ghalib and the art of the ghazal

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Ghalib and the Art of the "Ghazal" Author(s): Sara Suleri Goodyear and Azra Raza Source: Transition, No. 99 (2008), pp. 112-125Published by: on behalf of the Indiana University Press Hutchins Center for African and

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Ghalib and the Art of the Ghazal

Sara Suleri Goodyear and Azra Raza

Mirza Asadullah Khan Ghalib (1797-1869, his nom de plume alternated between the

early Asad and the later Ghalib), was born in Agra but spent most of his life in Delhi, where he wrote arguably the greatest poetry of his age under conditions of extreme personal and historical trauma. The British colo nial conquest of India was almost completed: the War of 1857 was to bring about the final collapse of the Mughal court in Delhi and a seismic change to the culture of that city and the politics of the subcontinent as a whole. Ghalib,

whose sublime poetry was written both in Persian and in Urdu, is perhaps best known for the remarkable transmutations he brought about within the traditions of Urdu ghazal poetry. The ghazal is stylistically formal, moving in lines of two that are symmetrical in prosody but not necessarily in subject

matter. The poems' obsessions can therefore traverse the metaphysical and the erotic with no discordance; an aching interplay of desire and loss is indeed a prevalent motif. In Ghalib, such an interweaving cannot but also reflect a loss of community, both intimate and cultural. Ghalib's contempo raries were literal witnesses to the huge massacres that were perpetrated by the British in Delhi during the so-called mutiny. Ghalib certainly saw his friends violated and exiled; understandably, then, the exilic mode haunts his later verse.

The translations we offer here are inspired by our mutual and enduring love of Ghalib. Not being scholars of the poet or of Urdu poetry more gen erally, what we bring to this magnificent body of work is a reader's appre ciation for the language and the intricate culture that produced it. Our

approximate translations and the accompanying interpretations represent our

attempt to replicate acts of reading: we abjure rather than claim authority, and happily embrace the charges of overreaching that we may elicit. Our modesty is in this respect somewhat arrogant, possessed of a

Nietzschean joy in the text at hand. As a final line of defense, we can always claim to be only shagirds [pupils] who lack the presence of their ustad: Ghalib, the ultimate teacher.

In terms of the shorthand translation of each poem, our aim was clear. We had neither a desire nor the intention to

reproduce the architectonic of the ghazal. For that, we commend to the reader John Hollander's virtuoso enactment of the ghazal's form in Rhyme's Reason (2001). Rather than

112 Transition 99


attempting to reproduce internal rhythm or prosody, we have aimed dog gedly for meaning. As a consequence, grace and beauty may of course

have flown out the window. We hope nonetheless that our interpretations will help to convey some of the magic of this poetry. In this regard, we

invoke as our ally Salman Rushdie: "It is generally believed that something is

always lost in translation; [we] cling to the notion . . . that something can also be gained."

While the Urdu ghazal tradition and Ghalib's poetry, in particular, has been extensively translated, our purpose is to complement rather than super sede extant work. This undertaking was also

impelled by the need to nourish a generation that can speak Urdu but, sadly, cannot appreci ate its

complexities, those for whom the lan

guage is domestic and intimate, but bereft of formal splendor. Our "Epistemologies of

Elegance" are gestures of devotion both to a past master poet and to the cul tural exactitude of the linguistic world that he continues to inhabit. We hope to transmit some of the passion, wit, and multiple humanity of Ghalib's voice.

We have worked against the grain of a received tropology: in Ghalib, we have not found most important the comforting paraphernalia of the lover and the

beloved, with accoutrements of music, wine, and the occasional nightingale. Instead, from the interiority of Ghalib's voice emerges a new idiom: an erotics of asceticism.

We have endeavored to remain faithful to certain paradoxes character istic of Ghalib's ghazals: as an amorous poetry with achingly erotic implica tions, they veer between addressing an earthly and divine beloved with

remarkable impunity: there is no sacrilege in this movement. Similarly, it is next to impossible to segregate Ghalib's tragic vision from his endless recourse to humor, intricate wordplay, and a delight in language itself.

Nothing is heavy-handed, and the magical power of his most difficult verse is that it can appear so deft. An appellation we dislike when describing the

ghazal form is the "couplet." It rings wrong, because aside from the open ing lines [matla], the lovely internal rhythm [qafia], and the refrain [radeef], a sher is by no means a couplet. The fine Kashmiri poet Agha Shahid Ali? himself a studied translator of ghazals?asserted that the lines should be called "twosomes." While admiring Ali's lost charm and idiosyncrasy, we

prefer to call them shers. To the more scholarly or academically minded, we may appear to

commit the sins of the dilettante. However, we put our faith in a different

community, one that shares in the pleasure of the text and recognizes that a reader's errors are only openings into the unending process of rereading. For this reason we ask the reader to consider each ghazal in its entirety before joining us in our interpretive quest.

From the interiority of

Ghalib's voice emerges a new idiom: an erotics

of asceticism.

Goodyear and Raza Ghalib and the Art of the Ghazal 113


Ghazal I

S3 jy^ ?\ y^s. S\

The opening lines state that a sigh?or, in conventional terms, a lover's lament?needs a lifetime to have any effect at all. For readers, it matters

not, given the ambivalence of the ghazal, whether the poet is addressing a

beloved or the Almighty (although, knowing Ghalib, it is probably an earthly beloved). In a remarkable swerve from infinity to the finite, no one

will live "to reach the source of your mystery." In two short lines, the verse

thus takes one from the impact of a lifetime to that of a day. We also see

in this sher a great manipulation of irony: the second misra [line or verse] is by no means forlorn: it chides the object of the poet's desire.

The gaping mouths of a hundred crocodiles form netted traps in

each wave

Consider the labor within the sea change of a raindrop to a pearl

This verse juxtaposes the exigencies of nature and danger, while identify ing man's work and nature's work: every wave is also a fisherman's net, so

there is no real separation between nature and culture. Every wave also

brings with it another opening: the gaping mouths of a hundred crocodiles. In a characteristically brilliant metaphoric twist, Ghalib observes, given all these hazards, how difficult it must be for any raindrop to fall and become a pearl?in Urdu mythology only the first raindrops that fall into the ocean

do become pearls. The implied analogy is that survival of any kind is next to impossible, with the world being as treacherous as it is. Yet, pearls are

produced, among them Ghalib's ghazah.

Love demands endurance, while desire is consuming What should be my state until obsession devours patience?

This sher represents an extraordinary tension between devotion and desire. Whereas in much o? ghazal poetry the two terms are coterminous, here a

strange separation is constructed between the stillness of love and the movement of passion. The question becomes: Which energy is going to

take over body and soul?

I agree that you will not remain indifferent, but I will be dust by the time you become aware of me



Here we witness an example of Ghalib's subtle poetic arrogance. He

prophesizes that the object of his desire will not remain indifferent, although we, as readers, have no idea why the poet should be convinced of that. Then, in a tragic switch, he declares that by the time we do notice

him, he will have ceased to exist. One of the complexities of this ghazal inheres in its shifts in tonality not only from sher to sher, but also from

misra to misra: one cannot determine where the poet's language is going to lead in its journey from the earthiness of desire to the possible sublima tion of fulfillment.

The sun's ray teaches a dewdrop how to vanish I live because you have not bestowed the grace of your attention

upon me

The object of desire is here presented on analogy to a dewdrop that melts with the first ray of the sun into nothingness, suggesting that the lover is

alive only because the desired has not graced him with a gaze until now.

The classical imagery of dew, the sunrise, and the gaze is cast, again, in a

sophisticated social setting that allows for wit and irony, as well as

poignancy.

Leisure for life is no more than the flash of a glance, O, ignorant! The warmth of festivity is one dance of the flame

Having gestured toward lifetimes, the concluding shers of this ghazal return

uncannily to ideas of transience. The humor and irony vanish as the now

solemn tone warns the ignorant that existence is no more than the blink of an

eyelid; a gathering of people is no more than the single dance of a

flame.

Asad, what can cure the grief of existence, except dying? The candle is obliged to burn before extinguishing at dawn

In the maqta [last two lines] Ghalib invokes a medical metaphor: Who can cure the grief of existence? The poet then makes a curious observation about the dynamic nature of candles. As readers, we are led to ask: What are the psychic and emotional colors in his work, his times, and himself to

which the poet refers?

116 Transition 99


Ghazal 2

J5l ja ^ 35 Llwj ly> 3^.0 ^5Up ^ Our paths had to cross again some other day J3\ ja ^5* lyij 5Jj ol 05^5 ^ L^j? Going alone, now stay alone until some other day

15L..^ ~3 ^ Ip ^ j^ l5bJL> o^> My forehead will bear the scar before your tombstone will

J5l j? ^3$ U> ûoli ?_p 'O j? 05J I remain prostrate before your grave until some other day

osW ^5 x ?j^ ^ ?\ js\ jS 5J ! Arriving yesterday, and speaking today of leaving J3\ ja j>? l^\ 0^ -J^> 'vS bb> Granted not forever but, perhaps, some other day

?JLuJL 3S côL? 5J c-i^ ^^j Departing, you say, "We shall meet on judgment day" J3I j? ji? \*? ^ 15 c^?Li 055- L5 Marvelous! As if the day of judgment is some other day!

vijU ^^1 Up o?*?- ^ 5Ui ?J jb Yes, you ancient sky! Arif was still young ji' j? ^ $* ^y? ^ 5^ ?j^. L*3 ^ 5 What would you lose, if he had not died until some other day?

?-S ^S c_y> ^ â jW oJi ou ^3 You were the full moon of my home

J3* o? J>? V^?i 65 \5 ^ bj .0 o^ >e?j Why could not that design remain until some other day?

?S XL? s ?b ?-^5 ti

Urdu poetry with a new language for the elegiac by articulating the anger of loss without in any way diminishing the intensity of passion.

Our paths had to cross again some other day Going alone, now stay alone until some other day

The opening sher addresses the lost son with the necessity of reproach. The sher pierces: its sorrow is almost infantile in its expression of the raw irritabil

ity of grief. There is no give and take in death; there is only a taking away.

My forehead will bear the scar before your tombstone will I remain prostrate before your grave until some other day

The second sher connects mourning with writing. The poet is at the grave stone, repeatedly prostrating himself before the place of the dead, but he knows full well that the name on the tombstone cannot possibly be erased.

And yet he will remain, striking his head against the stone, despite the

futility of such action.

Arriving yesterday, and speaking today of leaving Granted not forever but, perhaps, some other day

The tone in this sher is almost one of cajolery. The poet appears to be addressing a well-loved guest and asking, "You came only yesterday, and

you talk already today of leaving?" While death is a subtext, it is not overt, but rather transmutes here into the theme of departure. The image of Ghalib as host and Arif as the departing guest continues in the next sher.

Departing, you say, "We shall meet on judgment day" Marvelous! As if the day of judgment is some other day!

This sher solemnities the theme of departure from the previous sher by invoking judgment day. Ghalib's response is ironic, acerbic, and throbbing

with pain. There is neither nostalgia nor sentimentality in Ghalib's sense

of loss: his suffering remains as vital as his love.

Yes, you ancient sky! Arif was still young What would you lose, if he had not died until some other day?

With simplicity, and in the language of the tradition of great complaint, this verse addresses an age-old question to the ancient sky rather than to

God. The question here again is one of Fate.

118 Transition 99


You were the full moon of my home

Why could not that design remain until some other day?

This sher makes the single reference in the entire ghazal to Arif's striking beauty: the full moon. It is important to be aware here that the metaphors of Urdu poetry draw heavily on Islamic traditions, including the lunar cal endar. The phases of the moon signify more than the prospect of light, but an ethereal radiance and a hypnotic power that transcends mere aesthetic

pleasure. Ghalib, the mourner, laments Arif's departure.

Since when were you so upright about borrowing and returning? You could have let the angel of death harass you some other day

In a remarkable return to the jocular, the poem suddenly juxtaposes the pragmatics of existence with the behavior of the supernatural, as though the

angel of death were a debt collector. The intrusion of humor into a discourse of mourning is itself extraordinary, but this sher also expresses Ghalib's great humanism: the workings and frailties of man are his ultimate concerns and the object of his compassion. Even in a moment of intense loss, the poet's solace lies not in metaphysics, but in the grounding of daily reality.

All right, you were angered with me, and, yes, you fought with Nayyar You could have stayed and watched the games of children until

some other day

Here, the reader is allowed to witness a very unusual spectacle in Urdu ghazal poetry. This is a scene of household domesticity, where Arif is becoming annoyed and is fighting with Nayyar, a character whom we have to accept at face value. The reader is catapulted into a scene of intimacy that lies beyond the conventions of courtly love more typical of ?l ghazal. The very mention of concrete

reality rather than metaphor is itself highly unusual. When the sub

sequent misra expresses regrets over the fact that Arif did not stay, the reader

suddenly realizes that this is indeed a literal, not a figurative reference.

In happiness or sadness, the time nonetheless has passed Why not have endured the same, untimely death, some other day?

The resignation of this sher moves beyond personal grief to reflect more

broadly upon existence, and the relentless march of time. While Ghalib's attitude here is not defeatist, he appears to be calling for a type of stoicism that will accept the darkness along with the light.

Ignorant are the ones who ask why Ghalib is still living My fate is that I should yearn for death until some other day



The maqta of this elegy further complicates, through the use of tenses, who is

speaking to whom. In the first misra it is clear that Ghalib has overheard someone's inquiry. To this unknown interlocutor, the poet addresses his

reply. The beauty of this maqta is that it places the poet squarely back within the social fabric: he may be grieving and wishing for death, but he can still overhear what others say about him. Ghalib's mourning is as vivid as are his poetry and his life.

Ghazal 3

i>tA ylj? cd?- -J ?\ jS ?-J ?S J5 Why parsimony today in the promise of tomorrow's imbibing? o-ua yb ^pu^ la^ 03 ^ if the divine voice resides in the instruments before us

cr^ 0^5 ^^t ji^j ^ ^ 3j The horseman of life speeds by, where can it be stopped? lx?0 v^j b ^j There are no hands on the reins, no feet in the stirrups

d-^cr- cJL?sr ^J 35 4^w ^ Lui j am equidistant from my own reality

c^ ^ s ^a 05i c=^ jt?-^>3 ^S ^- In proportion to the illusion of Otherness

^ Sj\ ?3lrJ^a 3 x>U, 3 03^ J*?l if ?he act of beholding, the beholder, and the beheld are as one ^^ uU ??S ?-i ?jjL^ ^ J3J j^ 1 am astonished by how one can measure the art of observation

^ ^3^3 Ji J5^ *** cUjlj^ ,_> What appears as confirmation of the Ocean's actuality o?* v1-^ s s>? 3 ?>^ *a W* jU is it

merely a sum total of wave, drop, phosphorescence

l^

Readers of this ghazal may well feel a certain disequilibrium as Ghalib leads them with great aesthetic dignity through a series of metaphysical interroga tions beginning with the heavens and ending with the earth. To some extent, the poem represents a continuum of ideas and images, although the cautious reader learns to be wary of Ghalib's dramatic changes of subjects and tropes. Scholars have long debated whether these shers can be interpreted as either an assertion or a disavowal of the Sufi doctrine, which asserts the unity of the universe. However, Ghalib's locutions are frequently so ironized and mul

tiply layered that it becomes hard to link them to particular philosophical viewpoints. This ghazal opens with the bravado of a carpe diem, an injunction warning against an abstemiousness that may appear to be an insult against the wine bearer of the heavenly river. It would be erroneous to cite this sher as an affirmation of Ghalib's religious inclination, for the ghazal swerves

away from belief and toward the nature of transgressions, whether mortal or

satanic. Whether the soul commingles with the body matters not when they are

artfully compared to the flute and the lyre. The reader may be perplexed by shers that first posit ideas of unity and

then ironically puncture them with subsequent images of simultaneous fragil ity. Equally significant, however, is that the ghazal is suddenly arrested by shers of great proleptic power, such as the one that features the image of a

mythological horse galloping a course beyond the heart's horizons; its rider? who is mortal?is in control of neither the reins nor the stirrups and yet is somehow in harmony with his anarchic journey. It is here that Ghalib first juxtaposes the seemingly contradictory terms of astonishment and assess

ment, which he repeats throughout this ghazal. With verbal ingenuity he trans forms

modesty into a moment of narcissism, leaving the reader in awe of the

veiling and unveiling of the Other within the same misra. Here, it makes no difference whether the Other occupies the realm of the divine or the local. Ghalib suggests in his inimitable fashion that he is waking in a dream, which

may be precisely the reader's experience of this poem. The concluding maqta with its incomparable repetition of the appellation of friend?read it as God, lover, companion?interweaves this curious ghazal back upon itself.

The matla opens the poem by demanding the rather righteous confir mation of Ali over Ghalib's nocturnal delights.

Why parsimony today in the promise of tomorrow's imbibing? This

surely is an insult against the generosity of heaven's thirst

quencher

This sher pits mortal and immortal worlds against one another. Drawing on Islamic imagery, the poet warns his listeners against an overly frugal use of alcohol, suggesting that such abstemiousness is in fact an uncivil reflection on the spirit of He who will bestow wine in the heavens. That

spirit is Ali, who is Muhammad's cousin and son-in-law, and also the saqi



[wine bearer] of the river Kausar, providing the heavenly flow of wine in the celestial domain that serves the righteous. Ghalib's irony here is to sug gest that such a spirit's generosity is so boundless that it cannot be confined to heavenly realms and thus spills over into the pleasures of daily life. To imbibe here on earth is, therefore, in a sense, to be honoring the heavens.

The linguistic play is further intensified by the temporal urgency in the first misra, since the words today and tomorrow resonate with an independent vigor. They are not merely descriptions of the present and the hereafter.

Why today so disgraced, what yesterday was impermissible? An angel's arrogant refusal to bow for me

The reference here appears to be less to the poet's own degradation than a general statement of the Muslim cultural situation. Drawing again on the

poles of today and yesterday, Ghalib wonders why Muslims should be so

humiliated, when in earlier times an angel's refusal to pay homage to God's new creation was sufficient to elicit the Creator's wrath. Satan refused to bow down to Adam, generating the circle of good and evil through that

gesture. The poet's arrogant demand thus suggests that God is a trifle care

less: he suffers rejection in the same psychic space as Satan. The reader is torn between acknowledging the poet as the greater denier of Iblis or else as Satan.

Listening, why does a soul struggle to leave its body If the divine voice resides in the instruments before us?

This sher employs classical tropes of mysticism, which have traditionally represented music as a means of both escaping the world and achieving "oneness" with the deity. The poem expresses wonderment at such a union

by reminding the reader of a paradox: if the divine spirit actually lives within earthly instruments and the music they produce, where, then, lies the locus of divinity?

The horseman of life speeds by, where can it be stopped? There are no hands on the reins, no feet in the stirrups

No translation can do justice to this exquisite sher, toward which we can

only gesture. It moves like the wind itself, its language and tonality captur ing the motion of time, which simply cannot be conveyed in a literal trans lation. The dominant image is not merely that of the inevitability of time

passing, but also the haste and grace with which it moves.

Ghalib's image of the force of life derives from classical Persian poetry. Rustum, the epic hero, rides a beloved horse, Ruksh, known for its elegance and beauty. Ghalib's image of life thus represents a fleeting but arresting

122 Transition 99


splendor, at once transient and seductive. The horseman clearly has no con

trol. There seems to be no coordination between the rider, the stirrups, the

reins, and the horse. Still, a cosmic harmony dictates their hectic ride through time. The first misra suggests a deluge of movement that knows no bounds: time is spilling over the boundaries of time itself. In the second misra, the

reader's attention becomes focused on the anonymous, faceless rider whose

very vulnerability and fragility are brought out in stark contrast to the inexo

rable forces of life. A mysterious, symbiotic relation between the chaotic thun

der of life and the delicacy of humanity allows this journey into irresolution. Yet Ghalib evokes such ideas of disorder with remarkable calm. Indeed, he

appears almost nostalgic about the future.

I am equidistant from my own reality In proportion to the illusion of Otherness

Ghalib here again attempts to locate the shifting point of the poet's identity and reality, which seems to become even more alienated from him when

he associates with the Other. This strange chimeric existence implies that the lover has no solid anchor at all; even desire and fidelity do not root

him in a psychic habitat that might welcome him. The verse deliberately employs the term haqiqat [reality], but also refers indirectly to the difference between ishq-e-haqiqi [love for heaven] and ishq-e-majazi [love for the earth]. The reader is brought to see that the poet's desire for the sacred and the

profane is, in fact, indistinguishable: he is utterly alienated from both.

If the act of beholding, the beholder, and the beheld are as one

I am astonished by how one can measure the art of observation

Here we have a clear reference to the Sufist doctrine of Wahdat-ul-Wujood, or the fundamental unity and oneness of all creation. The first misra is an

ostensibly straightforward proposition: the act of witnessing, the witness, and that which is being witnessed are all essentially situated along the same

continuum. The second misra however, raises a perforating doubt, asking in

wonderment how it is that the individual might observe and quantify the

enveloping spectacles that surround the poet. Implicit in the mathematical

precision of this question is a celebration of the exactitude of beauty: instead

of the bland unity of the visionary mystic, the poet privileges the mysteries of earthly life, whether they involve social patterns, pleasures, or pains. The

query embedded here further raises the crucial issue of accountability: Who

truly represents the universe, the creator or the created? W. B. Yeats was to ask a related question a century later in his poem

"Among School Children":



O chestnut tree, great-rooted blossomer Are you the leaf, the blossom, or the bole? O body swayed to music, O brightening glance, How can we know the dancer from the dance?

The verse examines the integrity of the ocean, not to watch it dissipate into the disparate forms of waves, drops, and bubbles, but rather to marvel at the taut dynamism between the very immense and the very fragile. This vital interdependence lies at the heart of Ghalib's vision of reality, which further implies that philosophic issues concerning permanence and imper

manence are, in the end, strangely redundant. What remains is the sea, not the illusion of the sea and the breaking waves that constitute the being of that body of water. How can we tell the dancer from the dance?

Reticence is a form of pride, even with oneself No matter how unveiled you are within your many veils

The crux of this sher depends on a close reading of the word sharm-loosely translated, it can represent shame in English, but that term reflects none of the cultural densities and traditions that accompany the invocation of this

word. A courtesy culture employs sharm as a positive rather than a negative value: it can betoken dignity, distance, and, indeed, an intriguing mystery when it is manifested by the other. It is therefore not an indication of a lack but instead a statement of secret wealth, which Ghalib doubly emphasizes by drawing attention to the potential narcissism of such interiority. In the first misra, the other's self-effacement is imaged as a mode of self-worship; in the second misra, veils themselves only serve to draw acute attention to that which is being veiled. The irony here is that structure or attitudes that

appear to be intact are in a process of perpetual dismantling, and the poet is the observer who can see it.

The embellishment of the ravishing is never to be done Inside the seclusion of the veil, the mirror lives constantly

The construction of enchantment, whether ethereal or earthly, requires infinite art and labor; one can never see an end in sight. In some ways, this sher demands to be read simultaneously as a statement of both metaphysi cal and corporeal desire, in which the impulse appears to be the enigma of incompletion. The deity adorns His creation but remains hidden from the created, never revealing His final word, while the artifice of the human other is again always in wait for its point of fulfillment. Neither the observer nor the observed can expect the calm of consummation.

124 Transition 99


The deep decorum of the hidden is misread as revelation

The clairvoyant lost in dreams, dreams he is awake

In this sher, Ghalib seeks to maintain the inviolability of the unknown with out

necessarily endowing it with any supernatural strength. It may be a

force that remains hidden and will not be available to revelation but its

secrecy is in a way a solace, much like the solace implied by the mysteries of the soul. The second misra invites the reader into an exquisite metaphor of a no-man's land between sleeping, waking, and dreaming?the poet rep resents himself first as being engulfed in dreams and then delicately rede

fines his psychic location as that of one who is awake within a dream.

Within this liminal state, Ghalib is both able to observe that which remains

hidden and to express his reconciliation with the darkness that he per ceives around him.

Ghalib, the fragrance of the Lord emanates from the Lord's

Companion Recognizing Ali has become a business of my truth

This beautiful maqta invokes the presence of God in order to make that

appearance multiple. Beyond the Sufi adoration of the One and the

Unitary, the divine Friend can also be located in the fragrance emanated

by the Prophet's cousin Hazrat Ali, whom Muhammad jestingly named Bu-Turab [father of dust/one covered with dust]. In the second misra, the

poet establishes his tenuous negotiations with the idea of truth by claiming his connection to God through his devotion to Hazrat Ali, "father of dust." Truth therefore is neither monolithic nor a Platonic ideal but can be real

ized in something

as evanescent as the trace of a perfume, or even the

memory of one. In the Islamic literary and cultural traditions, invocations

of the Prophet and his family proliferate throughout the centuries. Despite the prohibition of visual representations of such figures, they have been invoked with extraordinary intimacy and affection in both folklore and

high poetry. Ghalib's ideas of divine order are grounded in the world which is the world of all of us, the place where in the end we find our happiness, or not

at all! (Wordsworth).?



Article Contentsp. 112p. 113p. 114p. 115p. 116p. 117p. 118p. 119p. 120p. 121p. 122p. 123p. 124p. 125

Issue Table of ContentsTransition, No. 99 (2008), pp. 1-168Front MatterThe Family House [pp. 6-16]Avenging History in the Former French Colonies [pp. 18-40]African "Authenticity" and the Biafran Experience [pp. 42-53]Coffee and Genocide [pp. 54-72]FictionThe Debt [pp. 74-79]

"Venus" and White Desire [pp. 80-93]The Year of Fanatical Thinking [pp. 94-111]Ghalib and the Art of the "Ghazal" [pp. 112-125]Journey from Catastrophe to Radiance [pp. 126-147]Review: How Oil Put Africa Back on the Map [pp. 148-152]Review: Naught for Your Comfort [pp. 154-161]Review: What Happened to Harriet E. Wilson, ne Adams? [pp. 162-168]Back Matter

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