Song of Pebbles (A bilingual edition) –
Translated into French by Marjorie Meetoo
I read last evening the poems of your colourful anthology that attracted my close attention immediately after I had seen it. Photography and poetry are happily blended in the emotive appeal of each and every poem you have written . The Preface is neatly written about what your poems objectify. The natural and inbuilt link between the images and the linguistic symbols you have employed in your poems is intricately inseparable. Often the images are vividly visual. Each and every epithet added to denotative noun words in your poems are very much eye-arresting. Seemingly, I felt,while reading your poems, that I was reading Pre-Raphaelite poetry and enjoying paintings before Raphael.The abundant use of verbal words is conspicuously absent and is spontaneously avoided. The poems are highly readable. I thank you for your contribution to modern Indian English Poetry.
Asoke Kumar Mitra
Asoke Kumar Mitra’s “Song of Pebbles” comes after his first book “Savage Wind”. Both the books of poems are bilingual. The first book was Mitra’s English poems along with their Spanish translations and this, the second one, has Mitra’s English poems along with the French translations done by Marjorie Meetoo. In the Preface to the book Asoke Kumar Mitra writes that his poetry writing passion allows him to “paint images of the world… portraying ideals in my own style and rhythms.” He also acknowledges that poetry is always a “literary accomplishments” and those who are aware of Mitra’s verses will know the truth of the statement through the quality of his poems. Mitra is a poet of the heart; in the poem “Tomorrow” he writes, “Our hearts/ Longing like grass” – words which are so stark and yet profound. In “Stroke of Words” he writes: “In your eyes I find lost manuscripts of my poems.” This sense of loss is universal as well as personal. He writes in “Wings of Darkness”: “Imprissioned between broken flowers/ Memories burnt.” This burning is a passion of the heart that gives birth to poetry. Nowhere it is more appropriately put than in the concluding stanza of the poem “Staircase”:
Insane vagabond heart
Climbed the staircase of night
Touched the tender lust of memory.
Asoke Kumar Mitra finds in the “grey twigs of time” the true poetry of emotions.