Review of Taming the Tides : Dilip Mohapatra
A decorated navy veteran , Dilip Mohapatra has been writing poetry since the seventies and has penned four poetry collections . Taming the Tides , his fifth poetry collection of 100 poems is spread across 236 pages and is liberally sprinkled with sadness ,memories, nostalgia ,self-introspection , reconciliation , acceptance- and even humour . The book enchants by its simple profundity .
Allow me to give you a whiff of the fragrance of these poems .
In Traces[ p29] , he finds residues clinging
in 'a bit of my fear of the ghosts
that still haunt me once in a while
a bit of your loathing that lurks behind your affable smile' and he hopes to leave behind some residues of himself in his writings.
Not exactly obsessed with Death , but his poems dwell a lot on Death, and through his poems he seems to be bracing himself for that inevitable knock .
In Death is no stranger[ p30] he says that we encounter Death every day , in a plucked flower, in a piece of log burning in the fireplace , in a forgotten tune , in every shriveled leaf , in the deafening silence of indifferent humanity in the face of injustice ,[ this being reminiscent of Marin Luther King jr's famous words ,'In the end , we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends , and in the corpse of one's conscience .hence he reiterates that Death is no stranger.
.In I Feel the Music , [pp151-152] which is one of my favorites in the collection , I found myself swaying to the lyricism of young heartbeats, and I could feel some notes that the lovebirds sang also falling into my ears . He concludes this immensely soothing poem with a subtle reference to Death:
'Now I feel the music
of the cherubic angels
,playing on their harp
..................
.and we wait for another bugler
playing us
the last post
Another of my favorites in the collection , is a poem titled, Reunion , which is a tribute to Nobel Laureate Derek Walcott,[who is my favourite too ] in response to his poem Love after love. [ pp 217-219].
In The walls , he subtly drives home the message of the meaninglessness of boundaries .pp 45-46
In 'Phased Out' , he laments that romanticism , magic and mystery has disappeared out of life , and
'time has lost its rhythm and rhyme
and the moon reduced to
just a vestigial habit' .p 206
The Carter Road Promenade 230 is so powerfully evocative , that I could sense the breeze seducing the reeds and the reef simmering and smouldering in the scorching sun . So visually real , that I found myself almost wanting to photo- bomb a couple taking a selfie with the setting sun in the backdrop!
His poems often reflect the naval background he hails from .Words such a waves , tides , compass, moist shores , uncertain shores, lighthouse ,mariner , quarterdeck, weather-beaten sails etc form very much a part of his poetic vocabulary, which I found quite refreshing.
I really loved the image of the backpacker in the immensely evocative poem , Uncertain Shores[ p 42]
'I pick up my backpack
and my machete
and start hacking the thickets
to make my way through the bushes
not in search of the treasure
that the buccaneers
might have buried
but looking for the shovel
that might have been left behind
to dig my grave and ensure certainty
of those uncertain shores ".
His poems cry against societal injustice and apathy , and shake you b
y the power of his righteous indignation .
In' Another Sabitri' , he very poignantly writes about the impoverished Odia woman Sabitri , who pawns her two sons for her husband's funeral.
'that could take care of the
last rites
and feed for few days
the remaining three.'[ p 185]
In 'Anchorage'[ pp220- 222], he traces his life from the time , he was in the cradle , looking up at the peering faces, to the time he became a schoolkid playing hide and seek, sharing tiffin boxes under mango trees , to the time he boards the local train , jumping headlong into the mad rat race , and then to the moment he hangs his boots , ' coated with a thick layer of sands of time ' it is then that nature beckons , in all its profusion , and finally , he has ample time to feel the fragrance of the petrichor
'while dusting off
the silverfish infested pages
of my old classics.'
I can go on and on about this bonanza of poems, of its richness of imagery , felicity of language and uniqueness of metaphors, He talks of pain and anguish , of sufferings, which he calls' the flip side of joy and bliss ',he talks of his grandma, of the echoes of silence- soft, seductive , slender ,svelte , satiny , and to hear the music of his poems , one has to prick one's ears to the resounding silences , and to soak oneself between the 236 pages of this immensely intriguing and enriching book .
All lovers of poetry will love getting lost in its euphonious majesty .
Allow me to give you a whiff of the fragrance of these poems .
In Traces[ p29] , he finds residues clinging
in 'a bit of my fear of the ghosts
that still haunt me once in a while
a bit of your loathing that lurks behind your affable smile' and he hopes to leave behind some residues of himself in his writings.
Not exactly obsessed with Death , but his poems dwell a lot on Death, and through his poems he seems to be bracing himself for that inevitable knock .
In Death is no stranger[ p30] he says that we encounter Death every day , in a plucked flower, in a piece of log burning in the fireplace , in a forgotten tune , in every shriveled leaf , in the deafening silence of indifferent humanity in the face of injustice ,[ this being reminiscent of Marin Luther King jr's famous words ,'In the end , we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends , and in the corpse of one's conscience .hence he reiterates that Death is no stranger.
.In I Feel the Music , [pp151-152] which is one of my favorites in the collection , I found myself swaying to the lyricism of young heartbeats, and I could feel some notes that the lovebirds sang also falling into my ears . He concludes this immensely soothing poem with a subtle reference to Death:
'Now I feel the music
of the cherubic angels
,playing on their harp
..................
.and we wait for another bugler
playing us
the last post
Another of my favorites in the collection , is a poem titled, Reunion , which is a tribute to Nobel Laureate Derek Walcott,[who is my favourite too ] in response to his poem Love after love. [ pp 217-219].
In The walls , he subtly drives home the message of the meaninglessness of boundaries .pp 45-46
In 'Phased Out' , he laments that romanticism , magic and mystery has disappeared out of life , and
'time has lost its rhythm and rhyme
and the moon reduced to
just a vestigial habit' .p 206
The Carter Road Promenade 230 is so powerfully evocative , that I could sense the breeze seducing the reeds and the reef simmering and smouldering in the scorching sun . So visually real , that I found myself almost wanting to photo- bomb a couple taking a selfie with the setting sun in the backdrop!
His poems often reflect the naval background he hails from .Words such a waves , tides , compass, moist shores , uncertain shores, lighthouse ,mariner , quarterdeck, weather-beaten sails etc form very much a part of his poetic vocabulary, which I found quite refreshing.
I really loved the image of the backpacker in the immensely evocative poem , Uncertain Shores[ p 42]
'I pick up my backpack
and my machete
and start hacking the thickets
to make my way through the bushes
not in search of the treasure
that the buccaneers
might have buried
but looking for the shovel
that might have been left behind
to dig my grave and ensure certainty
of those uncertain shores ".
His poems cry against societal injustice and apathy , and shake you b
In' Another Sabitri' , he very poignantly writes about the impoverished Odia woman Sabitri , who pawns her two sons for her husband's funeral.
'that could take care of the
last rites
and feed for few days
the remaining three.'[ p 185]
In 'Anchorage'[ pp220- 222], he traces his life from the time , he was in the cradle , looking up at the peering faces, to the time he became a schoolkid playing hide and seek, sharing tiffin boxes under mango trees , to the time he boards the local train , jumping headlong into the mad rat race , and then to the moment he hangs his boots , ' coated with a thick layer of sands of time ' it is then that nature beckons , in all its profusion , and finally , he has ample time to feel the fragrance of the petrichor
'while dusting off
the silverfish infested pages
of my old classics.'
I can go on and on about this bonanza of poems, of its richness of imagery , felicity of language and uniqueness of metaphors, He talks of pain and anguish , of sufferings, which he calls' the flip side of joy and bliss ',he talks of his grandma, of the echoes of silence- soft, seductive , slender ,svelte , satiny , and to hear the music of his poems , one has to prick one's ears to the resounding silences , and to soak oneself between the 236 pages of this immensely intriguing and enriching book .
All lovers of poetry will love getting lost in its euphonious majesty .
Lovely review to come by!
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