Parveen Shakir – ‘coins of my truthfulness’
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Parveen Shakir with her mentor Qasimi whom she called Ammu |
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Young Shakir at a mushaira |
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Fifteen years later Shakir remains intensely popular. Her poetry has been reinterpreted and critics who dismissed her as a poetic lightweight have realized that there was much more to Parveen's poetic vision than just henna-dyed hands |
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Parveen Shakir (1952-1994) has defined the sensibilities of several generations and beyond. At the relatively young age of 42 years, Parveen Shakir died on an empty Islamabad boulevard, as if this was an essential part of her romantic persona. But she had lived a full life where poetry and tragedy intersected each other and became inseparable from her being.
As a young student in high school, I was introduced to Shakir’s romantic poetry, which was best represented by her first collection of poetry ‘Khushbu’. I had won an essay writing competition in Urdu and a delightful award came in the form of this tender volume of poetry. Since then I have always returned to bits and pieces of Khushbu. It may not be according to the cannons of literary theory, but it is spontaneous, fresh and almost dreamlike. Shakir was bearly 24 years old when Khushbu was published and since its first edition, this book has been a best seller wherever Urdu poetry is read or appreciated.
Khushbu turned Shakir into a celebrity. Aside from mushairas, newspapers and public fora, she was ever-present on the Pakistan television, perhaps as its only saving grace during the rigid years of Zia-ul-Haq’s Martial Law. Shakir had a natural talent for public speaking, reciting poetry and just being herself. I remember one monsoon evening in Murree when we were hooked to her presentation on Pakistan’s Independence Day. There was a distinct tenderness in her voice that was in sharp contrast to the platitudes being churned out. Above all she was beautiful. I remember she would read verses from her own work and from the great masters of Urdu poetry with complete ease and immense refinement. In the short period of time that she lived as a poet, Parveen did rather well and was quite prolific. Her later collections comprised Sad Barg (marsh merrygold), Khud Kalami (conversing with one’self), Inkaar (refusal), Maah-e-Tamaam (full moon) and Kaf-e-Aaina (edge of the mirror).
Her raw romanticism runs through her poetry. For instance, yay haseen shaam apni is a love poem of rare beauty; and has always been a favourite of mine. It is composite, taut and melodic; and here is my translation.
This melting evening of ours
Where everything dissolves
The scent of your clothes
The blossoming sprouts of my dreams
A deferred vision, this is
In a little while,
A star will emerge on the horizon
To gaze at you meaningfully…!
Your heart shall then reminisce
The echo of a memory
The tale of a separation,
Of an unfinished moment
Of un-blossomed dreams, things unsaid
We ought to have met
In times, considerate
In pursuit of attainable dreams
On a different sky
On a different earth
We ought to have met
Kuch tu Hawa bhi serd thi
Kuch tu Hawa bhi serd thi, kuch tha tera khayal bhi
Dil ku kushi ke saath saath, hota raha malal bhi
Baat wu aadhi raat ki, raat wu pure Chand ki
Chand bhi ain Chait ka, uss pur tera Jamal bhi
Sub se Nazer bacha ke wu, Mujh ku tha aese dekhta
Aik bar tu ruk gayi, Gardish e Mah o Saal bhi...
Abida Sings Shah Latif Bhitai
Naveed Siraj has sent the captioned audio link. The track is originally by Ustaad Manzoor Ali Khan who belongs to the Gwaliar Gharana. The track is called “Khutaa Keenjhar kinaray, tambo tamachee jaam ja” which NS has translated as: “At the banks of (Lake) Keenjhar, the King (Jam Tamachee) puts up the camp”. Here, we can visualise the mighty ruler of the land arriving at the Keenjhar with all the pomp and protocol and is received by poor mohanas. This track as is mesmerising.
While taking me through the audio journey, I learnt about Khuta Kinjhar kin (The King puts up camp at Keenjhar). This is Shah Latif’s Sur Nooree-Jam-Tamachee & it is simply describing the scene of the King Jam Tamachee falling for the simple fisherwoman Nooree.
So it starts with Shah giving voice to Nooree who cries out to the Samoo King "You are the supreme lord, I, a lowly fisherwoman, full of blemishes, pray do not foresake me and turn your back on me in view of our abject poverty.
Abida Parveen’s magic – Sufi music at its best
Someone once said Abida Parveen is not a singer or an artist... she is an experience..... her voice and expression takes you to a different universe... when she collaborated with India's ace filmmaker, poet, artist, revivalist, musician and activist Muzaffar Ali the result had to be something divine ... something out of ordinary, something that transcends all boundaries... it was purest of the pure Raqs-e-Bismil (dance of the injured)... totally unforgettable and soulful ... In Abida's own words Raqs-e-Bismil has the glow of Almighty in it...one can become wali by listening to it.... sufi poetry has a magic that is beyond any explanation, any comprehension ... it fascinates me as each time it takes me into a new realm of discovery.
I am sharing my favorite ghazal from the album with translation... although each piece is a priceless gem yet this ghazal has the power to take you beyond yourself. Abida is at her best here.
The English translation is done by Muzaffar Ali himself.
Hairat mara ze har do jahan be niaz kard
Een khab kaare daulat e bedaar meekunad
(Rumi)
Bewilderment has absolved me of both the worlds
This is the consequence of awakening from my dreams
Khuli jab ki chashm e dil e hazeen,
to vo nam raha na teri rahi
Hui hairat aisi kuch aankh par ki asar ki be asari rahi
Pari goshe jaan mein ajab nida ki jigar na bejigari rahi
Khabare tahhayyur e ishq sun na junoon raha na pari rahi
Na to tu raha na to main raha jo rahi bekhabari rahi...
(Khamsa by Nazeer Akbarabadi for Siraj Aurangabadi)
The eyes of an anguished heart open...
No longer moist.. Bereft of tears
The perplexed vision
Remained unmoved.. Devoid of response
The soul heard.. An unusual sound
That took the pluck of life away
As wondrous love revealed itself
The fairy vanished..The ecstasy lost
Nor you remained.. Nor I was found
mere oblivion was all there was...
Mujhe bekhudi ye tune bhali chashni chakhayi
Kisi aarzoo ki dil mein nahi ab rahi samayi
O surrender in love,
You have given me a taste that pales all worldliness
No desire remains
In the heart filled with submission
Na hazar hai na khatar hai, na raja hai ne dua hai
Na khayaal e bandagi hai na tamana e khudai
Neither distance nor fear...
neither hope nor prayer
neither thoughts of subjugation
nor desire of godliness
Na muqqam e guftagu hai na mahhall e justaju hai
Na wahan havaas pahunche na khirad ko hai rasai
No place for exchange of words...
no occasion for further quest
Where neither consciousness reaches
nor thoughts transcend its realm
Na makin hai ne makan hai na zameen hai ne zaman hai
Dil e be nava ne mere jahan chhavni hai chayi
No one resides..Neither habitation exist...
Is where this wandering heart has come to camp
Na visaal hai na hijraan na suroor hai na gham hai
Jise kahiye khwab e ghaflat so woh neend mujh ko aayi
Where there is no union... No separation
no sorrow... no joy
What is said to be an endless oblivion
I enter such a slumber
(Hazrat Shah Niaz)
Another video below
Abida Parveen sings Bulleh Shah’s teray ishq nachaya..
As I recited Bulleh Shah's poetry this evening, a friend sent a link to another video of Abida Parveen singing Bulleh's mystic poetry in her inimitable style. Lo and behold, I also found an online translation of the verse:
Here is a translation of the verse rendered in this video:
O Physician, come back! my life is ebbing away.
Compelled by love, I dance, I dance.
This love has set up camp inside me.
It is I, who filled the cup with this poison and drank it.
Come back right away, else, I will surely die.
Compelled by love, I dance, I dance.
The sun has set, its glow remains.
Grant me a sight of you again! I would die for it!
What a mistake I made, not going with you.
Compelled by love I dance, I dance.
Mother do not bar me from this love.
Whoever turns back unloaded boats that have left?
How foolish I was, not going with the boatman.
Compelled by love I dance, I dance.
Peacocks sing in the groves of love.
My beautiful beloved is my Ka'ba, my Qibla.
He injured me, then turned away.
Compelled by love I dance, I dance.
Bullhe Shah, I sit at Inayat's door,
He clothed me in robes of green and red.
When I stamped my heel, I found him.
Compelled by love I dance, I dance.
(and now the video).
Here is the source of translation
For another version of Punjabi and English, please click here.
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