Poetic injustice

Poetic injustice

There must be poets all over the world whose work thrives only in their native tongues. But the truly exasperating travesty is when a poet whose work has undeniable eminence is insulted not by being ignored, but worse, through poor translations. Subramania Bharati, twentieth century’s pre-eminent Tamil writer, is one such poet. Born in 1882, he pioneered a renaissance in Tamil poetry and fought against colonialism, caste and the oppression of women. He died when he was only 38. To date, no significant English translation of his poetry has done justice to either his persona — romantic, radical, and a genius — or his writing. Usha Rajagopalan’s new collection of translations makes only slight inroads to improvement. While the volume is fortunately not cringe-worthy like some prior efforts, Selected Poems, beginning with its title, lacks inspiration and imagination — keywords that the very mention of Bharati ordinarily summons among those familiar with the poet. Rajagopalan’s translations suffer most of all from a sense of restraint. Bharati was the quintessential fiery artist, prone to being overcome by fits of grandiosity and tormented by personal demons. Selected Poems, while rarely clumsy, often lacks inventiveness. Words like “Alas!” are used; there is no attempt to contemporarise the sentiment. But the worst offense would be the reduction of the culminating line of in ‘A Baby Fire’ — thath tharikitta thath tharikitta thith thom — which has a stunning onomatopoeic flourish and captures both a spitting fire and the visceral rhythm heard in classical dance and music. Rajagopalan’s translation: “Whoosh, crackle, snap, sizzle.” Elsewhere in the volume, these flourishes are retained in translation — an inconsistence that isn’t justified. This happens frequently. In ‘Aspirations’ which also takes Bharati’s “Om Om Om Om!” and turns it into a decidedly meeker “Om… Om… Om… Om…”), the word viduthalai, which can be interpreted as “liberation”, is instead rendered as “unfettered” — imagery that sabotages the original word’s (and consequently, poem’s) spirit. ‘In Search of Answers’, a modernist hymn in which he addresses the deity Sivashakti, has Bharati using the demand, solladi. The nuanced Tamil conversational suffix “di” indicates an entitlement complicit in the relationship with the female other being spoken to. It is an entitlement that is both intimate and insolent; Rajagopalan’s explanation of solladi as “pray tell me” is stripped entirely of these subtleties. A volume of selected writings cannot possibly include everything unless the writer in question is one of limited prolificacy. Still, that Bharati’s most iconic poem, “Suttum Vizhichudadar”, (“That Which Encircles”) is not represented in this collection is baffling. Once again, the idea of the translator as an executor comes into play: To what extent are they obligated to the author’s estate, which includes facets of character and legacy, at large? Absences, sometimes more than inclusions, raise questions. A handsome bilingual edition, this book would serve beginners and those interested in Bharati’s translations. But for a reader seeking the sheer beauty of poetry, it falls short. For the next translator, one suggests greater license with syntax, less liberal usage of exclamation points (which have fallen out of favour in the language of translation), an academically sound set of footnotes and a more variegated vocabulary.