‘The City under the City’: Of cities, joys and sorrows
What is the city? There is something about these urgent urban spaces that brings out either the reflective philosopher or the zest for life in people. London, Paris, Jakarta, Osaka, Dublin, Delhi, Mumbai — their evocative characteristics have been brought out in myriad hues. The ancient cities have their own charm when represented in art and literature: Rome, Athens, Troy, Lanka, Alexandria, Dilli (yes, Dilli)… majestic cities by the banks of stately rivers or by the mountains or the sea.
‘The City Under the City’ makes me happy on many counts. It follows closely on the heels of Jeet Thayil’s last book of poems, ‘I’ll Have It Here’; normally, one has to wait nearly a decade to read his next work. It is also great to see poetry being published again by major publishing houses. This must mean that readers are taking to poetry in a big way.
John Kinsella and Thayil write of the cities they found themselves in at some point or the other. They write with joy, sorrow, regret, reflection. These are thoughts that might have crossed our minds, too. That is what makes the poems so relatable. The verses are vibrant, carrying rich veins of memory.
On mats spread on the floor, travellers bowed
Nearby was a smoking room in which they
inhaled from cigarettes and vaporizers,
their expressions much like the praying ones.
To those of us who belonged in neither room,
a message: Bliss is available here, but only if
you’re in communion with God or nicotine.
(‘Smokers, Prayers’)
There are some wonderful moments in the book when the poets give each other a shout- out in their poems. One such instance is when Thayil speaks of Samuel Beckett, which is then taken up by Kinsella, who imagines meeting Beckett.
I might wonder
how he’d respond to the police
Shooting a teenager, how resentment
Simmers in their trigger fingers.
All of this, and Beckett emptying
out language. It’s my guess
that you did the right thing. Jeet
Not looking back so you’ll/always look back.
(‘Trigger Fingers’)
In the very next poem, Thayil takes up the refrain.
Not looking back, always looking back
at the face in the rear-view mirror,
pale object closer than it appears
the farther he recedes into the black.
(‘Come Back’)
‘The City Under the City’ conjures up the image of two tramps/troubadours going on their personal journeys while being deeply connected. They deal with the politics of love, loss, longing and do not even attempt to reach completion. Their state of fluidity is what helps them live. The alleyways and bridges give them shade. They remember cruelty, political oppression and the various ways people live or at least try to live in the city. The poets celebrate the drab, the elegant, the despairing, the hopeful, the unlimited, the tightly-wound and surveilled city.
In these pages, you might find a city you recognise, or you will make a city your own. There is a beautiful synergy to the verses. Like how the city gathers its multitudes and loves them, these two poets gather their thoughts in the last two poems. Like the city, where one ends, the other begins.
— The reviewer teaches at All Saints’ College, Thiruvananthapuram
Book Review