Vinod Kumar Shukla Poems: A Glimpse into “Atirikt Nahin”

Discover the profound simplicity of Vinod Kumar Shukla poems through this insightful introduction and selection, masterfully translated by Navamalati Neog Chakraborty. Delve into the words of the recently crowned Jnanpith awardee, whose unique voice captures life’s everyday dilemmas with striking clarity.

The poet Vinod Kumar Shukla is that piece of charcoal we term as a diamond, that has under stress shone with the beauty of his pen. He who hailed from Chhattisgarh and had in all his simple-minded frank avowal stated that… ‘kabita likhna bhatakna ki tarah hae…kabita likhne ki maine koushish ki aur abhi bhi koushish kar kabita likhta hoon.’ He has at the age of 88 won the Jnanpith Award to the great delight of his readers, this year. Vinod Kumar Shukla is indeed a great poet with a difference.

Through his poems, Shuklaji breathed in the dilemmas of life in simple every day words, lending a sharp edge to his voice. His words strike a deep chord within his being and his poems beautifully highlight mere everyday home truths. There is no bid to create allure, no passing judgements or clothe his poems in gaudy raiment. It is his stark lines that lend a compulsion to his voice to stand by the world. He passes no judgement through his critical understanding of his world, but make his readers chew that vision which they had missed. Readers find the deep-seeing viewpoint of his poems act as pointers. It is the life, the ways, the everyday struggles, the smell, the sights, the riots, the indifference, the hiatus, poverty and squabbles…that form the bedrock of his reality. It echoes in the silence between the lines of his poems.

The tranquil note of his poems half tempts the readers to just read on, but very soon they pause. They take note of men’s capitulation in the vagueness of even that that is most ordinary. His poems aren’t really about living in dark times like Bertolt Brecht, and yet a lamp wouldn’t light up our world from that awesome darkness of thoughts. The realisation sinks in and submerges to the feel that life is essentially a rough bid to struggle on, with a whole lot to think about. Shuklaji’s poems are the framed versions of it.

‘Atirikt Nahin’ is a warm collection of poems published in the year 2023 where the poet’s rationale leaves the readers in deep thought. One may not detach the past or the present after seeing reason in all its vividness drawn out in a few words.

The Jnanpith winner, Shuklaji, keeps the dynamics of Indian poetry locked in its charming perplexity, moored or unmoored, as he played with words to reach a deeper depth of meaning. Even within the Indian scenario, the poems reinvent themselves as life provides no infinite reaches of heaven. The poet winces, sees, feels and understands the depth of a whole lot of angles in a precise and emphatic understanding. Reality thus merges with the abstract, caged in a reflection of truthfulness.

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(1)

A Man Had Given Up In Despair

I do not know who he was

But he had given up in despair

I knew despair though

I therefore approached him

And stretched out my hand

He held my hand and stood up

Though he didn’t know me

Yet he understood my gesture

The two of us walked together

Though we knew not each other

Yet we knew to keep company.

(2)

Aloft a Huge Rock

Aloft a huge rock

Another rock was placed

It seemed as though it would fall down

This feel is ancient

It is eternal

The fear of a future

But that which was supposed

To happen at any moment

Never did happen

And the road below these rocks winds out

A shepherd came and stood there

He came and stood just below the shadow.

(3)

Gods are Now too Many

Gods are now too many

Everywhere they are too many

Both form and formless

Every man holds on to too many of them

Even after sharing them

There are yet too many left

In the faith of different men

Too many different gods are yet left

Within this excess

I pick up my empty bag

To empty it further

And shake it out with fear

To find the formless fall off.

(4)

In my Loneliness Alone

My solitude lies in my seclusion

Its remembrance is a clamour

I do regard my neighbour’s presence

And I close my windows

And I close the door

No noise from the outer world

Reaches me.

Its very recall make me wince

For I hear the flutter

Of a butterfly’s wings.

On opening the window

To find a way for the butterfly

To fly away to the garden

I notice

That through my door

The corridor to the bedroom

Was the very pathway

To reach the garden.

(5)

Perhaps

Perhaps

That may be my last bid to escape

After the awesome crowd departs

Perhaps a blessed privacy

After I’d lost in a riot

An entire family

Brother, sister, wife, children

And my old parents

All wiped off.

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In one or two other homestead

There may be left alive

A few children, some puppies

A black hen or a pet parrot

Or may not be

There may be someone numbed

Though alive

Or they may not be

Perhaps alive

Perhaps …

                   (6)

There was a Window Living on the Wall

There was a window living on the wall

And a scenery lived through the window

A cottage, a trailing path, a river

And a pond or two

And a sky was above for all

Once in a while people passed by

And there were birds and trees

All existed through the window

But what was not there was an open window

And what was there was an open window

A little removed from the window

There lived a man on the wall.

(7)

The Person was a Singular Being

The person was a singular being

His personality had its hands-feet nose-mien

It grew on to develop

And it grew thus that

It was all lost amidst his wide girth

Save for his two hands

To aid him in beating his drum.

I never shook hands with this man

Never have I met with his personality.

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