Poet And His Reader

Prafulla Kumar Mohanty

Every day tons of books are sent out by publishers to the bookstalls in all major cities. Every day million or more poems are written in the world in languages of the east-west- north-south. The unseasonal snowfall and rains, the atomic threats not withstanding poets sing of their solitary anthems in free- blank- rhyming verse. International book exhibitions, lit-fests and commemoration of literary figures go on all over the world in myriad languages: Yet authors, particularly poets say the readers now shy away from poetry in particular and literature in general. What is the truth, one may ask. More and more people write poetry in all languages. The modern times are more practical and material ambitions commensurate with the opportunities dampen the indolent romantic effervescence of overflow of feelings, powerful or weak. The world today is more physical than metaphysical, more open to the new instruments of scrutiny than a speculative universe where the ’beyond’, the ‘spiritual ‘and the ‘I of an inscrutable Being’ are not suitable data for analysis or imaginative recounting by artists for the data religion. A more direct, unadorned language for easy communication is advised by all gurus in all kinds of linguistic composition. In short the world is no more the archetypal image and modern life is not the ultimate metaphor.

But the common reader is not dissuaded by the metaphorical design or labyrinth of imagery to avoid poetry: he finds not his self or his world in poetry. He lives in a world voluble, divisive and competitive. His poetry sense is satisfied in the bus-car-train where blaring music and lurid lyrics make his steps faster on to the pavements. He has no time to brood over poetic epithets or the metaphysical universe which great poetry creates. Most poetry written today are confessions of personal sorrow or loss. Hardly a poem creates an atmosphere of joy, hope or human glory. Hardly a poem speaks of love beyond unfulfilled desire. An office clerk or a babu has no time for the private worlds of mutilated hearts or wanton deprivations of rebellious self negation.

Poetry today has no mystery. The mysteries of messianic proportions have been exhausted in classical poetry. The mystery of romance and the individual’s personal salvation quest is seldom appealing. What the  modern average reader needs is to read in poetry,  anecdotes of success and encouragement to live life fully. Modern man says: no imaginary beliefs or constructs on a submissive reality. No fairy tale, give us logically acceptable imaginaries or illustrate mans mundane worth without distorting reality. The world has seen enough bloodshed, enough hunger, poverty, sickness and death. Give us dreams of immortality, dreams of well being and inspire us to fight and win. No uneasy truce with life, no compromise. Make the human being live without his rights being trampled under political authority or cowardly manipulation.

The poet, on the other hand claims his creation to be accepted with humility. He creates for his own pleasure which he thinks is objective and good for the common reader. Every man now is a poet, if not with words with designs, colours, and fanciful wishes. The Puja magazines are flooded with poetry. So many poets write! Such a variety of expression, style, imagery and experience ought to delight the reader beyond the pleasures of ordinariness. But the reader is not enthused. Why? the poet asks. May be the common reader has no sensibility or the poet like Narcissus wallows in his own image without communicating his own sensations  in terms of the readers expectations. Either the reader must consider poetry as the ultimate expression of human totality or the poet must understand the reader’s world and his human totality. We have to search for the answer to readers unresponsiveness (if at all) within the space of this either/ or. This will lead us to the limits of human intelligence and human consciousness: we must search beyond these limits.

Poetry is beyond the intelligence with which we perceive consciousness but the poet must move with the reader to attain this beyond.