Iqbal Nazki -A poet for himself

Distinctively polite, socially sensitive, judiciously proactive, ideationally narcissistic. This being the profile of an individual and the individual being distanced from the world of sweetened ins...

Distinctively polite, socially sensitive, judiciously proactive, ideationally narcissistic. This being the profile of an individual and the individual being distanced from the world of sweetened inspiration – poetry, is rather no good example of compatibility. Iqbal Nazki blooms into the wonderland of word magic at sixty plus could be a surprising shock! but wait my saying so is a hurried jump. Iqbal Nazki is a born poet with very strong convictions but the courage to hear his musings sung by others was simply a weak support. He wrote and wrote and destroyed and destroyed and the little bit that could be saved was enough to explode the poetic energy at the time when 'super – age' holds the complete charge of one's self. But saying that is not to push Iqbal's. Poetic exercise to the status of a moral mouth piece. He writes in his preface to the collection. "I did my poetry under an urge, which when done gave me a great relief'. Moreover, he believes that his poetry could be primarily his unconscious revealing itself through symbolic expressions of pure personal experiences". Yet the poet can not deny an element of ideological pressure (belief) where:
The sea opened its bossom to Moses and his believers,
and to drown pharoun and his kin and finally the righteousness shall prevail.
I call it a sacred grip which runs through all the creative pieces collected in the book. At time the texture of the verses is so thin that the message seems obvious even if symbolically woven. "The flower that promises to redden the environ – "is sad, and the one that must glitter on the graves, has the honour of exceptional pride and joy". I may willfully read a blood and tear story of 16 year turmoil in Kashmir in this verse but the religious lesson is still the poets prerogative which the verse intends to hold.
Iqbal has enormous capacity to write lyrics, and the present collection has a few of them. Masterly made, scholarly treated, attractively worded and mystically presented is the qualifying character of these lyrics. I would not be making a bold statement when I draw lines of congruency from Iqbal to late Qazi Ghulam Mohammad – an architect of lyrical art. A beautiful lyric titled as "Doubt" is rather an experience of demystifying the individual perception:
"The doubt is my companion
The lone one,
I doubt the world, and the world here after,
And the darkness eternal
No mornings, No evenings
No night no day –
all shadows of doubt I hear what?
I see what?
No fairy is dancing?
And no mermaids in a row
I doubt my possessional instinct,
And the colour in flowers,
The whole tapestry of doubt – may burn
to only prove my doubting
my being, my existence
Iqbal does not lack his talent for humour, like his father late Mir Ghulam Rasool Nazki, he has his own style in making things speak differently, but his ability to enter into situations magically and turn them in an entertaining humorous feast is obscure in essence:

"Summer temperature rises to
intensify the heat,
and the water million shells
shall sell costlier"

"Telegraph office clerks is sad,
for he craves to punish a person,
whose name is not written on an
unstamped envelope"
Only a poetic arrangement of words and their reading may give you a sense of pleasurable humour without really possessing it.
Free verse is another feature that shows off occasionally in the collections. It is an obvious deviation from the tradition but really focused. These verses can directly be compared with Rahi' s free verses. The striking similarity I have found is a clearance of conflicting ideas in the beginning and inconclusive self silencing strategy in the end. –
"O lone you are
at midnight
with a different cast
time is favourable,
look around,
Don't feel small".

Iqbal Nazki's "Kootah Kal Ba Praras' (How long shall I wait) is a beautiful peace of creative art having internal strength to hold Iqbal's persons within the verses. In the practical life Iqbal does hardly live outside his verses. Jules Renard has so beautifully stated, "people always confuse the man and the artist because chance has united them in the same body".

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