Himalayan Poet Yuyutsu Ram Dass Sharma

Yuyutsu Ram Dass Sharma is a world-renowned Himalayan poet and translator, the recipient of fellowships and grants from the Rockefeller Foundation, the Ireland Literature Exchange, the Trubar Foundation in Slovenia, the Institute for the Translation of Hebrew Literature, and the Foundation for the Production and Translation of Dutch Literature. He has published 10 poetry collections, including The Second Buddha Walk, A Blizzard in my Bones: New York Poems, and Quaking Cantos: Nepal Earthquake Poems. Currently, Yuyutsu Sharma is a visiting poet at Columbia University and edits Pratik: A Quarterly Magazine of Contemporary Writing. 

The Diplomat’s Arun Budhathoki sat down with Sharma to talk about poetry and his journey as a poet.

Can you briefly tell us about your journey as a renowned Himalayan poet?

“In the field of poetry you have to make a ‘niche.’ You need your special kind of image.” When I teach at American universities that is what I would say – a poet needs to have their own aura, element, and creative world that becomes public.

When I quit teaching at Tribhuvan University, Kathmandu, two decades ago and became a freelance writer, the first thing I tried to find out was if it was possible to make a living out of my writing. Nepal is a big tourist destination. I wanted to write books that perhaps tourists would purchase. I wrote poems about the Himalayas and published a book, Folk Tales of Sherpa and Yeti. Thus, I started traveling in the Himalayas where I found my element and wrote poems to celebrate the mountains. A few years after, I started traveling abroad. During my travels in Europe, it turned out that I had to tell others who I was and what I did for a living. I told them I was a poet from Nepal. It made a big impact on others. Even in my writing and my performances, I questioned how I ought to introduce myself to others. It began as a simplified measure to introduce myself though my Himalayan poems that people loved and the effort gradually snowballed into this big image of a Himalayan poet. Hence, I didn’t on purpose carve it into my current position.

I decided to write about the Himalayas because if you see South Asian poetry then it’s very political. Most of the poets are writing about their ethnic identities or political troubles. Nepal too has been plagued by this as we have gone through despots and ruthless rulers. Now since democracy has been achieved, the poets should have changed their content. But still the poets here continue with the old vibes. This is why I have carried the Himalayas with me and it is dominant in my writings.

What made you to move away from the political content in poetry?

Well, it is because it is really mind-numbing to just write about politics. I also launched a movement called Kathya Kayakalpa (Content Metamorphosis) in which we tried to change the content [of poetry]. We simply cannot continue writing angry poems about fragile regimes. In Nepal, we succeeded in overthrowing dictators and ushering in democracy but the republic is fraught with troubles and intriguing issues that undermine democracy. 

For example, women in Nepal still are not considered equal to male counterparts. There’s discrimination as a Nepali woman does not have equal rights and her children cannot get citizenship without presenting her husband’s identity to the authorities. Though the constitution enacted three years ago gave women equal rights, the parliament has not passed the bill to empower women. The bill is pending, like a secret wound in the body of the Nepali polity. There is also fear of immigrants from neighboring countries and lowland Terai people flooding the Nepali land. 

There are still a lot of issues in Nepal that you can write about. But at the moment I decided to move away from such issues and tried to find a new path to celebrate nature.

There’s a saying that “poetry makes nothing happen.” But do you feel that your poetry on the Himalayas has contributed anything significant – maybe to the protection of the environment?

It is both ways. Auden says “poetry makes nothing happen” but the thing is you don’t have to look at poetry literally. It is not that if we write poems on the Himalayas, there will be a drastic change right away. I write poetry on the Himalayas because it soothes my soul. Instead of changing the Himalayas, it has changed me. So the change that comes in individuals influenced by the Himalayas is important, rather than looking for a direct change that can occur in the Himalayas. Because ultimately, it’s individuals who shape the world around them. 

In Nepal, the scriptures have taught us to treat nature with respect. A mountain person going up into the Himalayas will bow to a mountain or break a twig before entering a forest or a sanctuary, suggesting, “Goddess, I am coming in, forgive me if I do any damage.” Similarly, considering everything holy, including animal, insects, and mountains, teaches you to be respectful to nature. Poetry does the same. Thus, poets celebrating the Himalayas are asking for a calmer and safer Himalayan region. 

Over the last few decades, senseless tourism and commercialization have caused havoc, damaging delicate ecosystems in the Himalayas. Tourism is a very dangerous proposition, as the poet Neruda says: for a flippant tourist, a great pristine beach is not more [valuable] than his bottle of wine.

Poetry doesn’t make immediate change, for it may not fix municipal issues. But it builds a consciousness that in the long run might turn into a revolution. In Nepal democracy came with all the efforts of Nepali poets like Rimal, Lekhnath, Bhupi, et cetera who protested against the ruthless despots. Poetry is a long-term game. The people looking at it from a direct angle are myopic. So when you talk about poetry, it is like Vedas. The holy people spent years in caves, wrote hymns celebrating the elements and left them there, imagining a reader centuries later might come and explore their worth.

In Nepal, poetry is in a strange position. Poets are worshipped but no one wants to invest in it or buy poetry books. But the irony is that the bestselling book in Nepali literature till now is poetry: Muna Madan. Poetry is in a very paradoxical state especially because of silly copycat commercial fiction publishers try to imitate the Western model of bookselling in a very cultivated Nepali society, damaging long-standing value systems.

I think the soul of Nepali society is enshrined in poetry. Poetry is alive and a vibrant medium to understand Nepal. Fiction is very weak, reeling under the influence of Western classical masters. In South Asia, though poets do not make money, they are the ones who made a difference in the past and will do in the days to come.

In the commercial sense, should poets change their approach? You have experience writing more than a dozen books, traveling wide and far, and teaching at prestigious institutions.

Poetry is not just about poems but the role that the poet has. If a poet becomes big then the poetry becomes really big. So the work that the poet does to create a world around his work is also very important. Poetry is hard work. Kabir says if you want to be a poet, first set your house on fire, come with me and be a poet. Poets speak the truth and rulers hate truth. So nobody wants to finance or fund poets. Truth is bitter. However, you can create fiction since it is an average man’s luxury. I think we should build groups and institutions that can support poets in Nepal and South Asia.

Writing poetry is hard and [telling] truth is too. But poets have to seek attention, do things that matter, and try to touch on forbidden things to be relevant. Poetry is a soul of a nation and it should be preserved.

In the age of fake news and quick gratification, what is the role of a poet?

Technology, in fact, has helped real poetry a great deal to flourish. With social media knowledge, poets are able to disseminate their poems worldwide without much restriction. In this jugglery of these media and props, truth is more at stake and this is where poets need to speak up. Poets’ role becomes more crucial and challenging.

You have written more than a dozen books. What’s your favorite?

Annapurna Poems is my favorite and it says a lot. Also my new book, Quaking Cantos on the 2015 earthquake, which sold very well and brought good attention to me. 

The third book I love is A Blizzard in My Bones: New York Poems, a book about my favorite city. People ask why I wrote on the city – because I went there and it looked like I belonged to the city and nobody discriminates against you. If you go to New York City people will accept you as are, regardless of your caste, race, or nationality. You land in New York and the next day, you are a New Yorker. They have this whole humanity there thriving and making it big in every field. I think if humanity ever evolved then it will look like New York City. New York has that element of humanity of people sharing the same bread – the whole cosmos is in the boroughs, the subways. The book is a celebration of this cosmopolitan spirit of the city. I hope the world one day will become like New York City.

Can poetry be taught? How can one be a good poet?

I teach poetry but I don’t think anyone can teach others how to write poetry. You can see the spark in someone and guide them to a certain direction. It’s like you see someone walking in the darkness and you hand the person a light to find the destination.

Do you think poetry will survive technological change?

I think social media and apps erase the memory and entire structure of society. In that sense poets are the ones who preserve the inner sanctity of society and poets are the ones who care about the soul of the world, which is slowly eroding. So ultimately poetry is the only original thing that one can make because everything else is made up, especially in local languages where poetry is rich and thriving.

On the other hand, if there was no social media it would be impossible for me to travel and communicate with poets from around the world. Poets can use the technology for their own benefit to empower poetry. If there was no internet it would be impossible for me to publish the literary journal, Pratik, that I edit. With the internet I can connect with friends and have each issue feature poets from around the world. It is an exciting time for poets. We just published an issue focused on Ireland and next issue celebrates 88 poets from Los Angeles.

You have done a lot of translation work. What’s the role of translation in poetry?

Robert Lowell, an American poet, said that in the spring of his life he writes his own poetry and in the winter of his life, he hibernates and translates. So translating is similar to writing poetry. It is like getting ready for your own poetry. Translation is a sacred act, especially in countries like Nepal and India because our nations are born out of Bhanubhakta’s Ramayana translation.  If there was no translation then there would be no Nepali language. On that basis Prithivi Narayan Shah united smaller kingdoms into modern Nepal. Language actually served past rulers to build their empires. Poets now can use it for their own purpose, to build bridges. Translation is like honoring another poet and language. It is a vital act and teaches us how to act and understand others. The world poetry is like a large family.

How do you like to be remembered?

I like to be remembered as a small poet from a little nation on the edge of the world. But I also like to be remembered as a person who attempted to travel and make the world his own.

I like to be remembered as a poet who belongs to the world, as national boundaries are very narrow and limited. I would like to be known as the poet from the edge of the world but yet belonging to the world at the same time. I think it’s a beautiful paradox.

This interview has been edited for clarity.