In his third collection of poems, * Ode to a Grieving Angel*, poet Naveen Kishore returns as a theatre-lighting designer, his poems a witness to the artistic process.

A purgatory of suffering

The first section, also the longest, unfurls on the stage with the poet witnessing the play of light and shadow from the wings. Like the actors, the reader too is caught in the “glare of spotlights” while Shakespeare’s iconic plays are performed in a rather grotesque manner. The darkness of the shadows is juxtaposed with a “barren” stage and colourless trees, the actors a zombie version of themselves. Characters from Macbeth, Hamlet, and King Lear find themselves together on the same stage, jostling for space, tripping over wires, and burning in fading light. The audience has disappeared into the dark and the actors are a heap of anxiety and confusion. For Kishore, Shakespeare’s heroes and heroines are pitiful – with a limited vocabulary and appearances, they are doomed to repeat their fates over and over again. Unlike the audience, they may not exit into the light. Not yet. The stage, despite its careful choreography, is a purgatory of suffering.

In his previous book of poems, Kishore had a title for each section. However, in Ode to a Grieving Angel, the sections are plainly numbered as One, Two, Three, and Four.

In the second section, Kishore is preoccupied with silence and the failure of language – themes that were central to his previous collections, Mother Muse Quintet and Knotted Grief. The silence stems from the violent preconditions of our world – of “khaki shadows”, “plaster peels”, “ablaze anger.” It is only anger and fear that are well-defined; our memories are only “fog.” In fact, so powerful is human anger that even the mighty moon “shuffles” nervously in the “wounded sky”, waiting in the wings till it is allowed to emerge in its full glory. The natural world is soiled by humans’ endless capacity for violence, at once draining the world of its colour and bathing it in murderous shades of black and red.

The language of art

The poems in the third section are a visual map of hopelessness and persistence. The alter between loosely strung words (as though the centre isn’t holding anymore) and densely packed prose poems – these airbending poems (as I like to call them) dance to the poet-conductor’s baton, shifting the energy in the pages. We follow a nameless prisoner/ghost/angel as he endures unspeakable brutality at the hands of the State. Meanwhile, his angel persona in heaven “summersault[s] without control into space.”

In the fourth and final section, the poet addresses himself. Yet he’s at the mercy of the “air”, “firing squad”, “shipwrecks”, each filling him with despair. Still, he crafts beautiful lines: “Full of debris of unclaimed anguish, the river in me whispers stories. Tales it has collected from the sea.” The poet’s ears are ringing with deafening sounds, his head is filled with unhappy images – his pot of words sits at the end of a grimy rainbow.

From luminous stage actors to the invisible earthworms, every creature is an artist and their art persists against insurmountable odds and painful history. The actor must conquer his anxiety to play a part convincingly, while an earthworm must brave the possibility of being crushed under the foot of a mighty animal to imbue the soil with nutrients. Kishore’s poems remind us of what we often forget or perhaps willingly turn a blind eye to – that all art is the canvas of our deepest shame and sorrows, and that it must be fairly recognised and compensated for.

Ode to a Grieving Angel: Poems, Naveen Kishore, Speaking Tiger Books.

We welcome your comments at letters@scroll.in.