“‘Where do you end and I begin?’ is the question which haunts Shaheen Dil’s remarkable memoir-in-poems. Dil’s journey is at once powerful and circular, transformative and tender. These wonderful poems leave me breathless, ecstatic, eager to seek out the selves which made me…” —Sara Henning, award-winning author of numerous poetry collections, most recently Burn (Southern Illinois University Press).
“Dil weaves a dialogic narrative with herself that reaches across the distances of time and place to create a tapestry of pleasurable and painful memories. . . Dil’s collection of recollection returns otherwise private moments from her past to a future in poeisis, where much like the universal experience of the ‘uncanny,’ the poet brings to light what by its nature is mysterious and secret.” —Lyubomir Nikolov, Bulgarian poet and author of numerous award-winning books, translated into seven languages.
More info About the Author: Shaheen Dil was born in Bangladesh and lives in Pittsburgh. Her poems have been widely published in literary journals and anthologies and nominated for the Pushcart Prize. Dil has published two full-length collections of poetry, Acts of Deference (Fakel 2016) and The Boat-maker’s Art (Kelsay Books 2024.) She holds a BA from Vassar College, a master’s degree from Johns Hopkins University, and a Ph.D. from Princeton University. Additional information is available on her website: shaheendil.com.
Book Launch Don’t miss out: Shaheen Dil will be celebrating the launch of her new poetry collection – Letters to My Younger Self – with three fellow poets (Robert Walacki, Judith Sanders, and Sharon Fagan McDermott) at Riverstone Books in Squirrel Hill at 7pm on April 24th.
Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, 2024
Letter 1
Where do you end and I begin?
I know the bend in the road you can’t yet see,
what lies past
the hill rising.
You are prancing in tall grass;
I am waking in a world you can’t yet reach.
What was yours I now call mine,
suspecting things may be the other way around.
Where might I end and you begin again?
Old Dhaka, East Pakistan, 1954
Letter 3
I remember you on a stage
in Armetola Maidan,
in a blue silk garara trimmed with gold,
you hid behind the podium where Abbu stood.
He spoke into a megaphone
to a crowd beyond your ability to count,
my ability to imagine.
You were four,
thrilled for the rare treat
of going somewhere with Abbu.
You couldn’t understand his words,
I can’t remember them—
only that dazzle of night and sound,
distant glory,
the warmth of Abbu near,
his voice a storm,
the field’s echoing thunder.
Chicago, Illinois, 1959
Letter 13
Wrists crossed,
fingers curled in a mudra,
your ankles tap to the tabla’s beat,
ghungroos jangling.
Somebody sings
Hat tima tim tim
but you don’t hear the words
or see the dim rows,
you hear the rhythm of your feet
stamping across the stage
the scent of marigolds scattering
from your hair
as you twirl,
the feel of hot lights on silk,
the oneness of sound,
scent, and sway.
These poems are published here courtesy of the author and should not be reprinted without permission.