The Flapper Press Poetry Café Welcomes the Formalist Poetry of Shamik Banerjee
- Annie Newcomer
- 2 hours ago
- 12 min read
By Annie Newcomer:
The Flapper Press Poetry Café features the work of poets from around the globe. It is an honor to share their work and learn more about their lives, influences, and love of poetry.
This week, we are honored to feature the work of poet Shamik Banerjee.
Shamik Banerjee is a poet who lives in Assam, India, with his parents. His house is located on a foothill, and when he isn't writing, he can be found strolling these alluring, hilly paths. He recently completed his higher studies in marketing, and although his dream is to relocate to some thinly populated, tranquil region and run a self-owned business, his current ambition is to work in the corporate sector. Some of his latest poems have been published by The Society of Classical Poets, Spelt, Pensive, San Antonio Review, Modern Reformation, Ekstasis, Ink Sweat and Tears, and Third Wednesday, among others. He recently secured second place in the 2024 Southern Shakespeare Company Sonnet Contest.
We reached out to Shamik to talk about his passions, influences, and his poetry.
Please meet Shamik Banerjee!
Annie Newcomer: Welcome, Shamik. Recently, I worked with a poet who, in her bio, described herself as an American poet. Even though I am American, this reference caused me to stop and think. When a poet has global acceptance of their work, as you do, do you feel that being able to place you in a certain location prepares readers to enter your work? What does it mean to represent India on the poetic world stage?
Shamik Banerjee: A poet's motherland can have a gigantic influence on his work and also on his readers. To answer your question, I would like to say that it's the subject of a poem that prepares a reader [for] reading an Indian poet or of any nationality, for that matter. For universally relatable topics, this preparation is not required. I've had the good fortune of receiving acceptances and appreciation of poems based on typical Indian cultures, mannerisms, idiosyncrasies, comportment, and day-to-day routines by foreign journals. Some readers delight in "new perspectives" and love digging in to the particularities (religion, food, clothing, etc.) of other nations through the lines of foreign poets. While on the other hand, some absorb such poems by the use of their personal knowledge and experiences about the poet's country.
To me, representing India is as significant as it is to an American representing the USA. Not every piece I pen bears a direct linkage to India; some definitely do, while some are a concoction of both globally perceptible and Indian themes.
AN: Who first introduced you to poetry? Please share about your journey and how you intend to keep poetry close to you even as you endeavor to have your own business in another field one day.
SB: To be honest, I am not cognizant about who or what specifically introduced me to poetry, but, I suppose, it was the poets of the past, the ones before the dawn of the twenty-first century. As a schoolchild, I had this uncontrollable urge to create, and I would often find myself wallowing in paintings, wall art, sketches, and sometimes acting. Not immersing myself in these activities, somehow, robbed me of all joys, leaving behind a massive void.
With the course of time, I turned into a voracious reader of poems from the golden age of poetry (Renaissance, Elizabethan, Victorian, Romantic, and Metaphysical) and became self-aware of what I truly desired—to tell stories. After all, every art form, irrespective of its characteristics, is a distinct screen that runs the artist's stories. From being a person glued to visual art, I witnessed myself steering towards writing—short stories, songs, but mostly poetry. If I can correctly recall, I drafted my first poem at the age of nineteen. As my interest became more vested in poetry compared to other genres, such as fiction, I slowly swerved from them.
I believe I'll never forego poetry nor will poetry forego me. Notwithstanding the business I'm yet to establish, poetry will have its own dominion, ungoverned by other affairs. That very youth-hood void is quite prone to bubbling up in times of my disassociation from poetry, even if it's brief. During my retirement days, I would love to pass on my learnings and experiences to the then youth.
AN: Shamik, it has become a tradition here at Flapper Press to ask our poets to share their "superpower" in writing, so may I ask you to share yours?
SB: I believe every human being, whether a poet or not, is bestowed with a specialty (I think I like this word more than "superpower"). The colleague sitting a cubicle away from me is extremely hilarious and entertaining; my aunt's son makes the best pudding; no one can binge-watch horror thrillers for as many hours as my cousin does. . . . As for me, I would like to believe it's empathy I'm blessed with as a specialty.
AN: Empathy. What and amazing "superpower" for a poet.
SB: Thank you, Annie.
AN: Does being a formalist poet preclude writing free form? Please explain to our readers how you describe a "formalist poet" and why you choose this form for your work.
SB: It depends on the poet. If he deems himself a strict formalist and is not keen on writing unmeasured lines at all, then free verse is distant to him. On the other hand, one can be a formalist poet in practice and, simultaneously, cultivate his admiration for free verse too; or can be a crafter of both. There are poets in my knowledge who practice both free and formal verse.
Thomas Hardy said, "Poetry is emotion put into measure. The emotion must come by nature, but the measure can be acquired by art." His saying stayed with me and was the major propellant that hardened my roots in formal poetry.
I suppose I didn't intentionally choose to be a formalist poet. My inclination for formal poetry burgeoned from the very love and reverence I have for the poets of the past. But I also read free verse pieces and appreciate them when truly done well.
AN: Which poets do elementary school children in India study? Please share some of your favorite poets from India and also some of your favorites from America.
SB: The Indian elementary curriculum pertaining to English poetry is diverse. From R. L. Stevenson to Eleanor Farjeon to Vikram Seth, students are exposed to variegated styles and themes.
My favorite Indian poets include, but are not limited to, Vikram Seth, Toru Dutt, Sarojini Naidu, and Nissim Ezekiel.
Countless American poets have influenced me over the years; naming just a few would be an inequity. Poe, Paul Dunbar, Claude McKay, Edna Millay, and many others make up the list.
AN: Why is it important for a poet to publish their work? How do you choose where you will submit your work?
SB: Publication not only incentivizes poets to produce new pieces but is also the only channel through which new ideas can be introduced to the world. Also, I believe that it's through publication alone one can near immortality and, if fate favors, touch it.
I attentively scour through the Internet, looking for places that are genuinely receptive to all forms of poetry, because there are innumerable journals being born every day, and discerning the impartial from the partial ones is indeed the first imperative step. The number of magazines/journals I presently read has narrowed down from a pool of nearly 40 to 10. The reason being the inexplicably poor quality of work. At times, the over-pouring praise towards sloppily stitched incoherent sentences and considering them profound and masterpieces to ruminate on baffles me. Most of the modern poems resemble modern art (if they can be defined as art in the first place); i.e., if a poem doesn't make sense, it's great. What's more ludicrous is that the partisans of such "celebrated" magazines and poets are ever ready to clap for pieces that I guess they are barely able to make sense of. This very degradation in quality is the reason most households don't take active interest in it today, unlike in the early twenty-first century when poetry was no less than a venerated guest in every street and lane.
AN: Is it important to you to encourage young, novice poets? And in what ways do you try to inspire others and navigate them to poetry?
SB: Young, novice poets are the future pillars of poetry. Helping them nurture their talent and remain steadfast to this gift should be an indispensable duty of every weathered poet.
I foresee myself starting a space in the future where young poets can convene, discuss, and learn more about poetry from me and each other. The aim would be to help them discover themselves through poetry.
AN: Walk us through your creative writing process. By this I mean, where do you find your inspiration and decide on subject matter? Do you write at a desk or outside? In a quiet space? And do you have a routine?
SB: As far as drawing inspiration is concerned, there is no uniformity in it. Random catchy scenes in marketplaces, incidents, the indistinct public chatter in metro trains, people going about their daily routines, or even a series of sounds can very much inspire me.
There's no such fixed place where I write, but often in my living room.
Quietude is an add-on to my writing and, without a doubt, conducive, but it's not required. I have found myself writing even in clamorous settings.
AN: Do you anticipate traveling the world to share your poetry? Do you imagine what your poetry books will look like?
SB: How greatly I am in love with traveling! Indeed, I would feel very fortunate to visit places, sharing my poems with people in pubs, cafés, local groups, and even auditoriums.
Given the enormity of subject matter out there, my current state regarding the future of publishing books is inconclusive. But it's certainly on my list, and I'll probably start working on streamlining my goals in a year's time. Themes would include an amalgamation of things—from the natural world to the metaphysical; from culture to spirituality.
AN: Are people in India in tune with poetry? How do you see the future of poetry in the world we now live in?
SB: Poets in India have widely proliferated over the past decades. However, the same cannot be held true for readers of poetry. It's concerning, actually. What appears is that most of the time, either poets read poets or editors read poets. There's a lack in the poetic sphere that is impeding the general masses from taking up poetry magazines and reveling in their words. Maybe it's the decline in the quality of work and people's lack of fulfillment from it. All other art forms—music, films, novels, songs, etc.—are looked up to, but poetry.
There used to be a time when poetry was memorized, recited, and even performed by non-poets. Today, such activities are rare and nearly on the verge of diminishing.
Irrelevant personal truths, illogical sentences clubbed together, lack of punctuation marks, bland lines that are far from evoking even an ounce of emotion, glorifying unintelligible work as masterpieces, etc., and many other distortions of modernity have led to this fate of poetry, in my opinion.
Poetry will revive again with the revival of its readers and not simply through the surge of poets.
AN: Shamik, after reading your poetry that has won many Flapper Press Poetry Café contests, I knew that I wanted to interview you. I have a feeling that I will interview you again in the future too. After getting to know you, my heart tells me that you will find great success in the poetry world.
Now may I ask you to share three of your poems and give their backstories for our readers?
SB: Of course, Annie. Here are three poems that I have selected to share with your audience. Thank you to Elizabeth Gracen, your fine Flapper Press owner, and you, Annie, for sharing my work.
A Reunion
Atharva rushed impetuously like a goose
That had been (from a rayless, fuggy cage) set loose.
So did Prabhat. Their hug was like the vernal sun.
They have two things in common. First: four endless years
Of bifurcation, pining, and nights full of tears.
Prabhat—once led the skirmishers—Infantry 1.
The second thing is hair loss. One's turned forty-three.
The other's pinned his hope on chemotherapy.
The latter is the former's only son.
First published by Muse India
From the poet: My poem highlights the reunion of a father, who's in the army, and his ailing son after four long, impatient years. I am not sure if my piece is interesting but rather, compelling. During my recent visit to a hospital, I chanced upon this family, and the sequence of the stanzas mirrors the sequence in which I got acquainted with them (first: the boy's rush towards his dad, the hug, followed by my enquiry about his condition). I am the right person to have written it because I have witnessed it (such an event that evokes joy, dread, and sorrow, simultaneously, and makes one rethink life, shouldn't be left unwritten).
Please Note: The reference to a goose to describe the running style of Atharva is in no way derogatory or derisive. This analogy is set up to imply "the fulfillment of one's yearning"—just like a goose longs for its freedom from the cage, this child longs to meet with his father.
The Touch-Me-Not
This meadow is a theatre by the day
where she, the lead thesp in a verdant gown,
and her co-star, the Monarch, stippled brown,
present to us their morning matinee:
this butterfly with fanned wings pertly kisses
her skin, but like an insouciant lass,
she dips in privacy and lets him pass
with all fun rotten, even though she misses
his flirtation. So she (after a while)
vents all demureness and unfolds again
her leaf-wrought charm, and he (who's half gone) then
returns irradiated with a smile.
From the poet: The Touch-me-not is one of my favorites out of the entire flora kingdom, so I wanted to pay the amazing plant a tribute. Bringing a butterfly into the scene.
Amir Nisha
June, 2022, Aligarh
Congested footpaths slowed us down that day.
The sun, imperious, laughed during noon
And mocked our plodding as we made our way
To your most-stopped-by marketplace that June.
Our bottles had run out of fluid, and though
Your lips became deserts, you acted nice
To prove "no thirst" (and thought I wouldn't know).
But then, a glass of cane juice helped your lips
Like rainfall helps a dry farm, and your eyes
Said, "You've relieved me" as you took those sips.
We reached there. Oh, the bee-like crowd! Its buzz!
We muscled through it, feeling every shove.
Your right hand was latched to my left. It was
Just like a journey through some shrubby grove.
Alluring marts and outlets cast their shine
Upon your heart whose throbs of boundless glee
United with the joyfulness of mine.
Taking me to some common trinket store,
You browsed through every earring, while in me,
The bliss of buying some for you grew more.
Located nearby was a small boutique
With fair abayas, but your modesty
Held your desires. I used that old technique
Of drawing your stiff body tenderly
Towards the shop (your white cheeks made their change
into light claret red). Your action of
Examining a cloth, its colours' range,
The fabric's quality, designs, and prints
Appeared as if some craftswoman of love
Was painting me with golden-yellow tints.
At five, precisely, being too fatigued,
We found a seat within the public square.
Iced cane juice (once again!); we were relieved!
The sky's expanding ochre touched your hair.
Thievishly, as I tried to hold your hand,
You hawed and said, "What would the public think?"
A pause, and then I said, "I understand."
Your manners! Oh, so Indian and plain
That all I did was watch your eyes unblink-
ingly, then turn aside and watch again.
Sundown. It was your maghrib time. We found
A mosque. I stayed outside—my faith did not
Permit me in. You entered, sat upon the ground,
Postured yourself, and gently checked the knot
Of your hijab. Outside the gate, I prayed
Too (to your God, but with a different name),
"O' Lord, will You not grace our souls and aid
Our clashing fates? Remove religion's pall?"
Then you arrived. "Did she, too, pray the same?",
I wondered, but your long hug answered all.
Previously published by Drip Literary
Word Meanings:
Amir Nisha: A marketplace in the region of Aligarh (a place in North India).
Maghrib: The sunset Islamic prayer.
Abaya: A loose-fitting full-length robe worn by some Muslim women.
Hijab: A traditional headscarf worn by Muslim women, covering the hair and neck.
From the poet: This poem holds so many emotions that I can't fathom where to begin. The events described here are true, pertaining to the days when I and the one who parted from me were one. It was a scorching summer afternoon, and we were out exploring the marketplace, Amir Nisha, for our first shopping trip ever. Though separated by religion, our hearts were united. The joy I received from buying her the things she desired, drinking cane juice together, and everything else was immense. We parted ways a year later.
Annie Klier Newcomer founded a not-for-profit, Kansas City Spirit, that served children in metropolitan Kansas for a decade. Annie volunteers in chess and poetry after-school programs in Kansas City, Missouri. She and her husband, David, and the staff of the Overland Park Arboretum & Botanical Gardens are working to develop The Emily Dickinson Garden in hopes of bringing art and poetry educational programs to their community. Annie helms the Flapper Press Poetry Café—dedicated to celebrating poets from around the world and to encouraging everyone to both read and write poetry!
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