The letters reveal Nirod's unique relationship with his guru. The exchanges are suffused with a special humour.
Sri Aurobindo : corresp.
Nirodbaran's correspondence with Sri Aurobindo began in February 1933 and continued till November 1938, when Sri Aurobindo injured his leg and Nirod became one of his attendants. The entire correspondence, which was carried on in three separate notebooks according to topics - private, medical, and literary - is presented in chronological order, revealing the unique relationship Nirod enjoyed with his guru, replete with free and frank exchanges and liberal doses of humour. Covering a wide range of topics, both serious and light-hearted, these letters reveal the infinite care Sri Aurobindo devoted to the spiritual development of his disciple.
THEME/S
Shall go tomorrow to enquire about P's operation ... I think it would be better to see it again on the screen tomorrow evening, for the needle may have shifted.
Yes.
Why do these things—tooth trouble etc., come to the Mother? I hear that you throw them off very quickly when they try to come to you. The Mother could do the same.
I have not to deal with the sadhaks—except through correspondence.
I am feeling feverish, cold in the head, bad headache. Due to sea bath and diving? What a pity!
Pains of pleasure, I suppose.
Which is better:
"To a motionless abode—intense hushed seas"? or "of deep hushed seas"?
My God, sir, the line with its tangle of sh and s sounds would be unpronounceable like Toru Dutt's "Sea-shells she sells".
May 2, 1937
Guru, from this quatrain you will see that I have tried a hell of a lot to improve or rewrite it and yet not successful!
"Plunge there like pearls in timeless trance-repose; Culled from spring-garden of fire-coated seeds. The nectar-rays of heaven's golden Rose Shower on the calm expanse—like pollen beads."
So I see, but your plunging quatrain plunges and splashes a lot without arriving anywhere near coherence. There is still no possible connection between the ideas and images here and there that go before and after.
[The following questions were put by J:]
How may I learn the epic style of blank verse?
I suppose it is best done by reading the epic writers until you get the epic rush or sweep.
Is it too early for me to learn it? Kindly say a few words, and if there is no harm in my trying it at present, please give some force and inner guidance for it.
Epic writing needs a sustained energy of rhythm and word which is not easy to get or maintain. I am not sure whether you can get it now. I think you would first have to practise maintaining the level of the more energetic among the lines you have been writing ...
May 3, 1937
[The first 3 questions were put by J:]
Kindly say who are the epic writers. I want to read them all. Is your "Love and Death" an epic, and "Urvasie", and "Baji Prabhou"?
Love and Death is epic in long passages. Urvasie is written on the epic model. Baji Prabhou is not epic in style or rhythm
Are your 12 recent poems137 too in epic style?
No, they are lyrical, though sometimes there may come in an epic elevation.
Will "Paradise Lost" and "Paradise Regained" help? And who are the other epic writers in English? Kindly mention all the epic writers in all the languages—it is good to know them, at least.
"Paradise Lost", yes. In the other Milton's fire had dimmed. In English Paradise Lost and Keats' Hyperion (unfinished) are the two chief epics. In Sanskrit Mahabharat, Ramayan, Kalidasa's Kumar Sambhav, Bharavi's Kiratarjuniya. In Bengali Meghnadbodh. In Italian Dante's Divine Comedy and Tasso's (I have forgotten the name for the moment138) are in the epic cast. In Greek of course Homer, in Latin Virgil. There are other poems which attempt the epic style, but are not among the masterpieces. There are also primitive epics in German and Finnish (Nibelungenlied, Kalevala)—
Our vaccination list is ready. Will send a duplicate to Mother tomorrow, before submitting it to the hospital.
You will send a copy to Pavitra, for he will have to write to Valle as it was to him that their original letter came.
S has been complaining of her extreme weakness, pains etc. which are so great that she is on her way to death—her ribs can be counted, her stomach etc. have become microscopic; her pains terrible; often she can hardly get up from her bed in the morning; often her breath comes gaspingly through weakness. She says she took medicines from you for eight long days without any change; when she told you, you said "It's the only medicine I have", so she dropped treatment. On my telling her that she may have to go to Bombay side for treatment, she says she will prefer to die near to the Mother—not a comfortable prospect for the Mother, but she may live if we give her one cup more milk a day and butter—which have been accorded. Ah yes, before the demand for butter, she wrote that she can't eat—she feels too ill.
It is true that Mother finds her looking very down and seedy. Any enlightenment from Science?
I send you the poem again. How do you find the effect, on the whole? I have very little credit though, this time.
...I think between us—putting aside all false modesty—we have made a rather splendaceous superrealist poem out of your surrealist affair.
Still, something, what?
Certainly. Mine are only the finishing touches.
May 4, 1937
I hear D is having the same number of motions. Is there any harm in giving an enema?
It could be given with guimauve in it, provided the stock of guimauve is unspoilt with no insects in it. But it is a French medicine with special proportions etc.—you have prepared before? for they won't know how to do it.
May 5, 1937
Yes, we have prepared it before... Shall give it tomorrow afternoon or day after morning?
Very well.
I have been thinking of studying medical books daily one hour, but can hardly manage it, though at the same time inflicted with doubts as to the utility of studies and lacking in practical experience, I do not know what to do. Please give some Force. Must run two horses, what?
Why not?
The difficulty is still lack of living interest in it—what you call enthousiasmos!
Enthousiasmos does not mean living interest or enthusiasm—it means the inrush of the creative force or godhead, আবেশ139—You don't need that for chewing medical books.
May 6, 1937
I consulted doctors in the hospital about D's case. They say it is a mild form of colitis, and recommend Stovarsol—which is a very strong drug; or Biolactyl—a product of intestinal flora, which is very mild. Perhaps Mother won't favour any medicine.
No. Neither stova nor flora.
A is complaining very much of his ill health, physical depression, lack of energy, which are constantly increasing, so much so that it is impossible for him to do any mental work. Something has to be done. But first we must know the cause. Anémie cérébrale? slow poisoning by liver or kidney? something else? Mother wants you to arrange for the usual examinations (urine, blood) so that it may be found out.
May 7, 1937
[A's case.] Anémie cérébrale! Good God, no! It is anaemia hepaticus.
Who is this hermaphrodite? [Sri Aurobindo changed "hepaticus" to "hepatica".]
... Is blood-examination necessary? for what? Malaria or simple blood-count?
I don't know—it is to satisfy A. He thinks' he has a colonisation of colon bacilli—spreading where they ought not to be (like certain nations) or else liver poisoning or kidney poisoning--he feels in the morning as if he had been poisoned in his sleep. It is to decide between these scientific theories that so many examinations were suggested.
About the treatment, I don't give anything today depending on your remarks + results of urine exam etc.
Must know first what he has.
Please give some Force tonight to rewrite two poems. A great bother this chiselling business—and uninteresting too. But perhaps it's pleasant for you as you cast and recast ad infinitum, we hear, your poetry or prose.
Poetry only, not prose. And in poetry only one poem, "Savitri". My smaller poems are written off at once and if any changes are to be made, it is done the same day or the next day, and very rapidly done.
By the way, you said that these two lines of Amal's poem:
"Flickering no longer with the cry of clay The distance-haunted fire of mystic mind",
have an Overmind touch. Frankly speaking, I thought the first line I too could have written myself. Can you show me where its super-excellence lies?
What super-excellence? as poetry? When I say that a line comes from a higher or overhead plane or has the overmind touch I do not mean that it is superior in pure poetic excellence to others from lower planes—that Amal's lines outshine Shakespeare or Homer, for instance. I simply mean that it has some vision, light etc. from up there and the character of its expression and rhythm are from there.
I appreciate the previous lines much more. Amal too is puzzled. Is it definable? Is it in assonances, dissonances, rhythm or what?
No. You do not appreciate probably because you catch only the surface mental meaning. The line ["Flickering no longer with the cry of clay"] is very very fine from the technical point of view, the distribution of consonantal and vowel sounds being perfect. That, however, is possible on any level of inspiration.
These are technical elements, the overmind touch does not consist in that but in the undertones or overtones of the rhythmic cry and a language which carries in it a great depth or height or width of spiritual truth or spiritual vision, feeling or experience. But all that has to be felt, it is not analysable. If I say that the second line ["The distance-haunted fire of mystic mind"] is a magnificent expression of an inner reality most intimate and powerful and the first line with its conception of the fire once "flickering" with the "cry" of clay, but now no longer is admirably revelatory—you would probably reply that it does not convey anything of the kind to you. That is why I do not usually speak of these things in themselves or in their relation to poetry—only with Amal who is trying to get his inspiration into touch with these planes. Either one must have the experience—e.g. here one must have lived in or glimpsed the mystic mind,. felt its fire, been aware of the distances that haunt it, heard the cry of clay mixing with it and the consequent unsteady flickering of its flames and the release into the straight upward burning and so known that this is not mere romantic rhetoric, not mere images or metaphors expressing something imaginative but unreal (that is how many would take it perhaps) but facts and realities of the self, actual and concrete, or else there must be a conspiracy between the "solar plexus" and the thousand-petalled lotus which makes one feel if not know the suggestion of these things through the words and rhythm. As for technique, there is a technique of this higher poetry but it is not analysable and teachable. If for instance Amal had written "No longer flickering with the cry of clay", it would no longer have been the same thing though the words and mental meaning would be just as before—for the overtone in the rhythm would have been lost in the ordinary staccato clipped movement and with the overtone the rhythmic significance. It would not have given the suggestion of space and wideness full with the cry and the flicker, the intense impact of that cry and the agitation of the fire which is heard through the line as it is. But to realise that, one must have the inner sight and inner ear for these things; one must be able to hear the sound-meaning, feel the sound-spaces with their vibrations. Again if he had written "Quivering no longer with the touch on clay" it would have been a good line, but meant much less and something quite different to the inner experience, though to the mind it would have been only the same thing expressed in a different image—not so to the solar plexus and the thousand-petalled lotus. In this technique it must be the right word and no other, in the right place, and in no other, the right sounds and no others, in a design of sound that cannot be changed even a little. You may say that it must be so in all poetry; but in ordinary poetry the mind can play about, chop and change, use one image or another, put this word here or that word there—if the sense is much the same and has a poetical value, the mind does not feel that all is lost unless it is very sensitive and much influenced by the solar plexus. In the overhead poetry these things are quite imperative, it is all or nothing—or at least all or a fall.
May 8, 1937
Guru, my Bengali poem was not even pleasing this time? Alas! Or did you forget it in the sweep of the cataract that came down into your pen?
Quite forgot all about him! Anyhow not very successful—pretty but wobbly—like someone unsure of his legs but just drunk enough to be sentimental.
... It is quite possible, I am sure, to write such lines like Amal's, without knowing the technique etc.
Of course.
Amal says the lines didn't come originally ready-made like that. He had to change and alter, being guided solely by the ear or some vague feeling, and stuck on to the right thing.
Necessarily—until the ear and feeling are satisfied, one has to do that. For overhead poetry to come with a faultless rush one must be very very.140
You talk about inner vision, inner feeling, etc., but the blessed writer himself doesn't know very often he has visioned something; all the same he writes.
That you must have in order to understand and judge about the source, touch etc. But one can write without knowing anything.
Last night, by Jove, was a trial indeed! After constructing the first 6 lines, I was dozing and dozing, and in full doze, wrote the whole poem. So much was the "trance" that after finishing the poem I couldn't even revise it properly and went to bed. Sleep came immediately! ... Really, Sir, your Inspiration or Force has a very queer way of working: by dulling, benumbing and paralysing the senses.
Of course. If you could write in a doze, perhaps you could even achieve something supramental.
You found the original line nice, but no meaning. That is the trouble, Sir! Sometimes you say, "Why the deuce do you want the meaning?" Another time, "Nice line, but meaning?" A contradiction, Sir.
Well, but the other lines have a meaning or try to have. If you wrote all nonsense, then it is different.
No contradiction! Nonsense hangs together and meaning hangs together—but nonsense intervening in sense hangs apart.
Amal says that "concentrated blood" is very fine but how can it be lost in the night?
Concentrated blood sounds like condensed milk. It's the blood that's lost or the night?
Sorry, but I had to rewrite the last lines. As they stand they are simply magnificent nonsense.
D, they say, is getting better... One or two more washes, if necessary, will perhaps set him right.
Yes. We can see for 2 or 3 days and give another if necessary.
May 9, 1937
You seem to have "transformed" the sun into a majesty of night!
No, it's condensed milk—oh, I mean, blood.
To tell you frankly, today's poems141 seems to me very fine Sir. But you will find many flaws, probably.
It is an English poem and shows that, in spite of lapses in detail, you are getting hold of the language and its poetic turn. It is not so original as the first one, but excellent poetry.
May 10, 1937
I am sending you today's poem so that you may show me the un-English overtones and undertones and other defects.
What the deuce! Overtones and undertones are not English or unEnglish; but I have pointed out the unEnglish ambiguities. Perhaps you will say that it is a surrealistic poem? But it has too much an air of logical building for that.
If you have time, I would like to know what exactly are these overtones and undertones [8.5.37].
I was speaking of rhythmical overtones and undertones. That is to say, there is a metrical rhythm which belongs to the skilful use of metre—any good poet can manage that; but besides that there is a music which rises up out of this rhythm or a music that underlies it, carries it as it were as the movement of the water carries the movement of a boat. They can both exist together in the same line, but it is more a matter of the inner than the outer ear and I am afraid I can't define farther. To go into the subject would mean a long essay. But to give examples—
Journeys end in lovers meeting, Every wise man's son doth know,142
is excellent metrical rhythm, but there are no overtones and undertones.
In
Golden lads and girls all must, As chimney-sweepers, come to dust143
there is a beginning of undertone, but no overtone, while the "Take o take those lips away"144 (the whole lyric) is all overtones.
Again
Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears; I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him145
has admirable rhythm, but there are no overtones or undertones.
But
in maiden meditation, fancy-free146 has beautiful running undertones, while In the dark backward and abysm of Time147 is all overtones, and Absent thee from felicity awhile, And in this harsh world draw thy breath in pain,148
is all overtones and undertones together. I don't suppose this will make you much wiser, but it is all I can do for you at present.
"Break that chain, find in the soul's lonely sign A fountain of volcanic deluge-fire, The rock-embedded source of spirit-mine The immortal wine of sovereign Desire."
Sir, this is a surrealistic tangle. You find a fountain of volcanic fire in a sign and that fountain is the source of a mine (rather difficult for the miners to get at through the volcanic fire) and also in that source is a wine-cellar,—perhaps in the rocks which embed the source, but all the same a strange place to choose. Perhaps for the miners to drink.
Nothing in A's stools [8.5.37]. Some Vichy water may do him good.
Vichy water has to be taken fresh—stale from France in bottle it is not safe.
May I take a "sea bath" twice a week? It will help in filling up my clavicular depressions and developing my pectoral and intercostal muscles, perhaps. If Mother doesn't want, I won't.
Mother is not encouraging the practice but neither is she forbidding it,—except for some. She is neutral. She leaves you free to choose.
Is there a difference between blank verse and poetry which is quite epic and blank verse and poetry which is written only in the epic style, model or manner?
I don't quite understand the point of the question. Poetry is epic or it is not. There may be differences of elevation in the epic style, but this seems to be distinction without a difference.
Surely there must be some difference between an epic, true and genuine throughout, and a poem which is only in the epic style or has the epic tone?
An epic is a long poem usually narrative on a great subject written in a style and rhythm that is of a high nobility or sublime. But short poems, a sonnet for instance can be in the epic style or tone, e.g. some of Milton's or Meredith's sonnet on Lucifer or, as far as I can remember it, Shelley's on Ozymandias.
What are the qualities or characteristics that tell one—"This is an epic"?
I think the formula I have given is the only possible definition. Apart from that each epic poet has his own qualities and characteristics that differ widely from the others. For the rest one can feel what is the epic nobility or sublimity, one can't very well analyse it.
In Sanskrit epics, e.g. Kumarsambhav, what has made up the rhythm? And how does it sound so grave, lofty, wide and deep?
It is a characteristic that comes natural to Sanskrit written in the classical style.
How can one have all these qualities together?
Why not? they are not incompatible qualities.
English seems to have the necessary tone more easily, but is it possible in Bengali?
I don't know why it shouldn't be. Madhu Sudan's style is a lofty epical style; it is not really grave and deep because his mind was not grave or deep—but that was the defect of the poet, not necessarily an incapacity of the language.
"Kumarsambhav" was my textbook in LA., but I have not read all of it. May I ask Kapali Shastri to help me read it?
I don't know if it is necessary for a poetic, not scholarly reading of the poem.
It is only the 1st seven cantos that need to be read.
May 11, 1937
What does the double line indicate against lines 11, 12?
Double line means double fine.
Good God, Sir, you have made the Spirit a swine!
No, sir, I haven't, though the spirit often becomes a swine. But you have made the spirit-mine into the spirit's mine which is a deterioration.
I take my pen to write, a fear creeps in saying that perhaps what I shall write will be un-English and surrealistic and all labour will be lost. You are taking so much trouble and giving your precious time, is it worth while?
It is because you are finding your way. you have got the inspiration, but the mental mixture rises from time to time; that has to be got rid of, so I am taking trouble. I wouldn't if it were not worth while.
Ishwarbhai is suffering from inability to eat or digest what he has eaten. Mother proposes to treat him like Amrita with nux vomica and with syrup of bitter orange. He will probably come to you for them; give and instruct him.
May 12, 1937
A says his trouble has increased: headache, flatulence, many motions (due to Soda Sulph.). So we shall give him another mixture...
No need of that—he has been having good motions since he is taking Triphala.
[The following question was put by J:]
I would like my present poems to come in a few lines, but the epical tone to be more and more perfect every day.
The epic movement is something that flows; it may not be good to try to shut it into a few lines. There might be a danger of making something too compact. If that can be avoided, then of course it is better to write a few lines with a heightened epic tone than many with the lesser tone.
May 13, 1937
I am having a blessed fever since the morning; aches all over the limbs; a damn business it is, Sir! Could not do any work. Read a detective story as treatment. Taking one Pulv. Glyc. Co.
Detective story as treatment, and Pulv. Glyc. and Company as amusement? Right!
May 14, 1937
A enquired if too many purgatives were good. I wrote to him that they have been stopped. Dr. Becharlal recommends a dose of castor oil or enema, to clear out the bowels.
More purgatives? after the triumph of the soda sulph. and A's own pathetic question?
May 15, 1937
Please give a few examples of conceit in English poetry Not very clear about it....
Conceit means a too obviously ingenious or far-fetched or extravagant idea or image which is evidently an invention of a clever brain, not a true and convincing flight of the imagination. E.g. Donne's (?) comparison of a child's small-pox eruptions to the stars of the milky way or something similar. I have forgotten the exact thing, but that will serve.
This hill turns up its nose at heaven's height, Heaven looks back with a blue contemptuous eye—that's a conceit. O cloud, thou wild black wig on heaven's bald head,
would be another. These are extravagant specimens. I haven't time to think out any ingenious ones, nor to discuss trochees adequately—have given one or two hints in the margin.
Some more conceits, ingenious all of them:
Am I his tail and is he then my head? But head by tail, I think, is often led.
Also
Like a long snake came wriggling out his laugh.
How the big Gunner of the upper sphere Is letting off his cannon in the sky! Flash, bang bang bang! he has some gunpowder With him, I think. Again! Whose big bow-wow Goes barking through the hunting fields of Heaven? What a magnificent row the gods can make! And don't forget The long slow scolopendra of the train. Or if you think these are not dainty or poetic enough, here's another: God made thy eyes sweet cups to hold blue wine; By sipping at them rapture-drunk are mine. Enough? Amen!
...About Rajani's blood report, urine and blood are connected as রজনী [rajani] to দিবস [divas],149 or blood circulation through the kidney contributes to the formation or excretion of urine. When blood sugar rises beyond the normal it is excreted in the urine. But since his sugar is high with a consequent high sugar percentage in the urine, it has been marked + + in the report.
Well, you haven't told me if there is any meaning in the + + 2.5 except that it corresponds to the blood urine like রজনী পালিত [Rajani Pālit] to Diwakar.150 Does it matter if it is 2.5 or 250 so long as it is + +? When is it considered a high amount and when is it considered very serious? You have said nothing about stool. Nothing abnormal? R is supposed to be suffering from dysentery.
May 16, 1937
You said [9.5.37]: "... For overhead poetry to come with a faultless rush one must be very very", and left the sentence unfinished. Is it "very very Sri Aurobindo-like"?
But I am not aware that I write overhead poetry with a rush.
Everybody is aspiring to write from the overhead plane, so why not I? Possible?
Maybe.
If one can write all from the highest plane, i.e. overmind and supermind plane—as you have done in Savitri, is it evidently going to be greater poetry than any other poetry?
Nobody ever spoke of supermind plane poetry. Is Savitri all from overhead plane? I don't know.
... You lay down certain features of overhead poetry, e.g. greater depth and height of spiritual vision, inner life and experience and character of rhythm and expression. But it won't necessarily outshine Shakespeare in poetic excellence.
Obviously if properly done it would have a deeper and rarer substance, but would not be necessarily greater in poetic excellence.
You say also that for overhead poetry technique, it must be the right word and no other in the right place, right sounds and no others in a design of sound that cannot be changed even a little. Well, is that not what is called sheer inevitability which is the sole criterion of highest poetry?
Yes, but mental and vital poetry can be inevitable also. Only in O.P. there must be a rightness throughout which is not the case elsewhere—for without this inevitability it is no longer fully O.P., while without this sustained inevitability there can be fine mental and vital poetry. But practically that means O.P. comes usually by bits only, not in a mass.
You may say that in overhead poetry expression of spiritual vision is more important. True, but why can't it be clothed in as fine poetry as in the case of Shakespeare? The highest source of Inspiration will surely bring in all the characteristics of highest poetry, no?
It can, but it is more difficult to get. It can be as fine poetry as Shakespeare's if there is the equal genius, but it needn't by the fact of being O.P. become finer.
Your Bird of Fire which I take as overhead poetry, is full of excellent poetry.
Is it?
Nobody said that O.P. could not be excellent poetry.
If one could write like that, is there not going to be a greater creation in all respects?
Maybe; it has to be seen.
... I suppose all spiritual poetry does not come from overhead planes.
No, it may come from the spiritualised mind or vital.
I don't see really why overhead poetry will only excel in expressing spiritual things and not also excel in a superior form than the lower plane poetry.
It may perhaps if the floodgates are fully opened.
Could you enlighten me on your overhead and underhead poetry?
In what way?
In Rajani's report, you seem to make + + separate from 2.5%. It is not so.
Not at all, I simply wanted to know exactly what 2.5 indicated, if anything.
We examine chemically first a sample of urine, i.e. by chemical reagents, which is called qualitative test. You ought to know that from your English Public School chemistry, Sir!
Never learned a word of chemistry or any damned science in my school. My school, sir, was too aristocratic for such plebeian things.
Good Lord, the fellow is harbouring all sorts of organisms! Of course, it is in a way expected, for diabetes diminishes resistance to infection. But he is, I gather, coming to supramental treatment soon! Everything clear now? ... He doesn't seem to be taking Insulin treatment.
The Civil Surgeon Fisher who fished him into the hospital, talked vaguely of a possibility of Insulin in the future if the examination proved the necessity, but the new civil Surgeon Kapur who is making him caper out of hospital, positively forbids the use of Insulin. So!
May 17, 1937
[Rajani's case.] Oh, it is Kapur! Lt. Colonel N. C. Kapur?
I suppose. Can't be two C. S. fellows with a name like that.
It is very strange your school had no chemistry.
It may have had in a corner but I had nothing to do with such stuff.
But for I.C.S. you had no science?
Certainly not. In I.C.S. you can choose your own subjects.
Perhaps these newfangled things hadn't come out then?
They were newfangled and not yet respectable.
The D.R. cart servant has elephantiasis of the left leg. Now it has increased—the whole foot is swollen. He was complaining of pain... Are we not likely to be responsible for any accident (a remote possibility)?
What accident?
... He ought to be given leave for some days till the pain subsides, for with pain to carry on the work will only set up a vicious cycle.
Evidently he ought to be on leave without pay. If pay is given they don't care. Cart service seems hardly suitable for that illness. There is however a hammerman in the smithy who goes on with a leg like that.
I am afraid my source of English poetry is exhausted before it has begun. The Guru is supposed to take up the shishya's troubles!
It seems to me to be rather J's trouble. She writes fine epic verse and says she is unable to do anything worth while—you write a fine sonnet and decide that your inspiration is exhausted. Queer.
Tell me, please, how I should improve. The details are very difficult to manage.
You have the inspiration, whatever you may say. The management of details still defective can come only by practice.
By a lot of reading and writing or only reading?
Either.
Please bring me back that buoyance, faith and joy, force and confidence. Otherwise finished! Your working is extremely fine and diplomatic, I must say. Gave me an exceedingly fine poem to begin with and cheered me up. Then—"Go on, my dear fellow—spading, efforting, labouring and perspiring! Oh it will come, it will come!"
It is not my working, but your moods that are queer. You get something no reasonable being would expect under the ordinary laws of Nature and then you fancy you haven't got it and wail because everything is not absolutely, continuously, faultlessly, increasingly, illimitably miraculous through and through and always and for ever. In no sadhana that I know of does absolute sustained perfection in everything come with a rush and stay celestially perfect for ever more. If it were so there would be no need for sadhana—one would only have to gaze at heaven a little and grow wings and fly into the spheres a triumphant godhead.
Your overhead poetry, Sir, not a snatch of it has ever come into Bengali poetry—our Bengali poetry?
I can't say. I can recognise the thing well enough in English, because I know the symptoms of the O.P. abnormality there. In Bengali it is more difficult for me to detect. I suppose I must try to train my ear for that.
May 18, 1937
"Tapering fingers of an infinite Force Mould life's grey mire to a bright rhythm of sun: Through a gold network of vessels lustre-spun Its luminous blood into earth's darkness pours."
Sir, what the hell is the meaning of lines 5,6? What are these clumsy vessels doing there, either? Into whose kitchen have you trespassed? Cooking blood? But why not then "earth's cauldron"?
Anyhow kick the vessels out. A gold (something) network lustre-spun would sound fine, but I don't know what something to put as I have not the least idea what you are after. Cryptic, by God!
I am greatly surprised to hear that you have to train your ear to judge the source of Bengali poetry. Is it a question of the ear?
Great Scott, man! Poetry and no question of the ear?
Just the other day you wrote that by the inner vision, inner feeling, etc. one must understand and judge the source of poetry. How does the ear come in now?
Have you read only that sentence and not other things I have written about overmind rhythm etc.? Only the other day I said, I think, that Amal's line changed (Flickering no longer) would lose the overtone (rhythmic) and with it the overmind touch.
If you put the stress on the ear, O.P. would only be a question of rhythm, or at least principally, no?
Very largely. The same words, thought, substance with a different rhythm would cease to be overhead at all. I said that clearly and gave the instance "No longer flickering" instead of "Flickering no longer". How is it you miss these things?
... Right word in the right place, apart from the substance, of course, is the first criterion.
Why apart from the substance?
All this you can see at a shot, ear or no ear, as if a line is rocketing down from the O.P. just before your eyes—
And ears.
And you say "Ah, it is illumined, that's Intuition!" That you have to train your ear is a surprise inattendu!
Strange point! Who does not know that without rhythm poetry is nothing? If poetic rhythm is unessential, pray why not write in prose?
Nishikanta's translation of Amal's poem151 is really splendid, but is it also from the same plane as the original? Perhaps not, for Nishikanta's plane appears to be rather subtle vital.
Maybe. I don't remember what plane Amal's poem came from.
Is the spiritual value of a poem lost in translation by the difference of the planes, though it may be poetically excellent?
If you mean the spiritual substance, I suppose it would be lost. I was looking at the poetic beauty of Nishikanta's rendering which is on a par with the original. As for the subtle .vital, the vital sublimated enters largely into Amal's poem, even if it is a sort of super-vital.
[D.R. cart man's case.] By "accident", I meant sudden heart failure. But Rajangam says there's hardly any danger of the sort. I saw the man in the smithy—his condition has now become chronic. This D.R. fellow's condition it seems, diminishes as soon as he takes rest, and comes back with work.
Mother is under the impression he was relieved from cart work But if it is like that he must take rest.
A "cheer brother" again! [28, 29.4.37] N.P. has hydrocele on the left side, Sir. Dr. R is a specialist in that. Shall we pass him on?
No.
But I hear that R himself is unwell. What's the matter? Ear trouble? Self-drugging?
(Vital up, perhaps.)
Given A more M.T.
A finds your M.T.—which he says is reduced in dose—ineffective. He says he was as well with Sudarshan or with Triphala.
(I see he says that he is worse than eight days ago—says that Sudarshan and the pills were stopped to try the mixture, but the mixture is not helping perhaps because it is reduced in dose without any compensation such as S or T. He asks also whether it is worth while being treated if the cause of his illness is not known or if it cannot be cured. In fact you have not said for what you are treating him or on what base, so I could not answer. I said I would ask you.)
May 19, 1937
How is today's poem? Not very successful, perhaps.
Miraculously successful, sir, except for one ornithological detail.
It sounds rather big.
Not only sounds, but is.
Oh yes, you didn't understand my "vessels"? Because you forgot, Sir, that I am a medical poet. Vessels are not for cooking only—there are also blood vessels; and you should have made it out as blood was also there.
Let me point out to you that vessels of gold can only mean pots and things, not blood vessels. if you say "golden vessels", it might be otherwise provided you put a footnote "N.B.: physiological metaphor". For non-medical poetry veins would be better and not puzzle the layman.
... Why the devil does A write all these things to you? Are you prescribing or are we? and what the devil is the use of his knowing the medicines and doses, pray? He could have asked me.
Well, what about the free Englishman's right to grumble? This is not London and there is no "Times" to write to, so he writes a letter to me, instead of to the "Times".
Surely, there is a twist somewhere.
There is always a twist, sir, always.
And, didn't I tell him and report to you that it is his chronic liver trouble—liver enlarged? He has forgotten it evidently!
I knew it was liver, but I had myself forgotten about the enlargement.
Anyway, I won't fume.
Don't. Losing one's hair is always a useless operation. Keep your hair on.
Only tell him, please, that he ought to let us know instead of sending a boy with an empty bottle, if he doesn't want to present his honourship himself or shall I tell him myself?
Dear Sir, tell him yourself, tell him yourself. I will pat you on the back in silence from a safe distance.
A servant boy has hookworm; we suggest Eucalyptus + castor oil mixture. So?
Right you are. Go for him, give him castor and pollux.
20.5.37
Nirod
We are informed that P has got boils, ringworm and other privileges all over his body and he is scratching himself and wiping the dishes with his busy fingers. This, I believe, is objectionable according to medical science as well as to common sense? You had better interview him and insist on his taking some kind of treatment, also your good advice. What?
SRI AUROBINDO
May 20, 1937
There are plenty of alternatives and questions in this poem;152 I hope they don't annoy you.
No, it doesn't annoy—but, sir, you have written a magnificent poem without knowing it and that is absurd. The foam-washed shore on the edge of time is splendid, twilight's starry heart-beat is splendid; lines 7, 8, 9, 12 are O.K., while the couplet, sir, the couplet is a miracle. If these are not 0.P., they ought to be.
Quite awfully fine. Gaudeamus igitur.153
The bakery servant's ulcer is varicose ulcer. Rather difficult to heal, for according to medical science the first step in treatment is rest of the parts affected. But since it is not bad, we may hope to cure it. About the risk, Mother has taken the responsibility.
Mother was told it was a wound and nothing much and the varicose affair was separate.
What responsibility and what risk? No one is responsible for the effects of an illness.
May 22, 1937
Why do you call it "absurd", Sir, writing a magnificent poem without knowing? If I knew I would have been glad, but there is a greater pleasure in surprises, isn't there?
Surprise of what? Surprise of not knowing till somebody tells you?
Your remarks are rather mysterious. "If these are not O.P., they ought to be" means they are not? and "these" means also lines 7, 8, 9, 12, I suppose, but you say they are O.K.
I mean just what I say. It is evidently the overhead inspiration that is trying to come, that it changes into something more mental in the transmission. Lines 7, 8, 9 are those that can be suspected of being actually O.P. in rhythm, movement, spirit and turn of the language. But the poetry of the rest is not the less fine for the mental intervention.
O.K. in English is something like all right, quite fit, etc. no?
In American English.
Can your remark on my poem, with the Latin put right go into circulation?
Amal says it is Gaudumus igitur.
What's that—that's not Latin! There is no such word as gaudumus. I wrote "gaudeamus".154
... About the bakery servant—as the Mother knows, standing occupation is not good for these conditions; they tend to increase it. The risk I spoke of is no doubt remote; what happens, at times, is that blood in these veins clots and in that case one may be cured; if that does not happen, the clot can travel to deeper vessels and then to the heart too, or to the brain...
Well, those are things that happen in the course of illness and the employer is not responsible. As for risk, he has to work for his living and it won't help him if we refuse him work. In Europe a large percentage of the working class have varicose veins, yet their work is standing work all day and they go on with it.
May 23, 1937
In the couplet, Amal says, especially your line "Light through her [earth's] dead eclipse of mind is poured," is magnificent. Is it?
How I struggled with the line, and you, Sir, by just a touch here and there fixed it up! I wish I could do that.
It is a question of getting the right words in the right places instead of allowing them to wander haphazard. Naturally it depends on inspiration, not on any clever piecing together. One sits still (mentally), looks at the words and somebody flashes the thing through you.
Oh, this blessed mind! But how the hell does it intervene?
By suggesting an inspiration of its own or a form of its own for the inspiration that is coming and in a hundred other ways. The mind is very active and clever for interference.
At times there are good lines, at others utter failures. If I had doubted at every moment, questioned, I can understand.
The mind can suggest as well as question.
I don't seem to have still caught the metrical rhythm.
It is not the metrical rhythm you have not caught—it is the fact that in English words the stresses cannot be shifted about at pleasure. It can only be done occasionally and within judicious choice.
About the poem of yesterday, this remark will do: "Quite awfully fine ... A magnificent poem".
[Sri Aurobindo put brackets around "Quite awfully fine".]
This is too jocular a form for a solemn "remark". The rest by itself sounds as if you had written the Iliad. Better say more modestly "An extremely fine poem".
By the way, I know that Mother's programme is too crammed; still, I was wondering if I could be occasionally or rarely put in edgeways as one of the interviewers. Any decision will be taken with yogic samatā.
Better not press that now. Wait for better times.
May 24, 1937
You seem to have had no time yesterday to read my poem Golden silence of indifference?
All that was really there last night? How astonishing! I didn't see it. However I have answered now.
N.P. is complaining of violent pains "just below the joint of the thigh" connected with the rapid enlargement of his hydrocele. Is there any danger of a complication such as hernia—something of the kind was suggested once by somebody in connection with another case of hydrocele, I do not know with what authority. If there is, it ought to be looked to, without alarming a very alarm-able patient. What are the pains due to anyway?
May 25, 1937
In N.P.'s case there is no "rapid enlargement" of the hydrocele. It is of the same size as we saw before.
It was his hallucination then? or fear made him see double?
By the way, can you not send one or two sonnets already written, of yours?
Impossible at present.
May 26, 1937
Rajlakshmi has eczema, can i try the medicine Mother gave for that servant?
Pavitra has some medicine for eczema, you might ask him for it. Mother was thinking to keep the other medicine for some time in case there should be any recurrence of the ulcer of Krishnaswami.
May 27, 1937
In this poem should I put 'faint murmur" or "radiant murmur"?
Faint away,—all right—better than radiation.
At night I felt damnably sleepy over the writing. What's the matter, Sir? Had to jump into bed disgusted.
Result of inspiration I suppose—sends you to sleep.
... P has a very rotten physique, Sir!
Well, you will have to pull him out of this before we send him home.
Shall we show N.P. to Philaire, tomorrow? Operation out of the question, perhaps?
You can exhibit him to Philaire, but operation out of the question.
May 28, 1937
Exhibited N.P. to Philaire. Operation is the only remedy, so?
Mother says NO—So?
The rubber sheet Mother gave for the dispensing table is worn out. She had given a shawl which is very good. Shall we use it then?
You can buy a rubber sheet for it.
Mother does not recollect about the shawl.
There is hardly any substantial result of my writing poetry every night. Should one store up and then spend economically, effectively, splendidly now and then, say twice a week, like Amal? Which method do you advise?
Can't say. You have progressed much by the present method Could try the other now and then for perfection if you like.
Perhaps in all the poems there is a touch of inspiration, but is that going to he heightened by storing up for some time and then allowing the gush—that's the question before you.
It is a question before you, sir—not before me.
Guru, J has been terribly puzzled and worried, myself a little less, about your "too overmental style"!
Ornamental, not overmental.
... She exercised her mental faculty too much? Epic movement has to surpass that?
No, sir—You must read my epic handwriting properly first—afterwards exercise your mental faculty.
May 29, 1937
By the way, you have absolutely forgotten to send that "Presse Médicale" with your notes [2.2.37]. Brooding over it?
No. Went to limbo.
I have progressed much, you say? Very glad and thank you, Sir. But the latest poems don't seem to come to much, do they?
What the big h do you mean? Don't come to much? What did you expect more than the praise that has been given? Want to be told that Homer, Aeschylus and Shakespeare all rolled into one were not a patch on you? What's the idea?
The poem which you have marked throughout with single and double marginal lines, is only a fine sonnet?... Not that I mind very much, but I was surprised to see the remark. Can you clarify?
Again what the damn do you mean? When an English poet achieves a fine sonnet, he feels like a peacock and spreads his tail—and you say "only a fine sonnet". Well, I'm damned! Surprised myself to see your remark on my remark.
About the poem of yesterday, I don't feel like changing the last line. The poem hasn't come to much except as an exercise. You have said nothing about it.
Don't talk blithering nonsense. Change that line and send the poem back to me.
D seems to be wounded by our and your silence. Do you think he may be more Pondicherry-minded by a little connection: soothing words, one or two poems, etc.?
Yes. Better send some soothing remarks from time to time.
May I know why Mother says No to N.P.'s operation? I want to know your viewpoint. Hydrocele operations are supposed to be without any risk at all. If we leave it as it is, it will grow bigger.
What operation? tapping? I have known cases of hydrocele operation being performed times and times but the thing always cameback. It is N.P. who is asking for operation?
May 30, 1937
Will you wake up from limbo and scratch something on the paper?
How can I when the whole thing has gone to limbo?
May 31, 1937
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