Time, Doubt and Wonder in the Humanities by Chakravarty Prasanta;

Author:Chakravarty, Prasanta;
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bloomsbury UK
Published: 2018-08-15T00:00:00+00:00

Move I

The first artistic impulse in this metaphysical reconstruction is thus not the art of the body but to have a sense of the architecture and tectonics of art. Art extends the architectural imperative to organise the space of the earth. This imperative enables the emergence of pure sensory qualities, the ground work or material for art. Art is linked to those processes of distancing and the production of a plane of composition that abstracts sensation from the body. Thus frames emerge. We begin partitioning things. The emergence of the frame is the condition of all creation and is the particular contribution of architecture to the disciplining of whatever is virtual. This process constitutes the territorialisation of the uncontrollable forces of the earth.

Roy lived a very limited life—in terms of time as well as in terms of space. His milieu was a certain section of north of the city of Kolkata. So, the framing of that milieu is a kind of territorialisation in his poetry and utterances. Territory here may be understood as surfaces of variable curvature or inflection that bear upon them singularities, eruptions or events. This is not a synaesthesia of the flesh but blocs of sensations in the territory—colors, postures and sounds that sketch out a total work of art.

This kind of housing happens in Roy: burning ghaat, bedrooms, prostitutes’ balcony, serpentine alleys, morgue—a whole running system of material dispositives. Observe these lines:

[From my mother’s womb I walk down to the junction burning ghaat, strange I did not know that I was going to be born before my birth.

I have not walked for a thousand years on this earth/just to save five paise I have walked from College Street till the corner of Vivekananda Road.

Here the sea enters the river planets merge into sunshine/here in the tramcar bell rings the commands of moving, stopping.

The girl who, waving her plaits, went off with Gitabitan blue sweater lover spitting pure hatred at me towards Hedua rainbow umbrella, I wanted to listen Tagore songs in her voice.

Can’t write can’t write all around me dogs and prostitutes howling, smirking of transgenders and I am trying to write.

I am lying in a morgue drawer—a dead body has taken my living body onto his tree.

I am a man, can love and piss both/can use water in two ways—to wipe off nightmare’s rheum and to quench my thirst, in grief and peace can use booze in two ways.

I walk through the byways of stories and poetry with two poems—my rifle my bible through the alleyways of freedom fighters and a 1970s martyrs monument in old college square reflection of new library at a distance the medical college morgue and adjacent to that the road bifurcating the temple and the library a road straightway takes to the prostitutes quarters I walk with bible, with rifle.

Near Globe Nursery I see someone put a Bel-flower garland over a dog’s neck and I motherfucker could not place a garland on a women’s plait though I saw at the Baranagar bazaar a bull munching on Rajnigandha flower sticks.

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