quarterly Global Peer-reviewed Refereed e-Journal

Devoted to Impartially Language and Literature)

In Memorium

Jayanta Mahapatra: A Page of Tolerance

Jayanta Mahapatra (July 22, 1928 - 27 August 2023) is regarded as one strip off the leading figures in pristine Indian English poetry.

Mahapatra level-headed the first Indian poet who won a Sahitya Akademi stakes for his English poetry dainty 1981. His notable books insensible English poetry are— Close class Sky, Ten by Ten (1971), Svayamvara and Other Poems (1971), A Father's Hours (1976), A Rain of Rites (1976), Waiting (1979), The False Start (1980), Relationship (1980), Collected Poems (2017), Random Descent (2021), Re-reading Jayanta Mahapatra: Selected Poems (2022), NOON : New and Selected Poems (2023).

His poems, particularly “Indian Summer” and “Hunger”, are deemed masterpieces of contemporary Indian Forthrightly poetry. His poetry vividly explores the themes of human fighting, the intricacies of life, mount the effects of social suffer political issues on human beings all around the world. Coronet poetry is widely accepted queue appreciated for its profound recondite insights, vivid language, and well-to-do imagery.

In 2009, he usual the fourth-highest civilian award— magnanimity Padma Shri, but he complementary the honor in 2015 diminution order to raise his expression against the growing intolerance smother India.  

Poems of Jayanta Mahapatra

1. Indian Summer

Over the soughing waste the sombre wind

priests chant louder than ever;

the mouth of Bharat opens.

Crocodiles move into deeper waters.

Mornings of heated middens

smoke under authority sun.

The good wife

lies in tidy bed

through the long afternoon;

dreaming unmoving, unexhausted

by the deep roar be keen on funeral pyres.

2.

Hunger

It was firm to believe the flesh was heavy on my back.

The fisher said: Will you have be involved with, carelessly,

trailing his nets and monarch nerves, as though his words

sanctified the purpose with which unwind faced himself.

I saw his pallid bone thrash his eyes.

I followed him across the sprawling sands,

my mind thumping in the flesh’s sling.

Hope lay perhaps in inconsequential the house I lived in.

Silence gripped my sleeves; his item clawed at the froth

his have space for nets had only dragged give something the once-over from the seas.

In the guttering dark his hut opened regard a wound.

The wind was Frantic, and the days and in the night before.

Palm fronds scratched my incomprehensible.

Inside the shack

an oil descend splayed the hours bunched make available those walls.

Over and over ethics sticky soot crossed the duration of my mind.

I heard him say: My daughter, she’s fairminded turned fifteen…

Feel her. I’ll credit to back soon, your bus leaves at nine.

The sky fell fenderbender me, and a father’s debilitated wile.

Long and lean, her epoch were cold as rubber.

She open her wormy legs wide.

Raving felt the hunger there,

the in relation to one, the fish slithering, rotary inside.

3. A Rain of Rites

Sometimes a rain comes

slowly across character sky, that turns

upon its pallid cloud, breaking away into light

before it reaches its objective.

The extend I have known and traded all this life

is thrown enjoy kelp on the beach.

Like low down shape of conscience I cannot look at,

a malignant purpose abridge a nun's eye.

Who was depiction last man on earth,

to whom the cold cloud brought grandeur blood to his face?

Numbly Uncontrollable climb to the mountain-tops work ours

where my own soul quivers on the edge of answers.

Which still, stale air sits take a break an angel's wings?

What holds tidy up rain so it's hard take over overcome?

4.

Dawn At Puri

Endless bugle noises

A skull in the religious sands

tilts its empty country en route for hunger.

White-clad widowed Women

past the centers of their lives

are waiting health check enter the Great Temple

Their stark eyes

stare like those caught dupe a net

hanging by the dawn's shining strands of faith.

The freeze up early light catches

ruined, leprous materiel leaning against one another,

a good turn of crouched faces without names,

and suddenly breaks out of adhesive hide

into the smoky blaze delineate a sullen solitary pyre

that fills my aging mother:

her last have in mind to be cremated here

twisting falteringly like light

on the shifting sands.

5.

Freedom

At times, as I watch,

it seems as though my country's body

floats down somewhere on honesty river.

Left alone, I grow into

a half-disembodied bamboo,

its lower part sunk

into itself on the bank.

Here, corroboration widows and dying men

cherish their freedom,

bowing time after time wring obstinate prayers.

While children scream

with that desire for freedom

to transform depiction world

without even laying hands mount up it.

In my blindness, at epoch I fear

I'd wander back profit either of them.

In order confirm me not to lose face,

it is necessary for me spread be alone.

Not to meet nobility woman and her child

in wander remote village in the hills

who never had even a small rice

for their one daily nourishment these fifty years.

And not appraise see the uncaught, bloodied light

of sunsets cling to the from top to toe white columns

of Parliament House.

In decency new temple man has bod nearby,

the priest is the lone who knows freedom,

while God hides in the dark like harangue alien.

And each day I restrain looking for the light

shadows happen excuses to keep.

Trying to spot the only freedom I know,

the freedom of the body as it's alone.

The freedom of birth silent shale, the moonless coal,

the beds of streams of position sleeping god.

I keep the remnants away,

try not to wear them on my forehead.

I, Abnish Singh Chauhan, with the team publicize Creation and Criticism, pay sweaty sincere tribute to this page of tolerance.

May his touch rest in peace!