The Ghazal

The ghazal is perhaps one of the most exotic forms of poetry. Steeped in oriental traditions and imagery, it stands unique in being a major non-narrative lyrical form of poetry in world literature. No other form poem follows the classical rules of rhyme and meter, and yet, gives a complete leeway to the poet to vary subject matter at will with each stanza.

Briefly, a ghazal in its classical form comprises an odd number of thematically related or unrelated couplets strung together by a common rhythm and a rhyme scheme (aa, ba, ca, da, ea,…). On the one hand, this makes it highly conducive to the poetry of love and mysticism allowing impulsive shifts in thought; on the other, it also places greater demands on the poet in some ways. As one critic has pointed out, the ghazal is easy to write, but difficult to master. Free verse may hide much of a poet's mediocrity but a ghazal will only highlight it. Even in Urdu, there are seldom more than a few poets writing quality ghazals at one time and a good ghazal is as difficult to write as a good sestina.

Historically, the ghazal originated in Arabia and Persia and migrated along with the moguls to India. There it became one of the foremost vehicles of expression of a new language, Urdu, which came out of a commingling of Arabic, Persian, Sanskrit, Punjabi, and Hindi. In Urdu literature, its importance rivals that of a sonnet in English. The form was use highly successfully by Mirza Ghalib, easily the greatest poet in Urdu to this date. He exploited the natural rhythm and felicity of the language to reach new heights of lyricism. An example of Ghalib's wit can be seen in this translation (translation mine) of his ghazal: You bring a rose to your face and say, like this.
Show me with my own lips how to lean for a kiss.

How to steal hearts without a word from your lips.
Each action of hers reeks with attitude, like this.

When I suggested that her guests leave,
She asked me to get up and go, like this.

Do you feel that closeness brings an end to passion?
The waves in the sea still toss and turn, like this.

Those who say that the Persian ghazal is greater than Urdu,
Read them a selection of my verse, like this.

With time, however, the ghazal adopted new themes and imagery. It gave up the traditional rose, the moon and the Saaqi (the wine-bearer). Fervent religious reformers like Iqbal and romantic-realists like Faiz entrenched it indelibly in the consciousness of the Indian sub-continent.

The Ghazal in English

The ghazal, thus, is full of great possibilities. It can be sung, it can move masses, it can be prayer, or a call for revolution. Unfortunately, it has never fulfilled its promise in English. This may be due to the lack of awareness of its true structure, the lack of non-rhyming words in English, or the non-linear structure of the form itself. More likely, this is so because it has never been successfully adapted into English. The language has always risen to new challenges and all that may be need is to create an appreciation of the form among poets and critics. Adrienne Rich and many others have written free verse ghazals. They have used a string of couplets in vers libre, usually more than four or five, and unrelated in content, as their criteria for a ghazal. To me, this is equivalent to calling a fourteen-line poem a sonnet. While I do not contest a poet's freedom to modernize and improvise, I feel that an attempt must be made to create the ghazal in its classical form, too. One should know the rules before deciding to break them. The Mastery of the Craft One must appreciate that the ghazal in some ways is diametrically opposite to free verse. The ghazal, while adhering to external form, rigorously leaves the emotion to leap from one couplet to another. It relies solely on unity of rhythm while free verse poems usually rely on unity of thought or image. An analogue to the ghazal may be the renga in its classical form with strict rules regarding syllable count, season words, etc., and a strictly non-narrative structure. The other kin to a ghazal may be sequence, though the sequence has no formal structure.  The first couplet in a ghazal provides the zemeen or basis on which all subsequent couplets stand. The theme of the following couplets may be unrelated, may contradict the previous one, may represent another perspective on the idea, may even be part of a narrative (though this is less common).
The second line in a couplet may even be unrelated to the first. Often, each couplet is an entirely different poem in itself, yoked to others only by reason of rhyme and rhythm. The strict limitation of form and length with stanzas of two lines only, each of which is an independent poem in itself places enormous pressure on the poet. He must excel with each line. He has to touch the listener's or reader's intellect or emotions quickly and move on.There is no time for expostulation.

The ghazal-writer relies on pun, paradox, bathos and other literary devices or tarqeebs. Brevity is the key. An example of witty spiritual insouciance or romantic flirtation can be seen in these translations from Ghalib and Faiz respectively (translations mine):  Is it ordained that each shall get the same reply? Come, let us take a walk to Mount Sinai. Love in the heart makes them upset; on my lips, it becomes a secret.

To attempt an English metrical equivalent, one should perhaps limit oneself to between five to twelve feet per couplet. Each line may include two hemistichs, though this is not essential. The two lines in a couplet may not have the same number of feet. Usually, each line is end-stopped and does not use, what Coleridge called, a feminine ending. Thus, a typical zemeen in Urdu may sound taut and simple as in this couplet: That you were not aware, We could hardly care. Or it may be more spread out and complex: Such pain that even wounds could not be witnesses; At your arrival, there were no apocalypses. (Above two examples translated from my ghazals in Urdu.) All these rules, however, are only on the surface. The true measure of a ghazal is its saleeqah or the way a certain thing is said or not said, or what is left unsaid. Wit is highly prized along with naazuk-khayaali or the subtlety of thought and feeling. An example of this fineness of perception can be seen in this couplet of Ghalib: At each turn, you ask me who am I. Tell me, is this the way to reply?

The ghazal then, to quote T. S. Eliot in another context, is "a precise way of thinking and feeling". Trans-creating it into English may mean a new self-discipline. If the attempt succeeds, " a new wing to the opulent mansion of English poetry" will be added and we shall have learnt something new in the process. Seeing the resourcefulness of modern poets in English, I have no doubt that the English ghazal will soon become a native in this foreign soil and thrive and prosper in this land of immigrants. 

(Parts of this essay first published in ELF: Eclectic Literary Forum, 1997 Volume 7, Number Three and in SIRS, a resource publication for libraries in U.S. and Canada)

Pariksith Singh
  August  2001 

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