It is time to rejoice about the successful arrival, in both Pakistan and India, of Sukhan-i-Iftikhar [Verse of Iftikhar], the collected poetic works of Iftikhar Arif.

This month is also the beginning of the 80th year of his life. His birthday was March 21, which was both Nauroz — the arrival of spring in Iran and Central Asia, but also celebrated by many in South Asia — this year, as well as International Poetry Day.

I find it a befittingly coincidental tribute to Arif’s life and works that the Indian edition of the compendium was launched online on March 21, with him and publisher Hoori Noorani speaking from Pakistan. The collected works, published in Pakistan by Maktaba-i-Daniyal in the middle of last year, have been published in India by the Majlis-i-Tarraqqee-i-Urdu. The book’s cover is designed by leading artist and architect Nayyar Ali Dada and features introductory notes from formidable scholars such as Dr Syed Nomanul Haq and Dr Nasir Abbas Nayyar.

Sukhan-i-Iftikhar combines Arif’s collections Mehr-i-Do Neem [The Split Moon], Harf-i-Baryaab [The Letter Accepted to be Blessed], Jahaan-i-Maloom [The Known World] and Baagh-i-Gul-i-Surkh [The Garden of Red Flowers] in chronological order, with all their respective prefaces and endorsements. The first preface to the first book is by Faiz Ahmed Faiz.

It is not essential for a creative artist to be politically active. But it is essential for any artist of significance to be politically conscious.”

There is always a human story that underpins creative achievement — a human story of love and loss. Arif was born in the dreamy, self-indulgent and enchanting city of Lucknow in pre-Partition India. He had a rather difficult childhood, but remained surrounded by women of substance and men of letters.

His formative years shaped his cultural being, his mannerisms and his style — both as a person and as a poet. He earned a master’s degree in literature from the University of Lucknow before moving to Pakistan. He worked hard and rose to prominence in his adopted homeland at a considerably young age. In his career, he held summit positions at various institutions of language and literature, besides holding senior management positions at Pakistan Television (PTV). During the late 1970s and the 1980s, he spent long years in London and ran a cultural centre there as well.

Something peculiar about Arif’s poetry is his sensibility, woven by the two strands of suffering and ecstasy. Both are distinct from each other, but run side by side and keep intertwining smoothly in his ghazals and nazms. Arif has further enriched Urdu poetry in the classical tradition of multi-layered composition of verse using metaphors and symbols — a hallmark of the old masters of Persian and Urdu ghazal.

However, his choice of themes and use of language is thoroughly modern. That makes him a contemporary poet with deep civilisational roots and an exhaustive command over the language he uses.

One has also observed that, over the years, in choice of themes as well as lexicon, Arif has slowly moved on from the Ganga-Jamuni Tehzeeb — the civilisation nurtured between the rivers Ganges and Yamuna — which was an amalgam of Muslim and Vedic cultures. He is more of a poet of the Indo-Gangetic plains, the cradle of new cultures emerging in the larger area that begins from the Indus basin and extends to northern India and beyond.

These new cultures — not in denial of their Muslim or Vedic roots — are sprouting from the de-colonised sensibility of people, which owes its existence to our literature in the native languages. Arif has clearly absorbed influences from our masters in Sindhi, Punjabi and other languages that we speak. I also find it interesting that his diction is not as Persianised now as some of his contemporaries and successors, who continue to write exquisite verse, but in a heavily Persianised diction that is becoming increasingly inaccessible.

Arif has not been active in political and social movements like Faiz, Fahmida Riaz, Kishwar Naheed or Habib Jalib. Here, I reiterate that it is not essential for a creative artist to be politically active. But it is essential for any artist of significance to be politically conscious. Arif’s work offers deep insights into the political drama unfolding around us and the subsequent social stresses that we continue to feel in our bones.

He is also a poet of romance and resistance, with influences from the Progressive Writers’ Movement. Nevertheless, he continues to draw his symbols of both suffering and resistance from the sorrows of the house of the Prophet of Islam (PBUH) and, particularly, the Battle of Karbala and its immediate aftermath.

In his poem Aik Rukh [One Aspect], translated by Syeda Sayidain Hameed, Arif says: “After every such perspective, there is a reign of silence/ Devouring the dreadful noise of war drums and banners/ Silence/ Which is the supplicant’s cry, or/ The voice of protest/ An age-old story, it did not happen today/ In every such story/ There is a sameness about the dignity of endurance/ On the bank of river Euphrates/ Or any other embankment/ There is a sameness about all legions.”

In his poem Al Ilm-o-Hijab-ul-Akbar [Knowledge Itself Conceals], translated by Yasmeen Hameed, Arif says: “Sometimes the flame of the lamp itself/ Longs for a wayward puff of wind/ To expose the night hidden in the eyes/ So, in the darkness/ Every traveller may remember/ The faith-defenders of the path of virtue.”

Arif is also fortunate to have been translated into English by people such as Ralph Russell, Alamgir Hashmi, Khawaja Shahid Hosain and Naomi Lazard among others. I hope Arif continues to write and keeps enriching us.

The columnist is a poet and essayist. He has recently edited Pakistan Here and Now: Insights into Society, Culture, Identity and Diaspora. His latest collection of verse is Hairaan Sar-i-Bazaar

Published in Dawn, Books & Authors, March 26th, 2023