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Buttar is a sensitive poet of delicate phenomena of life
articulated through succinct phrases and structures. In the poem
Sama (time), he says, Mai sama han.../Maut ton baad
hi/Shanakhat karanga shakhas di/...Mere kol kujh fikar ne/...
Khushaam-deed/Bahut pichhe chhad aia han." (I am time
and I give recognition only after one’s demise. I carry loads
of worries and have left all warm greetings far behind). The
time then finds that its movement has gone awry in the present.
Therefore, it has flooded the earth with acid rain and turned
the rivers into sandy expanses. The birds and flowers are
struggling for survival. The poet is piqued by those who
permanently display "good bye" on their doors. He
states, "Ghanti vajdi hai/kutta bhonkda hai/talkhian ‘ch
khulde ne buhe/Bechainian ‘ch band hunde ne/Maryada/ Rahu-reet/Rivaz/Sabh
purane gharan dia vastan." (The bell rings and the dog
barks. The doors open and close in a huff. Conventions, customs
and traditions are relics of the past now.) The poet rues the
change in attitude and vision of the present generation when
sympathy, love, affection, respect and reverence are treated
like muck.
Samadhi
(trance) is one of the best poems in this collection. The poet
in this poem gives a description of the state of mind in samadhi.
"Samadhi ’ch.../Khulian hundian ne akhan/Palkan band
hundian ne/Samadhi ‘ch.../Adikh rahan de/Safar te hunde han/...Smadhi
’ch /Dukhan da/Sukh bhog rahe hunde han.../Smadhi ’ch Asin
sach naal/khare hunde han/...Smadhi/shabad di/chupp kitab hai/Smadhi.../Shrishti
nu/Drishti vand di hai/...smadhi kade smadh nahi bandi." (The
eyes are open though eyelids are closed in trance and one is on
a perpetual peregrination along unseen paths...one draws peace
and pleasure from pain in trance while standing by one’s true
self. Trance is a silent book of the world that lends vision to
creation and it never becomes a tomb.) From meditation and
trance the poet rises and moves in the world shod in wooden
sandals (khrhawan) like the sages of the yore. The wandering
sadhus have no particular destination. The wooden sandals join
words with wanderings that unleash illuminating dialogues
leading to an awakening of consciousness. The poet avers, "Khrhawan...siran
wale pairan lai hundian/... Khrhawan.../Kujh ku pairan lai
hundian." (Wooden sandals are meant for feet with
heads, the chosen few that are always on the move.) They are a
symbol of movement from one stage of consciousness to another.
A few poems in
this collection reflect on war. The poet says: "Jang de
dinan ‘ch/Raat tan hundi hai/Din varga kujh nahin hunda.../Jang
da/koi dharam nahin hunda/jang khoh lainda/Sade sukh...chain...aaram/
Puttan wang paalian ichhawan Rukhan wang katt dinda/ Swedna de
dive bujhaunda... /Fiza ‘ch barud gholda." (There is
only night in the time of war, nothing like day is left. War has
no belief or faith. It robs us of our peace, comfort and repose.
It chops our much-cherished desires like trees in the forest are
hacked. It blows out the lamps of sensitivity and dissolves the
stink of gunpowder in the wind.) The poet goes on in the same
vein. He states that war is a tale inscribed by smutty times on
the fare breast of the mute earth. In the days of war man is
minus man and he starts using an alien lingo. After the last
war, the poet believes, "perched on a heap of ashes,
eternal night will celebrate the death of man." Darshan
Buttar is very sensitive to his surroundings though he never
lets his emotions get the better of him.
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THERE
has been an intense debate in the Punjabi world of letters about the
nature of poetry, particularly the prosodic problems associated with
rhyme, patterns of sounds and beats. Free verse was not accepted by
Punjabi poets in the early years of the 20th century despite Prof.
Puran Singh’s contribution to this genre. Even in the modern times
the most celebrated Punjabi poets like Prof. Mohan Singh, Shiv Kumar
Batalvi and Surjit Pattar owe their popularity to lyricism, which
their verses exude in abundance.
