A collection of poems by Sarojini Naidu (1879-1949) was known as Bharatiya Kokila (The Nightingale of India) and was a child prodigy, freedom fighter and poet. Naidu was the first Indian woman to become the President of the Indian National Congress and the first woman to become the governor of a state in India. She is also well acclaimed for her contribution to poetry. Her poetry had beautiful words that could also be sung. Her collection of poems was published in 1905 under the title The Golden Threshold.
Sarojini Naidu or Sarojini Chattopadhyaya (February 13, 1879, Hyderabad - March 2, 1949, Lucknow), also known by the sobriquet Bharatiya Kokila (The Nightingale of India), was a child prodigy, freedom fighter, and poet. Naidu was the first Indian woman to become the President of the Indian National Congress and the first woman to become the Governor of Uttar Pradesh.
She was active in the Indian Independence Movement, joining Mahatma Gandhi in the Salt March to Dandi, and then leading the Dharasana Satyagraha after the arrests of Gandhi, Abbas Tyabji, and Kasturba Gandhi.
Pilnīgi nejauši nonāca manās rokās (pie iekuriem no kaimiņu izmestajām grāmatām). Pieķēros ar interesi, jo pēdējā laikā kaut kā aktualizējusies Indijas tēma un trīs no dzejnieces dzejoļiem - "Mežā", "Jaunībai", "Neuzvaramais" - ir komponējis ImKa. Sevišķi skaista man vienmēr šķitusi "Mežā" gan dzeja, gan melodija. Bet šie trīs laikam arī bija labākie no krājuma. Varbūt jālasa oriģinālā - angliski. Ar interesi izlasīju ievadu par to, kas bija Indijas lakstīgala Sarodžīni Naidu.
I like English poetry that follows the Romantic and decadent traditions and I think with Indian imagery it's even better. These poems are very beautiful and lyrical. I couldn't help but notice that the majority of them have to do with women. Persian princesses, village maidens harvesting henna, or mythological figures from Hinduism like Dimayante, etc. I wonder if the focus on traditionally feminine qualities is what led to the success of the book. The introduction is written by one of Naidu's literary mentors Arthur Symons, who she met while studying in England. In my opinion it's not a very good introduction because Symons writes more about how he was captivated by Naidu's physical appearance rather than presenting any critical analysis of her poetry. But the orientalism in the introduction probably suggests that westerners viewed the orient as having feminine qualities. Naidu wrote these for a British audience, so she was probably building on the association between the Orient and feminine qualities. But I still think she was not just writing for the western gaze. She later went on to become a feminist politician in India, but her feminism drew upon Indian traditions rather than western ideologies which led to her success. She frequently used Hindu goddesses and mythological women as good examples in her speeches. The focus on women's interiority and emotions, and on making even the mundane details of their daily life seem interesting, may be an example of her early feminist leanings.
I like the youthful daring of Naidu's early poems, especially in the first section of this collection. (The book came out when she was about 25!) She has a sure hand with rhyme and this ensures she never has to abandon an image to make an end-word work. (That said, I can't remember the last time I saw a verse which mentioned peridot!) But well over 100 years later, some of these poems come across as a bit too old-fashioned for my taste, particularly those with a courtly setting. She fares best when in a philosophical mode: Death is as real for the young as the old. She felt that then. I feel it now.
Tarry a while, O Death, I cannot die While yet my sweet life burgeons with its spring; Fair is my youth, and rich the echoing boughs Where dhadikulas sing.
Tarry a while, O Death, I cannot die With all my blossoming hopes unharvested. My joys ungarnered, all my songs unsung, And all my tears unshed.
Tarry a while, till I am satisfied Of love and grief, of earth and altering sky; Till all my human hungers are fulfilled, O Death, I cannot die!
Slim collection of poems, which marry Oriental sensibility with the English language. The descriptions were realistic, yet mystical. One got carried along.
“Lamp of my life, the lips of Death Hath blown thee out with their sudden breath; Naught shall revive thy vanished spark . . . Love, must I dwell in the living dark?”
This is not the correct edition for this beautiful 100-page collection printed in 1928, so you may have to get yourself to the Portland Public Library to read it.