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review No ordinary
poet
review Salimur Rahman lives at peace with himself, almost qualifying to be one of the most well-informed and well-read men in the country By Sarwat Ali 'Tawareekh-e-Raaselus',
which has been printed by the Majlis Tarraqi-e-Adab, is considered to be The erudite presence of Muhammad Salimur Rahman, who is the editor for this translation of Samuel Johnson's 'History of Rasselas', has been around for the last five decades. Usually a figure who stays in the background and does not assert himself, either through his own person or a coterie of fans, is perceived to be either a coward, or a failure, or a misfit in society. Salimur Rahman is neither a coward nor a failure, though a misfit in this society which prizes itself on wearing everything on its lapel. The writers and intellectuals die to come on the media and discussing everything under the sun. They have a point of view about everything from the fall of a sparrow to which side the egg should be broken but, mercifully, he is neither ensnared nor lured into this world. He lives in Daroghanwala, at peace with himself, almost qualifying to be one of the most well-informed and well-read men in the country. Many before him have been elevated to the status of the most well-read like Ali Abbas Jalalpuri, Safdar Mir and Hasan Askari. Like them, Salimur Rahman's solid foundation in the western classical tradition equips and provides him with the perspective of looking and understanding the various aspects of knowledge. He is not content with this process of acquiring and digesting this knowledge but has disseminated it to others as well. The first step, and a definitive one, that he took was of translating the works of the giants of the ancient world into Urdu. He translated Odyssey 'Jahangusht Ki Wapsi' in the 1960s and poets Virgil and Dante. He has also written about the English poets before Spenser and he has been working on Shakespeare. Actually the ancient world,
for many years, has remained his passion and the slow change that took A major portion of his work has been consumed in translations like 'Rubaiyaat Sarmad', 'Teen Bahnain' from Chekov's 'Three Sisters', 'Pahar Ki Awaz' from Kawakaba's 'The Sound of the Mountain', 'Chalta Purza' from Larzarillo de Tormes, 'Qalbe Zulmaat' from Conrad's 'Heart of Darkness', 'Lala Gummani' from Lal's epic 'Riaz Dulruba', two books on Hemingway and William Faulkner, 'Aman' the German short stories, 'Khlanawardon Key Afsane', selection of science fiction, 'Aseer Zehan', selected essays on contemporary issues, 'Karl Aur Anna', short stories from around the world. He has written 'Muntakhib Adabi Istalahat', short essays on selected literary terms and has also edited 'Talism e Gohar Bar Munir Shakohabadi' and 'Tawareekh Raaselus'. The better part of the 20th and late 19th century was consumed in the ideological divide between the right and left and in this vicious debate often the cause of the arts was lost. The debate revolved more round political issues and the arts were sacrificed as the handmaiden of an ideology. Salimur Rahman stayed clear of that ideological divide even when he was accused of not confronting the issues of the day head on. He was not interested in seeking instant solutions to the problems of the day but to delve deeper in understanding the very nature of the issue, its comprehension through the intellectual processes seen against the march of history. In all the scholarly pursuits, perhaps, the creative endeavours of Salimur Rahman have been relegated to a distant second, though there is no authentic reason to believe so. On their own, the poems and the short stories of Salimur Rahman are some of the best written in the Urdu language In all this scholarship and wanting to extend a proper perspective, his own creative endeavours have gone unnoticed. He is a very good short story writer and a poet. His poetry published as 'Nazmain' borders on political and cultural disenchantment, evoking despair, disturbing the serenity and slow rhythmic sweep of emotions with his diatribe against dictators and despots. It also displays anger and wrath and betrays the real Salimur Rahman, the dispassionate scholar. His stories written over a long period of time too enquire into the possibility of what can be achieved. And they serve as a rueful reminder of the lost possibilities, of the journey not being embarked upon, of the dreams that were left unrealised. And this feeling of lack of fulfillment too arises from the opportunities that were not allowed or permitted to be availed. What was human was not allowed to thrive in an atmosphere that was stifling and that too engineered for the rule of a few on the many. There was no tradition of writing prose in a realistic manner let alone a novel. It is no wonder that Salimur Rahman, who has edited the translation, is not very impressed by the prose of Kamaluddin Haider, for the authors have not really written very fluent and lucid prose. The translation does not seem to be faithful to the original text or reconstructed in Urdu as a parallel text. Niqaat-5,
December 2007 By Abrar Ahmad 'Niqaat' Faisalabad comes
out with its fifth issue this month, proving its edge over other recently There are the usual sections on fiction, poetry and serious articles but the salient feature is the space reserved for appreciation of junior and senior literati. It includes articles on Giyan Chand Jayu's controversial book 'Aik Bhasha, Do Likhawat'. Those by Shams-ur-Rehman Farooqi, Gopi Chand Narang and the author himself are reprinted since all this discussion erupted a few years ago. It is valuable for those, in particular, not familiar with the book and the controversy it generated regarding Hindu-Muslim compartmentalisation with a categorical announcement of the linguistic split between Urdu and Hindi as its predominant reason. The section on Zafar Iqbal is shocking, to say the least. Instead of paying him a tribute, the master poet of our times is dismissed mercilessly with a tone and language identified as anything but literary. It is astonishing to see so many pages of an otherwise serious literary journal reserved only to demean someone like Zafar Iqbal. It goes back to 1995 when a Faisalabad based group of volatile new entrants spent three days and nights to produce the parody of Zafar Iqbal's poetry. Obviously one doesn't do such a thing to some ordinary poet. A dismissive preface was written and the book got published as 'Seh Roza Haziyan' with Zafar Iqbal replaced and printed as Duffer Iqbal. The serious literary circles laughed it out while those bearing a grudge couldn't hide their sarcastic smiles. As happens with all such non-serious childish pursuits, the trash was soon thrown in dust bins and forgotten. 'Niqaat-5', after a lapse
of 13 years, has reproduced the extracts of the same book for reasons only
known to the editors. The editor, who himself needs time to take off as a
poet, gets carried away with a fresh article on Zafar Iqbal and takes all the
pains to develop an argument against a part of Zafar Iqbal's poetry with
references but suddenly falls a prey to the hilarious temptation and blurts Zafar Iqbal began writing in 1955, long before these self-styled critics were born. In the decade of 1960s, he began to dominate the literary scene of the entire subcontinent with his two poetic collections appearing one after the other 'Aab-e-Rawan' and 'Gul-Aftaab'. The latter one attained a highly controversial status. Many youngsters at that time learnt his poetry by heart. His lively and turbulent presence continues to generate powerful waves to-date. He has received unprecedented approval by all major critics in Urdu To quote Gopi Chand Narang, "Zafar Iqbal is a signature of Urdu ghazal in current times without which this era is impossible to define. His appearance is like a volcanic eruption." A poet comparable in quality volume only to Nazeer Akbar Abadi, Mir and Mushafi in the entire Urdu history can't have a single shade or beat. His offerings have always remained under fierce criticism but even his worst critics find it impossible to dismiss him entirely. A critic should be qualified enough to dismiss a worthy work. Zafar Iqbal in recent years developed a pleasant rapport with the younger poets, generously accommodating them in his essays, writing prefaces or flaps and expressing his disagreement in a respectful tone. Even at 75 with a seriously compromised heart, he remains the most lively, hospitable and pleasant intellectual we have. His majestic influence over three generations of poets is simply undeniable. Francis Bacon observed "Reading maketh a full man; conference a ready man and writing an exact man." But these 'exact men' of ours have jumped directly to writing without any preliminary training. They fail to identify the responsibility of writing and what consequences it harbours. The purpose is not to defend Zafar Iqbal -- his life-long work is more than enough for the purpose. It is to identify and condemn this tendency to interpret creative works with such a stern egocentricity replete with non-literary aggressive motives. In the same book, Nazeer Qaiser (a close contemporary of Zafar Iqbal) has been adequately projected. He is a member of cohort of brilliant poets of post-partition era but failing to attain a substantial status. In his interesting article he dismisses the entire tradition arguing that Mir, Ghalib, Iqbal, Firaq, Nadeem and Faiz created a poetic myth from Persian, Arabic and the folk heritage of India blending it with the western intellectual and literary trends. It was reinforced by his own contemporaries like Nasir Kazmi, Shahzad Ahmad, Munir Niazi and Zafar Iqbal. This old myth is dead now and must be buried. He gives us a good news that a "new poetic myth" is already born which is none other than his own poetry! That means he believes that what four decades-old creative pursuits of our respectable author could not establish, will now be accepted by writing just a few pages of self praise. Putting together two almost equally senior poets with exactly opposed intentions couldn't be coincidental and one is reminded of the proverbial saying: "Jealousy is the tribute mediocrity pays to the genius!" There is a difference between a scandal and controversy in literature. The former initiates thrill while the latter brings organised thoughts. The former dies as quickly as is born while the latter stays to get converted into antithesis -- the life line to intellectual advances. 'Niqaat' in its first four issues offered a promise of brilliance, tolerance and enlightenment. With the inclusion of these pages of yellow journalism it has irreparably harmed its own image.
When I won a speech competition, at the age of eleven, I was led to the dais to shake hands with the Chief Guest, who was the Minister of Education at the time. He asked me if I liked reading books. I nodded "What is your favourite book? He asked me. 'Treasure Island', I said. I hadn't, actually, read the book myself, but my father -- and sometimes my elder sister -- had read it out to me on several occasions and I loved the story. He smiled and handed me an envelope which, when I opened it later, contained five one rupee notes. It was cornucopia. That was the day I learned that I must read books. In my teens, after experiencing unrequited love, Rider Haggard's 'She' became my favourite book (I didn't much care for 'The Return of She') and when my literary taste developed a bit, it was Aldous Huxley. I can't say I truly appreciated him -- my English was a lot weaker at the time -- but I thought 'Eyeless in Gaza' was the profoundest work I had ever read. Fiction is not something I read systematically. I read Fielding, Thackeray, Jane Austen, and George Eliot, (not in that order) when I was well into my thirties, long after I had read many 20th century novelists, including Par Lagerkvist. And if it hadn't been for a chance encounter with the (divorced) Mrs Terry-Thomas, I might not have read Dickens at all. A few weeks ago, I received a request from my friend, Aly Khan, to list my five favourite books -- 'literary works', he emphasised. I complied. Now that I think about it, I feel I was a bit hasty. Not because the books I listed are not highly favoured by me, but because there are others I left out which should have been included. Your favourite book, or song, need not reflect your literary or musical taste. In any case, it is always difficult to pick five or even three of your most cherished movies or songs or books. Whichever you think of first, seems, in retrospect, to have been chosen hastily. One of the books I mentioned in my list was Bob Smith's 'Hamlet's Dresser', a superbly written memoir of a man who survives a terribly troubled childhood by developing a passion for Shakespeare's verse. Without any university education, Smith, the narrator, goes on to gain an uncanny insight into the Bard's melancholy poetry. The book moved me a lot even on a second reading, but I think would have omitted it today and listed Virginia Woolf's 'Mrs Dalloway' instead. This is a novel about people not being able to connect, and the yearning expectations they carry to their graves. In fiction, the books I cherish are not necessarily those that the critics consider to be great, but the ones that explore the nuances of human relationships and the growing chasm that prevents people from coming close to each other. "There is a door between that cannot be opened." In case you are wondering what five books I listed, here they are: 'Catcher in the Rye' by J D Salinger; 'Love in The Time of Cholera' by Gabriel Garcia Marquez; 'God of Small Things' by Arundhati Roy; 'Profiles' by Kenneth Tynan. 'Profiles' is the odd man out because it is not a novel, but a collection of marvellously observed studies -- the prose is dazzlingly brilliant -- of writers, actors, directors, musicians etc, many of whom were known to me. I have already talked about 'Hamlet's Dresser.' Does it mean then that Dostoevsky's 'Brothers Karamazov' and Forster's 'Where Angels Fear to Tread', Dicken's 'Pickwick Papers' and Naipaul's 'A House For Mr Biswas', are no longer my favourite novels? No, its just that the request was made on a Monday and not on a Friday. As far as fiction is concerned, you can have a different list everyday of the week. Novelists of today, those who belong to the higher echelons of the literary world, seem to ignore the fact that a story is a vital part of the way we understand the world -- or a novel, at any rate. They feel that the reader will be captivated by the labyrinth of deconstruction, which they have craftily created. Any novel that makes a departure from this method is considered to be prosaic and passe. Two of the stalwarts of literary fiction today are Kazuo Ishiguru and Ben Okri. Both have settled down in England and both have produced works that have received a vast member of plaudits, confirming their position amongst the front rank of novelists. I would be pretending if I didn't confess that I find them to be tiresome, though in the case of Mr. Okri (who won the Booker Prize with his 'Songs of Enchantment') I was aware that I was consuming refined and perceptive prose, but it was taking me nowhere except into more beautiful prose. I am not suggesting that I only enjoy reading those authors who write stories that can be read from the first page to the last. Sidney Sheldon, who sells in millions, is a smooth story-teller, but not much else. He doesn't open my eyes to anything much; he offers me a good tale which keeps me enthralled at the time, but is soon easily forgotten. Too many novels today begin with a strong sense of displacement. I don't mind that so long as I am given some explanation and not a mere literary knowingness. The problem with novels of deconstruction is that the writers expect me to weigh all the silences between the lines and I find that my intellect does not rise to such heights. Please do not misunderstand me. I relish lustrous, perceptive prose. It is one of the greatest assets of Marquez -- some people think he is even better in translation -- but then Marquez is unique in that he never lets go of the thread of his story. Marquez has the ability to imbue the most humdrum and sedate happening with imagination, invention and humour, without ever slackening his grip over his taut and elegant prose. But if my friend had asked me to give him a list of my five favourite plays, I would have been hard put to oblige. A play, as far as I am concerned, is inextricably linked with its production on the stage. So if I were asked to choose four or five plays that have left a lasting impression on my mind, I would not think of the dramatic works that I have read, but the productions I have seen in different parts of the world -- and I would have no hesitation in putting, on top of the list, Brecht's 'Mother Courage', the Berliner Ensembler presentation, and the Moscow Arts Theatre's offering of Chekhov's 'The Cherry Orchard'. Of these, anon.
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one of the first translations of an English novel into Urdu. One can't be
certain if it is the very first translation as the record of earlier
translations has not been maintained. This translation, first published in
1839, was apparently the effort of three people; Munshi Muhammed Fatehullah
Khan Akbarabadi, James Moore and Syed Kamaluddin Haider alias Muhammed Mir
Lukhnavi -- all three of them not very well-known in the literary circles.
Kamaluddin Haider who died in 1881 is better known of the lot as a historian
for his seminal two volume account of the Nawabi era of Awadh, 'Qaiser ul
Tawareekh'.
place as the society moved from one level to the other -- imperceptibly
imbuing the changes in the attitudes and behaviour of the characters that the
literature produced -- fascinated him. It was the same fascination with the
Greek that led him to the monumental 'Mashaheer Abad Unani -- Qadeem Daur',
almost encyclopedic in scope for the understanding of the post-Renaissance
Europe. The Greek provided the bedrock of the quest for knowledge and only
after knowing the Greeks could one be in a better position to tell as to how
much post-Renaissance Europe drank from their fountainhead.
emerging new journals in terms of regularity. The current issue includes
valuable contributions by prominent authors of the subcontinent. There are
useful articles by Aslam Sirajuddin and Arshad Mahmood while Ashfaq Bukhari,
in his scholarly research, concludes that Sheikh Iftikhar Rasul, a character
of 'Gardish-e-Rang-e-Chaman' by Quratul Ain Haider is fictitious, contrary to
the claim of its author.
out "In fact - there is no difference between Zafar Iqbal and Duffer
Iqbal!" The subsequent pages reprint the selected parts of the book. The
most insulting paragraph from the previously printed preface is carefully
picked and reproduced.