Question

You can scratch my back.
Keki N D
KEKI N DARUWALLA (97) is a poet and shtory when we
born in Lahore, now in Pakistan. His porno hem appeal
sensitivity. One characteristic feature of his poetry concer for man
His collection of poems. The Keeper of the Derved the Sahaya
Akademi Award in 1984.
Comprehension
A Complete these sentences in your own words.
1. The tiger is known for being a
2. The poet uses the word regrettably because
3. At times the tiger is not charged with electricity' means that
4. The stripes on the tiger are referred to as 'black and gold daggers' because
5. The tiger is similar to human beings because both
nswer these questions.​

Answer 1

Answer:

Keki N. Daruwalla belongs to a generation of poets who transformed Indian poetry in English into what it is at its best today: understated, terse, imag­­istic, free from excessive ornamentation, eloquent without being verbose. That does not mean the poets belonged to a ‘movement’ or wrote the same kind of poetry: on the contrary, poets like Nissim Ezekiel, Adil Jussawalla, Dom Moraes, Jayanta Mahapatra, A.K. Ramanujan, Arun Kolatkar, Eunice D’Souza, Kamala Das, Gopal Honnalgere and Keki Daruwa­lla himself were as different from one another as poets could ever be, in their perspective as well as idiom. Nissim Ezekiel, commenting on Daruwalla’s Under ­Orion (Writer’s Workshop, 1970), had observed, “Such a bitter scornful, sati­ric tone has never been heard before”. That tone made him say later that the poet “was born full-grown from the head of some hitherto unrecognised goddess of poetry”. Som­­­­ething of that bitterness still survives in Daruwalla’s poetry, but as Jeet Thayil observes in a note on him in 60 Poets (Penguin, 2008), “In later poe­ms, he tempered his severity with a grudging acceptance of human frailty”.

Naishapur and Babylon, which takes its title from a verse from Omar Khayyam’s Rubaiyat in its Fitzgerald version (Whe­­ther at Naishapur or Babylon,/ Whether the cup with sweet or bitter run,/The wine of life keeps oozing drop by drop,/ The leaves of life keep falling one by one), testifies to Jeet’s observation of the gradual sobering of Daru­wa­lla’s cynicism and even a new awareness of the darkening dusk—perhaps natural to poets like us growing older and lonelier—despite his poetry’s continuous, if ironic, engagement with personal and social histories with their violence and decay, its intimate and sympathetic observation and hearty celebration of nature and its une­rring appeal to our auditory imagination. Anyone who has listened to his strangely dismissive and yet youthfully vigorous reading even once is incapable of forgetting that tone while reading his poems in silent solitude.

The poet is fascinated by the mystery of nature, lost in rain that soft-spears the earth, still not losing sight of the winged world of robins and spotted owls that wait for the rain to end.

Arundhathi Subramaniam, to whom the collection has been dedicated, has a poetic and perceptive introduction that points to Daruwalla’s usual “canvas of panoramic vistas of mountain and steppe, giddy precipice and ocean, often Himalayan, Central Asian or Greek, viewed through the prism of historical imagination” and his “wooded”, “river-­incised” landscape where “the winds are redolent with the scent of medieval voyages, of Egyptian antiquity and Aegean myth”. It is darker landscape now though with birds that are less predatory. The poems take us to Ladakh, where the red-robed monk slows down life “with mumbled prayer that slow-rolls the cylindrical prayer-drum” (What Lights Up...) to the “night-country”, where the goddess is driven under the earth by the long-bearded messiahs who thought she had a hotline to the “manufacturer of stars”, with the result that axe and saw mill work overtime in the groves which were sacred to her and the new generations are afraid of the revelation of “the grain-giver, barely goddess, goddess of word and melody” (In Night Country). The poet has always empathised with women, which he again proves in the poem Naropa’s Wife, about a Tibetan Buddhist saint who left his wife Ni-gu-ma (not unlike Gautama, who had left Yashodhara and Rahula) and went to Kashmir to pursue the saintly path. It is the wife who speaks in the poem. She had felt “the spasms of his coiled silences” even when he revelled in her body, and one day he went away from the ephemera, the illusion of materiality, telling the world women are but beguiling swamp and deception: He took the road/ I took the goat track to solitude./But my solitude was not ephemera (Naropa’s Wife).

But there are moments when the poet is fascinated by the sheer mystery of nature, lost in rain that soft-spears the earth and comes out with tuber-memory, still not losing sight of the winged world of magpie robins and spotted owls that wait for the rain to end (Rain), or in watching the black-necked cranes coming like a dark cloud from Tibet, sensing their kins

Answer 2

Answer:

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