Sukirtharani is an Indian feminist poet who is widely acclaimed for her contribution to contemporary Dalit and Tamil literature. Sukirtharani is a Tamil teacher at the Government Girls High School, and has a Master’s degree in economics and Tamil literature. Her works include six published collections of poems. The works themselves have been described as celebratory towards the female body and a chastisement of the oppressive caste system which encapsulate a dual experience of being born both a female and a Dalit.
Night Beast
Like a young woman’s
love-sickness,
darkness had begun
to engulf the world.
After shutting the door,
I sat alone
in the yellow light of candles.
It was then that its
daily, unwelcome visit
came to pass.
Even as I was watching,
it pulled me out
and brought forth
another version of myself.
Before I was startled,
I had finished reading
the book that bore
the imprint of intimacy.
The light beams of my eyes
were fixed on the loose clothes
of the man asleep
in the front room.
Along with the wine
that filled the cup and brimmed over,
my body drowned
and floated to the top.
While I was absorbed
in pleasuring myself, uttering
obscene phrases in a low moan,
hearing the rustle of birds’ wings
the night beast fled,
returning me to myself
Gigantic Trees
Gifted with the cycle
of seasons, my body
ripens and gathers into a heap –
like a mushroom.
Secret organs are carefully woven
onto its front and back.
The smoky aroma of clarified lust
rises from the skin that crawls
with gooseflesh all over.
My body is etched with
lukewarm cheeks, plump
around the yielding waist,
and cowries of desire, arranged
like an upturned triangle.
Arriving now in a misty haze,
a street artiste performing without make-up,
you untie the knots in the front of my bodice.
savouring the breasts that nourished you once;
now you are ashamed even to utter their name.
I brandish the fork of my breasts
as a lethal weapon in combat.
From this day on, you must
serenade aloud from below
those firm, unyielding breasts
which hold aloft the pennant
of this territory under my reign.
It is ages now
since breasts morphed
into gigantic trees.
Untitled
When they skinned the carcass
of a dead cow,
I would chase the crows away.
After eating
the communal food
i collected after waiting
for a long time
outside every home,
I‘d brag that it was
a hot meal I ate.
Encountering my father
on the street
with a funereal drum
slung around his neck,
I’d pass him quickly,
averting my face.
Unable to state
my father’s vocation
and his annual income
in the classroom,
I’d fall victim
to the teacher’s cane.
Sitting friendless
in the back row,
I’d cry secret tears.
But now,
should anyone happen to ask,
I tell them readily:
Yes, I am a pariah girl
Published in Name Me a Word: Indian Writers Reflect on Writing edited by Meena Alexander, Yale University Press, 2018
Comments