Chandra Gurung, who comes from the Himalayan country of Nepal, but is currently based in Bahrain, writes poetry in the Nepali language and translates poems from Arabic, Hindi and English into Nepali. His first poetry collection was published in 2007. A second collection is now due from Rubric Publishing, New Delhi. He recently participated in the First Dhaka Translation Festival in Bangladesh. In this interview he speaks about his passion for poetry and translation and of the things that have motivated him to become a writer.

Chandra, let’s start at the beginning. Please tell me something about your background and how you first became inspired to write poetry.

I come from a small village that is nestled in the hills in the Gorkha district of Nepal. The world-famous Gurkha soldiers, who are well-known for their gallantry and warfare and now serve with bravery in many different parts of the world, were named after this very place. The king of Gorkha defeated the rulers of the various small states and, with the help of the Gorkha people, shaped modern-day Nepal.

As a youngster, I derived a lot of enjoyment from reading books. My first poem was a rhyming poem about a kite. I remember reciting it at the school’s farewell day. Sadly, there was a yawning gap after that. Despite a deep desire to write poetry, I failed to make time for writing because I was a college student cum full-time teacher in a private school during the heyday of my campus life.

My dormant passion for poetry was well and truly revived after moving to Saudi Arabia in 2003. A kind of home sickness haunted me which fuelled my emotions and helped me to start writing again.

What do you see as being the role of a poet and what does poetry mean to you?

To engage in poetry, whether reading it or writing it, is to practice an enriching attentiveness. To practice poetry is to pluck details from the surrounding world- to see things more clearly, to recognize the beauty inherent in our lives, to experience pain and happiness and to connect with others around us. Poetry operates on so many different levels of consciousness. Poetry gives meaning to our lives. As Marie Howe has said, poetry can help to remind us all that we are alive.

Poets observe closely the world around them. They offer insight and entertainment and help us to measure our lives at a deeper and more meaningful level. Through their writing, poets add a new dimension to our existence. The role of the poet is to master language in ways that inspire us to experience something transcendent, useful and meaningful in our lives.

What would you say are the main influences on your poetry and how do they manifest themselves in your work?

I was away from my mother and my motherland from an early age. My poems explore exile and family, the pain of separation and the joy of reconciliation. They reflect the changing scenario of the society that I belong to. Poetry can be utilized as a means to build empathy and to bridge gaps of understanding between people. Poetry is meant to be our companion throughout every stage of societal awareness.

In my poems, I narrate stories drawn from my own life experiences. My poems reflect upon the social, political and moral issues of our time. Choosing the subject matter is central to my writing. I first decide what my poem will be about. The vivid metaphors come later. In all my poems, I strive to leave the reader with a sense of fulfilled expectation.

What type / genre of poetry are you interested in the most and why does it appeal to you?

Since I became fascinated with poetry, I have been writing in free verse. This form of writing gives me a certain sense of freedom and allows me some headroom for experimentation.

Please tell me a little bit about your translation work and how you became interested in translation in the first place.

In the present context, translation has become essential for the support and perpetuation of poetry or any other form of literature. Reading poetry in translation helps to foster a wider understanding between cultures.

During 2012, a number of Indian poets / writers joined me on Facebook. Through their suggestion, I began to translate some Nepali poems into Hindi. Later on, I started to translate some Hindi poems into Nepali. Running in parallel with this development, I have been translating several poems from Arabic into other languages.

Are there other areas of writing that you are interested in pursuing apart from poetry?

Without doubt, poetry is my first love! However, one cannot make a living out of poetry, let alone earn any royalties. Aside from poetry, I have been writing a series of essays on the lives of migrant workers in the Gulf Corporation Council (GCC) countries*. Their pain and their sorrow has acted as a catalyst for my work.

Do you have a preferred place in which to write? If so, where is it?

Location matters a lot to me. The neighborhood and its environment affect my feelings, actions and thoughts and ultimately my writing process.

Generally, I prefer to write in a quiet place, somewhere that is well away from any kind of distraction or disturbance. Most of my ideas come to me when I am travelling or sitting alone.

What is the poetry scene like in Nepal? Are you optimistic about the future of poetry in Nepal?

The poetry scene in Nepal is flourishing. A lot of young people in Nepal are writing poetry. We need to channel their energy down the right paths in order to bring out the best in them. The editors of daily papers are receptive to poems and poetry reviews. Literary organizations are spreading their wings far and wide. New books are released regularly. Organisations that promote poetry competitions are also thriving. For all of these reasons I remain optimistic about the future of poetry in Nepal.

What is the poetry scene like in Bahrain? Are there any noticeable differences between the way poetry is received in Bahrain as opposed to Nepal?

Foreigners make up fifty-five per cent of the total population of Bahrain. Among them many like-minded writers have joined forces to form various literary groups. They have also organised a number of workshops and they network with each other on a regular basis. Regular annual literary symposiums take place. Local Bahraini writers also participate in a range of literary activities. Poets, writers and artists from different Arabic countries are frequently invited to participate in these events.

Literary circles in Bahrain are full of writers from diverse nations. Exchange of knowledge and experience occurs on regular basis. Arabic readers are irresistibly drawn towards poetry. Accomplished poets from the Arab countries have greatly enriched the world of poetry and much of their work has been translated into other languages. Translations and interactions are much less of a feature when it comes to Nepali poetry.

What collections have you had published to date and what are you working on at present?

As I mentioned earlier, I first started to write poetry seriously when I was in Saudi Arabia. Nostalgia for my homeland fuelled my emotions and acted as a spur for me to write. Thirty three of the poems that I wrote during this period were published in book form by Sathi Publications, (Kathmandu), after my return to Nepal in 2007.

A second volume, My Father’s Face, is about to be published by Rubric Publishing, (New Delhi). This volume consists of English translations of 47 poems originally written in Nepali.

What lessons have you learnt from writing poetry? Do you have any pieces of advice to pass on to other aspiring poets?

If I have learnt anything it is that writing poetry is the best way for me to remain in touch with my emotions. It helps me to think creatively —to look at the things from a different perspective or through a different lens. Poetry helps me to navigate the world in a different way to the extent that, at times, it feels as if I am approaching it from a different dimension. Ultimately it widens my understanding of myself and of others and changes things for the better. Poetry has its uses in every aspect of our living. We must keep our hearts and minds open to its possibilities so that we can become receptive to it.

My advice to emerging poets would be to persevere and to be patient. The journey that poetry will take you on is a long one. A regular diet of reading and writing is essential. The sky is the limit for young, aspiring poets.

*Saudi Arabia, Kuwait, United Arab Emirates, Qatar, Bahrain and Oman.

You can find Chandra here on Twitter.

Neil Leadbeater is an author, essayist, poet and critic living in Edinburgh, Scotland. His short stories, articles and poems have been published widely in anthologies and journals both at home and abroad. His publications include Librettos for the Black Madonna (White Adder Press, Scotland, 2011); The Worcester Fragments (Original Plus Press, England, 2013); The Loveliest Vein of Our Lives (Poetry Space, England, 2014), Sleeve Notes (Editura Pim, Iaşi, Romania, 2016) Finding the River Horse (Littoral Press, 2017) and Penn Fields (Littoral Press, 2019). His work has been translated into several languages including Dutch, French, Romanian, Spanish and Swedish.

Laura Potts is a writer from West Yorkshire. A recipient of the Foyle Young Poets Award, her work has been published by Aesthetica, The Moth and The Poetry Business. Having worked at The Dylan Thomas Birthplace in Swansea, Laura became one of the BBC’s New Voices in 2017. She received a commendation from The Poetry Society in 2018 and was shortlisted for The Edward Thomas Fellowship in 2020.

How long have you been writing poetry?

The precise age is unremembered, but I was fairly young. Six or seven perhaps. That’s fifteen years ago now. It’s helped that I’ve always been a reader – I love to feel the gravity of a book in my hand – and my writing has grown quite naturally from that. One fed the other, and that’s still the case today. I suppose I was lucky as a child. I benefited from having grandparents who were already in their eighties when I was born. Their idea of a good time was settling down in the armchair with a good book, and I’ve inherited that.

My grandmother lurched from illness to illness and had endless time for me. She taught me to read and write. She would take me on her knee and read to me, often for hours into the evening, until I fell asleep. She loved ‘the greats’ – Tennyson, Keats, Chaucer, Walter Scott. Her voice had been broken by smoke in the war, and she could read with fabulous gravity. It was gorgeous and gravelly. I learnt to love poetry then, all because of the way she would read it. It’s the only voice which has ever done justice to verse for me.

What got you into sharing/performing your poetry?

I had joined a local writing group by the age of fifteen. We would meet once a month in the upstairs room of a musty pub in Wakefield. Old men dribbled verse into their pints and bemoaned the state of the nation. It was a bright, good time.

I was encouraged to share my work for the first time by two local writers who went to these meetings. With gentle advice, John Irving Clarke and Jimmy Andrex taught me the value of reading to a room on my own terms. They helped me realise that confidence and poise would come with time, and that I don’t have to shout to be heard. In that sense, I’ve always rejected performance. I read my poetry. It isn’t an act or a drama, and it isn’t memorised or scripted. I read it. That’s all. There’s pleasure enough in that.

How did you feel before and after your first performance?

Nervous! My first reading was at The Red Shed in Wakefield. I’d been asked to support Ian McMillan. I was fifteen, starstruck after meeting Helen Mort in the train station with her whippets the day before. It was winter, and I remember thinking that this Ian guy must be a big deal because people had travelled all the way from Harrogate in the snow to listen to him. I also remember having learnt my poems by heart and worrying about forgetting them. This is something I’ve since dropped. A book is part of a writer’s oeuvre and should play its own part in the performance.

Afterwards, I felt a small sense of achievement. I had stood in a dark room of strangers and read my little poems to them. What was more, Ian was there. And that was a big deal.

What kind of things are you writing about at the moment? Have the subjects of your poetry changed over time?

I’m doing the dreaming on a few poems about Anthony Burgess at the moment. It’s my way of making a small homage to one of my favourite writers. At times like this – when I’m not on commission – I tend to write in response to whatever I’m reading. Sometimes it’s a conscious response and sometimes it isn’t. This time it is.

But at other times, when I read my work, I’ll hear the faint ghosts of writers I’d been reading at the time. There might be a scrap of Plath here or a scrap of Ted there. Their presence was unintended at the time of writing. These are, unconsciously, the voices I write back to.

I’d say the subjects have changed over time. I’ve learnt to write with discipline – in the sense that I let myself write whatever I want to these days. There was a time when I used to write prescriptively. I’d read a love poem and decide to write one too. I’d read a verse about sex and set out on a mission to write my own. I suppose it works for some, but in the end I knew that I was writing myself into feelings which were forced rather than organic. It was like standing outside on a winter’s night, looking into a scene I wished I were part of.

And if I continued like that, I’d only ever be a dark watcher.

Do you think living in West Yorkshire shapes the type of poems you write?

Yes, of course. My place is as present as my politics, my ethics and my class. Every poem I write – every word I write- is a product of my place in the world. How can it be different?

I’ve read many papers which argue that creativity is inherent, is separate, is ‘disinterested’ (to quote Matthew Arnold). It supposedly exists in some alternate reality, untouched by the vagaries of everyday sexism, racism, the political climate, the calamity of war and human suffering. It’s a divine stream which we channel to escape our bleak realities. It’s manna from heaven. It’s crap.

I live in West Yorkshire and I always have. I think about this every day. My poems are the result of the books I’ve read, from The Tale of Mrs Tiggy-Winkle to The History Boys; the songs I’ve heard and the films I’ve watched; the marks that are made on voting cards; the (diminishing) forest on the distant moor; my grandfather’s medals which hang in the hall; the closing of Kellingley Colliery; Sylvia Plath Hughes at Heptonstall; my mother’s accent and my father’s lack of it; my single-sex education; the Miner’s Strike (yes, families are still not speaking to each other about that one here) and the endless endless endless endless endless endless news. There’s more, but we’ll leave it at that.

Who inspires your writing and why? Do you have any favourite poets or writers?

I’d have to say Dylan, but most people know that already. It’s his music that gets me. I love him on the page and on the ear. His intonation – that faux-Homeric bass voice – was just made to read poetry. And I like Sylvia Plath too. Mostly because she teaches me new vocabulary, and that’s always a good thing. My copy of Ariel is full of footnotes and definitions I’ve scribbled in the margins. But I’ve found that she stays with me for a long time after I’ve finished reading. Rather like a haunting.

The best collection I’ve read belongs to Peter Riley. Hushings, published by Calder Valley Poetry. I’d go so far as to say it’s the best book I’ve ever read. My copy has been on various ventures and was briefly lost for a frantic hour on Table Mountain in Cape Town when the wind blew it out of my hands.

In terms of music (because why can’t songs be poems too?), I like Leonard Cohen and The Cranberries. Dolores O’Riordan and her broken throat – the way her note will always break at the height of emotion – hurts a little every time I hear it. In a good way. Like Sylvia Plath all over again.

What is next for you? What are your plans?

I’m going to be taking a short break soon. Every now and then, the world’s white noise grows too loud and I can’t hear my own voice above the crowd. That’s when I know it’s time for a break. My first collection is almost finished, and I’d like to spend some time reading and writing before it goes out to the world. I’ll still be around – I’ve just finished a commission for The International Anthony Burgess Foundation in Manchester, and that’s still ongoing this year. And there’s another announcement to come, but I’ll have to wait a while for that one.

Really, I’d like to promote that attitude in itself. It’s alright to be selfish sometimes. Read some good books, read some bad books, watch movies you love but know you shouldn’t. It’s okay to take some time off sometimes. Writing is hard. And it’s even harder when you have bills to pay and a reality to live in. Be kind to yourself. That’s my only secret. Your best work will come when you take your time.