LIKE PROMETHEUS AND ICARUS (Satis Shroff, Freiburg)

What others have said about the author: “Satis Shroff writes political poetry—about the war in Nepal, the sad fate of the Nepalese people, the emergence of neo-fascism in Germany. His bicultural perspective makes his poems rich, full of awe and at the same time heartbreakingly sad. I writing ‘home,’ he not only returns to his country of origin time and again, he also carries the fate of his people to readers in the West, and his task of writing thus is also a very important one in political terms. His true gift is to invent Nepalese metaphors and make them accessible to the West through his poetry.” (Sandra Sigel, Writer, Germany).

Since 1974 I have been living on and off in Nepal, writing articles and publishing books about Nepal-- this beautiful Himalayan country. Even before I knew Satis Shroff personally (later) I was deeply impressed by his articles, which helped me very much to deepen my knowledge about Nepal. Satis Shroff is one of the very few Nepalese writers being able to compare ecology, development and modernisation in the ‘Third’ and ‘First’ World. He is doing this with great enthusiasm, competence and intelligence, showing his great concern for the development of his own country. (Ludmilla Tüting, journalist and publisher, Berlin).

LIKE PROMETHEUS AND ICARUS (Satis Shroff)

Up and up we flew exultantly

Towards the Himalayas.

Kathmandu, Bhadgaon and Lalitpur

With their palaces, pagodas, shrines,

Brick houses and hotels ,

Lush green fields in the outskirts

Of the valley,

Were becoming smaller and greener.

For a moment in my mind

I was the dragon that rides over the clouds.

I was Prometheus,

The saviour of mankind,

Who gave mortals fire.

I was Icarus,

Flying away from Crete.

As I peered at the majestic silvery Himalayas,

I felt my insignificance in the vastness that unfurled below me.

How many climbers from the West and East,

How many Sherpas and other ethnic porters

Still lie in the crevasses and Himalayan glaciers?

My thoughts went to Reinhold Messner,

Who went to the Snows for years

With a guilty conscience and an obsession,

Searching for the remains of his dear brother,

Buried in a white out.

Till one day he held his brother’s femur

And proclaimed to the world,

‘It’s my brother’s remains.

I’ve found him at last.’

The earth is below us,

And receives us.

I have a feeling of smallness,

Humility, as I alight from the jet.

I’ve seen and felt the spell of the mighty Himalayas,

And what’s beyond the clouds in the sky.

A strong, deep, religious experience,

For I had trespassed the Abode of Snow,

Himalaya,

The Home of the Gods.

*****