Agni[1]
It burns today just like that at a strike as if after
centuries Nachiketa’s[2] fire can crackle the same humming
Rik Veda like a river that does not end in childhood evening
lamps near household gods very familiar like chastised kids in
grandma’s altar in the low-voltage electric bulb tungsten
yellow on a faded brown scrap of a night
[1] Fire
[2] Nachiketa is the young hero of Katha Upanishad who met Yama, the god of Death, and asked him to explain the mysteries of life and death.
| Priyadarshi Patnaik |
|
levelheaded: Agni
Something strange is going on in “Agni.” A reminiscence of childhood, the poem unfolds as spontaneously as a daydream – hence the long unpunctuated sentence. Tangible, familiar objects like a lamp and a light bulb evoke the speaker’s memory. When considered alongside the recollection of “chastised kids in grandma’s altar,” these images of light take on a gently heightened significance. The colors that represent the memory are equally subtle – the faded yellow of an evening lamp, and only a “scrap” of the night outside. We are situated in an interior, and “household gods” (perhaps a reference to sculptures or paintings) help create a scene that is personal and delicate.
As subtle as it may appear, however, this scene ignites a strong spiritual reaction in the speaker, a metaphysical fire for which the poem is titled. It is a fire that still “burns today” – something unresolved or shocking that can only be communicated through reference to a larger concept. For that purpose the poet turns to sacred texts. Agni, the sacrificial fire, is one of the deities to whom the Rik Vedas are dedicated. In regards to the poem, this fire that leads to knowledge is still humming, bringing back those understandings that come from a particular memory. Maybe it is a first acquaintance with death (hence Grandma’s altar, the poet’s second footnote). While one could argue that the poem is symbolic or spiritual without being personal, all the tangible particulars suggest a more intimate spiritual parable.
The line breaks and lack of punctuation at the heart of the poem allow it to flow like the river it uses as a metaphor. At the same time, these devices part the river into different streams of interpretation. We may read: “like a river that does not end in childhood [/] evening lamps near household gods.” In this case the river does not end in childhood, meaning doesn’t bring purity. Instead, the speaker is left with the memory of evening lamps. Described without interpretation, these images emit a soberness or practicality. If we read the line how it is broken: “like a river that does not end in childhood evening / lamps near household gods,” childhood becomes an adjective describing a type of evening. It is not night yet, not quite the end, but the speaker is getting there through knowledge, sacrifice, and emotional fire.
– The Editors
