Winter Poems by Sabarna Roy is a collection of poetry divided into two parts, one of which comprises 12 long poems—Winter Poems 2010 and the other consists of 26 relatively shorter poems—Winter Poems 2012. As I often keep referring to Margaret Atwood’s words in my reviews, here too, I would say that once the book is out in the world, it’s the readers who decide the meaning of whatever is written. Sabarna Roy’s poetry in this collection has many layers to it. For some poems, I was able to peel off some layers of them. And for others, I wasn’t able to peel any layers of it, which, as a reader felt sort of frustrating that I couldn’t decode as in what hidden secrets or meanings I was missing on. In the following section, I have tried to convey what it felt like while reading this collection and I apologise already in case I get something wrong.
"This lake, mountain and moon are crumbling images inside a dream
Of another man - somebody else's dream - his last dream
Before he's dying drenched in a jelly of melancholy."
-From Winter Poems 2010 (no. 8, p-25)
I wouldn’t like to categorise these poems into distinct watertight compartments because the poems are spread across such a large canvas that it wouldn’t be fair to put tags on them. They each cater to many diverse and varied subjects or issues. Some of the many subjects that occur repeatedly are death, condemnation of industrialisation, impending war, love, being lost, childhood, games, loss, inequality, and the end of the world.
For instance, the poet implicitly delivers the truth of death in a really creative way using figurative language and symbolism. ‘Shop in town…that sells your shadow’, ‘people are losing their shadows’, ‘a teenage girl hanging…in the air’ and ‘virus of light’—these are some of the usages of metaphorical and allegorical writing that add an unpleasant and poignant effect which helps depict the death. There is this amazing poem that I’d love to title ‘Love on the Road’ which powerfully defines a notion of home and what ‘home’ should be like. Which also simultaneously exudes emotions like loneliness, jealousy and challenges our decaying and cheap definitions of affection and sensuality.
"You are the face of an ocean where I can drown endlessly
In my burning boats of thousand defeats."
-From Winter Poems 2012 (no. 1, p-35)
The one starting with ‘Glasses and utensils fell from the sky’ which is also the longest poem from the lot is my favourite too. Here, the poet uses poetic devices like hyperbole to create a dream-like world, giving it a dramatic effect and using an analogy, connecting it to the real world in a way that blurs the line between the two. The dreamy world is being inflicted with havoc as the narrator’s life is being destroyed. Another poem ‘Dream of a Dying Man’, is simply commendable. I am in awe of how magnificently Sabarna Roy has brought together surreal elements having nightmarish qualities.
The ‘Grassland Island’ poem challenges our notion of home again in a crooked manner. The poet uses allusion and symbolism to such an extent that it breaks its bond with reasoning; you just need to savour each line as you read while the narratives are turned and twisted at every other stanza. Moving onto the second part of relatively short poems, the poetic devices remain pretty much the same and the patterns continue. The poet has used the dreamy and illusory elements to their full potential. It feels as if the intensified emotions are being let out in a hauntingly creative and evocative manner.
"Before I passed out and became sediment of ashes I saw a dream of billion coffins made of trees, metal and hydrocarbon fibres carrying unbundled skeletons of men, women, children and babies ballooning up in a smoke-filled sky."
-From Winter Poems 2010 (no.7, p-24)
There is gambling, there are ships, there is the writing of a book, there is the debris of a railway bridge, there are heaps of iron scrapings made out of crumbled ships and deluxe cars, there is a king travelling over the oceans on a speeding train and much more. Some of the poems followed this pattern (which I loved reading again and again) that made sense to me, while some of them did not make sense to me and felt absurd. As I mentioned earlier that once the book is out in the market, readers give it the meaning and here I just couldn’t do that. One thing that bothered me was that the poet chose vast canvases to paint his poetry that covered widely separated elements, which resulted in a disconnect with poetry and in itself.
