Book & Author
Shiv K. Kumar: Faiz Ahmed Faiz — Selected Poems
By Dr Ahmed S. Khan
Chicago, IL
Faiz Ahmed Faiz (1911-1984) was one of the greatest poets of the 20th century. Faiz sahib was a multi-faceted genius and a true humanitarian who cared for humanity without any barriers of cultures, faiths, and languages. He is considered as the successor to the master Urdu poets, Ghalib, Mir, and Iqbal. Faiz sahib’s verse is rooted in tradition but his innovations of combining social issues with romantic themes viz a viz melodious vocabulary makes his poetry resonate with the Urdu poetry lovers all over the globe. Today in the 21st century, Faiz sahib remains a truly universal poet who provides solace to the millions of techno-stressed beings around the world, who long for love and peace.
Faiz Ahmed Faiz — Selected Poems , contains translations of over ninety of Faiz sahib’s poems by the prominent poet and writer Professor Shiv K. Kumar (August 16, 1921, Lahore , British India – March 1, 2017, Hyderabad , India ). Professor Kumar had unique credentials to undertake this task. He had published five collections of poems, one of which, Trapfalls in the Sky, received the prestigious Sahitya Akademi Award for 1988. He had also published two novels, a collection of short stories, one play and several scholarly works. In 1978 he was elected a fellow of the Royal Society of Literature (London) and in 1984 was awarded the Charles Holmes Poetry Prize (USA). He had also been a member of the Advisory Board (English) of the Sahitya Akademi, and member of the jury of the Neustadt International Prize for Literature.
Professor Kumar’s English translations retain the spirit of the celebrated originals of Faiz sahib’s verse. Enhancing the appeal of this work are the parallel Urdu text and Professor Kumar's introduction that provides invaluable insights into the mind of Faiz, the man and the poet.
Reflecting on his first meeting with Faiz, Professor Kumar, states: “ I first met him in 1979 when he visited Hyderabad. I was asked to preside over one of his poetry readings, and while introducing him to the audience, in what turned out to be my first ever public speech in Urdu, I remarked: 'Ye rahe Faiz Sahib—hum watan, hum zaban our hum pesha . . . I said this because we were both natives of Lahore (a city he loved, although he was born in Sialkot); we shared the same mother tongue (Punjabi), and we had both started our careers as lecturers in English. But what I now cherish is the memory of that exciting evening with him in Hyderabad. When I told him how his poetry had influenced mine, although I wrote in English, he responded, with a disarming gesture of modesty, that he had been unjustifiably rated too high as a poet, and that he was only too conscious of his limitations. There perhaps lay the secret of his charisma—that utter humility which is so rare in most contemporary writers. And I hastened to add that if, as Professor of English, I lectured on British and American poetry, it was in Urdu poetry—his, Ghalib's or Iqbal's—that I sought sustenance for my soul. To this he responded with a dimpled smile: 'It's the music of words, I guess. Hasn't Urdu its unique aura of sound and meaning? Also, an emotional charge of such high voltage as is not found in most Western poetry.' Almost reflexively , I quoted one of his own quatrains which, in English, may read as follows:
Eyes drunk on your beauty, I rise—
the air feels spruced up like your robe.
The breeze must have wafted through your bed-chamber,
so redolent of your body is my dawn.
There was a flicker of a blush on his face, and then a smile, a smilet, in fact.”
Reflecting on Faiz sahib’s freedom of expression, Professor Kumar observes: “ An irrepressible rebel, Faiz never submitted himself to any form of tyranny—political, social or religious. His poetry exudes dissent, anger, at times even broiling wrath. As a poet-thinker, he believed that art should never be divorced from social reality, and he adhered to this credo from his days as an active member of the Progressive Writers' Movement which swept the Indian literary scene in the mid-thirties. This concern for social realism was accentuated by long spells of political incarceration.”
Expounding on the impact of staying in prison on his poetry, Professor Kumar states: “ Prison, in fact, emerges in his poetry as a predominant metaphor that articulates his poetic vision. Paradoxically, it seems to induce in him a feeling of unlimited freedom, needed to release his inner self which, he felt, was always smothered by the hustle-bustle of the world outside. Imprisonment, indeed, stimulated his imagination and sharpened his perception without embittering him. 'Like love, imprisonment is a basic experience,' he observes. It opens many new windows on the soul.' No wonder his prison-poetry has a rare power, beauty and conviction. Consider the following lines:
How many crosses are fixed in my casement
each tinged with the blood of its own Messiah…
Each new day, these gods of grace and beauty visit my sorrowland, soaked in blood,
and each day, right before my eyes
are carried away their martyred bodies.”
Discussing the juxtaposition by Faiz’s love for the motherland and his longing for the beloved, Professor Kumar observes: “Indeed, his love for the motherland and his longing for the beloved often blend to soothe his mind and heart. One of his most moving poems, titled 'Do Ishq' ('Two Loves'), is woven [a]round this' theme: 'Just so have I craved for my other Laila , My Land/Just so has my heart fluttered with the same longing.' His commitment to Marxism and his country's emancipation from oppression, however, cannot be said to be the principal themes in his poetry. On the contrary, it is romantic love that often emerges as his supreme concern. Take, for instance, his poem 'Mauzu-é Sukhn' (Poesy's Domain) in which he recognizes the Validity of such themes as hunger and social injustice only to swing around to the muse's primal preoccupation—love:
The jostling crowds of these glittering cities—
why do they sustain themselves on a mere death wish?
These luscious corn-fields bursting with youth—
they do they yield hunger alone?
These Mysterious walls all round, within which
Were snuffed out the lamps of countless young hearts.
At every step, these abattoirs of dreams
Whose reflections have ignited the brains of multitudes.
All these themes are there indeed --- and many more…”
Faiz sahib’s poetry embodies both the classical and the modern traditions. Reflecting on the interplay of the old and the new, prominent scholar Edward Said in his essay on Faiz titled 'The Mind of Winter: Reflections on Life in Exile ,” observes: ‘ The crucial thing to understand about Faiz ... is that like Garcia Marquez he was read and listened to both by the literary elite and by the masses. His major—indeed it is unique in any language—achievement was to have created a contrapuntal rhetoric and rhythm whereby he would use classical forms (qasida, ghazal,'masnavi, qita) and transform them before his readers rather than break from the old forms. You could hear old and new together. His purity and precision were astonishing, and you must imagine therefore a poet whose poetry combined the sensuousness of Yeats with the power of Neruda.”
Discussing the challenges of translation, Professor Kumar, in translators’ note, states, “Translating Urdu poetry into English verse is a formidable task, especially when one undertakes to translate as difficult a poet as Faiz Ahmed Faiz, whose involuted thought processes often make his syntax very complex, almost intractable to rendition in a language whose diction, phrasing and rhythmic patterns are not tuned to oriental sensibility. In fact, Faiz, who was himself a very competent translator and who could handle both English and Urdu with great felicity, remarked: “Translating poetry, even when confined to a cognate language with some formal and idiomatic affinities with the original compositions, is an exacting task, but this task is obviously far more formidable when the languages involved are as far removed from each other in cultural background, rhythmic and formal patterns, and the vocabulary of symbol allusion as Urdu and English.’”
Professor Shiv Kumar had done an excellent job of translating Faiz sahib’s fantastic poetry into exquisite English; the readers do not experience any “lost in translation” moments and impressions. The following selected translations vouch for the high degree of fidelity.
Speak Up!
Speak up, for your lips are not sealed
and your words are still your own.
This straight body is yours,
speak while your soul is still your own.
Look there, in that smithy,
its red oven, fierce flames,
the padlocks are already baring their mouths
and each fetter is skirting around.
Speak up now, for time's running out.
Before your body and mind fade away,
tell us, for truth is not yet dead.
Speak
whatever you have to say.
Quatrain
What if my pen and paper have been snatched away,
I've dipped my fingers in the heart's blood.
What if my lips are sealed,
I've lent my tongue to each link in the chain.
Some Love, Some Work…
Fortunate indeed were those
who took love as their business
or were in love with whatever they did.
I remained busy all my life--
some love, some work.
Work came in the way of love
and love often impeded work.
Then, finally, in disgust, giving it all up,
I forsook them both, half done.
Pen and Paper…
Forever will I nurture pen and paper,
forever express in words whatever my heart undergoes,
forever proffer ingredients of the sorrows of love
and quicken into life the wasteland of time.
Yes, the bitterness of time will keep on spawning,
just as the tyrants will persist in their cruelty.
Cheerfully, give in to bitterness, this tyranny too I'll endure
so long as there's breath, I'll seek ever new cures for torments.
If the tavern still remains, I shall embellish every door
and balcony of the haram with the redness of wine.
If the heart is not drained of all blood, I'll color every tear
with the redness of the beloved's lips and cheeks.
This posture of indifference, let it be her prerogative —
for me it will always be my desire's entreaty.
Neither Have You Come…
Neither have you come, nor has ended the long night of wait.
Even the breeze has whisked about, time and again, seeking you.
Whatever time's spent in frenzy is well spent
even if the heart has taken on a thousand mishaps.
The night spent in confabulation with the adviser
was surely the one spent also down the beloved's lane.
What was never intended in the tale
is primarily that which has displeased her most.
No flowers blooming, no rendezvous, no wine—
how strangely has spring passed away this time.
Nobody knows what befell the garden, in the wake
of the flower-gatherer's pillage—
so restlessly has the breeze flit past the nest today.
It seems at this moment…
It seems at this moment nothing exists—
no moon, no sun, neither darkness nor dawn.
In front of the eyes' windows, some beauty behind
the laced curtain
and in the heart's shelter has come to stay some pain.
Perhaps it was some illusion, or just something
I'd heard talked about—
on the street that sound of the last footfalls.
Perhaps in this dense tree, in fancy's boughs,
no dream will ever come to seek refuge.
No estrangement, no affection, no involvement
nobody is yours, for me nobody a stranger.
It's true that this lonesome moment is very cruel
but,O my heart, this is only one such moment.
Take courage, there's all the time to live on.
In My Heart Now Well Up…
In my heart now well up your long-forgotten sorrows
as though some forsaken idol returns to the kaaba.
One by one the stars are coming alive—
your footfalls are drawing close to my destination.
Pep up the tempo of the wine-dance, let the music swell to its crescendo—
to the tavern come the emissaries of the haram.
It is I alone who would not seek favors,
although she is ever willing to oblige.
Tell the night of separation to hold itself awhile,
for the heart now aches less and remembrance too is faint.
In Your Ocean Eyes
The fringe of day, dusk
where the two hours of time meet—
neither night nor day, neither today nor tomorrow.
One moment eternal, another just smoke—
on this day's fringe, for a moment or two the fervor of lips,
the ardor of arms,
this union of ours, neither true nor false.
Why say a false thing
when in your ocean eyes
will sink this evening's sun.
Then everyone will sleep blissfully in his house
and the traveler will wend his way.
When the scars of memory begin to heal…
When the scars of memory begin to heal
I think of you on one pretext or the other.
As word of my beloved blossoms
every woman begins to groom her hair.
Every stranger appears to be a confidant
even now when I pass through your lane.
Whenever the exiles talk to the breeze of their homeland,
tears well up in the morning's eyes.
Whenever our lips are sewn up
still more the air resounds with songs.
As darkness seals the prison door,
stars illumine the heart, O Faiz.
All the Flowers Have Withered Away…
All the flowers have withered away.
No letup in the flow of the sky's tears.
The lamps have gone lusterless,
the mirrors lie shattered,
and all the orchestras have played themselves out;
the ankle-bells have done their jingling
and behind the clouds,
far away, this night's beloved,
the star of pain
is twinkling
tinkling
smiling.
Faiz Ahmed Faiz — Selected Poems , is an excellent book. Professor Shiv Kumar had done an amazing job of translating Faiz sahib’s poetry into English. Professor Kumar’s exquisite rendition illustrates the mastery of his craft. Thanks to his superb translations, people all over the globe can sample and enjoy Faiz sahib’s work in English. (Dr Ahmed S. Khan – dr.a.s.khan@ieee.org – is a Fulbright Specialist Scholar - 2017-2022)
