In these her late poems, the volcano that is Eunice de Souza is still erupting. As in her early work too, what she here 'upchucks' is lava, molten lines that burn and glow and leave a permanent mark. The tone, as before, is casual, bantering, close to the spoken idiom that is uniquely hers. When terrible things happen the tone changes, quickens, then relaxes again. Life is bemusing, ludicrous; death even more so. In the work of no other poet I can think of do you find such brevity and grandeur, swiftness of utterance and the unbearable weight of grief, unbearable because de Souza is so dry-eyed. 'The crone's still capable/of spite' she writes in one poem, the old necklace-of-skulls self-irony intact, except that in her case 'spite' also means 'wisdom'. It is easy to forget that the crone is deeply moral as well, and like any moral being she too feels that she's lived 'In the wrong season.' There is plenty in these spare but unsparing poems to remind us of the classical virtues we associate with Bhartrhari, for instance, or a Latin epigrammatist like Martial. These are poems to live by. In time, they will come to be seen as classics of our literature, as many of her earlier poems already are. Arvind Krishna Mehrotra
Eunice de Souza (1940–2017) was an Indian English language poet, literary critic and novelist. Among her notable books of poetry are Women in Dutch painting (1988), Ways of Belonging (1990), Nine Indian Women Poets (1997), These My Words (2012), and Learn From The Almond Leaf (2016). She published two novels, Dangerlok (2001), and Dev & SImran (2003), and was also the editor of a number of anthologies on poetry, folktales, and literary criticism.
These later poems of Eunice are a must read if you happen to be an admirer of her earlier works. This is a rare collection with verses of splendor. Each line is abrupt, supple and brimming with sentiments dry and warm. These poems remind one of life itself -- also abrupt, and candid mortal beings in it thriving on the threshold of perpetual confusions -- reaching to the notion of death, farcical more so. Having come across and read this edition is a sigh of relief; it is one step ahead in trying to make sense of the mundane but, mostly, it is about embracing the unspeakable.
Eunice sprinkles magic dust on the everyday, making us see with new eyes the until then ordinary and humdrum. The best part? Your vision never goes back to what it was before she came along.