T.V. Reddy's Poetry - The Pulse of Life E-Book

T. Vasudeva Reddy

• Herausgeber: Modern History Press
• Kategorie: Geisteswissenschaft
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017

Seitenzahl: 330

Beschreibung

The Pulse of Life: Essential Readings is a representative collection of the poetry of T. Vasudeva Reddy, a luminous star shining in Indian English poetry. His poetry is a pleasant blend of the traditional and the modern, the realistic and the romantic, the symbolic and the imagist, the urban and the rural, satirical and lyrical streams of poetry. His poems cover a wide thematic pattern ranging from the remote village to the global level, a bewildering blend of rural and global life. Whoever wishes to have a glimpse of the reality of the Indian rural scenario and see the struggles and sufferings of poor farmers can go through the poems of T.V. Reddy. Poems, spread over eleven volumes till now, and spanning 35 years, are now collected for the first time ever in this Essential Readings edition.
"In the vast desert of Indo-Anglian poetry, it is quite refreshing to see the life-giving oasis of Reddi's poetry which at once resuscitates and invigorates even a slumbering mind. His poems are as immortal as the frescoes of the famous Ajantha caves in India."
--Dr. Edith Rusconi Kaltovich, N.J.
"My attention is sometimes arrested by the striking imagery and phrasing. The poet has a keen eye to mark the exceptional whether in life or nature."
--Dr. K.R. Srinivas Iyengar, Madras
"In his poetry we find concrete examples of poetic excellences that distinguish him from other Indian poets and reserve for him a permanent place on the Indian Parnassus. Every poem is a nugget of thoughtful fancy studded in the fabric of the poet's pageant of poetic filigree."
--Dr. D.C. Chambial, Editor, Poetcrit, H.P.
"Like a gifted sculptor he chisels his poems with the deftness of a master craftsman."
--Prof. Nissim Ezekiel, Mumbai

Leseprobe

T.V. Reddy’s Poetry The Pulse of Life

Essential Readings

By T. Vasudeva Reddy, PhD

Foreword by K.V. Dominic

Modern History Press

Ann Arbor

T.V. Reddy’s Poetry - The Pulse of Life: Essential Readings

Copyright © 2017 by T. Vasudeva Reddy, PhD. All Rights Reserved

From the Essential Readings series at Modern History Press

ISBN 978-1-61599-344-4 paperback

ISBN 978-1-61599-345-1 hardcover

ISBN 978-1-61599-346-8 eBook

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Names: Vasudeva Reddy, T., 1943- author.

Title: T. V. Reddy’s poetry : the pulse of life / by T. Vasudeva Reddy, PhD.

Description: Ann Arbor, MI : Modern History Press, 2017. | Series: Essential readings | Includes index.

Identifiers: LCCN 2017022995 (print) | LCCN 2017032608 (ebook) | ISBN 9781615993468 (ePub, PDF, Kindle) | ISBN 9781615993444 (pbk. : alk. paper) | ISBN 9781615993451 (hardcover : alk. paper)

Classification: LCC PR9499.3.V3743 (ebook) | LCC PR9499.3.V3743 A6 2017 (print) | DDC 821/.914--dc23

LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017022995

Published by:

Modern History Press

5145 Pontiac Trail

Ann Arbor, MI 48105

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Distributed by Ingram International (USA/CAN/AU), Bertram’s Books (UK/EU)

Contents

Foreword by K.V. Dominic

Introduction

When Grief Rains

The Balmy Smile

Sweet Scar

The Sparrow

The East

Gray Hair

Patience

Potent Drop

Civilisation

Futility

When Grief Rains

A Pinch of Faith

Thirsty Field

Transience

Realisation

The Wood is Calm

The Lake at Night

My Soul’s Agony

The Last Journey

The Broken Rhythms

Thousand Pillars*

Fortune-Teller

The Milky Way

The Train

A Leper

Pensive Farmer

Swamiji

Cosmic Love

My Fair Lady

Between the Lines

The Gipsy Woman

The Typist Girl

The Report

Sacred Soil

A Poem

The Fleeting Bubbles

Women of the Village

The Indian Bride

The Hospital

A Forlorn Soul

The Cry

Tide

The Dark Valley

My Soul in Exile

Old Woman

The Corn Reaper

The Teacher

The Snake-Charmer

Democratic Lines

The Mind

The Kite

Lotus

Melting Melodies

The Kalyani Dam

Dharmasala

The Fort*

The Taj

The Toiling Woman

The Village Girl

The Voyage of Life

A Pair of Sparrows

University Wits

A Seminar

An Interview

That Thing Money

A Bubble

The Bicycle

The Coconut Tree

The Cloud

The River

The Rainbow

The Supreme Lord

Pensive Memories

The New Year

Can I Sing?

The Bridal Bosom

Bride’s Wishes

An Orphan Lad

Migrating Birds

Without You

Unpredictable Man

Maya

The Power of Love

Assembly of Quadrupeds

The Lotus Palace

A Pair of Doves

The Ganges Flows

Do Thy Duty

To My Other Half

Sabari

Tsunami

Gliding Ripples

Erase the Borders

What is there for Pride?

Mortuary of Books

A Broken Life

Idols for the Idle

A Forgotten Bird

Let us be Human

This Restless Race

The Rose

Donkey

Mosquito

Toddy Tapper*

Watching the Sea

Selfish World

Body and Soul

A Mother’s Cry

Pair of Eyes

My Roots

The Other Bank

Be Calm, My Dear

The Bridge

Our Leader

Peace and Love

West Haven Beach

Living Word

Sherwood Park

Oh, America!

Niagara Falls*

Mahabalipuram*

My Humble Prayer

Echoes

Human Touch

An Echo

Untraced into Dust

Nature’s Play

So Tall and So Small

I Need a Base

Life on Wheels

Organized Violence

Search for Peace

The March of Time

Don’t Fear, My Dear

Rhythm of the Rails

The Inner Call

A Democracy

Revolutionary Writers

Ashram

Life is a Tightrope Walk

Divorce in Verse

Sting of the Skin

Poets’ Meet

Comfort Zone

Change!

Pillars

Empowered Woman?

Beauty Parlour

What is There to Tell?

The Silent Call

This System

A Summer Trip

Wings of Dragon

The Fly

Blank Script

The Peddler

Hunger

Retirement Reality

A Broken Statue

A Phone Call

Sweet is Adversity

In Retrospect

After Sixties

Fireworks*

Statue of Liberty

The Hudson

Buddha

Nothing Follows

Quest for Peace

Golden Veil

The Shell of Solitude

Old Napkins

Need of the Hour

Choose the Right Path

A Bird in the Cage

Meaning of Love

Tell Me What He is!

Water is Dearer than Blood

Syntax of Love

Unmask Thy Veil

Let Me Stand Erect

Sylvan Scene

Riverside

Our Thirsty Land

Ultimate End (A Sonnet)

To Rest in Peace (A Sonnet)

Eden Garden

This Fragile Body

My Father’s School Days

Jai Jawan

Today’s Rural Life

Green Canopy (A Sonnet)

The Middle class Man

Erstwhile Farmer

Seeded Soil

Learning is Life

Ego

Listen to our Song

Longing for Rest

Grow Old We Must

Waiting for an Avatar

Watching the Field at Night

Thousand Haiku Pearls

Un-published Poems

Our Race

Let us Rise

A Caged Bird

Savage Space

Dignity in Exile

Smiling Riddle

Media the Medusa

Beneath the Colour

Million March

Kinship

Enigma

The Beaten Track

Don’t Write Me Off

Novel Bonds

Invisible Manes

To quit or not to quit?

The Graph of our Acts

15th August

Let None Share my Tears

The Veil

Space

Let us Wait

Frog’s Leap

Regain the Vision

Down the Memory Lane

Prime Source and Seed

Learn from Birds

Mouse and Mountain

Glow Worm

A Song to Sing

Can Wounded Wing Sing?

A Strange World

Shed not a Tear (A Sonnet)

Seeking Peace

Snakes and Ladders

Lines on a Dog

When I Pass Away

Death Blues

Fall Foliage

Central Park

Ice-Blocks Melt in Warm Love

Random Reflections

Selected Criticism

When Grief Rains - Review by Dr. D.C. Chambial

Broken Rhythms - Editor’s Note by Dr. Krishna Srinivas

Fleeting Bubbles - Review by A.Russell (poet & critic, London):

Melting Melodies - Review by Dr. Dwarakanath H. Kabadi

Pensive Memories - Review by Dr. Atma Ram

Gliding Ripples - Review by Dr. K. Rajani

Quest for Peace – Notes by Prof. Jaydeep Sarangi, Kolkata

Golden Veil – Review by Bernard M. Jackson

Thousand Haiku Pearls – Review by Patricia Prime

Conversations with T.V. Reddy

Interview with Prof. A.K. Chowdary, Editor, Kohinoor

Interview with Santanu Halder, Kolkata (28-Feb-2013)

About the Author

Other Works

Index

Foreword

When I was contacted through email by the publisher Victor R. Volkman to write a foreword to this book, I didn’t have to think a minute to give the reply. Rather, I took it as a great honour as well as my duty to write something on the great poetry of my bosom elder friend, Prof. T. V. Reddy. He is not just my friend, but an elder brother and mentor. This foreword is being written when my edited book of his poetry is being printed by Authorspress, New Delhi. That book is The Poetic Art of T. V. Reddy: New Perspectives, which contains twenty-four research articles by renowned professors, writers and research scholars.

My association with Prof. T.V. Reddy started in 2010. He was introduced to me by my friend, who is highly regarded Indian English poet, Dr. D. C. Chambial. We had several phone calls and I was much impressed by Prof. Reddy’s depth in English literature and poetry. His gentle, loving words were pleasant to the ears. As Secretary of the GIEWEC (Guild of Indian English Writers, Editors and Critics), which was established in October 2010, I invited him for the two day national level literary festival to be conducted at St. Teresa’s College, Kochi (Kerala) on 17th and 18th, 2011. Thus I met him for the first time on 16th September, 2011. Despite being a senior, established writer he talked to me and others with great humility, simplicity and gentleness. We were all very eager to listen to his invaluable talks, and reading of beautiful poems. My association with him continued more fervently, and he was unanimously elected as the President of the GIEWEC in the next general body meeting and literary festival conducted in Mumbai, in 2012. From then, he has been serving the Guild as the Honorary President.

Prof. T. V. Reddy shines like a unique star among the great contemporary Indian poets in English, and deserves a place very close to Prof. Jayanta Mahapatra, among the best English poets in the country now. It is really tragic and ironical that Prof. Reddy is less read and studied by his own compatriots than by poetry lovers abroad. The awards and honorary D.Litt. he was conferred from WAAC (San Francisco) indicate this fact. It is really surprising that Prof. Reddy’s poetry has not been included in the syllabus of schools, colleges and universities in India. His literary output is not small—twelve collections of poems, two novels, three critical books and a grammar book. And he has been publishing books from 1982. Being an English teacher, I had to teach poems of many Indian English poets at undergraduate and postgraduate level. Prof. Reddy’s poetry seems to me far superior to many poems which were taught. He, like many other contemporary Indian English poets, is a victim of dirty politics. It is not the worth that is counted very often. Same is the case with awards also. He should have been considered for the Sahitya Akademy award from the government of India.

What makes Prof. Reddy distinct from other contemporary poets is that he is a meeting point of the past and the new—conventional, structured, rhymed poetry and the present, unrhymed free verse. He started writing English poems in reaction to the outputs of some of the so-called leading English poets in the country. Rhythm in his poems is as musical as ripples of a brook. Other contemporary English poets seldom use rhymes so natural and sensible to the lines. He in fact reminds me of the leading Romantic and Victorian poets with regard to his lyrical qualities—the craft of rhymes, assonance and alliteration, and the use of imagery. Prof. Reddy is a rural poet, portraying the beauties of his village—landscape, flora and fauna, innocent people, animals and birds etc. Since he shifts his life from village to town very often, we also find urban scenes and their beauties in some of his poems. Being a social critic, many of his poems are satirical, while some lampoon the hypocrisy and parasite mentality of politicians. Prof. Reddy, spiritual and pious to the core, has written some excellent poems dealing with metaphysical and philosophical themes. Using very simple vocabulary, he conquers the minds of readers, and allures them to voyage through his poems, one after the other till the end of the book. Reputed Indian English poet and critic, P. C. K. Prem, notes in his research paper “Prototypical Quest and Ultimate Futility: Poetry of T. V. Reddy” that “He does not withdraw memories and moral instances, but at the same time a didactic essence permeates many lyrics, but most of the time one detects incantation, a little ornamentation and undertones of emotions when he resurrects rural atmosphere” (The Poetic Art of T. V. Reddy: New Perspectives 59).

Now coming to this book, it contains a rich collection of 236 poems spread over 200 pages. Except for the last 42 unpublished poems, the rest have been taken from ten poetry books, which were published between 1982 and 2016. Those ten published books are When Grief Rains (1982), The Broken Rhythms (1987), The Fleeting Bubbles (1989), Melting Melodies (1994), Pensive Memories (2005), Gliding Ripples (2008), Echoes (2012), Quest for Peace (2013), Golden Veil (2016) and Thousand Haiku Pearls (2016).

Eighteen poems of Prof. Reddy’s first collection of poems, When Grief Rains (1982), are included in this book as the first chapter. The title poem “When Grief Rains” expresses the core theme of this group of poems. Let me quote from the beautiful poem:

When gales of sorrow

wreck my surging spirit,

misery storms my being,

and grief rains incessantly

I wish to drench myself,

depart from these ills

and enter the pores of the earth

with drops of rain that seep.

Thus pent up, suppressed emotions express themselves in a rain of grieving poetry. Dr. Ramesh Chandra Mukhopadhyaya, in his research paper “T. V. Reddy’s When Grief Rains: A Poetic Journey from Dystopia to Utopia,” evaluates the book thus: “In fine we could describe When Grief Rains as a thrilling journey from distress to recovery and from dystopia to utopia. The sights and sounds of the paradise upon earth sink deep in the poet’s being to flash upon his inward eye when he is faced with trauma engendered by the civilised society” (The Poetic Art of T. V. Reddy: New Perspectives 85).

Fifteen poems from Dr. Reddy’s second collection of poems, The Broken Rhythms (1987), constitute the second chapter of the book. The poems depict the plight of human beings, their miseries and obstacles that break the rhythm of a happy life. In the third chapter, sixteen poems of the collection The Fleeting Bubbles (1989) is included. The theme of the poems in this group is the transitory joy of human life. Nineteen poems of Melting Melodies (1994) create the fourth chapter of the book. The poet expresses his anger at the exploitation and neglect of rural people by politicians and administrators. Dr. Reddy also attacks the realm of education and the centres of higher learning, which have become degenerate. There are also excellent romantic poems in this group.

Eighteen poems of Pensive Memories (2005) make up the fifth chapter. Personal experiences and touching events of Prof. Reddy’s simple life are their main themes. Grief at the loss of the poet’s dear wife gave birth to a few wonderful elegiac poems in this group. It is worth quoting what Dr. P. Suneetha wrote in her critical paper, “The Poetic Art of T. V. Reddy: ‘Regional Poet Par Excellence’”: “The poet tries to unburden his heart, overloaded with grief over the loss of his spouse. It begins with a short poem, ‘A Lone Bird,’ where the poet is a lone bird after the exit of his spouse. This finds its fullest expression in the lengthy poem ‘To My Other Half,’ which runs into thirteen ten-lined stanzas where each stanza is loaded with high intensity of grief:

Like a dream, like a wave you came

entwined my life like a lush creeper

lifted my soul to dizzy heights of rapture

warmly opened the doors of Elysium

and filled my life with heavenly joys

But what have you left me now?

Ashes of your pyre that consume my heart

Tender haunting melodic memories

Why have you done like this

Why have you left me alone in tears?

“This long poem stands out as unique and distinct, exhibiting the poet’s everlasting love for his dear departed wife in these days of dwindling human sentiments and strained marital relationships” (The Poetic Art of T. V. Reddy: New Perspectives 31).

The sixth chapter is comprised of thirty poems from Gliding Ripples (2008). Social, philosophical and individual concerns are the main themes in this group. Forty-five poems from Echoes (2012) are in the seventh chapter. We listen to poems bearing the unfading echoes of eternal ethics in this chapter. Dr. K. Rajani in her paper, “Echoes of Ethics in Dr. T. V. Reddy’s Echoes” remarks that

“…among modern poets in Indian English, T. V. Reddy shines with his ceaseless effort in spreading the light of ethics in the society with his untiring crusade on corruption and degeneration of basic human values and moral standards in every walk of society. He is at once a poet of high calibre and a social reformer with a strong commitment to bring a healthy change in the society by strengthening the fibre of morality in the society in general” (The Poetic Art of T. V. Reddy: New Perspectives 328).

Quest for Peace (2013) is a minor social epic from Prof. T. V. Reddy, which appears as the eighth chapter of the book. It is perhaps his magnum opus, reflecting the systematic deterioration of moral values. In seven sections, he presents the restless life of modern man. It is a rhymed poem and the rhyming patterns are like ABAB, AABB or ABBA, used in a mixed way. Prof. Kavitha Gopalakrishnan, in her paper “Nature of ‘Nature’: Reading the Nature/Culture Dichotomy in T. Vasudeva Reddy’s Quest for Peace,” analyses the sections thus:

“The first section introduces the general theme of the loss of human values and the rampant corruption with the increasing growth of urban culture. The second section presents a bleak future as the people in power utilize/misutilize power much to nature’s chagrin. The third section bemoans the satanic market values that govern people’s actions. The fourth section says that we have given our peace in exchange for the triumphs we gain through corruption and exploitation. The fifth section gives a comparative understanding by juxtaposing past and present worlds. The sixth mocks man’s rat race. The last section emphasises on the issue at hand and suggests few recommendations” (The Poetic Art of T. V. Reddy: New Perspectives 223).

Thirty two poems from Golden Veil (2016) are the ninth chapter of the book. Let me borrow Prof. C. R. Visweswara Rao‘s words from his research article, “Veils Unveiled: T. V. Reddy’s Golden Veil: A Collection of Poems”:

“While many poems capture common human tendencies and susceptibilities, vanities and vagaries with a sharp realist eye, there are some that move on to the dramatization of a grander perspective of eternity intruding into time to seek to redeem it of its ravages” (The Poetic Art of T. V. Reddy: New Perspectives 42).

Thousand Haiku Pearls (2016) is incorporated as the tenth chapter of the book. Various forms of unethical acts prevalent in society, and how they breed a hybrid culture, is one of the main themes of Prof. Reddy’s haiku. Burning issues of society like poverty, starvation, unemployment, deprivations, loneliness, discrimination, etc., and celebration of nature are beautifully portrayed in these haiku.

The last chapter of the book is a collection of forty-two unpublished poems. They do not seem to be new poems, but those composed earlier and not included in any of the ten already published collections. All are excellent poems with great messages and values, and the majority are rhymed and musical.

Constraints of time and space compel me to wind up my foreword. Let me conclude by reinstating my opinion that this book, T. V. Reddy’s Poetry—The Pulse of Life: Essential Readings will remain a milestone in the poetic career of Prof. Reddy, and conquer the minds of poetry lovers all over the world. It will enlighten and entertain the minds of young and old, and will be a treasure to any bookshelf or library.

--Dr. K. V. Dominic

(English poet, short story writer, critic and editor)

Introduction

This work Essential Readings is a representative collection of the poetry of T.V. Reddy, a luminous star shining in Indian English poetry. His poetry is a pleasant blend of the traditional and the modern, the realistic and the romantic, the symbolic and the imagist, the urban and the rural, satirical and lyrical streams of poetry. When Indian English poetry in the eighties of the last century was languishing for quality T.V. Reddy emerged as a potential signature with his quality-oriented poetry in English in India and he breathed into it both the throbbing life and melody with its rare lyrical charm. Poems, spread over eleven volumes till now, from his first poetry work (1982) till the recent one (2017) spell out the sustaining progress and quality of his poetry which makes Prof. Reddy an outstanding poet of the modern times.

His poems cover a wide thematic pattern ranging from the remote village to the global level, a bewildering blend of rural and global life. Whoever wishes to have a glimpse of the reality of the Indian rural scenario and see the struggles and sufferings of poor farmers can go through the poems of T.V. Reddy. It is not an exaggeration to say that very few poets can reach the lyrical heights he has scaled and his invincible talent in the creation of the melodic line is manifest in all his poems. His Quest for Peace, an artistic product as well as a realistic cross-section of the existing ethical, economic and political situation all over the world, is a poem of rare quality and stark beauty with the musical beat of its rhyme and indeed it is a social epic in miniature.

Themes of his recent poems in Echoes and Golden Veil stretch from India to the USA and the Central Park in New York becomes the centre of attraction while the Hudson river, Fall colours and Lurai Caves too find their place along with the ancient Fort and Palace of his native area in India besides other prominent places such as Thousand Pillars and Mahabalipuram in South India, Varanasi in the North, Badrinath Temple in the Himalayas and Amarnath Cave in Kashmir. A reading of the Essential Readings proves extremely fruitful in seeing the priceless literary treasures hidden in the poetry of Dr. T.V. Reddy who is second to none in the field of World poetry.

When Grief Rains

(N Delhi, Samkaleen Pubs., 1982)

The Balmy Smile

A drop of rain

frays the furious sun;

A ray of the sun

caresses the frozen snow;

A spark of fire

wakes up the slumbering coal;

The guffaw of breeze

soothes the sultry land;

Flowery fragrance

lulls the stench to sleep;

The smile of a child

laces the clouds of gloom.

Sweet Scar

I thought:

sweetness erupts when we peel

and vacillate in blissful union.

Now I realize:

When that dream dissolves,

the pensive memory of the scar

on the wounded heart

is tastier than those spasms.

I don’t wish to brush it off

by union with another

or by painting a reunion !

The Sparrow

It picked in zeal

the veins of a leaf,

wove a nest

with its beak

to hatch the eggs.

The ominous crow

invaded the grassy womb

and the lone sparrow fled

away from the vacuous nest.

A flutter of waiting wings:

the sky squawked in requiem.

The East

Look at the east:

still it is dark.

An invisible hand

has lit the vaulted pyre;

from the grey ashes of yesterday

rise the rays of sunlight

phoenix-like.

Gray Hair

An abhorring sight:

Your repelling reflection,

A silvery line on the temple

To be slain with razor’s edge.

I curse your accused shadow,

The precursor of the eerie end.

I shall uproot you with a spade

From the tawny beard.

Do you still dare mock at me?

I dread thy yet unborn progeny

And flee from the reflected agony.

Patience

Have patience:

That is your armour.

Even when your patience is tired

don’t become impatient,

you then become a beast.

Be firm and tolerant as the temple tower

That blesses the mindless fanatics

and stands up to the stormy winds.

Tempests often corrode

the carvings of the tower – not of Babel –

Yet they smile at and kiss the gales

And shelter the poor with open gates;

Thousands of noisy Lilliputians enter.

Though the murky clouds obscure its peak

Like a potent warrior it emerges unbeaten;

It is a moral giant preaching values,

A standing monument of patience.

Be patient or become a patient:

Make an ashram or an asylum.

The prescription has been patented.

Potent Drop

The earth is round,

like a pointless top it revolves.

The glass of liquor

elevates me to the skies;

woe, the timid foe, flies

out of the microbial bubbles.

The place is full of wasps

and venomous asps

that suck my beleaguered blood

with the mortal sting.

Why should I waste

my short span of life

by thinking of those

that laugh at my sorrows

and wish to toll my knell?

I am in the lotus island;

The power of the drop wanes,

the divine reverie fades,

and scenes of reality serenade.

Civilisation

Civilization has grown

with the speed of a snail;

its spread is as thick

as the Amazonian forest

full of prickly thorns,

venomous snakes

and dreadful shadows.

The shell of sophistication

conceals its foul interior,

worse than an addled egg.

Craze for naked beauty

gives a boost to the nude,

a return to the primitive.

The age has specialized

in each sucking other’s blood.

The day is not far off

when the monstrous python

of greed, deceit and lust

would devour the society

at its zenith of civilization

swiftly tolling the knell

to the nutritious values of human life.

Futility

The Nothingness around me gapes and gasps;

It hardly breathes – a baneful breeze!

I hear lying still on the hard mat

The dinning sound of the futile struggle.

With heavy and burning eyes I am awake.

Robbed of my only wealth of dreams

I can neither sleep nor see.

My hushed speech makes even my shadow blush;

I cannot speak to any one but my own negative.

I plead before the shapeless shades

Of the pervading futility and sterility;

My attempt to smile becomes abortive;

So as to recover my confidence

I look into the time mirror:

Alas! It already broke into hundred odd pieces;

Million images run away from me in dread,

A vast tract of vacuum stretches

To the farthest edge of futility.

Disturbed by hazy memories of the past

Like wisps of receding cigarette smoke

That blurs the keen camera of vision

Life recedes into the vast barren expanse.

When Grief Rains

When gales of sorrow

wreck my surging spirit,

misery storms my being,

and grief rains incessantly

I wish to drench myself,

depart from these ills

and enter the pores of the earth

with drops of rain that seep.

Still somewhere in me

a dim desire creeps unawares

to possess the instinctive mackintosh.

A Pinch of Faith

Around a pinch of faith

an army of dark bodies

roll in waves of countless doubts;

suspicions, uncertainties and fears

are on their frail minds.

Doubt spreads the shroud

of death on the living;

yet faith twinkles.

Legions live after death

on the tomb of profit

satiating their lustful hunger

by buying bodies with fake notes,

quenching their inordinate thirst

with the blood of the weak and meek,

spreading the shining spoils

on the tomb of boundless lust,

while they share their baneful booty

in the blessed burial ground;

the raucous rays of their eyes

burn the culture of the ages,

illumine the livid light of the pyre;

the departed sneeze at the Lethe

sniffing a stifling pinch of faith.

Thirsty Field

Breaking the series

of deafening thunders,

tearing the continuous

line of lightnings,

drops of rain traversed

through the darkened sky

and touched the thirsty fields.

Hardly they entered

the countless cracks,

the period proved abortive.

Jilted by crafty clouds

the sun-burnt crop looked

like a dissected corpse

on the post-mortem table.

Transience

All the land under the warm sun

seems ruefully inadequate

for the man who feels eternal.

And when the end seizes him,

he has no voice to claim

even a mere six by two.

The body, full of punctures,

in its long tedious journey

succumbs to inevitable decay,

searches for solace in the dark cradle.

There is nothing to gain in life

or anything to lose in death;

the former is robbed of its lively spell,

the latter of its deadly shell.

Triumph and sloth have their common day,

beauty and beggary merge in clay;

Great deeds are writ in water,

All glories lead only to dust.

Realisation

I climbed half the hill

and in fact I do not know

how I reached it at all.

Life’s major part was spent

without my being aware of it;

a vague and obscure career

full of futility – a waste land,

a dreary desert full of sand.

I recalled I was a boy yesterday

playing with others by the river.

I see now on the horizon

a vast stretch of silent cemetery.

My hair is as white as cotton;

I resign myself to my finale

and wait for the inevitable moment

with a foot firmly planted

inside the last resting place.

The Wood is Calm

The wood is calm, the trees are erect;

The leaves form a layered roof near the heavens;

The fruits are hanging like suspended stars

From the leafy sky, bluish green and breathless.

Robust and green is the woody hill,

Up there the climate is healthy and chill;

Water crystal clear from above the hill

Flows with sweet and soothing thrill.

Slides the ravishing stream among the rocks,

Swings swiftly into serpentine tracks,

And again rolls into slackened cracks

Producing melody on the greeting rocks.

In the ravine a rock is seen, steep and huge,

Plain and white glittering like silver:

And on it lies a root firm but large

And travels to the bottom of the stone.

Down the water falls from the top of the hill,

Along the root on the breast of the rock

Runs in smiles, all the pits it tries to fill,

And again slides in joy on stone and stock.

It is a paradise with such a sylvan scene,

We went on a picnic to this woody theatre;

Ineffable was our joy at the vernal scene serene

A healing balm it was for our clouded spirits later.

The Lake at Night

The lake is calm, quiet is the night,

Yonder the moon, an orb of cheese,

Blanches the earth with her milk-white fleece

And is bright with a flood of tender light.

Like the face of a sleeping babe the water is still

Slumbering at the firm foot of the verdurous hill.

It is clear as crystal with colour azure

Shines like a vast sheet of sheeny silver pure.

Oh! Behold beneath the sluggish surface

Of water deep and drowsy with a wizard’s face!

The sky is inverted with the moon and the milky way,

The blinking stars dance deep in the tranquil bay.

The earthen bank stands like a girdle of gold

Around the waist of the bride from ages old

Or like a bold defiant lover in his amorous arms

Hugging the sprightly damsel full of charms

Printing her quivering lips with kisses serene

Pressing her swelling breasts in raptures keen.

On either side of the circuitous bank

The lush growth of plants adorn the tank

Tall spreading trees with many a pendent nest

Provide rich green shelter for birds to rest;

Ghostly flowers blue, white and violet

Dance eerily to please the high-browed Hecate;

The rippling tides touch the majestic hill,

Stray birds make their tired strains shrill,

The distracting human noise is dead,

The foolish frogs croak all night instead;

The sphere seems to be a cold corpse sombre

With the blue dome above as the sepulchre;

I feel the pensive melody of the gloomy globe

In air, water and dust shrouded in sable robe.

My Soul’s Agony

Forgive me, an unworthy self, my love!

Far away I worship you in my pupil

My heart doesn’t beat without your thought

Distance deprives me of your tender touch

It trebles my soul’s dumb agony

My heart burns with gratitude

Yet I cannot even comfort you

Me alive, I am indeed dead to you

You are there alone – a dove in a nest

You clung to me like a tender ivy

You nursed, freed and befriended me

You opened to me the doors of Elysium

I did not know. A transcendental touch!

What did I to you? An unkind wretch!

I measured you with sugar spoons

And coffee cups. A cruel arithmetic!

I am afar, for me, for you and for us

Yet here I am none to me

Eating in the hotel a few crumbs

fried in the penitential fire;

When shall I come to you to place

the remnants of my heart at your feet?

A tedious journey full of regrets

on the soil through the dust to dust.

The Last Journey

The haughty human frame is inflexible

The dainty skin abruptly insensitive

The lusty lips meekly cold and wry

Shining pearls turn strangely rigid

Fastidious tongue is hard

Hugging hands are strangely frozen.

Gone are the skills of the bard

Fingers yield to cruel stillness.

Legs that climbed many a cliff

Like logs of wood are stiff,

The foot that spurned the weak

Before the Higher Order is meek;

The voice that once thundered is silent

Threat or appeal dissolves for ever

The daring heart is an addled egg

Wily whispers enter his ears never.

The mighty mind that hatched

Many a sordid scheme is sterile,

The expressive eyes that sent

Smiles and shudders now beguile.

In a far off land strange and unknown

On the putrid pavement of a busy street

Lies the rigid frame of a man unknown

Covered with cloth, an inert candle by his side.

Passers-by throw coins on the soiled cloth

To meet the expenses for his last journey.

When this mortal flame is put out

We do not know where we end up.

The Broken Rhythms

(Madras, Poets Press India, 1987)

Thousand Pillars*

They cry in mute agony

With their limbs mutilated;

The sight seres the welled eyes

And pierces the chilled spine

With thousand swords;

The inspired sculptors

Who chiselled delicate figures

And breathed life into the rock

Decayed into dust ages ago;

The potent royal patrons

Fell into oblivion in disgrace;

Still the pillars outlive the pillage

And cast a pensive spell

With their intricate patterns;

The beheaded heads gnaw our hearts,

The distant madanikas** in varies poses

Enchant the eye and enslave the soul;

The speck of every tiny wreck

Is an indelible blot on humanity,

The negation of any noble creed;

While divinity throbs the stone

The ruins preach the self-same gospel.

Note:

* The famous temple near Warangal (in A.P) constructed by the Kakatiya Kings in 12C.A.D.; destroyed in early 14C by the army of Alauddin Khilji.

** Refers to the ravishing sculpture in the Ramappa Temple, constructed by the Kakatiya Kings in 1213 A.D. (situated at a distance of 70 K.Ms. from Warangal, A.P.)

Fortune-Teller

To touch the tip of Fortune’s toe

even in dream is a bliss in woe:

The bearded one, wise and old,

with vermilion on the forehead,

armoured well with amulets,

sits beneath the banyan tree

with a little cage, a bundle of palm leaves

and a pack of cards by his side;

His green winged captive, a parrot,

is his friend, philosopher and guide;

the pedestrian, a fond wiseacre,

comes and pays a coin,

the crimson-beaked bird

picks a card with wonted skill

and gives it to the wise master

who discloses his lucky dip.

The client goes gratified

with winged hope at his door

unaware of the dear duplicity;

the bird blind to his fortune

of flying freedom in the green sky

decides the destinies of others;

the fortune teller

doubtful of his morrow’s fortunes

counts his easy earnings on the canvas.

The Milky Way

On the shores of Aegean sea

ages ago Sophocles watched

the hoary sound of weird waves

and the vast dark expanse, a crux;

Bulwark of brightest brains

is hewn into legion of shreds

as it gazes at the milky way

that keeps darkling souls at bay.

The musing mind like summer tyre

may tire and burst in friction

it hardly sees a fraction of truth.

The genii of this wondrous sphere

with the power of all their years

dare not touch the rim of cosmos

nor traverse a wink of light year;

The animating frame of universe

with all the stars as eyes

may shrink to see the creation,

lungs of planets may sigh with T.B.

Vedic Rishis cracked their brains,

retreated in despair to forests

and spent their breath in penance.

The Train

The belch of suffocating smoke,

as thick as the breath of the coalminer,

the huge mouth of demoniac engine

emitted forth with a deafening roar.

Numerous people from far and near

of various climes, customs and creeds

with their diverse distracting tongues

made the compartment a tiny nation;

bustle and whistle gave it a queer life.

Sitting near the open window

I thought it is the earth that moves,

it is true, the palm trees race fast,

The child sees it, the sage said it;

The race slowed and ceased.

Some got down and a few entered;

faces that shone became faint and dim,

tears of joy and sorrow became one,

smiles that sprang receded to shores.

Thinning crowds faded into shadows,

the Babel and grave quietness merged.

Men may come and men may go,

grey heads die and babes tumble

but the train translates on parallel rails

as time sprints forever on invisible tracks.

A Leper

A blemished mass wrapped in rags

that hardly cover the reeking ruins

shivers as a vibrating tuning fork.

A voice emerges, a faint echo

from the hollow deep haunting,

begging alms from every pedestrian.

A semblance of a seeming hand

mutilated by some higher power

stretches a plate in grateful bow

some pity his gnawing fate,

a few spit at his odious sight;

a dog empties the remnants of a leaf,

passes by in cherubic contentment

while the leper reels in living death

that flees from him in dread.

Pensive Farmer

The pensive farmer plods his way

with his feet bare and sore,

his pair of famished bulls

limping desperately in front of him,

bundle of hay on his heaving head,

to perform his duty of reaching home

where his spouse, ordained to share his lot,

struggles hard before the hostile hearth

to cook a morsel of rice with a few twigs.

He comes at last, does his routine,

bathes and stretches his aching body

on the pricking mat spread on stone.

They share the ordeal of taking rice

with tamarind chutney and butter milk;

Nearby the bulls reluctantly bite the hay

and lie on the ground beneath the tree;

Reconciled to their gloomy destiny

and still finding fault with their creation

they proceed to the ritual of procreation;

drained and tired they cough

that echoes in empty clay barrels

their only inheritance to store the grain;

All the village is quite as the graveyard,

veil of darkness concealing its flaccid face.

Swamiji

He was clad in ochre-coloured robes

That touched his toe and sailed with wind,

His fingers shone with rings of gold

His wrist radiant with an imported watch;

They say His Holiness, feet, soft and gentle,

Would never touch this mortal dust;

It is true, he got down from a Cadillac

From amid a bevy of choicest beauties

That vied with each other to gratify him.

Millionaires came and touched his feet,

His savings swelled like elephantiasis;

Swamiji spoke on Man, God and Soul,

The potter and clay were his easy victims;

The stunned audience were all ears.

They all praised his spiritualism and simplicity

For he ate only apples, cashew nuts and dried grapes,

Drank pure milk and juice brought by fair-sex;

His holiness left, leaving his fragrance behind.

Cosmic Love

With my arms

spread to the distant skies

I wish to embrace you;

With my face

touching the heavens

I wish to kiss your ruby lips

the portals of rosy bliss;

With my feet

rooted to the earth

I wish to go with you

and find our peace

with our cosmic love

in the other world.

My Fair Lady

If

You are a blossoming flower

let me be the bee

that sucks its honey;

You are a tender creeper

let me be thy prop

that sustains you forever;

You are a divine flute

let me be its sweet strain

that gives life to the organ;

You are an Ajanta fresco

let me be the mirror in thy hand

to reflect thy delicate face;

You are a Belur sculpture

let me be the ornament

that makes your feet celestial;

Let me be thy serene breath

and thy constant shadow.

Between the Lines

Our excited hearts throbbed

and twittered in tuneful unison,

dreamy eyes half-closed in charm

vibrating lips quivered

and fondly nibbled the nipples,

divine drops of nectar

blessed the caressing tongue,

hissing breath gasped,

hands surveyed the sketch

grasped the pointed peaks

of the two peerless pagodas

and pressed the fleshy pillows;

fingers frantically probed

between the luscious lines

for the red rose in wilderness,

bodies welded by electric arc

coiled and twisted in rapture –