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Out of Syllabus: Poems
'Sumana Roy is one of the most original writers in Indian English today, whose writing easily slides out of the clutches of genres.'-- The Indian Express
'"Every relationship is a long-distance relationship," we read in one of Sumana Roy's intriguing new poems. Out of Syllabus brilliantly anatomizes those relationships, viewing them from every disciplinary chemistry, physics, biology, geography, history, botany--and finally art. The result is a dazzling dissection of love, longing, and loss in all their conflicting moods and moments. Roy's images and metaphors are as enigmatic as they are precise. However private and personal her subjects, Roy maintains an aesthetic distance, wit and verbal control that recalls Sylvia Plath--but a Plath less angry, wiser--even philosophical. This is a very special book--one that deserves a wide readership.'
--Marjorie Perloff, Emeritus Professor, Stanford University
'Sumana Roy's wonderful book of poems, Out of Syllabus , combines rational ordering with the "unreason" of striking figures of speech. The rational ordering lies in the naming of sections as items in a comprehensive "History", "Chemistry", "Physics" and so on. The striking figures of speech are everywhere in these poems. They give "out" in the book's title a negative as well as a positive meaning. These metaphors are often coupled to what they figure by way of a key word in Out of Syllabus "is." But you must read these powerful and challenging poems for yourself, dear reader, to get a feeling for what they are like and for what they mean as unique poetic experiences.'
--J. Hillis Miller, Distinguished Research Professor Emeritus, University of California at Irvine
'"Every relationship is a long-distance relationship," we read in one of Sumana Roy's intriguing new poems. Out of Syllabus brilliantly anatomizes those relationships, viewing them from every disciplinary chemistry, physics, biology, geography, history, botany--and finally art. The result is a dazzling dissection of love, longing, and loss in all their conflicting moods and moments. Roy's images and metaphors are as enigmatic as they are precise. However private and personal her subjects, Roy maintains an aesthetic distance, wit and verbal control that recalls Sylvia Plath--but a Plath less angry, wiser--even philosophical. This is a very special book--one that deserves a wide readership.'
--Marjorie Perloff, Emeritus Professor, Stanford University
'Sumana Roy's wonderful book of poems, Out of Syllabus , combines rational ordering with the "unreason" of striking figures of speech. The rational ordering lies in the naming of sections as items in a comprehensive "History", "Chemistry", "Physics" and so on. The striking figures of speech are everywhere in these poems. They give "out" in the book's title a negative as well as a positive meaning. These metaphors are often coupled to what they figure by way of a key word in Out of Syllabus "is." But you must read these powerful and challenging poems for yourself, dear reader, to get a feeling for what they are like and for what they mean as unique poetic experiences.'
--J. Hillis Miller, Distinguished Research Professor Emeritus, University of California at Irvine
- GenresPoetry
138 pages, Paperback
First published March 10, 2019
4 people are currently reading
111 people want to read
About the author
Sumana Roy
14 books81 followersSumana Roy writes from Siliguri, a small town in sub-Himalayan Bengal.
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Displaying 1 - 9 of 9 reviews
December 9, 2019
This is a beautiful collection of poems. Sumana writes so sensitively that you are left marveling at the kind of response that it evokes.
My complete review has appeared in the literary magazine Kitaab here.
Out of Syllabus
My complete review has appeared in the literary magazine Kitaab here.
Out of Syllabus
October 13, 2019
A gorgeous, gorgeous collection.
"Marriage, you once said, was a comedy of manners,
and only that. It's the way you rest the fork on
your breakfast plate: an embalmed gesture
of a lifetime, like yawning is to boredom.
I disagreed again.
It's the steam from the teacup-
only cold will give birth to the display of heat.
And so anger and vapour: now both lost lottery tickets."
-from The Third Is a Betrayal, Mathematics
"Marriage, you once said, was a comedy of manners,
and only that. It's the way you rest the fork on
your breakfast plate: an embalmed gesture
of a lifetime, like yawning is to boredom.
I disagreed again.
It's the steam from the teacup-
only cold will give birth to the display of heat.
And so anger and vapour: now both lost lottery tickets."
-from The Third Is a Betrayal, Mathematics
March 17, 2019
Without a doubt the most original poetry collection in English to have come out of India in decades. The style, the language, the use of metaphors, the imagination, the raw emotions, everything is superlative. A book I'll return to all my life. Even more beautiful than How I Became a Tree which is one of the best books I've read in my life.
May 4, 2021
Sumana Roy is slowly becoming one of my favorite writers. Anything by her, I know I am in for a treat. There is no holding back, there is always something that's overwhelming and she brings it all in with a gentle quietness. Its almost impossible to escape this bizarre web.
This collection is one such web where she weaves stories, anecdotes, nostalgia under the guise of subjects one would study in school. Are you lonesome tonight? is carefully categorized under "Physics", perhaps a unique poem in this collection that contains the summary of the running theme in itself but it is the subtle tinge of angst and emotions that is sporadically strewn about, as in, a cage monsoon or you are its pillow at the end of a bed , and so forth. (This is just one poem!
There is a gentle one - my nephew grows into Verbs, which is an aunt seeing her nephew's growing curiosity and, well, everything that encompasses from a child's eyes. There is an undercurrent of sadness of growing up, the cheekiness disappearing into a matured response, but for now - there is an innocence into growing all things.
I think Adult is a bit of a miss, though I quite enjoyed it. There is perhaps a story there, a betrayal or a heartbreak that comes with this...thing, but I see it, I see that its under "Moral Science".
Quite enjoyable collection that made me pause and savor some poems more than once. The approach is contemporary and her voice, distinct.
This collection is one such web where she weaves stories, anecdotes, nostalgia under the guise of subjects one would study in school. Are you lonesome tonight? is carefully categorized under "Physics", perhaps a unique poem in this collection that contains the summary of the running theme in itself but it is the subtle tinge of angst and emotions that is sporadically strewn about, as in, a cage monsoon or you are its pillow at the end of a bed , and so forth. (This is just one poem!
There is a gentle one - my nephew grows into Verbs, which is an aunt seeing her nephew's growing curiosity and, well, everything that encompasses from a child's eyes. There is an undercurrent of sadness of growing up, the cheekiness disappearing into a matured response, but for now - there is an innocence into growing all things.
I think Adult is a bit of a miss, though I quite enjoyed it. There is perhaps a story there, a betrayal or a heartbreak that comes with this...thing, but I see it, I see that its under "Moral Science".
Quite enjoyable collection that made me pause and savor some poems more than once. The approach is contemporary and her voice, distinct.
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June 27, 2020This book is a small miracle. I'm attaching my favorite poem here, hoping it will be enough to induce the potential reader to grab a copy of the book.
Biraha
Love makes of everyone
a parent. All distances
seem too long, all moments
a first-aid kit on call.
Time becomes a zoo –
our past a caged animal.
Love is an accent
that needs practice.
Where are you?
This – this life’s grass,
the unread books,
secret tickets,
moon and brass –
needs a room
with shadows.
Come. Come home.
This distance isn’t safe anymore.
I feel bereft,
I watch my nails grow,
I become my own prison.
How do you sleep
without your pillow?
I see myself turn
into a weekend,
into ellipses,
into your likeness.
You are my paperweight,
holding me back from air.
Once you tampered
with my restraint,
put my goodbyes in orbit.
Now I’m at war with aloneness,
like the lost shoe of a pair.
Without you, I am nothing.
I’m a winter month,
hawking darkness at the fair.
These letters I write to you,
these dolls of trance,
turn you into new ghosts,
our love into a séance.
Why this absence,
these cruel vowels
that keep you away?
This love, this need for friction –
skin and bristles, teeth’s tentacles –
is superstition? This is death
if there is death at all.
These tears, these long solstices
are love’s pension.
And you’ll still say that biraha
is only the fourth dimension?
Biraha
Love makes of everyone
a parent. All distances
seem too long, all moments
a first-aid kit on call.
Time becomes a zoo –
our past a caged animal.
Love is an accent
that needs practice.
Where are you?
This – this life’s grass,
the unread books,
secret tickets,
moon and brass –
needs a room
with shadows.
Come. Come home.
This distance isn’t safe anymore.
I feel bereft,
I watch my nails grow,
I become my own prison.
How do you sleep
without your pillow?
I see myself turn
into a weekend,
into ellipses,
into your likeness.
You are my paperweight,
holding me back from air.
Once you tampered
with my restraint,
put my goodbyes in orbit.
Now I’m at war with aloneness,
like the lost shoe of a pair.
Without you, I am nothing.
I’m a winter month,
hawking darkness at the fair.
These letters I write to you,
these dolls of trance,
turn you into new ghosts,
our love into a séance.
Why this absence,
these cruel vowels
that keep you away?
This love, this need for friction –
skin and bristles, teeth’s tentacles –
is superstition? This is death
if there is death at all.
These tears, these long solstices
are love’s pension.
And you’ll still say that biraha
is only the fourth dimension?
October 9, 2020
This collection of poems hold a special place in my heart especially knowing that it's written by a fellow Bengali. I loved how she portrayed Bengal and all things "bong" with the use of metaphors and her incredibly evocative prose. I actually finished this book in a sitting because I just couldn't stop.
I will recommend it to anyone who wants to read an original collection of poems depicting the life/values/culture/beliefs of India.
So beautiful and so heart-wrenching at times.
I will recommend it to anyone who wants to read an original collection of poems depicting the life/values/culture/beliefs of India.
So beautiful and so heart-wrenching at times.
January 28, 2022
honestly i went in really excited because i'm reading How I Became A Tree and have read her essays and couple poems published online and really liked them but i just couldn't get into this collection. it was just a sea of metaphors and it left me bereft in the middle of each poem struggling to understand what was being conveyed. maybe this style of poetry isn't for me. i did like the division of the book into sections according to subjects taught at school though.
December 25, 2019
Rarely do I read an entire poetry collection in one sitting. Rarer it is for every poem in a collection to sparkle. I had to hold myself back from underlining every phrase. What beauty in these lines, dealing with love and hatred and every other fuzzy thing that lies in the spectrum between the two! Can't wait to re-read it already
January 11, 2026
The poems in this collection were overall well executed yet the chunkiness of the metaphors didn’t escape me. Some of them felt like they were used for the mere sake of being used instead of like concrete imagery chosen with restraint, care and clarity.
Displaying 1 - 9 of 9 reviews