A friend introduced me to the world of CHOMAN HARDI and KAJAL AHMED both Kurdish poets . Though both are brilliant , Choman Hardi ( Born 1974 ) impressed me more . She is a poet , painter and a superb translator.
Born in Iraqi Kurdistan just before her family fled to Iran, Her father Ahmed Hardi was also a noted Kurdish poet. In 1993, Hardi was granted refugee status in England where she went on to study Psychology and Philosophy and completed doctoral research at the University of Kent in Canterbury on the mental health of Kurdish women refugees. She lives in England . Her poems chart lives of displacement , repression and the subjugation of women, family love, flight and survival.
About her poetry noted Hungarian Scholar and poet George Szrites says
“ Choman Hardi’s poems tell of tragedy, war, persecution and dispersal, but are far more than simple summoning of facts. The grace and rhythm of the telling – the singing of it – moves the poems beyond reportage. There is a kind of tranquility and civilization in the voice which heals as it weeps: the tears are not those of self-pity but those of ageless lamentations, caught freshly here, formed into fresh shapes. Pity there is, but the poetry is not in the pity: the pity is in the poetry ”
Two poems of this brilliant poetess that have become my Favourite are as under ..
1
(At the border, 1979)
“It is your last check-in point in this country!”
We grabbed a drink-
soon everything would taste different.
The land under our feet continued
divided by a thick iron chain.
My sister put her leg across it.
“Look over here,” she said to us,
“my right leg is in this country
and my left leg in the other”.
The border guards told her off.
My mother informed me: We are going home.
She said that the roads are much cleaner.
the landscape is more beautiful
and people are much kinder.
Dozens of families waited in the rain.
“I can inhale home,” somebody said.
Now our mothers were crying. I was five years old
standing by the check-in point
comparing both sides of the border.
The autumn soil continued on the other side
with the same colour, the same texture.
It rained on both sides of the chain.
We waited while our papers were checked,
our faces thoroughly inspected.
Then the chain was removed to let us through.
A man bent down and kissed his muddy homeland.
The same chain of mountains encompassed all of us.
(Choman Hardy )
Poetry of memory and exile: Choman Hardi
2
(My children )
I can hear them talking,
my children,
fluent English and broken Kurdish.
And whenever I disagree with them,
they will comfort each other by saying:
“Don’t worry about mum, she’s Kurdish.”
Will I be the foreigner in my own home?
( Choman Hardi )
And like her poetry , her paintings too are beautiful .
And her father ! Oh Yes The Great Ahmed Hardi. Dr Choman Hardi’s father, Ahmed Hardi was also a renowned Kurdish Poet .
Ahmed Hardi (1922-2006) was born into a family of intellectuals in the City of Sulemani. His name is Ahmad, the son of Hassan Bag Hardi. Ahmed taught and lectured... at the University of Sulemani and later in Salahadin. Modern Kurdish poetry has been significantly influenced by Hardi . He possessed a deep knowledge of Kurdish, Arabic, and Persian literature, particularly classical literature.Hardi produced beautiful poetry through carefully chosen and original words and phrases. His talent for weaving internal melodies into his poetry has led to many of his poems being turned into songs.I find his spoem Lonely secrets very close to Kashmiri Poems and sensibilities . The poem is sadness truthfully redifined . The poem goes as under
LONELY SECRETS
A life of harsh sorrows has killed the butterfly of my desire,
Spilling the wine in the love-glass of my youth
The mist of the bleak days has become so dark,
The love scenes of my heart were cloaked in despair
Lonely nights have smothered the flame of my hope-candle,
The hopeless-hands have strangled the euphoria of my innermost melodies,
And now, exposing the wounds
Of my distressed emotions
I wonder in the mazes of my soul’s wilderness
In the dark nights of my loneliness, I retrace my steps blindly
There is no hand that can rescue me from this abandoned grave
There is no beauty to lend her soft heart for my stressed head
Or to release my exhaustion on her warm lap
My weak eyes gaze bewildered into the dark nights
There are no two vivid eyes to illuminate my avenues
Except for sad wings
And scary nights
There is no light
There is no a single princess who pushes me her desire
Her secrets revives my dying and crumpled talent
Her laughter removes the gloomy fog on my eyes
Keep me content in a way crying baby comfort
Yes, when I listen except for my distressed heart
Which quietly reveals my deep hidden mysteries
There is no sound
Anywhere around
Neither beating of wings nor sighing of breath……..
( Ahmed Hardi Transalated - By Dr Rebwar Fatah from Sorani Kurdish )
So Long so Much...
(Autar Mota )
Tuesday 2nd October 2012 ... Time 11.35 PM ... Good Night
CHINAR SHADE by Autarmota is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 2.5 India License.
Based on a work at http:\\autarmota.blogspot.com\.