On Basso Profundo, August 11, 2017.
Toward the end of Shirani Rajapakse’s plaintive and eloquent book of poetry, she has a piece called “The Poetess.” In its final lines she writes:
She walked with a spring in her step.
Her expression serious. They turned around
as they saw her pass.
She felt such pride. At last to be known.
Even if to just a few.
They did not know she had
nothing to show.
The last line surprised me, and moved me to immediate disagreement. Chant of a Million Women is certainly a notable achievement: it chronicles so many moods, in so many stories, from ancient Indian epic legends to the insurmountable challenges of every day. It consolidates and focuses our attention on the myriad ways men subjugate and objectify women, and the paltry few effective means women have to fight back. This applies particularly to cultures bound by tradition, such as one finds in India and the Middle East.
And women’s situations are so hopeless in this collection that fighting back isn’t really what it’s about. It’s about maintaining something so basic as one’s identity. So often used as a simple ornament, a status symbol, or property to be hidden away, the women in these poems lose their onetime promising selves to a male society, be it as some idealized – but definitely owned – prize, or a simple, reviled piece of furniture, or worse, a victim of violent crime.
Ms. Rajapakse places her poems in a number of milieux: traditional sexist households, dangerous, sometimes murderous, public thoroughfares, urban settings and rural. Often, no setting is specified, except the consciousness of the dispossessed woman.
A million women would indeed raise this chant. They would be fortunate were they to make it this resoundingly, with such force. The poetess distills their suffering to a specific litany, as though a bell were ringing to toll the offenses, forming a high-relief frieze of the hundreds of thousands of wives, daughters, and princesses whose stunted lives impoverish us all.
This is a distinctive, consistent collection in which the milk of human kindness has no place. Nowhere are the kind whispers of a lover or even the support of a life partner. Ms Rajapakse has consistently chosen her pieces with a eye to the plaints and sorrows of women. I salute the courage with which she lends her voice for the forgotten and uncared-for women suffering in so many places in the world. Take up Chant of a Million Women and experience its elegant phrases and its moral force.
This is Home is a short story I wrote last year about a Palestinian woman stuck in the middle of the conflict. Check it out here.
Earth Song is featured in LIJLA Vol 4 No1 February 2016. Go here or read it below.
I am the weeping earth cringing
in pain when you dig me up, pulling out
limbs, entrails leaving me to hemorrhage.
Shocked, in excruciating pain, no one hears my
silent cries. Children orphaned, lives torn apart,
fracking my veins drinking me dry. Parched
I crumble into pieces. I am the silent sky watching
anger whizz by to explode in places you don’t like.
Not yours to care while I listen
to the cries of the weak
trying to make sense of it all
amidst terror raining down from
above. I am the roaring waves, the deep
darkness under heaving waters, flowing rivers
gurgling streams and silent lakes that stand still as
mirrors for clouds to comb their hairs. You
damn me everywhere but I lift my
head straining to rise, course through the
way I want and not how you think
I should. I am the raging fire that burns, taking
the trees with me chasing the birds away,
the deer, rabbits and wild beasts
that hide within my voluminous cloaks. Trees, how
I love to sway to birds tunes, the beat of squirrels feet,
weave my magic through the land, burrowing in deep,
standing up tall reaching high to the skies waving
my many arms in the breeze holding onto life. I am
woman I am life I am earth and I bleed.
Issue 5 of Cities + is all about secrets. Here is what to expect in the issue.
“We send you on a hunt to find answers written in urban landscapes and whisper (or maybe shout) to you about Rankopolis, the most ‘city’ of all cities. There is a polemic on the parasitic nature of the urban-rural divide. There is a series of conjurations based on Calvino’s ‘Invisible Cities’ (if you don’t think you can see the invisible, think again)(actually always, always think again). And there is a most impressive contributor who literally unearthed the secrets of her garden. That’s not even an exhaustive list. ”
Check out The Old Road on page 58.
For more info check it out on Facebook.