In the darkened room a woman cannot find her reflection in the mirror. waiting as usual at the edge of sleep. In her hands she holds the oil lamp whose drunken. Jayanta Mahapatra (ଜୟନ୍ତ ମହାପାତ୍ର). Of that Love. Poems Jayanta Mahapatra began writing poems rather late in comparison with his contemporaries. But this. Post-colonial traits in Jayanta Mahapatra’s poetry. Dr. Mukul Kumar Sharma. Asst . Professor, Department of English and Humanities Jaipur Engineering College.

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If we examine these poems, we find an excessive use of wit and irony in them. Silence gripped my sleeves; his body clawed at the froth his old nets had only dragged up from the seas. The things of astrophysics continue to hold its sway over him.

Dear Friend, I remember, I remember The house where I was born, The little window where the sun Came peeping in at morn; He never came a wink too soon Nor brought too long a day; But now, I often wish the night Had borne my breath away.

Why does the sun shine everyday? The silence of mornings and evenings, middays and midnights, dawns and dusks, daybreaks and twilights is one aspect while the silence of the solitary and secluded countryside with the hamlets and thorps against a backdrop the another thing of deliberation.

The stairs seem endless, lifelong, and those peaks too, Annapurna, Dhaulagiri; uncertain, impressive as gods. In his poetry, one can overhear the chants of the Upanishadas and the Vedas, going on in the temples, mahapatar, ancient and stupendous. Nothing that memory concealed with ominous heights. He began his teaching career as a lecturer in Physics in He is the author of such popular poems as Indian Summer and Hungerwhich are regarded as classics in modern Indian English literature.

Jayanta Mahapatra – Wikipedia

My eyes are getting used to the dark. Skip to main content. Where those architects and stone-cutters? From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia. The poet may grow over the years, but his style will not change it, as the adage says it, style is man.


Jayanta Mahapatra

A poet of selfish love, he is intriguing and coquettish, deceitful and conceited. The grass going bare unknown under our feet, the pigeons sailing across the uneven heart, the acres of water lying beyond our thirst: Padma Award winners of Odisha. Five faceless lepers move aside as a priest passes by.

The rock-built temples are splendid and grand, an example of architectural and sculptural excellence, but the beggars still visible at the entrances of the temples. Jayanta Mahapatra began writing poems rather late in comparison with his contemporaries. To many, his poetry may appear the poetry of stones, cut to and chiselled as rock-built temples, standing as a witness to an age of belief and faith gone by, which held the people once upon a time. Like an Indian poet, quite insecure of his rank and placement into the annals, he just chose to dabble in verse.

Book Excerptise: Selected Poems by Jayanta Mahapatra

Even the headless torso of Gandhi in the city square can speak. Sitting in the temple complex, He keeps thinking of the windows, The door planks, The small doorways of the rock-built temples Telling of yore And its hoary days. Word-play is one of the bewitching characteristics of Jayanta Mahapatra and many struggle to catch the rhythm of his lines in order to mean them, but meaning is not in between the lines, just the images lie in.

If I could get up and move about, seeking the quick swifts in the halflight in the rain, trying to feel the wind on the wings that overcome the earth. A search for meaning pervades the whole poetic corpus in the form of questions and answers ever raised, ever tried for a solution, but the solution is not.

Hope lay perhaps in burning the house I lived in.

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Truth seems twisted sometimes, yet pitiless. A professor of physics, he sees the pinda-dana continuing sand the asthi-kalasha being immersed into the holy waters to reach to the conclusion of matter and mass. If you love your country, he said, why are you here? Everything is but anonymous and the history silent about all that.


Is she an attribute of the Mother Goddess or a working class girl standing speechless and benumbed? Sometimes the editors misjudge the entries and the same make a way when published elsewhere. His poems were also published in other poetry magazines in India. On seeing them, he feels within what we have really for them after the attainment of freedom.

I dare not go into the dark, dank sanctum where the myth shifts swiftly from hand to hand, eye to eye. Face upon face returns to the barbed horizons of the foggy temple; here lies a crumpled leaf, a filthy scarlet flower out of placeless pasts, on the motionless stairs.

But only a host of phantom listeners That dwelt in the lone house then Stood listening in the quiet of the moonlight To that voice from the world of men: I felt the hunger there, the other one, the fish slithering, turning inside.

Things will be created and will crumle to dust. Yeats Selected Poetry, edited with an introduction and notes by A. Did you jaynata your own death?

If one has not toured and travelled in and across Odisha, the sites and scenery of it, one may not understand what he says, what he writes about. A singer of Ireland not, but of Orissa, its history, art, sculpture, tradition and space, he goes in the way of his to be a Gregoryian ballad singer. The dark daughters are the daughters of the soil whose troubles, tears and tribulations we come to feel it not; who keep labouring like the ox, getting skeletoned, reeling under the load of life and the world and we go elating about.

Palm fronds scratched my skin. He received many literary awards for his published poems.