Reading Notes Week 10: Ghalib, Part B


Ghalib is a well known poet from 19th century India, who wrote his prose in Urdu and Persian. His pseudonym means "Conqueror" in both of those languages. He began writing poetry at a shockingly young age, only seven years old. He endured a lot of suffering in his life, losing seven children, none of who lived more than 15 months. He adopted his wife's nephew as his son, only to lose him too and his wife shortly after to tuberculosis.

My favorite work of his is Couplet 1, which says "Ghalib, it's no use/ forcing your way with love:/ it's a form of fire/ that doesn't catch when lit/ and doesn't die when doused." (Ghalib, 594) I relate to this on a personal level, because I've had to tell myself this many times. I've often tried to force myself to love the people I think I should love, to no avail. I've also tried to stop loving people I don't think I should love, an equally fruitless endeavor. I love that he begins the couplet by addressing himself, making it feel more personal, as if he wrote this only to chastise himself without the intention of anyone else seeing it. I also like the comparison of love to fire, because I can relate to feeling love in an intense and burning way. The uncontrollable nature of this fire, that can't be forced to light nor forced to die, relates to the way we can't control who we love or when we love them.

Though it's not my personal favorite, his poetry about the loss of his adopted son moved me deeply. You can feel the anguish in every line, and his desperation to see him again. I've never lost anyone important to me, so I typically find it difficult to relate to emotions like these because I have never known them myself. Reading poetry like this is the closest I can come to truly empathizing with those who are mourning the loss of their loved ones. I feel the most powerful stanza is the last one, which says, "Those of you around me/ are fools to ask,/ 'Ghalib, why are you still living?'/ It's my destiny/ to continue to wish for death/ for a few more days." (Ghalib, 598) This feeling of being trapped in your own suffering that is impossible to escape from comes out so powerfully in this line. Grief so strong you feel you are fated to suffer through it, I can't put into words how strongly this moves me.

Works Cited: Ghalib, "Couplet 1" p.594 ; Ghalib, "It was essential" p.597 - 598

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