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Trust the well-known UK-based poet Amarjit Chandan not to mince words. So, the man, who has only recently translated a biography, Sehaj Prakriti, on eminent painter Paramjit Singh, doesn’t wax eloquent over either the original book Prakrati Aur Prakratish: Paramjit Singh Ki Kala, penned by art critic Vinod Bhardwaj, or the artist. Sure, he hails it as a significant work and Paramjit, according to him, is one of the major artists of the country, the first to paint Punjab’s landscapes. Interestingly, the first ponytail Sikh, too, he adds.
Translation, for the man who has translated the world’s best poets into Punjabi is as creative an endeavour as original writing. No way does he feel it hinders the creative process. "On the contrary, it acts as an impetus, for it opens windows to other cultures, civilisations and thought processes," says he. Right now, he is connecting with other poetic minds through yet another unique project. An arts council-funded audio recording project, which the British Library has undertaken, finds him in the role of a coordinator. The recordings interweave poetry with biographical interviews of the selected bilingual British poets and will be preserved at the British Library. On the need for archiving, he, who is himself working on Punjab’s photographs and photographers, too, is vocal and rues the fact that India does precious little. He remarks, "Indian institutions like the Sangeet Natak Akademi and others are flush with funds but their archival systems, if any, are very poor." In Punjab, however, he is happy that a beginning has been made with a digital library. But on the state of literature and poetry in Punjab, he finds no reason for cheer and avers, "Punjabi poetry completely lacks the Punjabi idiom." On the parameter of "best possible words in the best possible order," he feels except for Surjit Patar, Ajmer Rhode and Navtej Bharti all fall short. No, like many, he is not tempted to say his personal best is yet to come. The period between 1995 and 2005 is the one he considers most creative as well as prolific. So, while he hasn’t stopped writing — his recent book Sonata for Four Hands has just been published by a UK publisher — he is busy bringing out selections sieved out theme-wise from the poetry that he has already written. As the sahit jagat acknowledged his worth long ago and lauded him with many accolades, does he feel the pressure of competing with his own self? He smiles, "Creativity is a mysterious process. You are not on a race track where you fear another competitor will overtake you." But once the pen has been put to paper "blessed be the paper chariot of imagination, soaring to the sky," the critic in him takes over and applies the same exacting standards as he does to others. But then the poet, for whom gurbani and sufi poetry are the ultimate, can’t possibly have an easy yardstick for his own self. For, he knows, "when there was no paper poetry was there, when there was no man poetry was there."
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But great isn’t a word
that he will use for Paramjit. Or, for that matter, for anyone else.
Says he, "We use the epithet of greatness too
indiscriminately." But then who else knows the import of words
better than Chandan, for whom every word has a soul, a character? Not
only does he choose words carefully for his poetry retaining the
authenticity and purity of Punjabi, but even while translating he goes
an extra mile to capture the original flavour. Expectedly, in his poetry
chaste words such as beejak and jaddhan appear time and
again to reinforce his deep abiding ties with his Punjabi roots. In the
translation of Paramjit’s biography he has refrained from using the
dialect of Doaba, to which he belongs, and used the tone of the language
from the region to which the artist hails.