An Interview with Ramesh Kartik Nayak

Interviewer: Nabanita Sengupta

Ramesh Karthik Nayak is a bilingual poet and short-story writer from Telangana. He has four books to his credit, three in Telugu (Balder Bandi, Dhaavlo and Kesula) and one in English (Chakmak). Nayak won the Sahitya Akademi Yuva Puraskar 2024 for his collection of Telugu short stories, Dhavlo. He is also the recipient of  Kalahamsa Kavitha Puraskaram, Tribal Young Achievers Award from the Telangana  government, Banjara Youth Icon Award, Ravi Sastri Katha Puraskaram among other awards. His poems are now  part of undergraduate and postgraduate syllabi in many universities of Telangana and Andhra Pradesh.

Nabanita Sengupta – What is your conception of eco poetry?

Ramesh Karthik Nayak – I have often come across the term eco poetry, but I never consciously associated it with my own work. However, when I reflect on my poetry now, I realize that nature has always been at its core, shaping its essence in ways I hadn’t fully acknowledged before. Each poem I have written carries the imprint of the natural world, intertwining landscapes, seasons, and elements with human emotions and experiences.

To me, eco poetry is not just a genre; it is a living history—an echo of my existence woven into the fabric of nature. It feels like both a past that lingers and a present that breathes through my words. My understanding of eco poetry is rooted in tracing the life we have lived in different manifestations of nature, capturing its fleeting moments and eternal rhythms. It is about preserving these impressions, sheltering them within the growing layers of memory that accumulate in the heart.

 NS –    Grandmother said/ trees are my ancestors

If trees are my ancestors/ then all elements on the earth/ are proofs of history

Nature is present with your verses as an integral part of your living. How do you look at nature as a poet?

RKN – As a poet, my imagination is boundless, filled with countless fantasies. But let me answer this as a village boy—someone who has never seen nature as something separate from himself. I have always felt that my heart carries a vast forest, and from its depths, the wind rises. This wind is no ordinary breeze; it carries my secrets, my dreams, and my unspoken words, whispering them to the trees and rivers.

I believe that nature listens, that it responds in ways we often fail to notice. I urge everyone to pause for a moment and speak—to a leaf, a twig, or even a stone. They may not reply in words, but if we close our eyes and truly listen, we will understand their language—the profound language of silence.

It is essential to wander among the woods, to lose ourselves in their quiet embrace. Our shadows, which follow us so faithfully, do more than just trail behind—they plant our memories, our sorrows, and our joys like seeds into the earth. And in return, nature gives us something extraordinary. Each time we talk to it, each time we listen, we are reborn.

NS – There is a deep concern and awareness of nature. In poems like ‘Feast’, ‘Creation’, ‘Dream of an Eagle’, there is a profound sensitivity to the living forms around us and there is also a tenuous connection with human lives as well. What makes you write these poems where the apparently ‘non-human’ dominates the poetic subject?

RKN – I wrote those poems unintentionally. I had planned to write something else, but they turned out this way. I often accompany my mother to the fields to help her with work. When we harvested the sesame crop, the land lay barren for a month. Then I saw birds feasting on the leftovers, while an eagle soared above. Perhaps, without realizing it, that scene found its way into my poems.

NS – While the world is moving away from nature, finding out various ways to buy comfort for the human race, often at the cost of jeopardising the environment, your poems come as a fresh whiff of air. Did you consciously start writing on these issues which counter the Anthropocene and look forward to a harmonious world?

RKN – In my case, I usually carry ideas with me for days, letting them develop before putting them into words. I wait until they feel ready, but sometimes, I lose them before I can write them down. They slip away, never returning, as if they were never mine to begin with.

Other times, my ideas are crystal clear, and I carefully plan a structure before writing. But once I begin, the words take on a life of their own—every single sentence evolves, reshaping the original thought. Strangely, this unpredictability feels just as satisfying, as if the writing knows where it wants to go.

Every detail emerges naturally, as if the text writes itself. Once the piece is complete, I read it closely. If I sense a gap between the lines, I reflect, craft additional passages, and experiment with different versions before settling on the one that fits best. Writing, for me, is both deliberate and instinctive—a process of discovery as much as creation.

NS – You also speak of caste issues and exploitation through your poems. The poem ‘Who is God’ is a very powerful representation of one such issue. The justified anger surfaces in these poems and I think in the larger context, these issues too are largely connected to the overall well-being of the human race, just as ecological concerns are. As a poet, what is your response to this?

RKN – I don’t want to go into too much detail, but the reality is grim. Tribals face brutal atrocities, yet no one talks about them. Even the media shows little interest in highlighting these issues. The news we see is just a fraction of the truth—like the tip of an iceberg. Behind it lies a vast, untold history of displacement, violence, exploitation, and injustice. Rapes, killings, and forced evictions are not isolated incidents; they are part of a deeper, ongoing tragedy that remains largely unseen. The real India, the one hidden in these stories, is still undiscovered.

NS – What would you consider has been your greatest poetic inspiration?

RKN – Fortunately, we possess the power of imagination. Yet, in my view, we struggle to awaken the life hidden within words—the words buried deep in our hearts. The truth is, we exist as half-souls now, unaware of where the other half wanders, surrounded by an unending loneliness and a quiet fear of life itself.

As far as I understand, my inspiration comes from the fear of fading memory, the weight of solitude, and the chaos that silence often carries.

NS – What role does poetry have in today’s world?

RKN – Whether one acknowledges it or not, poets have a much shorter lifespan compared to fiction writers, and poetry itself fades even faster than the poet. In my view, the role of poetry is like that of an orphan child who suddenly appears in your path, waving with different expressions—joy, sorrow, longing, defiance—only to vanish without reason, leaving behind an unshakable memory.

NS – Do you think eco-poetry can make any meaningful contribution to today’s world?

RKN – Yes, of course, poetry can make meaningful contributions. But who reads it and what kind of readers engage with it also matters. In my opinion, we are not truly ready to embrace eco-poetry. We claim to be interested in reading and writing it, but much of it comes from imagination rather than lived experience—and true experience is rarely recorded. Most of the works we encounter merely describe the elements of nature from a distance, rather than capturing an intimate, firsthand connection with it.

NS – We would like to know of any poet/ poets whose eco-poetry you admire. You may tell us briefly what makes you like the poet and may also share a short verse by the same poet.

RKN – Joy Harjo is my favorite poet. Whenever I read her work, I feel as if she has already put into words everything I’ve been thinking. The way she pulls the reader into her lines fascinates me. At times, her poems feel mystical and surreal; at other times, they are simple yet profoundly deep. Here is one of her poems.

 Don’t Bother The Earth Spirit by Joy Harjo

Don’t bother the earth spirit who lives here. She is working on a story. It is the oldest story in the world and it is delicate, changing. If she sees you

watching she will invite you in for coffee, give you warm bread, and you will be obligated to stay and listen. But this is no ordinary story. You will

have to endure earthquakes, lightning, the deaths of all those you love, the most blinding beauty. It’s a story so compelling you may never want to

leave; this is how she traps you. See that stone finger over there? That is the only one who ever escaped.

NS – Let us end on a poetic note. Please share one of your own poems here for our readers.

RKN –   

Lemon Tree and Spiders
 
An old lemon tree,
draped in fine silk threads.
Spiders anchor themselves
at the ends,
weaving napkins
to shroud dead insects—
a farewell the world
will remember until its end.
 
A world of mathematics
spins through threads
and lemon thorns.
As time’s grace fades,
its count dissolves into the threads,
transforming into a cluster of fangs.
 
Like a gypsy girl
holding emptiness in her hands,
the sunlight dances,
making the threads palpitate.
 
The sun turns them
into silver strings,
while every morning,
The breeze tunes a melody.
Mosquitoes and flies
practice the music,
Their symphony is fleeting.
 
One day, those strings
will become the finest fabric.
An indigenous poet’s daughter
may clothe a bird, a frog, or a snake—
unaware that they carry
death’s shadow with them.
 
Flowers, buds, and thorns
play a game of dice.
The thorn betrays the flower and bud;
the flower falls,
its petals severed,
like shattered wings.
The buds drop,
resembling tiny coconut apples.
 
The lemon’s scent,
a spellbinding lullaby,
invites breezes from distant horizons.
Yet no breeze
can displace it completely.
 
Tiny lemons grow
like green roses,
filling themselves
with earth’s fermented sweat.
The unmelted dreams of the season
condense into their seeds.
 
The tree’s pain
glows golden yellow on its thorns,
its joy sharpens
to dark green tips.
The thorns pierce
both the moon and sun,
scarring the earth—
day after day.

NS – Thank you so much.

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