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April 21, 2002
REVIEW: Is this the real Niazi?
WHEN it comes to translations from one language into another there are two schools of thoughts. Some critics believe that a translator should not take the liberty of changing the accent, format, sense and spirit of the original and should avoid deviating from it. While others stress that the translator’s primary concern should be to preserve and project only the events (in the case of fiction) and feeling and thought content (in the case of poetry). The translator should convey the mood and the feelings of the original. Sometime ago Anwar Dil translated the Punjabi poetry of Munir Niazi, an eminent contemporary poet, into English and did a good job of it. His Urdu poetry found not one but seven translators, whose work has been compiled and presented in one volume —A cry in the wilderness, with one of them, Muhammad Ali Siddiqi writing the introduction to the book.
However, the Niazi who emerges from this book is not the poet a reader reads in his original work or listens to in mushairas. He would find it difficult to accept the translation at the first glance. For example, the translator renders with great compassion Niazi’s most popular poem “Hamaisha der kar deta hoon” as “Always late”. The translation fails to capture the mood and the sensitivity of the verse. The melancholy, the sense of loss and repentance that pervade the poem are missing in the translation.
It is said that there were two Wordsworths — one was his real self and the other the legend that had been created. In the case of Munir Niazi, there are no such contradictions. The real Niazi is also the legendary Niazi. Niazi is poetry personified and poetry is his way of life. Therefore, it is a stupendous task to translate his work in such a way that the depth of his muse and mysticism is clearly conveyed to the reader.
Anwar Dil could do it because he was a professional. But the translators of the book under review obviously had undertaken to translate Niazi’s poetry on account of their personal admiration for his writing and the man. This is basically a labour of love.
Daud Kamal, when he was alive, translated the poems of many Pakistani poets, which were published in an English daily of Islamabad. Kamal’s style, the selection of words and the composition was commendable. He could grasp the undercurrents and the central elements very easily. But then he went on to re-create the verses, which gave the impression of being his own, rather than that of the poet he was translating. As a teacher of literature, Kamal would explain the similes and metaphors. He would tell you, for instance, that the shajr does not mean any ordinary tree in the courtyard but it is an ancestral tree. While he makes the translation easy reading, he takes away the original colour of the piece and the text loses its magic and beauty.
In “A dream of paradise” jaman has been translated as jasmine. The jaman is the fruit of a tree grown locally in the subcontinent. Much folklore is associated with it. You might not find an English word for it, just as there are no Urdu words for mushroom and campion. The best that the translator could have done was to use the word jaman and describe it in a footnote.
In the introduction to Cry in the wilderness, Mohammad Ali Siddiqui, a noted literary critic, remarks, “Niazi’s peculiar harmony of thought was produced by a certain disposition that made him a captive of the past. It appeared as if he was drawing upon quite heavily and thriving on a logic that arose from the misty, spiritual nostalgia of times long gone by.” Siddiqui comments that the moment a man’s poetic urges find expression, he comes into his own.
Munir Niazi remains true to himself, a trait which is as apparent in his life as it is in his poetry. That’s something not all translators seem to realize.
Gazing into my eyes
She says: ‘I am’
Her breath on my lips
She says: ‘I am’
Each wall whispers: ‘I am’
I look at my fingertips
And rejoice: ‘I am’
Mohammad Ali Siddiqui has also tried his hand at translating Niazi’s poem. ‘I want to build a home’ is a fine stanza for an aspirant for a home of his own. But the poet had something else to say, which has been deleted by the translator for reasons better known to him. The other translators Anis-ur-Rehman, Baidar Bakht, Leslie Levigne, M. Athar Tahir and Salim-ur-Rehman may sound literal, but they are closer to the text and don’t try to impose their own interpretation on someone else’s poetry. They have done justice to Niazi’s talent. They enjoyed bringing a native artwork of Pakistan to a wider readership and they have done it reverently. The book has been well produced, and Shakir Ali’s oil painting ‘The dark moon’ forms an attractive background on the cover page.
A cry in the wilderness
By Munir Niazi
Oxford University Press, 5 Bangalore Town, Sharae Faisal, Karachi-75350 Tel: 021-4529025.
Email: ouppak@theoffice.net
ISBN 0-19-579331-5 65pp. Rs395
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