By Sunil Kumar
“Sex is full of lies. The body tries to tell the truth. But, it’s usually too battered with rules to be heard, and bound with pretenses so it can hardly move. We cripple ourselves with lies.”- Jim Morrison
Absinthe, libido, lament, art, creativity. The most visceral and evocative act – sex- and much of sensory experience and art revolves around carnality. Fodder for the muse and the poet. Tantra- one of the most misunderstood Indian traditions also attempts to incorporate the real and the sensual in the search for transcendence.
Pretense and masks are also what most of us don on a daily basis to navigate the world. Prateek’s poetic oeuvre is unusual and original, and ‘Mourning at Cafe Ford’ is a dystopian symphony.
Based on fractured relationships and the disastrous ends of cultural icons such as my personal favourite James Douglas Morrison buried in an obscure grave in Paris’ famous Cimetière du Père-Lachaise(the Pere Lachaise graveyard), Rimbaud, Vincent Van Gogh and the profound Nietzsche rather famous for the ‘God is Dead’ and the ‘Ubermensch’ fascination as well as flipping between Apollo and Dionysus, Prateek’s erudition and imaginative frenzy intrigues the reader.
There are certain poems that appealed to me tremendously. Symbolism and metaphor were interwoven in a complex mosaic- ” The music of a mime, an ugly repertoire The shaman’s blues-bully and riotous Lovers etch maps out of their skin(sic)” . Wagner, Van Gogh’s ‘lust for life’ and Mirza Asadullah ‘Ghalib’ are poignant and resonant notes in this surreal collection.
However, it gets a tad tedious in places and the reader is left wondering. Poetic appraisal and the appreciation of verse is a highly subjective art, and kudos to Mr. Joshi for a very original premise. Like a Matryoshka doll, the poems call for reflection.
The figures chosen are representative of artistic rebellion, madness and the highly spiritual search for transcendence. The poems intoxicate and fascinate, but fall flat in certain places. Punctuation and emphasis is also slightly confusing.
(Spoiler)”Asylum” is a poem that was imaginative and touching.
“No future is set in gloom, Why then make art out of yesterday? Memories leave their own imprints A portrayal of life is often an instructed lie.”
This line was appealing for the “I want to Break Free” vibe(a la Farrokh Bulsara or Freddie Mercury) and the questioning of the status quo.
The ghosts of these artists are revived in full spectral colour, but the book’s homage sometimes feels overwrought. The multiplicity of artistic archetypes sometimes cannot be distinguished from one another, and seem to fall into a ‘single’ class.
Gender identities and digital loneliness are topical and relevant issues- especially in the age of Trump, and the real life dilemmas of these erstwhile artistic greats sometimes do not evoke genuine empathy. The “tortured genius” trope needs to be delved into more. Without straying into political minefields, can we be ‘woke’ enough to the ‘real deal’? Probably the split between self-indulgence and self awareness on the part of the versifier?
To sum up and paraphrase Morrison, and without being untrue, this book did indeed ‘light my fire’ somewhat. And in the words of Mourning at Cafe Ford’s last poem “I do not belong anywhere.. yet I am awake to hear the Nightbird sing.”
