PART 2 - Gold and Bracelet, Water and Wave': Signature and Translation in the Indian Poetry of Adela Cory Nicolson

Take, for example, Alicia Simpson's Bhakti Marga or the Religion of Divine

Love, published in London at the turn of the century. In this work, Simpson

provides an overview of local Indian Vedantic traditions to explain the rise of

the poetic and religious movement called 'bhakti', including the dualistic

Hindu philosophy of Narada and the Islamic tradition of 'tesawuf' or

regeneration through multiple births. She self-consciously places herself as

a translator whose antecedents, she claims, are the 'Cup-bearers . . .

Fitzgerald and Le Gallienne, who have poured English wine into the Persian

cup, and thus made it palatable for the English drinkers' (Simpson 1919:66). (8-Notes)

In Indian Poetry, Edwin Arnold, the translator of the sixteenth-century

mystic poet Jayadeva's most important work Gita Govinda, offers what

appears to be one of the most influential Indian sources for Nicolson, 'The

Longings of Krishna' (Arnold 1881:44). Based on the 'rasa' theory of Indian

aesthetics, Jayadeva7s work combines the sacred and profane in its celebration

of the divine Krishna's love:

Of his secret House, the gates

Of that bright paradise which waits

The wise in love. Ah, human creatures!

Even your phantasies are teachers.

Mighty Love makes sweet in seeming

Even Krishna's woodland dreaming;

Mighty Love sways all alike (Arnold 1881:19).

The discourse about the sacred and the profane finds a new language in this

translation of Jayadeva, which finds a place in Nicolson's poetry. Furthermore,

translation also allows traditions to be linked through specifically

constructed cultural genealogies. For example, Alicia Simpson contends that

the influence of Vedantic philosophy can be discerned among the Greeks and

even English writers such as Spenser and Milton (Simpson 1919:88-90). (9- Notes) Her

work also shows clearly that the discursive terrain within which one seeks to

place Nicolson was part of a larger effort to define the local in an attempt to

create a cross-cultural understanding of national identity, making available a

language in which, for example, it was now possible to speak about 'fantasies'

in relation to the sacred and the profane. I contend that this understanding

had significant political implications: in her opening pages, Simpson observes

that her efforts at translation were justified because men 'who govern India'

must 'understand Hindu thought' (Simpson 1919:5-6). It is worth observing

that there exists a close association between the 'religious' and the 'civil' in

this type of discourse, which is evident when Simpson compares Hinduism

with the English Constitution, observing that the former's 'power of

accommodation is much greater than that of the very elastic English

Constitution' (Simpson 1919:8, emphasis added). In other words, the

translator's keen awareness and acknowledgement of the power of accommodation

or 'elasticity' inherent in the practice of translation make possible

a new discourse about re-imagining the civil modes that constitute government

and culture. Criticizing the simple proselytizing of Christian missionaries,

Simpson says: 'the stupendous systems of Hindu philosophy are

far too subtle for the ordinary Christian Missionary, who does not even

comprehend the mysteries of his own Faith, and therefore cannot wrestle

with the secrets of a subtle race' (Simpson 1919:65-6). It is clear then that

Simpson's work was part of a vocabulary of translation that was familiar to

the Victorian reading public since the mid-Victorian era when, for example,

Ella Haggard published her Myra: Or the Rose of the East (1857). Written right

after the Mutiny, an event that had triggered an entire range of fiction about

Victorian heroism, Haggard's oriental poetry was-as she herself claimed-a

'record of the association of early years', before 'the drama now enacting in

our Eastern possessions' disrupted the prevailing sense of order. There is an

acute awareness in Haggard that the success of her work depended on its

ability to evoke a pastoral and exotic world that had already been made

familiar through previous constructions of the Orient: as she observes in the

Introduction, the 'truth' of her poetic tale rested both on 'the fidelity in

reflecting Eastern scenes and ideas' (Haggard 1857:2) as well as on the

public's own sense of 'reality' drawn from its own affective position on the

empire. In Flowers of the East, Ebenezer Pocock claimed that the purpose of

his work on oriental poetry and music was 'to present to the European

imagination a few latent beauties, which have either remained unculled, or

have bloomed in obscurity' (Pocock 1833:iii), suggesting that the resources

available for translation into English were almost inexhaustible, given the

variety of sources to which the colonial authorities had access.

For Pocock, one such source was the 'ghuzul', a form of mediaeval

Persian romantic lyric, and the 'quseeduh' or idyllium. (10- Notes) Discussing these

poetic forms, Pocock explains how ideas of romantic love in Persian poetry

are embodied in the form of divine yearning:

The similarity between Persian Sufi and Indian 'bhakti' traditions lay in this

co-presence or simultaneity of divine and secular, a point emphasized in G. S.

Davie's translation of Bostin of Sidi, The Garden of Fragrance (1882). Pocock

had observed that, while the Persian style 'might appear inflated or

hyberbolic' to a European, to the 'Asiatic' that very style is 'strictly

appropriate and even beautiful'. Like Pocock, Davie defends the conflation

of the divine and profane elements in Sidi: 'Judging by modern European

ideas of propriety, he [Sidi] sometimes borders on the obscene . . . but

orientals do not gauge their morality by European standards' (Davie

1882:xviii). While Davie posits a differential understanding of culture for

the appreciation of poetry, Pocock draws on similarities between incommensurable

cultures, observing that the closest parallel to Sufi poetry was 'some of the most beautiful compositions' known to the West, the 'Psalms of the Royal David' (Davie 1882:32).

Translating some of the most popular romantic folk tales often rendered in poetry, such as 'Laila Majnu' (the Persian counterpart of the story of Romeo and Juliet) and the 'flute player', Davie once again makes available a language of love, separation, yearning and even death, all of which the critic Harold Williams discerned in Nicolson's

poetry but dismissed as reflecting the 'neurosis of sex' (Williams 1918:142).

William Cleaver Wilkinson's allegations that the translator Edwin Arnold

was no more than a mere 'poetizer' and 'paganizer' and that the 'public has

been taken by storm' (Wilkinson 1884:14) can be understood as symptomatic

of a particular response to translation as cultural practice, conducted within a

mechanism of appropriation and consumption that alternately reinforced and

destabilized the relationship between consumer and consumed object. The

uniqueness of Nicolson's work lies in the fact that, although it grows out of

this contested discursive terrain, it pushes the boundaries of translation as a

cultural practice to new edges. Her attempt to incorporate the 'bhakti'

tradition intersects with her efforts to imagine new possibilities for articulating

gender and voice in late Victorian colonial culture. Perhaps the most

influential strands of this 'bhakti' tradition comes from the work of the

sixteenth-century blind mystic poet, Sur-das. In his songs, Sur-das captured

the 'lila', or divine play, following the tradition of the Krishna cult

popularized by other mystic poets in sixteenth-century India, such as

Jaidev, Chaitanya, Chandidas and Mirabai. According to this tradition, it

was the poet's power of vision that gave him/her access to the divine play of

Krishna: participation in the 'lila' involves not some ineffable mystic

communion, but the acceptance of an active role in the day-to-day activities

of that dusty, rustic world that Nicolson often evokes in her own poetry. This

erotic/mystic poetry, founded on the 'rasa' theory of Sanskrit poetics, also

works through the reverie-epiphany inspired by the vision of Krishna's dual

role-human and divine-that, as Kenneth Bryant argues, is always revealed

against the 'background of the human' (Bryant 1978:21). In other words, this

form of poetic utterance gave Nicolson a way to articulate the human aspects

of the colonial encounter and to present an awareness of the complex and

multidimensional psychic effects it had introduced for western subjects.

Central to this play of 'lila' is the idea of 'viraha', or 'longing caused by

separation' (Hawley 1984:93), a force that 'deepens love and forces it to

expression' (Hawley 1984:96). The idea of 'viraha' is indeed a constitutive

structural and thematic element in most of Nicolson's poems. For example,

in the poem 'Reverie of Mahomed Akram at the Tamarind Tank', the

emotion is communicated by the idea that 'Possession lessens a lover's

delight' (10). The idea is elaborated in different ways in much of Nicolson's

poetry, particularly where feminine 'viraha' is set against the idea of

masculine, self-disciplining 'yoga'. In 'bhakti' poetry 'viraha' was seen to be

part of 'viyoga': an affect-laden mode suggesting a situation of separation that

is set in direct opposition to the more self-disciplining 'yoga' that emphasized masculine knowledge and transcendence through practice. As John Hawley notes: 'Grammatically the opposite of "yoga," viyoga literally is an unyoking/disjunction; it is devotion to the Lord in separation from him, as viyoga.' Sur-das, the poet, often described the 'gopis' (female companions) of Krishna as 'viyogis', individuals who knew only what they felt and entirely resistant to any talk of yogic self-discipline and asceticism (Hawley

1984:lOl). In fact, the poet Sur-das saw 'virahanis', the women separated

from Krishna, as the true yogis of this world who had mastered 'Birah jur

jog', the yoga of yearning (Hawley 1984:103). If masculine imperialism

signified the spirit of transcendence through practice, the viraha/voyoga

element was a reminder of the disjunction caused within the psychic sphere

by this form of engagement, and of the possibility of moving beyond that

disjunction. And this is precisely how Nicolson translates 'viraha' in her poetry.

Based on 'viraha', or the longing from separation, many of Nicolson's

poems address the condition of loss by locating the 'I' as already detached

from an original plenitude. In 'From behind the Lattice', the 'I' appears as a

voice behind the lattice, literally shielded from the object of desire, and its

'longing' is described as 'ebb[inglY and 'flow[inglY (395). 'VirahaY-or separation

as the condition of desire-provides the prominent topos in 'Golden Eyes':

This longing I have for you

Eternally survives,

May I not sometimes dare to dream

In some far time to be

Your soft softly golden eyes must gleam

Responsively on me? (44).

Reciprocity is imagined as a state of anticipation, evoking the space of a call

that lies outside the objectifying view of the Other. In 'Verses', that yearning

is expressed as a form of divine devotion enacted as ritual worship. The opening lines,

You are my God, and I would fain adore You

With sweet and secret rites of other days

Burn scented oil in silver lamps before You,

Pour perfume on Your feet with prayer and praise (12)

lead to the affirmation of unity between the self and the other:

Yet we are one. Your gracious condescension

Granted, and grants, the loveliness I crave.

One, in the perfect sense of Eastern mention,

'Gold and Bracelet, Water and Wave' (12).

This evocation of unity is, however, rare in Nicolson's poems. In 'Mahomed

Akram's Appeal to the Stars', the 'I' is imagined as the 'abject': 'Broken,

forlorn, upon the Desert sand', the speaker describes itself as 'I, the cast out,

dismissed and dispossessed' (27). Following the tradition of the song found

in Sur-das's poetry about the female'gopis' of Krishna waiting for his return,

the poetic persona in the poem 'The Masters' (347) asks the 'Masters, you

who rule the world . . .' to 'see in my songs how women love' (347).

Following the tradition of 'Krishna lila' often performed at local sites in

Northern India, Nicolson deftly uses this theme of 'viraha' in the poem

'Khristna and His Flute' (371) to describe the effect of the god's 'wistful

music' on the hearer: separated from the divine presence, the hearer cannot

resist its 'charms'. Reminiscent of Edwin Arnold's translation of Gita

Govinda, the poem evokes the idea of 'viraha' by describing the elusive

source of Krishna's music through the evocation of the call. In this poem, the

'blue God'of the poet Sur-das is transfigured in the very image of separation:

the 'blueness'of distance marks the very space where that desire for the lost

object is realized in the poem. (11- Notes)

The 'viraha' also becomes a kind of poetic trope in Nicolson that allows

her to recodify and transform Kipling's imperial motif of 'East is East' by

relocating its oppositional structure within the field of desire. In 'On the

City Wall', the sense of 'viraha' is enacted 'Upon the City Ramparts, lit up by

sunset gleam', by describing 'Blue eyes that conquer, meet the Darker eyes

that dream' (151). In the course of the poem, this opposition between active

'conquering' and inert 'dreaming' is subtly disrupted. Although the poem

closes with the lines,

But time 0' love is overpast, East and West must part,

Blue eyes so clear and brilliant! Brown eyes so dark and deep!

Those are dim, and ride away, these cry themselves to sleep (152)

it also evokes the emotion of 'viraha' through the act of 'lingering, looking,

smiling', when 'Time and distance [is] all forgotten, for a little while'. This

moment of 'arrest' allows the speaker to see 'East and West so gaily blending'

with 'All the force of Nature's laws, drawing them together' (151), creating an

alternate temporality that questions the very basis of time and progressive

history inaugurated by Kipling's stridently muscular imperialism. One is

aware that on the edges of this gendered allegorical poem is an understanding

of the psychic disruptions caused by the colonizing impulse. Significantly,

the poem ends with the words of the speaker of the 'dark eyes':

Oh, since Love is all so short, the sob so near the smile,

Blue eyes that always conquer us, is it worth your while? (152).

Perhaps most compelling for my purpose is the way in which the 'bhakti'

tradition allows for a particular form of play involving the relationship

between poetic signature, gender and the vision of 'lila'. In the devotional

poetry of Sur-das, for example, there are three forms of poetic persona

written into verse: the first, in which the poet sees himself as one who herded

cattle with Krishna under the name 'krishna sakha' (or companion of

Krishna); the second, as one with an indeterminate gender who spends

nights enjoying Krishna's love under the name 'champak lata' (or the vine of

the champak flower); and the third-again of indeterminate gender-as one

who returns to tell the tale in a thousand poems, signed at the end of each

offering with a third name 'Sur-das'.

I earlier indicated that the 'transitive move into signature' is designated

by the use of 'of' or 'by' in the title of the poems, such as 'Reminiscence of

Mahomed Akram' (29), 'Song of Faiz Ulla' (77), 'Protest: By Zahir-u-Din'

(116), 'Song of the Devoted Slave' (171), 'To Aziz: Song of Mahomed Akram'

(185), 'The Island of Desolation: Song of Mahomed Akram' (250), and

'Devotion of Aziz to Mir Khan' (287). Some poems foreground the very act

of naming, as in 'Golden Eyes' (42-4):

Oh, you whom I name 'Golden Eyes,'

Perhaps I used to know

Your beauty under other skies

In lives lived long ago.

This act of naming the addressee occurs as the addresser 'I' folds

metonymically into a persona, revealing a new discursive plane on which

gender and desire are played out in particular ways. For example, along with

the nominal gendering (giving or ascribing generic names-man or woman)

and specific names (those given to men or women) exist cursive positions

(pronouns such as 'I: 'she' and 'heJ) as well as those practices of gendering

that are not marked as such. In Gender Trouble, Judith Butler has argued that

'the gendered body is performative', suggesting that such a body 'has no

ontological status apart from the various acts which constitute its reality'

(Butler 1990:136). Nicolson's language manifests those 'words, acts, and

gestures, articulated and enacted desires' (Butler 1990:136) whose possibilities

belong to the grammatical order instituted by language in translation.

This language works through the continuum (Urdu/Hindi/English) and,

within these gendered structural possibilities, Nicolson places poetic voices

that translate, and are themselves translated through, gender to recall

lineages of desiring subjects. It is through such performance that desire is

angled and given a particular profile. Nicolson's complex enactment of these

possibilities is significant; using the Indian idea of multiple 'births' embodied

in the theory of incarnation, 'In lives lived long ago', the poet in 'Golden

Eyes' switches the gender identities of 'I' and 'you' throughout the poem,

creating a temporality that plays with the very idea of 'origin'. In the first

instance, the 'I' is imagined as a merchant who 'rows with galley slaves'

bringing the addressee 'YOU' 'Your treasures from the East'; in the next the - -

addressee is imagined as the emperor and the 'I' a 'favourite slave': 'Some

youth, whom from the lion's den/ You vainly tried to save' (43); in the next,

the 'I' assumes the person of 'a mighty King' and the addressee becomes

'some slight captive thing,/ Some maiden whom I slew'; and in the final

instance, the '1'i.s the sacrificial victim and the addressee the sacrificer. In

'Reminiscence of Mahomed Akram' (29), the speaker is male and the

unnamed addressee is female: 'The sudden Thought of your face is like a

Wound/ When it comes unsought,' and the scene of farewell described as

Fad[ing] away from the failing sense in a haze,

And the music sways

far away in unmeasured distance . . .

I cannot forget- (30).

'To Aziz: Song of Mahomed Akram' (185) is ascribed to a male Akram and

addressed to a male 'Aziz' (in Arabic, 'Aziz' literally means the beloved of

God); the male Akram addresses Aziz as 'You are so fair and I desire you so' (185).

Akram addresses Aziz in the following manner:

Even as always you torment me near.

Yet is your beauty so divine a thing,

So irreplaceable, so haunting sweet

Against all reason, I am fain to fling

My life, my youth, myself, beneath your feet.

The way in which this transitive move to 'I' occurs in the poem also

creates an uncertainty regarding the gender identity of the speaker: Is this

a poem addressed by an unnamed woman to Aziz, now ascribed to

Mahomed Akram because he is its singer? Another poem addressed to

Aziz is simply called 'Farewell', the signature withheld, and starts with

'Farewell, Aziz, it was not mine to fold you/ Against my heart for any

length of days' (47). Similarly in another poem simply titled 'Memory', the

addressee is a female 'Aziza whom I adore' (63), but the identity of the 'I'

is never specified:

Every curve of that beauty is known to me,

Every tint of that delicate roseleaf skin,

And these are printed on every atom of me,

Burnt in on every fibre until I die.

And for this, my sin,

I doubt if ever, though dust I be,

The dust will lose the desire,

The torment and hidden fire,

Of my passionate love for you (63-4).

In 'Stars of the Desert: [Mahomed Akram's Night Watch]' (239-40)' the

speaker is the night watchman who watches over the sleeping male Akram

who is separated from him by 'Only the walls of one thin tent of canvas'. The

information offered in parenthesis about the gender of the speaker is

significant. As a poem about 'unrequited love' (240), it links the 'I' and

'you' spectrally through the description of the play of shadows in the night:

Here, at the doorway of my tent, I linger

To watch in yours the shadow and the light,

The hungry soul within me burning burning,

As stars burn throughout the Eastern night (239).

The male speaker describes the male sleeping body of Mahomed Akram in

intimate terms, follows its 'cadenced breathing/ From the soft curve of

parted lips set free' (239), creating an affect that registers itself only through

the shadows behind the tent. The 'viraha' motif is recalled in the lines: 'And

know the Desert's self is not more boundless/ Than is the distance 'twixt

yourself and me' (240). In another poem, 'Devotion of Aziz to Mir Khan'

(287-94), Aziz becomes the 'slave' who prepares himself for the eventual

departure of his master Mir Khan who has to escape without his slave in

order to preserve his own life. Aziz knows that Mir Khan is 'Beloved of

women' (290) and, although he claims that 'Women have loved me, even me'

(293), he admits that 'this devotion I have for thee,/ This another thing: I

have no words/ To tell thee what thou knewest and did not heed' (293). The

slave is finally captured by Mir Khan's enemies; as he is led away, Aziz says:

Ah, when they lead me out, beyond the walls,

I shall look forth, across the rosy hills

Knowing that far beyond their lilac rims

Thou wilt awake, in all thy beauty's pride,

Safe and beloved, already forgetful of me,

Whose lonely and smoldering life has broken at last

Into this passionate flame of death. Mir-Khan- (294).

To conclude, a reassessment of Nicolson's poetry in the light of translation -

conceived as a revisionist cultural practice - has to take into account

the specific ways in she deploys the signature in relation to poetic voice.

Translating the Orient has historically played a crucial role in consolidating

those dominant ideologies of colonial culture that have always seen the

metropolis as the privileged site in relation to the colony. This particular

arrangement ensured that knowledge of the Other could be transacted in a

manner that upheld the supremacy of metropolitan power. However, as the

work of Richard Burton demonstrates, translation has always been a site of

contestation between languages, allowing for new structural possibilities to

emerge whereby fixed notions about identity can be reimagined. To that

extent, Nicolson's poetry offers an alternative to the purely anthropological

impulse inherent in colonial translation by reworking the subject/object

relationship and the forms of structured gaze that underline that relationship.

By incorporating Indian traditions into the body of her verse and

animating other languages that may work in the interstices of received

Victorian poetic tradition, Nicolson's poetry marks a significant moment in

the historical production of India, making it a site for both appropriation and

resistance.

NOTES

1 For a discussion of writings by women travellers in nineteenth-century India, see Buckland 1906, Dyson 1978, and Robinson 1990.

2 By the mid-nineteenth century, G. S. Davie's translation from Persian of Bostin of Sidi was used in India as a textbook in the government schools and colleges and for the examination of officers, civil and military.

3 Edwin Arnold was the translator of Jayadeva, the sixteenth-century Indian mystic poet, and member of the Royal Asiatic and Royal Geographical Societies. His Indian Poetry (1881) offers a translation of the eleven 'sargas' of Jayadeva's principal poetic work, Gzta Govinda, including the 'Longings of Krishna' (Arnold 1881:46). Arnold was also the principal of Deccan College in Central India and established his reputation as a translator through the publication of The Light of Asia, a poeticphilosophical work on the life and teachings of Buddha. Critics of Arnold asserted that The Light of Asia was 'well adapted to hit this transient whim of Occidental taste' (Wilkinson 1884:1), stating that 'whether as literature . . . or as exposition of Buddhist doctrine and life, the "Light of Asia" mustbe pronouncedunworthy to survive' (Wilkinson 1884:177).

4 For details, see Clive 1987:346-99.

5 See MacKenzie 1984.

6 (unknown)

7 All further references to Nicolson's poetry are indicated by page numbers from Hope 1940.

8 It is worth noting here that Simpson's language itself incorporates a vocabulary that had already been established by a translator like FitzGerald who, in the introduction to the third edition of the Rabkiyat of Omar Khayyam, referred to the poet and his work as 'his Wine and Cupbearer' (FitzGerald 2001:64).

9 Like Simpson, Ebenezer Pocock attributes similarities between Sufi and European authors such as Shaftsbury, Madame de Guion and Akenside (Pocock 1833:16).

10 For a discussion of these (Persian) poetic forms, see Naim 1978.

11 The lines in Edwin Arnold read: 'Though it seemeth of the earth,/ Heavenly is

the music's birth;/ Telling darkly of delights/ In the wood, of wasted nights,/ Of

witless days, and fruitless love' (Arnold 1881:13).

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