Cartref digidol diwylliant Cymru.

Suman Gujral: How I Wrote ‘Lion’ | Video Interview

Llenyddiaeth

At Poetry Wales, we are always open to conversation, and we were very glad that about eighteen months ago, the artist and writer Suman Gujral wrote to us to mention that it was almost 75 years since the Partition of India and Pakistan and to encourage us to mark it in some way. After some discussion, we felt that this was an important event and though we don’t have themed issues, we did send a special call-out to writers with a connection to South Asia. The poems we received were on every subject, including some moving ones about the history and legacy of Partition.

We were also glad to be able to have two poets discussing the subject of Partition too: Sampurna Chattarji (based in India) and Nasia Sarwar-Skuse (based in South Wales), as part of a series that puts Welsh writers in touch with poets from beyond the UK. (For our next issue 58.3, we’ll see Nia Morais (based in Cardiff) in conversation with American Dakota poet Gwen Nell Westerman.)

None of this would have happened without the conversation with Suman Gujral, and it is fitting that her stunning artwork is on the cover of issue 58.2. We are delighted to host Suman’s powerful video poem here along with an interview. We want to thank Suman wholeheartedly and encourage readers to find out more about her art and writing.

If you would like to write to us with a suggestion for the magazine, please do so by emailing editor@poetrywales.co.uk

Lion

My Daddy is a proper Sikh, his turban is
so elegant, his beard is always neatly tied
I really think he’s dashing

he wears his suits with such aplomb, I
think he is more handsome than
any other daddy

I love it when he’s chanting prayers,
so rhythmic and mysterious
he loves us more than life itself

sometimes though, I am perplexed, his mood
swings right from day to night, sweeps away
our peacefulness, in just a millisecond

I sense an ancient hurt inside, which
I’m too young to realise, is grief and
rage for all that he has suffered

he never speaks about his trials
though, one day I will understand the
wounds done to his soul and land

he had to leave his childhood home
his early life and all he’d known,
to flee from those he’d long
considered brothers

for men in charge of India’s Fate
made choices which turned love to hate
untold millions fled their homes
rivers flowed with blood and bones

roads were paved with bodies,
daily, horror- trains arrived,
no-one on them left alive,
whilst wells turned into coffins

though Dad survived and life
is good it’s not that long since
India keened her dying song,
divided, wounded, never healed

as Daddy never will be

RHANNWCH