Dewdrops of Dawn
Author: Dilip Mohapatra
Publishers: Authorspress, New Delhi
Pages: 154
Price: Rs. 295/US $ 15
Dewdrops
of Dawns is Dilip Mohapatra’s sixth poetry collection containing seventy poems
on varied themes and in categories such
as narrative, satirical, speculative, spiritual and the like. In the publishers note it is stated that ‘the
poems are expected to cater to the reading pleasure of a wide range of
generations, from the baby boomers to post millennial.” This statement is truly the testament to the
contents of the book. Betty Anne,
Associate Editor at Spillwords Press observes that ‘Each page is etched with sweeping images of
life and death, love and sorrow, beauty and the starkness of reality. ‘
In the title poem The
poet affirms that ‘nothing ever could be fresher and purer than the distilled
tears of joy that the stars shed quietly in the small hours’ and further
juxtaposes the morning reveries to the sublimation of thoughts that condense to
words which then seek their springing base in enthusiasm in the course of which
imagination gets unchained from its erstwhile ‘bondage of hibernation’.
“Thoughts
sublimate
and
condense to form words
and words float with abandon
seeking
the source codes
that
shape really
and
then the flow cascades
down
in exuberance
freeing
the imagination
from
the bondage of hibernation
to
be incarcerated………….”
(page 16)
The poetic excellence
here of putting distilled tears of stars on par with the
condensed thoughts emanating from creative pursuit is fresh as the dewdrops of
dawn and deserves high appreciation.
In
‘Endless Pursuit’, the poet speaks about perseverance as of waves that retrace when sands beneath dissolve and
sink, but the speaker of the poem moves on to firmer grounds not willing to
give in, which goes on and on. This
gives us the hint that for tasting success in life hard work and perseverance are the contributing
factors.
I
trudge along
the
broken hourglasses
 |
| Dilip Mohapatra |
trampling
on
the
sharp and spiked
shards
of memory
sometimes
following
the
much trodden paths’
sometimes
taking
the
roads less travelled
relentlessly
resting
in my
pit
stops once a while
and
get up again
rejuvenated
ad refreshed
to
continue my pursuit…..” (page 18)
Topography
is a wonderful poem describing a wholesome woman, in which the imagery from
nature like damp earth, waves, inundated valleys, volcanoes spewing lava, rivers
of unbounded desires, blind alleys and the like all succinctly conjoined,
wherein the implicit references make it a fresh new experience to the readers.
‘Unbroken’ is a poem explaining the momentous
journey of a dried coconut frond, half-broken, but not detached from its
erstwhile base that hangs limply and the fresh green fronds atop mocking at its
‘pathetic impotence’. The poem takes an unexpected hint as the dried
frond woven into a mat undergoes a second spell of life, when seated on it the priest
offers prayers and it enjoys the tinkles of the bell and the aroma of the joss
sticks in the sanctum sanctorum and the poem here is open to interpretations. (page 20)
In poem titled ‘The Tug of War’, the poet accuses humans who took the world as
hostage, delineated their territories, declared sovereignty, staked claims to
their land, religion and faiths and denied entry to others who may dare to
intrude and here the poet expresses his ire and concludes the negative impact
of all these misdeeds in his inimitable
style, simple yet powerful.
And then it has been all along
a never ending tug of war
between power of love
and love of power. (page 27)
We can all relate to the fact that when
insecurities and uncertainties spreading fast like jungle fire, we scramble for a safe corner, run and run
till we reach our funeral pyre
heaving a sigh of relief that the
run is over. This is the subject matter in the poem ‘Pursuer’ , the concluding
lines of which are so profound and
thought provoking. They sum up the poem
as a whole:
But then you pause a while
and wonder if it is really over
and have you really been free
from your real pursuer
the real predator stalking you
all the while
all your life
which perhaps is no one else
but you
yourself. (page 32)
“The death of the
dawn/ lamented in the breath of the flautist /that dies in the cacophony /of
the morning birds.” These line are an
example of wonderful poetry. ‘Reclusive
Me’ is an inspirational poem which describes ‘Insomnia’ as the phenomenon that overpowers and swallows
the dreams of people; the dreams they
chased, those eluded, goaded or played hide and seek with them, pulled them out
of the doldrums or those made them climb the hills or scale the peaks, but all
these things do not prevent them from pursuing their to do list or drag to downbeat
attitudes and the poet affirms his mindset brimming with positivity , when he
says;
I have a long day
ahead
and my to do list
is full
I got to get
up
and peel off my
images from the mirror
amble out of the
confines of my home
to sweep off my
shadows from the pavement
and to wipe off my
footprints
from the wet sands
and all the traces
that could
prove my existence
and then fade into
eternal anonymity
and lose myself in
the mass
unrecognizable
unidentifiable.
Just another face
in the crowd. (page 37)
The fears of a hypochondriac, i.e. a person excessively preoccupied with
imaginary illness is the theme adopted in poem titled ‘Faceless’. We can come across such people in our
acquaintance, who amble from hospitals to hospitals, doctors to doctors and will
not be satisfied when declared physically fit.
Here the poem is in first person narrative, the tone a bit
satiric, but the subject is not. (page 40)
Natural imagery appeals to the reader's
senses. The imagery in poem titled ‘Filling the
Blanks’ strewn with vivid images from
nature and the personification of some of them like sea, waves and ‘hermit crabs’ all contribute to the feel of
the poem in totality.
The moist rocky ledge
juts into the sea
which plants its liquid kisses
on its insensitive lips
in
tandem with the waves
crashing on the shores
while the hermit crabs
emerge surreptitious only
to hurry back into their holes (page
42)
‘Choosing the
Noose’ is a sensitively penned poem in
first person about Cdr. Kulhushan Jadhav
, who happened to be the naval cadet trained by the author and who became a ‘sacrificial goat’ and was awarded death penalty by a secret Pak
court ‘without trial, without a chance to defend his innocence, waiting for the
lever to be pulled’ , a case that drew
wide media attention. A sample stanza
from this poem is enough to sensitize the readers and make them choke. After reading this poem it is true as envisaged by the poet that ‘somewhere in
some corners few eyes would be moist, few hearts will bleed while his last
breath will mingle with the breaths of the martyrs who died for the country,
but the poet concludes that his heart will continue to beat and he would
continue to live forever, till eternity.
They claim magnanimity
and allow my mother
and wife to meet me
behind the thick glass partition
my mother’s eager arms
that could have hugged me
perhaps for the last time
hang limply and ache
in helpless agony
while I wait on the death row
on the other side
reciting the oft rehearsed
monologue under coercion
admitting my guilt………………” (page 50)
The father in Mohapatra is proud and optimistic about his daughter, Sona, who
is a renowned play back singer as
evident in poem titled Give Me Red (for
Sona) dedicated to Lalparimastani, her ambitious project on music and culture.
Poem ‘Sometimes’ is a look back into one’s bygone times and the thought of undoing
certain things all of us sport one time or the other and other times we just want to ‘allow our
boat to drift ahead lazily, while we rest on the oars’.
Life
is a balance between perfection and imperfection. The realism in ‘Dots and Dashes’ makes one conscious of the importance of the
in-between silences in sounds that truly intoxicate or overpower and make one’s presence felt. The poet
implies here that there is
nothing called hundred percent perfection and
‘it is not all about righteousness, but a little bit of sin, imperfection and mischief, also a little bit
of dust in your eyes in a sanitized room is that makes it what it is’. (page 58)
‘Mind
Over Matter’ is a wonderful poem. Even
though colours in Vibgyor are dispersed through the prism, what one sees is
what his retinae translate or transmit.
Similarly even if the flute melodiously and meticulously creates a
heavenly tune with the seven notes, what one hears is what his ears let him
hear, may be it can turn out to be a riotous rhapsody for somebody. The
poet has this to say that it all depends upon individual tastes and moods or
decided by one’s own sense implying that mind alone matters. (page 67)
Tete-A-Tete is a cute
poem, presented as a narrative between
charcoal and diamond unraveling a
great universal truth in too little
words that where there is no sense of self and one who gives back more than what one receives,
he will be valued and celebrated everywhere.
(page 71)
The humor in poem
Distressed Denims (For Ira) - Ira is his grand-daughter - is pleasantly
enjoyable, not one to miss, and will
bring a smile to the readers . The author and his better half
are eagerly waiting to receive their granddaughter at the airport, who is
travelling alone for the first time. Seeing his grand-daughter’s knees popping out
of the frayed slits on jeans, her
grandma exclaims and screams whether she slipped on the way and torn her pants and injured herself. At this the new-gen girl chuckles and
explains:
“You see folks
this is the latest fashion statement
and
comes in many forms
shredded
frayed
tattered
torn
subtly
ribbed with knee cuts
ripped
and patched
sometimes
with messy ankle rolls …..”
(page 73)
We,
the grown-ups often fail to understand these new-gen fashion
statements, a gap between the generations as they say and is quite common in many households and relatable
to many of us.
Mirror
does not lie at all. Looking at the
mirror, one thinks that he/she is adorable.
As time passes it shows blotches here and there, a face hardened with
time with dark freckles and crows’ feet, but at the same time his/hers
translucent eyes lead them through memories corridor. “Mirror Mirror” is a mirror, mirroring on its screen events parading
backwards and is a good read. The author here is able to take the readers along
with his memory lane and the poem suddenly take a twist to a philosophical
level and concludes thus:
…..till
the sympathetic impact
cracks
you to pieces
for
the good old question
has
lost its relevance
and
you exist no more
to
taunt me
to
scare me
or
to remind me
what
I was
what
I am
and
perhaps what I will be. (page
75)
‘The
Race’ is such a fine piece of poetry that time and again it will make you sit
and think of times, that travels with
us at times with equal pace, at other
times overtaking us taunting us to catch up, some times crawling way behind us,
but the poet cautions us;
“..remember
time
is the worst ever predator
that
you may encounter
for
in due course
it
would pick up speed
to
outrun you and run you over.
It’s
just a matter of time.” (page
87)
This
is a reality many of us tend to overlook.
The
poet in Dilip Mohapatra is concerned about nature, the heedless destruction of
trees by human beings, who can’t hear the cries of trees, makes him own up that
“now is the time perhaps to atone our sins and sacrifice our blood on the
barren land to make it menstruate..” He
hears the trees’ lament:
Trees
you
have been crying since ages
when
you lent your shoots unwillingly
to
be shaped into shafts of arrows
that
drew blood first from your wounds
and
then in many a battles
but
what else could you have done?”
(page 105)
‘My
Wife’s Handbag’ is a lovely poem. The
poet says that it could be ‘the most mysterious black box owned by Pandora, the
inventory of its contents even unknown to its inventor’, which can hold
anything from rabbits to pigeons and she
can pull out almost anything to meet an unexpected need, but the poet never
tries to explore it. The situation
when the poet gets impatient as she
rummages endlessly for a ten rupee note
to pay for a cup of tea is so well put forth in the following lines: The humour
sense here is at its best:
“………and
in my agitation lose control of my rising blood pressure
and
she knows the signs so very well
and
before I could burst a vein or two …..
pulls
out a tablet of Sorbitrate and put it
under
my tongue.” (page
153)
The
ways adopted to understand a poem or entering into the maze of a poem are diverse
from person to person as everyone may not be adept at it. “For the Sake of Poetry” is a study class
aimed at it, one should read it first hand to understand it fully, hence not
quoting from it. So if
the readers are really interested to master this, please go through the
poem. As there is no short-cut for
learning, it is better to learn it from the master himself!! I can only suggest
that you own a copy of the book, sit with it in your cozy corner and enjoy
reading it.
Great works
always stand the test of
times. I have no second thought in
saying that Dilip Mpohapatra’s works will stand the test of times and I wish
him all the best.
