its almost done, Autumn that is and Winter is almost upon us. For us in the Tropics Winter is the good season, for those in temperate lands, in Winter the land sleeps and all kinds of hardships reign. its poem of the week! , thus this revisit to this beautiful poem by the immortal Keats... John Keats (1795-1821)
TO AUTUMN.
1.
SEASON of mists and mellow fruitfulness, Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun; Conspiring with him how to load and bless With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run; To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees, And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core; To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells With a sweet kernel; to set budding more, And still more, later flowers for the bees, Until they think warm days will never cease, For Summer has o’er-brimm’d their clammy cells.
2.
Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store? Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find Thee sitting careless on a granary floor, Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind; Or on a half-reap’d furrow sound asleep, Drows’d with the fume of poppies, while thy hook Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers: And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep Steady thy laden head across a brook; Or by a cyder-press, with patient look, Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.
3.
Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they? Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,— While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day, And touch the stubble plains with rosy hue; Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn Among the river sallows, borne aloft Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies; And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn; Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft; And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
Harmon lists To Autumn as the most anthologized poem in the English language. It was written on September 19, 1819, and published the following year. To Autumn can be found in:
Keats, John. Lamia, Isabella, The Eve of St. Agnes, and Other Poems. London: Talor and Hessey, 1820. (as found in the Noel Douglas replica edition printed by London: Percy Lund, Humphries & Co. Ltd., 1927.)
Harmon, William, ed. The Classic Hundred Poems (Second Edition). New York: Columbia University Press, 1998.
अक्सर पूछते हैं लोग, ये क्या लिखती हो ? क्यों लिखती हो? किसके लिए लिखती हो ? आमूमन कोई जवाब नहीं बन पड़ता, अपनी अपनी फिक्र है, अपनी अपनी इनायतें अक्सर पूछता है दिल, जिसके लिए लिखती हो, इल्म है? उस ने कभी पढ़ा हो ? लिखे गए इस लम्हे के उस पार , कुछ सुनायी नहीं देता, कोई आवाज़ हामी नहीं भरती... अक्सर पूछता है दिल, तेरे लिख देने से कोई लम्हा, वक़्त की क़ैद से आज़ाद हुआ है कभी? बीत जाता है सब कुछ, कुछ नहीं है तेरे हर्फों में ठहरा हुआ… फिर काहे का लिखना? आमूमन कोई जवाब नहीं बन पड़ता, फिर धीमे से कहता है दिल, काश की कोई होता, वक़्त की क़ैद से आज़ाद, मेरे हर्फ़ों में ठहरा हुआ… ~ विन्नी २६/१०/१४. Aksar poochte hain log Ye Kya likhtee ho, kyon likhtee ho, kiske liye likhtee ho ? Aamuman koi jawab nahin ban padta Apni apni fiqr hai , apni apni inayaten…
Aksar poochta hai dil Jiske liye likhtee ho, Ilm hai? Us ne kabhi padha ho? Likhe Gaye is lamhe ke us paar Kuch sunayee nahin deta , koi awaaz hami nahin bhartee...
Aksar poochta hai dil Tere likh dene se koi lamha Waqt ki qaid se aazaad hua hai kabhi? Beet jaata hai Sab kuch, kuch nahin hai tere harfon main thehra hua Phir kahe ka likhna?
Aamuman koi jawab nahin ban padta Phir dheeme se kehta hai dil Kash ki koi hota Waqt ki qaid se aazaad Mere harfon main thehra hua... -Vinny 26/10/14
why is it that women are the ones who 'disappear' after an event such as this? shame is heaped upon them, while the males continue to be felicitated and feasted, honoured and acknowledged?
he roams the world with impunity, she's been heard for the first time in 16 years...
remarkable this.
and what happens to the notion of love? its all lost for her surely, for she is a person, real person, behind the too many intimate details we've been fed...
he had the greater responsibility in this in my reckoning, she she suffered, yes she suffered,more than we will ever understand
The film, for me, is two tales
in one, both set within each other. Would each of them
work without the other? Yes, they would, both powerful tales capable of
standing alone in the limelight. The first, the #Hamlet story, penned by the
Bard, unsurpassed, unparalleled, amazing in that it remains unconfined to the
limits set by time and space. The other the contemporary saga of what was once
paradise on earth, shorn of love and light by the tragedy of the strife that
blights Kashmir. Hamlet first.
It takes the brilliance of a Vishal
Bharadwaj to adapt a classic Shakespearean tragedyin the manner that he does, for it is very
intelligent film making that one witnesses. The spirit of the play finds a
voice that echoes in the film, that halting, indecisive tenor, the critically
humane dilemma that Hamlet suffers from, the ,’to be or not to be’, transmuted
with aplomb to “hum hain bhi or nahin bhi”. The existential agony of the
protagonist, disillusioned, alienated, with Life for wife and Death for mistress,
a little in love with both, brilliantly transferred to celluloid. The characters, the
ones that survive from the play are all well fleshed out and beautifully
portrayed. #Shahid Kapoor as Haider (Hamlet) essays his best performance yet , Indeed
my mother said that he ought to win the Filmfare for this! #Shradha kapoor as Arshia
( Orphelia) is brilliant too, ethereal to boot, she could well pass off as a
charming young Kashmiri girl. I also thought that her character was
exceptionally well written, the Bard’s Ophelia in comparison is something of a
weekling, not quite today’s girl. she is both friend and lover, Horatio as well as Ophelia.The scene where she loses her mind after
her father ( Polonius , from the play) is shot dead by Haider, sits forlorn unraveling
the muffler she had knitted forhim,
moving. Haider’s father Dr Hilal Meer( the King of Denmark, from the
play) is played exceptionally well by Narendra Jha, an actor who both looks good
and essays the part effortlessly. His name means the blood moon,that he loves
Faiz and is given to reciting his poetry is the icing on that particular cake
for me ! The character is well written as well, a doctor, humane to the core,
his political stand comes into question when he brings home a militant
suffering from appendicitis , putting his family in peril. It is this high mindedness that is the ruin of
his marriage with #Tabu, playing the wife (Gertrude), that, coupled with her
desire for love, attention, time, his time. She doesn't have hate in her heart for the father she says, its just that she wants more.She falls for the devious uncle,
played by K K Menon, the crafty Cassius from the play. Menon’s skills consummate,
his portrayal riveting. Tabu lights up the screen, backed by the script, her portrayal
powerful, dominates the narrative. She has her son in an emotional bind and
knows how to use it. He is in her thrall, Oedipus like.Tabu's performance, stellar. The story is true to
Hamlet of course, the father ‘disappears, now a ‘half widow’ ,the mother
marries the uncle, the son must avenge his fathers death and the mothers betrayal,
a conflict ensues both within and without. There’s much pain and everybody
dies. this is Cain and Abel after all and what is more elemental more primordial than that? Paradise lost, the film is dark, macabre, morbid but true to form, Hamlet is dark.
"agar firdaus ba ruay zami ast,ami asto,ami asto, ami ast"
The other Paradise, the
land in which it is set, Kashmir, is lost too, and that is another tale. The film has drawn
both accolades and brickbats on this score, its problems begin from that
location , in the Kashmir of 1995, the insurgency fierce, the fires hot. The film
takes the human rights perspective, those violations highlighted. A movie can at best
present a perspective as against many. So it is natural that if it is
presenting the side of the common inhabitants then it might not present the
other side fully. The film rarely dwells on the army. It is the police who are
represented. And police are bad guys in nearly all films. The police here are
the killers , often with the tacit understanding of the army. Polonius,
represented here by the police headman of the district of Anantnaag, Arshia’s father, Parvez, is a wily extractor
of information, crafty arm of the coercive power of the state, the police , not
the army as such. AFSPA ( The Armed Forces Special Protection Act) , however is
universally hated by the civilians. Rhymed ridiculously with ‘chutzpa’ it is ridiculed
often. however, the army is not always shown in poor light, most commanders depicted are reasonable, even affable, performing a task, efficiently.To me the insidiousness of the film is its juxtaposition and selective
association of information. And in that it is the complete separatists' spiel.
The soliloquy at the town square, filmed at Lal Chowk in Srinagar, and the raking in of plebiscite with offering no
explanations has nothing to do with development of Hamlet's character. The
string of half facts presented thereafter is all to do with presenting a
political agenda. That’s real ‘chutzpah' the film maker being able to say all
that and walking away with it. The film is indeed seditious in that selective
presentation of fact. The army is never berated overtly, the ‘disappeared' Kashmiri Pundits are mentioned, the presentation of the separatist agenda is
subtle, between the lines, intelligently done. It is certainly a political film. #Bhardwaj has effectively rewritten an extremely inward looking play and an
extremely solipsistic hero is remade into a politically aware youth who engages
with the outside world as much as he battles the torments within. “hum hain ke
, hain nahin” echoes with the politics of the land. for not only is love and tranquility lost within, peace and happiness is lost without, as well. Haider is sent away to
study at Aligarh, a place which is free, “ Na din pe pehre hain, na raat pe
taale”, implying thereby that this land is not free. Everything’s a metaphor
here, Hilal is a physician, When Haider is being sent away, Hilal protests that
that isn’t the cure for this “illness” (“is marz ki dawa nahin”). Hilal is a kind human who believes
in restoring his “ill” hometown to health, and he doesn’t care if the patient
is a civilian or a militant. And when he ends up treating a militant, it’s for
appendicitis – something’s got to beremovedif health is to be restored. Ghazala, when we first meet her is seen
telling children what a home is, something with “brothers and sisters and
mothers and fathers…” That’s not justanyhome; that’s Kashmir. When Hilal is
taken away by the army, his home is incinerated by rocket launchers because his
militant-patient is inside, tucked away behind a secret cupboard (this scene is
echoed at the end; only now, Haider is the “militant” who’s being targeted with
rocket launchers) – and when Haider reaches Srinagar and asks Arshia to take
him home, she tells him, “Tumhare ghar mein
ghar jaisa kuch bacha nahin bacha.” The home he
knew – the Kashmir he knew – doesn’t exist anymore. The Dal lake sojourns are a
thing of the past. This is a Kashmir where you’d rather be thrown into jail
because the alternative is worse – you could “disappear.” the metaphors roll
on, one upon the other, the mind is engaged, the heart is not.
Roohdaar, played by #Irfaan Khan, the ‘ghost’
from the play, serves to weave the two narratives together. He shares a cell
with the ‘disappeared’ father, in an army camp, held prisoner for sedition. He is
from the other side of the border, from Pakistan, an agent fueling the clamour
for ‘Azaadi’ in the deep back lanes of the old town which lies, metaphorically
and literally across the bridge on the Jhelum. He also carries the ‘avenge me’
message for Haider, as in the play, kill the uncle but leave the mother to the
justice of the Heavens. Interestingly he wears white, as contrasted with the
dark fatigues of the army and the police. Metaphor? In the play the ghost is a
spine chilling presence, from beyond the known world, Roohdar is instead the
spirit of the land, “main tha, main hoon, main hee rahoonga”. That ‘spirit’
sides with the voices of sedition, insidious that. This Kashmir that
Bharadwaj visits, is beautiful still, in
a cold dark, hauntingly macabre manner. Blood reeks from the fallen red leaves
of the Chinar ,the snows struggle to cloak the dark with white… The silence of the
frames speaks. However Hamlet is a play about words. The many many metaphors
here render them unnecessary. Perhaps Bharadwaj saw this too, for there are
several silent frames, frames with no words…
Having said all
that, I must confess that I watched the film as if from a distance. I empathized
with none of the characters, barring the father, played endearingly by Jha, the
lilt of the Faiz poetry lending him a definitive sheen, as also the hope in his
eyes. Haidar descends into deep dark neurosis and one knows well enough that he
is lost, to no fault of his own, except the accidents of his circumstances,
circumstances almost beyond his control. I watched his writhing agony unfold,
understood the pain in the head, did not feel it in the heart. Then there is the ludicrous.
The two Salman characters! (Rosencrantz and Guildenstern) Two young
men who are such great Salman Khan fans that they walk and talk and gyrate like
him. Irksome to say the least. Salman fans had better give this one a miss!! They
remind one of Thompson and Thomson, the two half witted blustering characters
from the Tintin comic books. Unnecessary Caricatures that truly jar. As does
the ridiculous punning with Chutzpah, so Bharadwaj ,and so unnecessary. The song of the
gravediggers , militants disguised as gravediggers toward the end, ludicrous
too, doesn’t sit right at all. I understand the symbolism here, they are ready
to lay down their mortal lives in the service of what they perceive as a
greater cause, true, that idea though, manifest in a song as they dig their own
graves ( double metaphor? ) is an assault on the senses. The graves produce the
mandatory skull of course; Haider can now talk to it. The soliloquy stands
transformed. I must say I prefer
Maqbool to this, the earlier Bharadwaj to this one. Though this is the film
that has generated the greater spiel, that
had me crying for Macbeth at the end, this didn’t. Vinny 9/10/14
