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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.
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.
Nunca he sido una gran fan de la poesía, pero sospecho que la razón de ello era el no haber encontrado un poemario que me cautivara. Para conocer, hay que explorar. Y un hermoso conjunto de bonitas circunstancias me llevó hasta "The Golden Threshold". De esta manera, conocí la poesía, le doy gracias a dichas circunstancias. Sarojini Naidu escribe poemas que se ajustan a los temas más recurrentes dentro de este género literario: las emociones en general y el amor en particular, la naturaleza, los sueños, la familia, su patria, la maternidad... En este libro se recogen aquellos poemas que ella sentía más cercanos a su verdadero ser. No obstante, durante su etapa experimental escribió decenas de poemas que acabó destruyendo. Pues le fue dicho que carecían del espíritu que ella debía de encontrar en sí misma, para luego poder plasmarlo con su pluma. Siento cierta curiosidad con respecto a dichos escritos, pues me niego a pensar que no escondieran entre sus letras una parte de, en aquellos tiempos, su joven autora. Algunos de mis favoritos, de esta colección: el amor y la pasión en "The poet's love song". O la esquela a los sueños no cumplidos en "In the forest".
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.