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A note from the publisher
What then will happen
to this scorching summer land when
fissured at noonsun
the ploughs ruptured
with effort made impotent
turn away
refuse
to look the wasted earth in the eye
helpless unable
to whisper words of succor comfort
knowing then and there that it was late
too late
to place their hands on the forehead
of an earth feverish delirious or
rub the knots in their once proud bark
as monks do when rapidly counting beads
to stem tides that begin there some where
out of reach or control for this then is
that elsewhere over which
only nature reigns
or so one believed and
then when somehow
we do not know how
or when
things began to change spiral
leap out of control
leaving even nature's defenses
breached bewildered stunned
Naveen Kishore, Seagull Books
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HISTORY FOR PEACE - ANNUAL CONFERENCE
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This conference is dedicated to the memory of PeaceWorks friend and patron
Kozo Yamamura ( 1934 - 2017 )
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The Idea of India - An International Conference on Teaching History
14, 15, 16, 17 August 2017
T
his year, as we complete 70 years of Independence, the History for Peace annual conference looks at India's engagement or its lack thereof with institutionalized, collective and individual histories that make up the 'Idea of India'-through textbooks. The
conference also seeks to explore how history is narrated (texts and arts), memories are created and events are remembered.
Speakers include:
Prof. Romila Thapar, Prof. Gayatri Chakravorty Spivak, Prof. Krishna Kumar,
Prof Vijay Prashad,
Prof. Joy Pachuau
, Sudhanva Deshpande,
Jerry Pinto,
Ravish Kumar,
Ryan Lobo a
nd many more!
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I don't know my mission. I don't know what message I am supposed to transmit. Variola said nothing that made sense to me. I didn't memorise the sound of her words, so I couldn't repeat them in the presence of an interpreter. They didn't select me for my memory, but because I can hold my tongue and know no fear. Even if I knew something I wouldn't reveal it. The threat of torture instils no terror in me. I feel no pain and no sorrow. Glarum, the truth-finder that sifts our enemies' brains and records their thoughts, has no effect on me, as a number of tests have proved. My mental training is almost complete but I am not yet a Siddim Master. Despite that, the highest level, which accomplishes total obliteration, has not destroyed me but put me into a pleasantly even mood. For the first time, I feel at one with Gibbesh. I have told no one of it and will tell no one of it, until I hold her guu in my hands. Then, however, everyone will find out at the same time, and they will be grateful to me for telling them. My inner peace will be transferred to them and make them better, more unconditional soldiers.
There is no point in following me. And yet someone is following me. I have spent hours shaking off the ship that has latched onto mine. The sensors show nothing. The screen is black. But that doesn't mean there isn't something out there that might be a danger to me: a power that forces me to abandon my conviction and adapt to its own. Many have the ability to camouflage themselves or manipulate their enemies' perception. I must not exclude the possibility that they have long since taken control of my thoughts and are merely waiting for the right moment to initiate my self abandonment.
At moments like this, floating and looking down at a strange world, it seems as if I haven't yet been born, as if I were merely a distant shadow of the future. It is certainly possible that I have flown through a wormhole during my escape. Some open up suddenly in front of you and are so small that you can't evade them.
In Kardeus, I heard of monks who breathed one in or swallowed one. Since then, the past has spoken through them. That is the highest level of enlightenment.
All I know is that I have lost my course and entered the atmosphere of an unknown planet in the constellation of the Great Gog. My ship is badly harmed. But even if I did manage to repair the damage, the fuel will not be enough to return to Kedron. Even though I have a mission to fulfil and the probability is high that I am carrying a message within me that I don't understand, no one will miss me.
extract from Against the World
by Jan Brandt
Against the World
Jan Brandt
Translated by Katy Derbyshire
On its publication in German,
Against the World
was hailed as an immediate classic. 'One of the most spectacular debuts of recent decades,' said
Kulturspiegel
, while
Der Spiegel
went even farther: '
Against the World
is the book of books.' Now English-language readers will get their first chance to see what German readers have already learned: this is a big, ambitious, over-the-top masterpiece.
Set in the East Friesia region of Germany in the mid-1970s,
Against the World
tells the story of Daniel Kuper, the nominal heir to a drugstore dynasty, and his struggle to free himself from the petty suspicions and violence of small-town life. A delicate, secretive boy with too much imagination and too few opportunities, he becomes the target of outrage and fear when strange phenomena convulse the town: snowfall in summer, inexplicable corn circles, a boy dead under the wheels of a train, swastikas crudely daubed on walls. Fingers point, and they single out Kuper. The more he tries to prove his innocence, the more fierce the accusations, until his only option is open war against the village and its inhabitants.
An unforgettable debut,
Against the World
is an epic account of growing up an outsider, and the pain, violence, and betrayal that accompany exclusion.
ISBN : 9780857423375
Rs
950.00
$
45.00
£
31.50 (HB)
Available at Seagull Books Store and online in India here and world here
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K. G. SUBRAMANYAN IN BARODA
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The New Encounter
When you get on in years
And the body's fire runs cold
And in the heart's hammock lies
An aching emptiness
The sunbeams tip with gold
The sockets of your eyes
And the garden flowers' laughter
Goes tinkling in your ears
And in the vision of the world
Crowded with bird and beast
You see your wishes' flag unfurled
As in a holy feast
It is like the mind has moulted
Cast off its crackled skin
And a bodiless body stepped out
From the wizened bones within
And hurtled through the wall of flesh
Into the heart of things
The grass's green, the rose's red
The earth's warm brown, the eyeless winds
The open blues of the endless skies
And those little dramas
Of birds and beasts
Or the nameless humans in the streets
K. G. Subramanyan
Untitled, Reverse painting on acrylic, 24 x 30 inches, 2015
ARK, Baroda, and The Seagull Foundation for the Arts present
IN MEMORY OF MANIDA
A Show in the Honour of Late Shri K.G. Subramanyan
(15 February 1924 - 29 June 2016)
Saturday, 3 June 2017 to Thursday, 29 June 2017
4 p.m. to 7.30 p.m. daily [except Mondays and public holidays]
at Gallery Ark | ARK, Opposite BIDC Main Gate,
Gorwa, Vadodara.
To commemorate Manida's first death anniversary,
the show concludes on Thursday, 29 June 2017, with a talk
ENTERING THE DOMAIN OF THE GODS:
The 18th Century Painter, Manaku, And His Work
by Padmabhushan
B. N. Goswamy (Brijender Nath Goswamy),
one of India's leading art historian and pre-eminent scholar of
Indian Miniature Painting
at Federation of Gujarat Industries, FGI Business Centre,
Gotri-Sevasi Road, Nr. Sevasi, Vadodara, Gujarat 391101
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K. G. SUBRAMANYAN IN KOZHIKODE
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T
he travelling exhibition
Sketches, Scribbles, Drawings
by K. G. Subramanyan opened in Kozhikode at the Keral Lalithakala Akademi on Thursday, 25 May 2017. This exhibition spanning over five decades of Manida's work and having been shown at Santiniketan, Calcutta, Bhopal, Bhubaneswar, Patna, Lucknow, Chennai, Guwahati, Kochi, Mumbai, Delhi, will be on view here till Sunday, 25 June 2017.
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Many people ask me whether I feel satisfied when the work is completed. One must say without any hesitation, that the answer in most cases is 'No'. After all, I work with only one concept. Therefore, repetition is a normal consequence. But I do enjoy working. The painful moments can become pregnant with pleasure in all forms of art. The sound that rises from the pit of the stomach when singing, the fingers that bleed when playing certain passages on the sitar, the unnatural dilation of the throat when playing the shehnai-all these cause endless physical discomfort; but the artist's being transcends them to reach an almost supernatural state of bliss. We all know that the scratches received during love do not merely cause bleeding but also an intense flow of pleasure.
Somnath Hore,
My Concept of Art
Birth of a Rose,
9/10, Colour Etching, National Award 1962,
17.6 x 20 inches, 1962. Collection: Rakesh Sahni, Gallery Rasa
The Tea Garden Journal and Other Works by Somnath Hore opened at Durbar Hall, Kochi on 26 May 2017 with a Baul music performance followed by Shri M. A. Baby, former Cultural Minister, reminiscing about his interactions with Somnath babu during his many visits to Santiniketan. This was followed by Prof Siva Kumar delivering an illustrated lecture on the artist's life and work.
Despite the sweltering heat, a 200 strong audience, sat riveted to their chairs through the entire programme and promised to come back again and again to view the 230 works on display.
The exhibition continues till 26 June 2017.
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