Showing posts with label Literatures from the Margin. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Literatures from the Margin. Show all posts

Monday, April 17, 2023

This Country is Broken by Bapurao Jagtap, Literatures from the Margin, B.A English Literature, 3rd Year 6th Semester, Elective Paper, University of Madras

 B.A English Literature

3rd Year 6th Semester

Elective Paper – BEN-DSE2C

Literatures from the Margin

UNIT-1: Poetry 

1.3 “This Country is Broken”– Bapurao Jagtap

About Author:

     Bapurao Jagtap is a famous Marathi Poet.

About Poem:

     The poem ‘This Country is Broken’ attempts to highlight the roots and existence of the pitiful Dalit community who are continually overshadowed by the upper class. He adds that the upper class blindly refuses to acknowledge the existence of the Dalits in the society.

     The poet express his brethren, in a tone of pain and anguish mixed with sarcasm, asking them to abandon this land and settle elsewhere.

Text:

This country is broken into a thousand pieces;

Its cities, its religion, its castes,

Its people, and even the minds of the people

- all are broken, fragmented.

In this country, each day burns

Scorching each moment of our lives.

We bear it all, and stand solid as hills

In this our life

That we do not accept.

Brother, our screams are only an attempt

To write the chronicle of this country

-this naked country

with its heartless religion.

The people here rejoice in their black laws

And deny that we were ever born.

Let us go to some country, brother,

Where, while you live, you will have

A roof above your head,

And where, when you die, there will at least be

A cemetery to receive you.

Summary:

    The poet points out that this country is broken as there is no equality and no freedom to the downtrodden people. They are treated as the other or the outcaste. He further says that this country is having a heartless rigid religion and most of them rejoice the black laws that are favoring the upper castes. These people don’t even consider that these Dalits are even born in this country. They deny their right as man and treat Dalits with disgrace. This poem is making the people understand the agonies of the Dalits who are attempting to write the chronicle of the country.

   The following lines, The people here rejoice in their black laws And deny that we were ever born” is heightened the heart-wrenching misery by the poet that the country celebrates these discriminative and inhumane laws made only for the benefit of the upper class society.

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Hunger poem by Nam Deo Dhasal, Literatures from the Margin, B.A English Literature, 3rd Year 6th Semester, Elective Paper, University of Madras

B.A English Literature

3rd Year 6th Semester

Elective Paper – BEN-DSE2C

Literatures from the Margin

UNIT-1: Poetry

1.2 “Hunger”– Nam Deo Dhasal

About Author:

    Namdeo Laxman Dhasal (Namdev Dhasal) is a Marathi poet, writer and Human Rights activist from Maharashtra, India. Dhasal was born on February 15, 1949, in a village near Pune, India. A member of the previously called Mahar class, he grew up in dire poverty. Following the example of the American Black Panther movement, he founded the Dalit Panther with friends in 1972.

    In 1973, he published his first volume of poetry, Golpitha. Dhasal’s poems broke away from stylistic conventions. He included in his poetry many words and expressions which only the Dalits normally used. Thus, in Golpitha he adapted his language to that of the red light milieu, which shocked middle class readers.

     Dhasal was awarded the Padma Shri in 1999 for his achievements in Marathi literature. He was conferred with the Maharashtra State Award for literature four times - in 1973, 1974, 1982 and 1983. The Sahitya Akademi also presented him with the Golden Lifetime Achievement Award in 2004. After a long debilitating battle with colon cancer, Dhasal died in Mumbai at the age of 64 on 15 January 2014.

About Poem:

    Starvation of innocent human beings by the people of high class, devoid of basic necessities of food, clothes and shelter mould the spirit of movement, revolution begins to take roots as a protest against suppression of the poor by the brutal mankind for their own identity. Dalit Poetry outcries the feelings of the untouchables. Namdev Dhasal’s poem ‘Hunger’ talks about the realistic portrayal of the people who have been suffering since long.

Summary:

     The poem ‘Hunger’ deals with the denial of a right to life. As Dalits had historically sacrificed their dignity at the altar of the caste based society, their bodies have become objects and toys of systematic societal caste persecutions. Dhasal personifies hunger which is a constant feature in the lives of the people of the depressed classes regardless of their immense hard work. The poet asks hunger to forgive him and his people as they are weak and cannot dare to suffer the tricks played by hunger. Poet feels defeated by hunger and asks it to leave his people, as if they accept and preserve it, everything will turn dark in their lives.

Poem:

Hunger

Unable to do this ione thing and able

To solve or not solve theorems

Will hunger –fires forge a poem?

Will music die in the fire of hunger?

How difficult music is

To him who cannot count the best of his own pulse.

Who hadn’t thought that fees couldn’t be claimed

For singing songs of hunger.

Hunger

A fruitless thing

However hard you work

The reward is still stones

If stones cannot build a house

We’ll not manage to live in it.

Hunger you are mouse, cat, lion in turn

How long can mere mortals like us stand

I this game that you’ve set up?

 

2.

Hunger

a shrewd peace is growing everywhere

this is the beginning of our new life sentence

hunger forgive us that we cannot cut the tree of time

but even cut, the sky will still be blue.

To which market can we carry dumb hearts?

Where auction them

Where day sweeps life

Who will buy crushed hearts

Who will profit by the deal?

Hunger, tell us your game, your strategy

If we can muster guts enough

We’ll fight you to the finish

Can’t crawl and grovel on our stomachs

Too long with you

How much can we wash the grime off hunger?

How much wash the dust off years?

How much scorn to the very ends of scorn?

Hunger, if a bridge of iron will not join you to us

Then let us fly free like unfettered birds

Hunger, your land , the thorns upon your land,

Fester in the brain all night

Till the brain itself freezes.

Hunger, when a thing is taken from the fridge

Is it still fresh?

Hunger your every blood drop is cold

Your every blood drop is mute

Order, let lightening course through the guts

Order, let life get charged

Wounded seas and the long moans of our demands

Hunger, say yes to our dreams

Don’t snuff out the orphan huts upon the shore

We’ll see later

The gold-threaded struggle

Between the snail of pain and the sea.

 

3.

Hunger

we have made our demand

let you need us

will we never grow?

Let us grow

The sun may blithely have forgotten dawn

The river may blithely have forgotten time

We wanted more from light

Than mere life

But light turned false.

Hunger,

We will not allow a column of cloud to stand,

Indifferent, to our door

How much more can we thank

Pain the music in pain

If we have not made ourselves a tidy life

What right do we have to quarrel with the flowers?

How much can we excite pain

How much can we burn

How much can we catch the fire that burns forever?

If our words find no expression

In this stream of sun

We’ll salute you like defeated soldiers

Whoever said that every soldier in the army

Fights like a man?

 

4.

Hunger,

There’s not a single grain in our house today

not a single clever brain in our house today

hunger

if one sings till the last light of the innermost being

will it turn off hunger-light?

Hunger if one takes care of you now

Will it darken?

Hunger, your style is your own

No other calamity comes our way

But you.

Hunger, if we cannot mate you

Cannot impregnate you

Our tribe will have to kill itself

Hunger we have all the aces

Why talk of the songs of the half-sexed jacks?

Here’s our manhood before you now,

Let’s see who wins this round

You or we.

 

5.

Hunger

which came first, seed or tree?

Hunger you make things too difficult

Hunger just tell us what breed this monkey is

And if you can’t

Then we will screw

Seventeen generations of you

Hunger, you and your mother. 

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Friday, April 7, 2023

No Sugar by Jack Davis notes, Literatures from the Margin, B.A English Literature, 3rd Year 6th Semester, Elective Paper, University of Madras

 B.A English Literature

3rd Year 6th Semester

Elective Paper – BEN-DSE2C

Literatures from the Margin

Unit 3 - Drama

3.1 No Sugar by Jack Davis

About Author:

            Jack Davis (1917–1999) began writing when he was fourteen years old. The fourth child in a family of eleven, he spent his childhood in the West Australian mill town of Yarloop. He worked for several years as a stockman in the north before returning to Perth and settling into fulltime writing and a long life of service to the Aboriginal cause. His book publications began in 1970 with The First Born, a volume of poetry. Jagardoo: Poems from Aboriginal Australia (1978) and John Pat and Other Poems (1988) followed. His plays include No Sugar, Burungin, Honeyspot, Kullark and The Dreamers and Our Town. In 1991 his memoir A Boy’s Life was published. He has received numerous distinctions including the British Empire Medal, the Order of Australia, honorary doctorates from the universities of Murdoch and Western Australia. An inaugural Unaipon Award judge, he served as judge on the panel from 1988 to 1996.

About Story:

            No Sugar, first performed in 1985, is part of Jack Davis’s The First Born trilogy: three plays that trace the history of Aboriginal people in Western Australia from 1829 to the present. Though it was written after The Dreamers (1982), this play moves backwards in time to 1929 to dramatise the story of the Millimurra family’s forced removal from their home in Northam to the Moore River Native Settlement during the Great Depression. No Sugar confronts boldly the harsh treatment of the Nyoongah people at the hands of white administrators, but it also celebrates with humour and pride the resilience of the Nyoongah people to survive brutality and maintain their culture.

Summary:

            No Sugar is a postcolonial play by Indigenous Australian Playwright, Jack Davis. The play takes place during Great Depression in Western Australia. It showcases the struggles of aboriginals through the Millimurra-Munday family and their dreadful life in the hands of white colonisers. The aboriginals are forced to accept the unequal treatment provided for them. People like Mr.Neal, Mr.Neville who have the authority to protect them are the ones who exploit and oppress them. They are stuck in poverty and the government cuts down their rations due to depression. They are treated as ‘other’ thus disregarding them from the society, they live in. For instance, Milly gives money to her children to buy apples for lunch but they are provided with 'shrivelled apples' where the watjela kids get 'fat apples'. The aboriginals are not allowed to walk after sunset, drink liquor or mingle with the white people. The Millimurra-Munday family is shifted from their settlement by providing false excuse of scabies infection to another settlement only to provide better living conditions for the white settlers in Northam. Aboriginal girls sent for domestic help for white settlers are sexually harassed and return home as pregnant but no one is concerned about it. Davis depicts Australia’s stolen generation through Mary’s fear when Matron comes to meet her child. The aboriginal children are taken and given away to the white settlers for adoption. They are converted to Christianity and children are forced to attend Sunday School. Also, the scene where aboriginals are shown dancing for the whites depicts the superiority and power they possess. Billy recounts the Forest River Massacre which shows that genocide gave the whites a perfect excuse to wipe out a population that lacked value in their eyes. The play portrays racism, oppression and colonial violence towards aboriginals and their struggles to survive.

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Mandela and De Klerk by Wayne Visser, Literatures from the Margin, B.A English Literature, 3rd Year 6th Semester, Elective Paper, University of Madras

 B.A English Literature

3rd Year 6th Semester

Elective Paper – BEN-DSE2C

Literatures from the Margin

UNIT-1: Poetry 

1.8 “Mandela and De Klerk” by Wayne Visser

About Author:

            Wayne Visser was born in Zimbabwe and has lived most of his life in South Africa and the UK. He is a writer, academic, social entrepreneur, professional speaker and amateur artist.  In addition, Wayne is Senior Associate at the University of Cambridge Programme for Sustainability Leadership and Visiting Professor of Corporate Responsibility at Warwick Business School in the UK. Wayne has a deep love for Africa, its people and its wildlife, which is given voice through this collection. In 2005 Wayne wrote a lovely piece of poetry entitled, “I am an African”, it is featured in Awesome South Africa.

About Poem:

            This poem taken from the collection (contains 25 poems) “I am an African: Selected Africa Poems” published in 2008.

Text:

(A Tribute to Nelson Mandela and F.W. de Klerk)

 

Divergent paths by twists of fate

Ordained to meet, then separate

High branches grown from different stems

That intertwined to make amends

 

Who are these sons of destiny

That changed the course of history?

Who are these dons of liberty

That led their people to be free?

 

Mandela – from the Themba clan

Among the hills of Transkei land –

Was schooled to be a royal chief

But chose instead the golden Reef

 

De Klerk – of Afrikaaner stock

Who staked their claim to Transvaal’s rock –

Was steeped in National Party depths

And followed in his father’s steps

 

Both knocked upon unopened doors

Both tipped the scales of unjust laws

And each was raised to lofty heights

By willing hands and vexing plights

 

Mandela – asked to fight the ground

Where dignity was beaten down

De Klerk – compelled to guard the fort

Of privilege the past had bought

 

The stage was set for black and white

To go to war or lose the fight

There was no neutral ground to stand

Each corner backed their leading man

 

Mandela raised the nation’s spear

The State replied midst rising fear

The ‘Pimpernel’ was put on trial

And banished to the Cape’s bleak isle

 

For twenty seven years and more

The battle raged upon the shore

Until De Klerk set Nelson free

To take their place in history

 

Negotiations followed swift

To heal the wounds and mend the rift

And even while blood soaked the ground

A partnership was sought and found

 

Until the day – that happy dawn –

A rainbow nation’s dream was born

We owe a debt of thanks and praise

To those who led us through the maze

 

Mandela brought great unity

And showed that truth can set us free

His lack of spite inspires us still

To strive to serve a higher will

 

De Klerk’s great gift was letting go

And having faith that trust can grow

He showed that change is like a seed

That knows no bounds of race or creed

 

And so we raise our voice and say:

We celebrate upon this day

Two heroes of democracy

Who rescued our humanity.

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Tears of blood by Polish Gypsy named Bronislawa Wajs, Literatures from the Margin, B.A English Literature, 3rd Year 6th Semester, Elective Paper, University of Madras

 B.A English Literature

3rd Year 6th Semester

Elective Paper – BEN-DSE2C

Literatures from the Margin

Unit - 1 : Poetry

1.7 “Tears of blood” - Polish Gypsy named Bronislawa Wajs

[known as Papusza, the Romani word for “doll.”]

About Author:

            Bronislawa Wajs (1908-1987) was born one of the Polska Roma, or Polish Romani, and was known by her Romani name Papusza, meaning doll. She became a singer and was an eye witness to the genocide or Porajmos which literally means devouring. Indeed, she is the earliest known Romani to have written on the subject having been encouraged by Jerzy Ficowski to write her songs down as poems in 1950 which were published as Pieni Papuszi (Papuszas Songs).

Bronislawa Wajs (1908-1987), also known as Papusza (Romani word for "doll"), was an unusual child and young Polish Gypsy, to say the least. Born sometime between 1908 and 1910, she was raised as part of a great kumpania, a band [company] of families who traveled throughout Poland and Lithuania in horse-drawn caravans until the mid-1960s when the Polish government, like most others, put an end to their wandering life.

She learned how to read and write by stealing chickens and trading their corpses for books and lessons! In the summer of 1949, Jerzy Ficowski heard Papusza performing her songs and, recognizing her talent, urged her to write them down as poems, so that he could publish them. The song "Tears of Blood" (translated below) along with several others, was published by Ficowski in the early 1950s in a book titled Pieśni Papuszi (Papusza's Songs).

About Poem:

Papusza’s Romani-language narrative poem, Tears of Blood is the earliest known witness account of the Kali Trash (‘Black Fear’), Samudaripen (‘Mass Killing’), Porajmos (‘Devouring’), Pharrajimos (‘Destruction’), or the Roma Holocaust, perpetrated by Nazi Germany during World War II. It deals with the Romani and how they suffered at the hands of the German soldiers at Voly (Volhynia) in 1943 and 1944 and this has become the centrepiece of the event at St Andrews. The poem was recently translated by writer Hamish MacDonald into both English and Scots.

The Roma poet, Papusza’s, Romani-language narrative poem Tears of Blood

Text:

(How we suffered under the German soldiers in Volyň from 1943 to 1944)

 

In the woods. No water, no fire — great hunger.

Where could the children sleep? No tent.

We could not light the fire at night.

By day, the smoke would alert the Germans.

How to live with children in the cold of winter?

All are barefoot...

When they wanted to murder us,

first they forced us to hard labor.

A German came to see us.

— I have bad news for you.

They want to kill you tonight.

Don't tell anybody.

I too am a dark Gypsy,

of your blood — a true one.

God help you

in the black forest...

Having said these words,

he embraced us all...

 

For two three days no food.

All go to sleep hungry.

Unable to sleep,

they stare at the stars...

God, how beautiful it is to live!

The Germans will not let us...

 

Ah, you, my little star!

At dawn you are large!

Blind the Germans!

Confuse them,

lead them astray,

so the Jewish and Gypsy child can live!

 

When big winter comes,

what will the Gypsy woman with a small child do?

Where will she find clothing?

Everything is turning to rags.

One wants to die.

No one knows, only the sky,

only the river hears our lament.

Whose eyes saw us as enemies?

Whose mouth cursed us?

Do not hear them, God.

Hear us!

A cold night came,

The old Gypsy women sang

A Gypsy fairy tale:

Golden winter will come,

snow, like little stars,

will cover the earth, the hands.

The black eyes will freeze,

the hearts will die.

 

So much snow fell,

it covered the road.

One could only see the Milky Way in the sky.

 

On such night of frost

a little daughter dies,

and in four days

mothers bury in the snow

four little sons.

Sun, without you,

see how a little Gypsy is dying from cold

in the big forest.

 

Once, at home, the moon stood in the window,

didn't let me sleep. Someone looked inside.

I asked — who is there?

— Open the door, my dark Gypsy.

I saw a beautiful young Jewish girl,

shivering from cold,

asking for food.

You poor thing, my little one.

I gave her bread, whatever I had, a shirt.

We both forgot that not far away

were the police.

But they didn't come that night.

 

All the birds

are praying for our children,

so the evil people, vipers, will not kill them.

Ah, fate!

My unlucky luck!

 

Snow fell as thick as leaves,

barred our way,

such heavy snow, it buried the cartwheels.

One had to trample a track,

push the carts behind the horses.

 

How many miseries and hungers!

How many sorrows and roads!

How many sharp stones pierced our feet!

How many bullets flew by our ears!

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