While moderating a session at Karachi Literature Festival in 2011, novelist Mohammad Hanif introduced one of the panelists thus:
“He is Hassan Dars. Almost 20 years ago when we first time met, I had asked him, ‘What do you do?’
‘I am a poet’ he had replied naively. Today, again, I asked the same question and the answer was no different.’”
This was not an unusual introduction for a person who, at the age of 10, went to pray at a shrine to become a poet. Sadly, Hassan’s cherished dream - that of leading a poet’s life - came to an abrupt end a couple of months later - when he died in a tragic car accident in Hyderabad.
Hassan Dars
"Had Sibt-e-Hassan read 'Khanum Googoosh' by Hassan Dars, he would have amended his book Inqilab-i-Iran"
Poet’s homeland
A poet’s homeland: his eyes, Living on the land he’s nostalgic for the sea, anger engulfs him as he etches out his realm by writing words, an Indecisive roving soul, he invariably wants to go to his village where life would be peaceful in its congested street, and moonlight would have rained over the marble gravestones, Plenty of shot down birds lying along the lakeside and barrel of his brother’s gun would be still hot. ‘Life is elsewhere’ he goes further as if to meet with Milan Kundera’s silence and peeps into a house in Prague wherein a Czech girl is lying on a bed with a foreigner. Kundera you live in Paris but life is elsewhere, It is perhaps in that country which decrees Solzhenitsyn’s exile, Or it exists beyond that in the land where wind passes through Mehmud Darvesh’s ancestral date trees as if Umm Kulthum is singing a sweet melody. He runs as far as his imagination could go; He lives as far as his eyes could see; A poet’s homeland: his eyes.
(Translation from Sindhi by Mohammad Hanif & Gobind Menghwar)
In one of his early poems, he says “in every man dances a peacock, in every man dances a thief, there is the clop of a horse in every man”. These metaphors - which repeatedly occur in his poetry - clearly suggest that he was in hurry. He rose to stardom as the leading Sindhi poet at the age of 20. He conquered the hearts of both his Sindhi and non-Sindhi readers through his mesmerising verses, and left this world at the age of 44. Nevertheless, like many other poets of the world who died young, this - arguably finest - poet of Sindhi left indelible impressions. Though he never published a single anthology in his life, his poetry travelled heart to heart, leaving him the most popular poet of his generation. Besides, as New York based writer Hassan Mujtaba had rightly said “He was like a bridge between Sindhi and non-Sindhi writers during the most volatile period of late 1980’s.”
Hassan’s poetic genius was unveiled in 1987 when he read his poem ‘Khanum Googoosh’ at a literary gathering held in honour of doyen of Sindhi poetry Shaikh Ayaz in Hyderabad. It was a beautiful poem about the than banned Iranian singer Googoosh. Poetic justice, to be precise. Later, Shaikh Ayaz wrote: “Had prominent intellectual Sibt-e-Hassan read this poem by Hassan Dars, he would have amended his book Inqilab-i-Iran.”
One famous poem by Hassan Dars revolves around iconic Iranian singer Googoosh and her struggles after the Islamic Revolution
Hassan's legacy fell prey to a coterie of writers who portrayed him as a 'spiritual' poet
Complaint
You do not have the time To feel with your own hands The sharp edge of history’s sword You curse love itself, You mock it You do not even know The love they give you You don’t know the assassins’ intent You haven’t met their new generations Their daggers’ thirst Unquenchable I swear by the martyrs of Maklee Time is the lost ring of an unknown soldier That can fit around the finger of any thief Now that you are walking into the circus with them The string that bound us is finally broken We are falling into the open jaws of crocodiles. While we lie here buried deep in our defeat Are you in the midst of their victory feast? I wish you’d remember your land I wish you’d remember your country Your street.
(Translation from Sindhi by Mohammad Hanif & Gobind Menghwar)
‘Poetry of resistance’ was not a new phenomenon in Sindhi but Hassan gave it new dimensions by extending its scope to global level. Another marvelous poem by him, ‘Poet’s homeland’ testifies to this statement.
In the later part of his life, Hassan had stopped reading much. But he had developed a great knack for observation. After exploring global voices of dissent, he returned to his village and tried to explore the ‘history lying in each fold of an old man’s turban’. This transformation made his poetry more natural and spontaneous. His poetry turned into a tour guide of his motherland as he would take his reader on a voyage through his verses. Conversely, as his fame crossed language barriers, his topics became more regional and indigenous, thus making his poetry more immediately relevant. This was the marvel of Hassan’s talent.
Posthumously, Hassan Dars has been depicted as a 'spiritual' poet in the classical Sindhi tradition
Invite
Hot springs of love are bubbling In my being How cold is this winter More than the winters gone In this bitter freeze My heart still yields its spring of heat You are as beautiful As birds from northern countries My fingers are lit like candles But the alleyways of your soul Are damp and deserted Cold like death The dialogue of my hands and your body Is all fire Then why this silence Where is your music this year? Before the winter wins And you congeal to the bone Turn into a sculpture made of ice Let’s start walking towards hell.
(Translation from Sindhi by Mohammad Hanif & Gobind Menghwar)
Unfortunately, Hassan’s legacy fell prey to a coterie of writers who portrayed him as a ‘spiritual’ poet, an idea that the deceased poet shunned himself throughout his life. His posthumous anthology was published with the title “Hassan Dars Jo Risalo”, as if he was a saintly poet of the 17th century. While referring to his anthology, a contemporary poet Mazhar Leghari remarked: “After seeing Hassan’s anthology I have come to a conclusion: Kitaab laao qabal is kay, kay ap ki kitab laayee jaye”.
