Just a place to jot down my musings.

Monday, May 7, 2012

“Extreme Poetry”: Sanskrit śleṣa

Prof. Yigal Bronner at the University of Chicago has written a remarkable book called Extreme Poetry: the South Asian Movement of Simultaneous Narration. This describes the staggering intellectual and literary phenomenon in Sanskrit of composing works that can be read in multiple ways to simultaneously produce different narratives. It is a brilliant work that casts light upon a phenomenon that is astonishingly difficult both to read and to ’rite. In perhaps no other language could something like this be realized on such a colossal scale.

Reading Prof. Bronner’s book has inspired me to turn to a 17th century Sanskrit text of the viloma genre called the Rāghavayādavīyam, composed by the Śrīvaiṣṇava litterateur Veṅkaṭādhvarin of Aracāṇippālai. Veṅkaṭādhvarin is also famous for his Viśvaguṇādarśacampū, a “travel” work that describes the condition of the Tamil lands of his time through the eyes of two celestial beings (gandharvas), one idealistic, the other sarcastic and cynical. His Śrī Lakṣmī Sahasram is, as the name suggests, a thousand verses glorifying the Divine Mother Lakṣmī, who is central to the Śrīvaiṣṇava religious tradition. Veṅkaṭādhvarin divided his work into twenty-five chapters, invoking the twenty-five-verse Śrī Stuti composed perhaps 300 years earlier by his revered predecessor, Śrī Vedānta Deśika. [It would be fascinating to look for systematic connections between the two works.]

<UPDATE>
It turns out that Veṅkaṭādhvarin also composed another work, the Ācārya-pañcāśat, fifty verses honoring the great teacher (ācārya) Śrī Vedānta Deśika. 
</UPDATE>

In comparison, the Rāghavayādavīyam is a much shorter work, consisting of thirty verses. It narrates the story of Rāma when read forwards. However, when each verse is read backwards (while the whole work is still read forwards), it narrates the story of Kṛṣṇa! Translating this level of Sanskrit is beyond my capacity, but I would eventually like to give it a shot. 

For now, just the opening benediction, with the help of the English commentary and translation of Dr. Saroja Ramanujam. I have chosen different interpretations for a couple of words where I thought my choices fit the context of the verse better; it is, of course, entirely possible that I am wrong.

May the same power that animated Veṅkaṭādhvarin to compose this work allow me to translate it as best as I can into English!

Verse 1 (anuloma)
vande ’haṃ devaṃ taṃ śrītaṃ rantāraṃ kālaṃ bhāsā yaḥ |
rāmo rāmādhīr āpyāgo līlām ārâ ’’yodhye vāse || 1a ||
I bow down to the Lord, 
the one sporting with Śrī
        splendidly for eternity,

Who, as Rāma, 
        His mind fixed on that beautiful woman (Sītā),
returned from the ocean

and fulfilled His divine play (līlā)
        dwelling in Ayodhyā.
Verse 1 (pratiloma)
sevâdhyeyo rāmā-lālī gopy-ārādhī mā-’’rāmôrāḥ |
yaḥ sâbhâlaṃkāraṃ tāraṃ taṃ śrītaṃ vande ’haṃ devam || 1p ||


Worshipable through loving service,

He charms beautiful women,
        delights, and is delighted by, the milkmaids;

His chest is a pleasure-garden for Mother Lakṣmī—

to Him, 
        splendid,
        His ornaments radiating light,

to the one sporting with Śrī,
I bow down to the Lord.

[Reading a text forward is called anuloma in Sanskrit, which literally means “with / following the hair”. Doing something anuloma means following the natural flow of things. Its opposite is pratiloma, which literally means “against the hair”. The two terms can be felicitously translated into English as “along the grain” and “against the grain”.]

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Why pearls, and why strung at random?

In his translation of the famous "Turk of Shirazghazal of Hafez into florid English, Sir William Jones, the philologist and Sanskrit scholar and polyglot extraordinaire, transformed the following couplet:

غزل گفتی و در سفتی بیا و خوش بخوان حافظ

که بر نظم تو افشاند فلک عقد ثریا را


into:

Go boldly forth, my simple lay,
Whose accents flow with artless ease,
Like orient pearls at random strung.

The "translation" is terribly inaccurate, but worse, the phrase is a gross misrepresentation of the highly structured organization of Persian poetry. Regardless, I picked it as the name of my blog for a number of reasons: 
1) I don't expect the ordering of my posts to follow any rhyme or reason
2) Since "at random strung" is a rather meaningless phrase, I decided to go with the longer but more pompous "pearls at random strung". I rest assured that my readers are unlikely to deduce from this an effort on my part to arrogate some of Hafez's peerless brilliance!

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Cambridge, Massachusetts, United States
What is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.
—W.H. Davies, “Leisure”