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Lost, Hurt, or in Transit Beautiful
₹ 399.00 inclusive of all taxes
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About the book
‘This book has pain and it has discovery. It has wonder. It has the spell of a story and the effortlessness of a song. Which is why I hope it finds its way into you, your hands, readers.’ Ilya Kaminsky, author of Deaf Republic
In Rohan Chhetri’s much-awaited second collection, inherited literary forms-the ode, the lyric, and pristine tercets-are juxtaposed with gorgeously fractured and stylistically daring hybrid pieces. Winner of the prestigious Kundiman Prize for Poetry, Lost, Hurt, Or in Transit Beautiful is a luminous and haunting book.
Pages: 72
Available in: Paperback
Language: English
This book has pain and it has discovery. It has wonder. It has the spell of a story and the effortlessness of a song. Which is why I hope it finds its way into your hands, readers. - ILYA KAMINSKY
Death in these poems is no individual predicament but an ever-present afterlife that bonds us to and locates us in widening circles of entanglement: our kin, our errant friends, our villages, our borderfolk, our myths of nationhood and personhood. Chhetri dares to feel and sing this community elegy, and does it in a fierce, inventive, startling, restless language that seems entirely its equal; and trains us, by the book’s last sequence, towards ever purer gestures of agility and thought. - VIVEK NARAYANAN
This is poetry peopled by ancestors, restless ‘giants walking the earth’, whose histories drip through the pages like blood, like tears situated in childhood place, the small town, the youth clubhouse turned army encampment, fields after rain, rent by atrocities and revolution. Sometimes rent, destroyed, broken, yet always, always tender. Lost, Hurt, Or in Transit Beautiful reads raw and honest, vulnerable and true—‘Once you crawl white-eyed through a field of bones into light, what happens next?’ a poem asks, and I wish to say this, only this. - JANICE PARIAT
Chhetri’s poems are like tiny sharp pinholes exposing a bright strobe of a world just under the one we’re wandering around. - DANIEL HANDLER