Yuyutsu Sharma: October 2012

Saturday, October 27, 2012

Ten: The New Indian poets : Edited and Selected by Jayanta Mahapatra & Yuyutsu Sharma

Ten: The New Indian poets

Edited and Selected by
Jayanta Mahapatra & Yuyutsu Sharma

Ten is a groundbreaking anthology of fresh poetry from India just published by Nirala Publications. World renowned Indian poet Jayanta Mahapatra along with Yuyutsu Sharma selects ten poets writing in English to show case vivacious colours of new India. The majority of the poets included here come from humble middle class families, working silently and selflessly, serving the Muse without any hope of high material gain or media hype. In this light, the anthology bears testimony to hidden creative commotion feeding the flames of vigorous poetry alive in little known islands of the contemporary Indian culture.

Anupama Raju.
Rabindra K. Swain.
Malovika Pawar.
Soni Wadhwa.
Rumjhum Biswas.
Sudeep Sen.
Nabanita Kanungo.
Yuyutsu Sharma.
Robin S Ngangom.
Kympham Sing Nongkynrih.

Ten: The New Indian Poets, Hard, pp136 Rs. 295 Indian Only

ISBN 81-8250-034-6.
http://niralapublications.com/2012/10/26/ten-the-new-indian-poets/

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From Yuyutsu Sharma's "The Lake Fewa & A Horse : Poems New"

Glacier

A hope

that someday I shall sprout

like a tree

on the edge of a remote hillside.

A hope

someday a Queen-of-the-Night

shall bloom in my chest

and suck all the smoke

I have inhaled

in these malignant cities.

A hope that someday

a just born brook shall clean

and wash

bacteria of greed in me.

A hope that someday

a Buddha meditating in the niche of a cairn

by the heap of the city

garbage shall shake his limbs

and walk away towards a village of eternity

to take another birth

to save me

from the shame of becoming a glacier.

River: Morning

Cruel river

knows each time

I come to brood

over her roaring waters

each time I come

to her deafening banks

to gleam my dreams

over the plump flanks of her warm body

each time I come

to pour last of my life’s salt

in the ringing gorges

of her sonorous frame,

a bone breaks

in my smoldering chest

and a wrinkle appears

across the shriveled leaf of my life.

River at Night

Dark night

I cannot see the river.

I can only

hear it thundering rumble.

A water well explodes

enamored in the fleshy

clutch of fluffy

clouds, making a cave of this gorge.

Only fingers of the fireflies

illuminate its shape, the wild limbs,

as the river fumbles

curled around the hefty thighs of the night

to find a wink of sleep.