Subhash Jairth
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George Orwell’s Elephant & Other Essays 1 exemplaar
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There are three parts to this slim volume from Subhash Jaireth. The first is a prose piece called 'Moscow—1974: Oratorio in Two Voices'. This is a curious title because an oratorio has a large cast of orchestra, choir and soloists, but unlike an opera it's performed without costumes or scenery. This prose oratorio seems to be a lament for a very special friendship.
In brief half page episodes, the reader discovers Moscow under the Soviets, when one could have a casual conversation with someone who had driven his tank all the way to Berlin, when a nurse sharing a photo could reveal that one of the people in it was killed aged 19 by a roadside mine. Where one might play a violin polonaise by Schubert on a tram and receive a carnation in thanks. Where Kuznetskii Most, is recalled as the street where Mayakovskii begged the fallen horse to get on its feet.
(Which sends me on a Google search about this futurist poet, discovering a monumental piece of Soviet statuary to Mayakovskii erected despite his conflicted relationship with the Soviets, and probably carved from the rubble of the Christ the Saviour Cathedral demolished by the Soviets in 1931. (Since rebuilt. The Spouse and I visited it when we were in Russia in 2012). I also found an excruciating translation of the poem about the horse!)
Where this couple are afflicted by the same sickness the name of which is Chagall. Where the famous Tsar-Kolokol bell, forever silent, leads one voice to say:
This is a meeting of the minds, such a rare and special phenomenon when it happens... a gift of friendship referenced in an allusion to a painting by the Lithuanian painter, composer and writer Mikalojus Konstantinas Čiurlionis. This section concludes with a resolution to say no more.
The next part consists of improvisations on the theme of ageing, ignited by Japanese Haiku. TBH, haiku rarely moves me. This one, by Kobayashi Issa, is in a piece entitled 'Ngambri (Black Mountain), Walking with Kobayashi Issa's Snail:
Maybe I'm missing something, but it doesn't strike me as in any way profound that a snail would take a while to climb Japan's highest mountain. But Jaireth is a poet and he responds to it with finesse, making something of it that had eluded me....
To read the rest of my review (and see the images) please visit https://anzlitlovers.com/2021/06/14/aflame-by-subhash-jaireth/… (meer)
In brief half page episodes, the reader discovers Moscow under the Soviets, when one could have a casual conversation with someone who had driven his tank all the way to Berlin, when a nurse sharing a photo could reveal that one of the people in it was killed aged 19 by a roadside mine. Where one might play a violin polonaise by Schubert on a tram and receive a carnation in thanks. Where Kuznetskii Most, is recalled as the street where Mayakovskii begged the fallen horse to get on its feet.
(Which sends me on a Google search about this futurist poet, discovering a monumental piece of Soviet statuary to Mayakovskii erected despite his conflicted relationship with the Soviets, and probably carved from the rubble of the Christ the Saviour Cathedral demolished by the Soviets in 1931. (Since rebuilt. The Spouse and I visited it when we were in Russia in 2012). I also found an excruciating translation of the poem about the horse!)
Where this couple are afflicted by the same sickness the name of which is Chagall. Where the famous Tsar-Kolokol bell, forever silent, leads one voice to say:
We are damaged like the bell, you say, and point to the large bronzy wound gaping at us without mercy or remorse.
This is a meeting of the minds, such a rare and special phenomenon when it happens... a gift of friendship referenced in an allusion to a painting by the Lithuanian painter, composer and writer Mikalojus Konstantinas Čiurlionis. This section concludes with a resolution to say no more.
No compulsion to remember or forget. Let the unsaid remain unasked, untranslated, untouched.
The next part consists of improvisations on the theme of ageing, ignited by Japanese Haiku. TBH, haiku rarely moves me. This one, by Kobayashi Issa, is in a piece entitled 'Ngambri (Black Mountain), Walking with Kobayashi Issa's Snail:
o snail
ever so slowly climb
Mount Fuji.
Maybe I'm missing something, but it doesn't strike me as in any way profound that a snail would take a while to climb Japan's highest mountain. But Jaireth is a poet and he responds to it with finesse, making something of it that had eluded me....
To read the rest of my review (and see the images) please visit https://anzlitlovers.com/2021/06/14/aflame-by-subhash-jaireth/… (meer)
Readers may remember one of my favourite books from last year was by the same author: Spinoza's Overcoat, Travels with Writers and poets by Subhash Jaireth... well, Incantations is a book in a similar vein. It's a series of short meditations on artworks, most of which are portraits in the National Portrait Gallery, each one accompanied by a full copy reproduction of the work in question. Many of them are portraits of writers, so of course I liked those ones best.
But lest you think I am too utterly predictable, I'm going to start with the first portrait, Geoffrey Gurrumul Yunupingu (2009) by Guy Maestri. Take a look at it here. Subhash titles his thoughts about this portrait 'Melancholy, and it begins like this:
These words encourage to reader to look carefully at the portrait, to linger over the way light illuminates it. To consider the way melancholy drips off the painted linen like drops of dense dark honey.
As I read my way through the book I began to think about the ways portraitists convey the identity of the sitter, and came back to this portrait. The head-and-neck portrait fills the whole space and there is nothing to indicate that Gurrumul had one of the most beautiful voices ever recorded. I like this artist's confidence that we know this without needing to be told. And I like the colour palette, which like Evert Ploeg's portrait of Deborah Mailman (1999) signifies the relationship that Indigenous people have with the land. The piece about the Mailman portrait is aptly called 'Luminous' and I like the way Subhash's powerful words draw attention to symbols we might otherwise miss:
Skipping ahead to the portraits of authors, I am spellbound by the one of Stella Bowen whose autobiography I read last year.
To read the rest of my review please visit https://anzlitlovers.com/2021/04/09/incantations-by-subhash-jaireth/… (meer)
But lest you think I am too utterly predictable, I'm going to start with the first portrait, Geoffrey Gurrumul Yunupingu (2009) by Guy Maestri. Take a look at it here. Subhash titles his thoughts about this portrait 'Melancholy, and it begins like this:
Melancholy. It is all about the eyes. Their absence, in fact. The face hides them, unwilling to reveal them. This reluctance makes their presence even more immediate; more urgent. I am drawn to them; look for them. But they are hidden, enclosed underneath the canopy of ridges, donning the thin eyebrows. The eyes concealed in cave-like sockets.
Painted with thin washes of oil and glazed patiently, the portrait emits light, which is muted and borrowed from the light falling on it. (p.3)
These words encourage to reader to look carefully at the portrait, to linger over the way light illuminates it. To consider the way melancholy drips off the painted linen like drops of dense dark honey.
As I read my way through the book I began to think about the ways portraitists convey the identity of the sitter, and came back to this portrait. The head-and-neck portrait fills the whole space and there is nothing to indicate that Gurrumul had one of the most beautiful voices ever recorded. I like this artist's confidence that we know this without needing to be told. And I like the colour palette, which like Evert Ploeg's portrait of Deborah Mailman (1999) signifies the relationship that Indigenous people have with the land. The piece about the Mailman portrait is aptly called 'Luminous' and I like the way Subhash's powerful words draw attention to symbols we might otherwise miss:
The hessian canvas comes from bales of wool. It shows signs of wear and tear. Its rough surface is stained and holed but some letters and numbers stencilled on it have survived. They sit together with other letters and words painted by the artist. DM is one of them, as is the word CLASS, inverted and pushed behind Mailman's right arm. Not far from her right shoulder, just above the six figure number, is a tiny map of Australia, stencilled in black. It is so small that it can be easily missed, but when the eyes start looking at the numbers, it shows itself immediately. 'Made in Australia' it says, and as soon as these words are uttered, history pours out of the painting. (p.8)
Skipping ahead to the portraits of authors, I am spellbound by the one of Stella Bowen whose autobiography I read last year.
To read the rest of my review please visit https://anzlitlovers.com/2021/04/09/incantations-by-subhash-jaireth/… (meer)
A week or so ago, Ivor Indyk drew attention in an essay published by the Sydney Review of Books to the problem that bedevils writers and publishers of books in markets that don't value the unusual or different. Discussing two of my favourite Australian authors Brian Castro and Nobel-nominee Gerald Murnane, Indyk pointed out that even when the books of these authors win prizes that recognise their brilliance, sales are low and publication is unprofitable.
And yet, writers of such books persist, and so do their publishers, bringing pleasure to those of us who like to read outside our comfort zones, and perhaps staking a claim to longevity. Because at the end of the day, it is not the easy-to-read bestsellers that appeal to the mainstream that will be remembered in the future, it is the books that challenge us.
Spinoza's Overcoat, published by Transit Lounge, falls into this category. It is a book that will appeal to poets, and to writers and readers of certain kinds of books. Certain kinds of travellers will love it too: compared to Jaireth my pilgrimages to bookish sites are Homage Lite, but I loved reading about his travels to places that matter to me because of the authors who were once there.
To read the rest of my review please visit https://anzlitlovers.com/2020/03/08/spinozas-overcoat-travels-with-writers-and-p...… (meer)
And yet, writers of such books persist, and so do their publishers, bringing pleasure to those of us who like to read outside our comfort zones, and perhaps staking a claim to longevity. Because at the end of the day, it is not the easy-to-read bestsellers that appeal to the mainstream that will be remembered in the future, it is the books that challenge us.
Spinoza's Overcoat, published by Transit Lounge, falls into this category. It is a book that will appeal to poets, and to writers and readers of certain kinds of books. Certain kinds of travellers will love it too: compared to Jaireth my pilgrimages to bookish sites are Homage Lite, but I loved reading about his travels to places that matter to me because of the authors who were once there.
To read the rest of my review please visit https://anzlitlovers.com/2020/03/08/spinozas-overcoat-travels-with-writers-and-p...… (meer)
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Though the essays in George Orwell's Elephant and Other Essays range across all kinds of thorny contemporary issues, there is a calm wisdom and generosity of spirit in his approach. It's a pleasure to read these thoughtful essays and reflect on his musings: they are intellectually stimulating but also inclusive in their focus and non-judgemental in their conclusions.
The titular first essay 'George Orwell's Elephant' explores aspects of Orwell's life while interrogating the way he recycled elements of his own experiences, so that biographers struggle to untangle the threads from real life and fiction. While others might trawl around Orwell's personal life for some axe to grind, Subhash stumbled into this essay topic almost by accident. He was in England doing research for a future book, featuring Proby Cautley (1802-1871), the English engineer responsible for the Ganges Canal, a benign piece of infrastructure in British Colonial India. But he was sidetracked... by a serendipitous acquaintanceship with a Burmese Buddhist monk called Thant San, who was on a kind of literary pilgrimage to Orwell while trying to reconcile contradictory aspects of his character.
Subhash finds himself comparing the attitudes of these agents of the colonial empire, separated not just by decades but by their beliefs about colonialism.
The title 'George Orwell's elephant' is derived from Orwell's essay 'Shooting an Elephant' which you can read here, and this elephant also turns up in his first novel Burmese Days (1934) which I read forever ago during my second Orwell phase. Subhash's essay begins like this:
The essay 'Like a Stranger in Delhi' explores the experience of 'going back', which is common — and yet unique — for those of us who have migrated from another homeland. I say 'another' because having two (or more than two) 'homelands' is not unusual. Some feel 'torn' between them, others enjoy their complementary or contrasting aspects. Subhash writes about how our memories can trick us, and about how our mental maps are a mindscape not necessarily reliable. Maps...
To read the rest of my review please visit https://anzlitlovers.com/2024/05/23/george-orwells-elephant-and-other-essays-202...… (meer)