The literature of the Navōdaya period (that began in the early 1900s) in Kannada literature was inspired by the emergent literature of the Bengal Renaissance as well as by the Romantic tradition of English poetry. This inspiration extended to the verse forms of the Romantic tradition and included the sonnet.
As the foremost lyrical poet of Kannada’s Navōdaya period, and an inveterate seeker (and inventor) of new poetic forms, Bendre’s experiments with the sonnet began in the early 1920s. However, it was in his 1938 collection “ಉಯ್ಯಾಲೆ (Uyyāle: The Swing)” that the sonnet-fruit swelled forth in all its fullness. Naming his avatāra of the sonnet the ಅಷ್ಟಷಟ್ಪದಿ or the oct-sestet (and, by doing so, choosing the Petrarchan form over the Shakespearean), Bendre says in his introduction that “the new qualities [of his sonnets] are their lack of rhyme, their unpredictable use of enjambment, and the strangeness of the twist imparted [when moving from the octet to the sestet]”.
As a translator, I will admit that the sonnets of “ಉಯ್ಯಾಲೆ” have provided respite of a sort. In particular, Bendre’s (deliberate?) eschewal of his famous, near-ubiquitous (end) rhyme has allowed the translation – or transcreation – to stretch its limbs a little bit more, to spread itself with a little more freedom in its attempt to emulate the various ways and plays of a Bendre poem. Conversely, this eschewal on Bendre’s part has often been (more than) compensated for by a denseness of thought and language! In any case, I have looked to approximate the technical dexterity of these poems using what may be called a rhythmic “free verse”. (Bendre may have chosen to forego rhyme but his preternatural sense for rhythm and aurality remained.)
Here is a sonnet from the collection that illustrates some of what was said above. While the English word bugbear works as a translation for gumma, I have retained the original for its flavour.
Keep quiet, kanda, the gumma’s come; oh my, what
are those eyes of his! How red his tongue – like embers
in the darkness black! Faking slowness, he comes (and
comes); keep quiet, kanda, don’t you cry! He might just
come here if he hears your wail; oh my oh my!
Shut your eyes tight, just fall asleep, don’t ever see
his misbegotten face; here he comes, oomph-hmmphing,
stay calm, kanda, don’t even peep, the gumma nears.
Don’t come, gumma, he’s gone to sleep; this is mira–
culous! Like fish gulped in to a water-whirl,
his mind’s at rest; his breath is like a baby-breeze
swirling through the leaves; it’s acting crazy now –
with what dream-girlfriend’s breathing is it twinned;
there too, gumma, make sure that kanda is not scared.
(Translated by Madhav Ajjampur)
Poem Details: From the collection, “ಉಯ್ಯಾಲೆ”, first published in 1938.
© Madhav Ajjampur