THE STARS ARE HIS BONES is a hybrid East-West Challenge which juxtaposes all kinds of black and white photographs of individuals and locations in India with ‘discovered haiku’, extrapolated from an early translation of the Upanishads, thought-about extensively to be one of many world’s nice fountains of knowledge.
Bilingual poet and haiku grasp Gabriel Rosenstock, writer of Haiku Enlightenment and co-editor of The Woke up One: Buddha-themed Haiku from Across the World, each volumes revealed by Poetry Chaikhana, says, ‘Haiku turned in style within the West as a literary and non secular phenomenon throughout the heyday of the Beat Era and particularly the haiku of Jack Kerouac, J W Hackett, Richard Wright and Allen Ginsberg, a lot of whom Rosenstock has translated into Irish.’ Not all trendy haikuists derive their inspiration from the Beats. At the moment, haiku is a world phenomenon; not solely is it nonetheless massively in style in Japan, it has discovered deep roots all around the world, together with India and Eire.
THE STARS ARE HIS BONES provides itself to audiences as a singular expertise by which picture and textual content could be contemplated individually and collectively. In a world that’s nonetheless troubled by political and spiritual tensions, this work suggests another transcendental imaginative and prescient of the shared Self,past borders, past class and all ethnic, political and spiritual variations. Removed from being fuzzy or ethereal, the photographs and ‘discovered haiku’ in THE STARS ARE HIS BONES yield their flesh-and-blood actuality, their right here and now readability, to those that linger of their aura.
Few Images From The E-book
Artists’ Assertion
What have Debiprasad Mukherjee and Gabriel Rosenstock received in frequent?
One is a Kolkata-based Indian photographer and the opposite is a Dublin-based bilingualIrish poet. Each artists are abundantly artistic, steeped in their very own tradition, and but totally satisfied that what unites them is far better than what could divide them, ethnically and geographically. Is it an accident that they received to know each other or was this work, The Stars Are His Bones, ready for aeons to return into existence?
Debiprasad Mukherjee
Gabriel Rosenstock
Each artists imagine within the integrity of their respective arts. It’s what they dwell for and espouse each day. The photographer envies the wordsmith, and the wordsmith envies the photographer, in order that they announce, ‘Put small-mindedness apart! Let’s mix our items to create one thing spectacular that hasn’t been seen earlier than. And so, Debiprasad’s images, created in a specific place and at a specific time, tackle a brand new, common context when paired with fragments from an early translation of the Upanishads, reshaped as arresting haiku by Gabriel. These ‘discovered haiku’ remind Gabriel of three-line pearls of knowledge from the traditional Gaelic custom often called triads. The outdated changing into new once more, that is the cycle of artwork, the cycle of life.
The Stars Are His Bones is the results of their artistic, spontaneous and joyous collaboration, fastidiously honed and polished over a three-year interval. Not a coffee-table ebook to dip into for visible and poetic delight, however a brand new ‘version’ of an historic textual content which, miraculously, permits us to dip into the Self.
Gabriel says: “Annie Besant, a legendary supporter of each Irish and Indian self-rule, had an perception into this historic knowledge: ‘In keeping with the Vedantic view the Self is one, omnipresent, all-permeating, the one actuality . . . The Self is in all places acutely aware, the Self is in all places existent, the Self is in all places blissful . . .’ ” (An Introduction to Yoga, 1908).
The Stars Are His Bones is just not a proselytising challenge, both as a ebook, idea or exhibition. Nonetheless, each photographer and writer recognise that their work is impressed by the One inexhaustible Self – the core teachings of the Upanishads – and that their combinedcreative energies have produced one thing that shocked themselves, initially, and continues to shock them. For it is a story – just like the Self – which ¬has no starting, no finish.
