Post #78 – Women’s Memoirs, Book & Video Raves – Kendra Bonnett and Matilda Butler
Memoir Book Review of
Land of the Dancing Deer: Reflections and Memories
by Jamuna Devi Advani
Kendra and I first met Jamuna Advani in our online memoir classes and later had the pleasure of talking with her at the Story Circle Network conference a year ago. I was delighted to get an email from Jamuna recently, telling me that she has just published a book of poetry through www.lulu.com.
I immediately went over to lulu to see what she had accomplished. The 81-page book is $9.99 in paperback and just $5.99 as a PDF. With immediate gratification, I purchased the PDF version and thoroughly enjoyed reading this volume.
But let me back up. Jamuna has divided her poetry into two chapters, reflected in the subtitle of her book. The first 27 poems are her reflections and the following 19 poems are her memories. As a memoirist and memoir coach, I was most intrigued with her second chapter. It was through these poems that I felt the reader gets a powerful glimpse into the author’s life experiences, struggles, and pleasures. To accent the poems, Jamuna has added some of her own watercolor paintings and photographs.
With the author’s permission, I have chosen three poems to share with you. If you have been struggling to find your voice, perhaps these poems may inspire you to see if your story can be expressed as poetry rather than prose.
MY NAME
I never tire of my grandmother’s story.
It was March 21st,
the year 1935,
a baby girl was born
to Ibemhal Devi and Ibugohal Singh.
It was an auspicious day
to come to this world, she said
on that fullmoon day, Holi,
the day of the festival of colors.
A ritual known as Swasti Puja celetrated
on the sixth day.
Friends and relatives attended
showering with blessings
and gifts to the baby.
The name of the baby was to be determnined
on the same day
by the priest after the ritual,
the horoscope written by him
indicated as J,
the alphabet was to be used as
beginning of the baby’s name.
The elders in the family could only remember
the holy river Jamuna in India,
which flows through the city of Delhi
and then the city of Agra,
by the side of the famous Taj Mahal,
later joins the Ganges,
which gorges through,
the famous holy city of Vanarasi.
Elders loved the holy river
and name Jamuna was thus given to me.
Although I have spoken with Jamuna many times and we have also emailed, I didn’t ever think to ask the story of her name. Yet here, in this sparse poem that is laced with geography, history and tradition, I learn so much more about her. She becomes grounded in time and place.
Her story brings to mind the choice of my name, its meaning, my relationship to it. Poems, just as vignettes, touch others and bring to life their memories.
THE GIFT
I walked with my grandmother
On the street to the Friday market, 1943
At Jiribam, a small countryside,
Tucked away by the Hills of Manipur
From the mainstream of
Imphal valley in North East India.
It was a hot summer afternoon, sticky sweats,
Millions of mosquitoes
Waiting to march in when the evening
Sun signals its departure,
I saw a thin, village teenage boy
His belly slightly bulging out
With his enlarged spleen, his body shivering.
He sat down by the side of the street
Just coolly resting, I couldn’t understand why
I felt he needed layers of blankets.
And looking back as we walked ahead of him,
I asked my grandmother
Why he was sitting down on the street.
She said calmly, he would be okay
Once the shivering was gone, he would
Resume his walk to his destination.
Malaria was a gift to almost all
The inhabitants of Jiribam.
The lucky ones did not get the gift.
I have many sweet childhood memories
Of this place I grew up,
And how blessed I was.
In just 179 words, the author gives us a glimpse into her relationship with her grandmother, the place where she is growing up, the approach of mosquitos, and the impact of malaria on the population, including those who escaped the gift.
I had intended to only share two poems. But with Valentine’s Day near, I decided to include Jamuna’s poem of the same name:
ON VALENTINE’S DAY
Our hands
His and mine
Brick by brick
Layer by layer
Blankets of hopes
Many seasons
And a mansion
Stood elegantly
His and mine
The dream house!
One stormy night
The angry sky
Unexpected thunder
Ferocious turbulent wind
A lightening strike.
Trapped inside,
I fumbled in the fallen bricks
To hold his hands,
He was not there
I cried,
And I knew then…
