• Wednesday, October 01, 2014

Literature

Published Date: September 27, 2014
IS POETRY A DYING ART?

IS POETRY A DYING ART?

If anyone is taken aback by my title, they should be reminded that the attribution of mortality to poetry is nothing new. It is a century since Ezra Pound's Hugh Selwyn Mauberley strove to “resuscitate the dead art of poetry.” Pound and his modernist allies gave poetry a new lease of life, but...

Published Date: September 27, 2014
How To Choose a Winner

Earlier this month I commented on the relatively narrow range, in geographic terms, of the Man Booker long list. Reading the shortlist I'm struck by its artistic diversity. If you were a judge, how would you choose a winner from among such different books? Here are some possible strategies. 1.Go for an epic. Richard Flanagan and Neel Mukherjee both illuminate historic events with intimate human drama. In Flanagan's The Narrow Road to the Deep North, Dorrigo Evans, who has risen...

Published Date: September 27, 2014
The Other Side of The Sea

The Other Side of The Sea

In her monthly column, Nupu Press shares her personal path of writing a first novel: Having completed the first draft of my novel, I forced myself to put the manuscript away in a drawer for two months. I was enthusiastic when I finally pulled it out – until I read it through. In my head I believed I had written a complex but charming novel that peeled away layers to reach an operatic climax. What I had actually put on paper was, to put it charitably, a misshapen lump lacking any sort of fun or fizz. In my head was a perfectly formed world, but I hadn't been able to capture it....

Published Date: September 27, 2014
EXECUTIONER TIME (Jollad Shomoy)

EXECUTIONER TIME (Jollad Shomoy)

Dangerously armed, how you dance Executioner Time When you must but be stilled, In the dark, souls are killed, While, under the spotlight, innocent heads roll. Behemoth Time you render asunder, in broken pauses Somehow crawling on, heeding nary a principle nor a law Down a hellish path chopping as you go At the roots of our morals so grandeur. You are forced upon us like an illegitimate child Playing with people's hearts as if mere dolls. You cut as you please, tax us with callous ease, The sins of your womb stirring up a storm. Baring fangs, Cruel Time you roar Furtively nursing in silence, the swinish of them all. Destroying in your wake, the last of our pride. Deaf to wise counsel,...