Cliffs bring the
sunrise
Light spreads into the
valley
Morning teas wake up
Wednesday, March 12, 2014
Monday, March 10, 2014
An invitation
An invitation
Look into the palm.
On the near rooftop,
Hard as rock soft as arouse crop,
Wheels not needed for willing wings,
Climb aboard to fly and smile!
Readers so dear the paw marries,
No intent, no motive, no hidden malice,
Stable unfailing the hand to wed,
No fears or fights no dodge or trade!
Nests inside seldom fake or lie,
With light and air and water abound,
Mount a little above the ground!
Readers to breed an open delight,
No caprice, no margins, no stunning fright,
Strong as rock and tender as erect crop,
It goes so smooth, it stays and sings!
Look into the palm.
On the near rooftop,
Hard as rock soft as arouse crop,
Wheels not needed for willing wings,
Climb aboard to fly and smile!
Readers so dear the paw marries,
No intent, no motive, no hidden malice,
Stable unfailing the hand to wed,
No fears or fights no dodge or trade!
Look into the palm.
Steady to the clear sky,Nests inside seldom fake or lie,
With light and air and water abound,
Mount a little above the ground!
Readers to breed an open delight,
No caprice, no margins, no stunning fright,
Strong as rock and tender as erect crop,
It goes so smooth, it stays and sings!
In act one
In act one
Brush, brush, brush
A rush of colours on the paper sky,
Soft, violent; all in, upon them
Brushing words inside out;
O what a shame!
Brushing organs in broad daylight,
Tune of emotions foaming out,
Everyone oversees overlooks,
Threads of buttons going back
In act one
As cottons;
Candy flosses flying in front of the eyes,
It is all so loose, clear like an open chest,
Brushes now deep, indeed inside,
White paper grins and plaints!
Its colours lost without remorse,
Threads continue to rewind as cottons,
With order, disorder; on the paper sky,
Brush, brush, brush
Brush, brush, brush
A rush of colours on the paper sky,
Soft, violent; all in, upon them
Brushing words inside out;
O what a shame!
Brushing organs in broad daylight,
Tune of emotions foaming out,
Everyone oversees overlooks,
Threads of buttons going back
In act one
As cottons;
Candy flosses flying in front of the eyes,
It is all so loose, clear like an open chest,
Brushes now deep, indeed inside,
White paper grins and plaints!
Its colours lost without remorse,
Threads continue to rewind as cottons,
With order, disorder; on the paper sky,
Brush, brush, brush
Sunday, March 9, 2014
Raymond Queneau’s poem on poem translated into English
Un
poème
By Raymond Queneau
By Raymond Queneau
Bien placés bien choisis
quelques mots font une poésie
les mots il suffit qu’on les aime
pour écrire un poème
on ne sait pas toujours ce qu’on dit
lorsque naît la poésie
faut ensuite rechercher le thème
pour intituler le poème
mais d’autres fois on pleure on rit
en écrivant la poésie
ça a toujours kékchose d’extrème
un poème
Poem
English translation by Supratik
Sen
Accurately placed perfectly
chosen
some words conceive a poem love for apt words is quintessential
to write a poem
when a poem is born
we may not always grasp what is said
we seek anon for the theme
to bequeath a name
we whimper and chuckle at other times
while writing a poem
a poem
always possesses something extreme
Friday, March 7, 2014
In the midst of
In the midst of
Unrest incomplete
In the midst of
Wealth, health aplenty
I threw it away and was empty
Searched for it with unspeakable pain
In the vault in the loft from brain to brain!
I found the jewel in its throne unhurt
Lying in the drain for quite some time
Didn’t get washed somehow as slime!
Found it again in the trench of my lawn
Shining at me smiling sans cesse
Picking it again and going through stress!
The poem urges readers to pause and think of something they have thrown away in disbelief. And now, in the midst of broken values and sheer lovelessness, that something seems to be missing the most.
If the intelligent minds could think, many fools could be saved. The Earth is the biggest fool.
Unrest incomplete
In the midst of
Wealth, health aplenty
I threw it away and was empty
Searched for it with unspeakable pain
In the vault in the loft from brain to brain!
In the midst of
Dirt and dustI found the jewel in its throne unhurt
Lying in the drain for quite some time
Didn’t get washed somehow as slime!
In the midst of profit
and gain
I threw it of me,
thought was goneFound it again in the trench of my lawn
Shining at me smiling sans cesse
Picking it again and going through stress!
I looked at it close a
little from above
I took it in me was
complete with love!The poem urges readers to pause and think of something they have thrown away in disbelief. And now, in the midst of broken values and sheer lovelessness, that something seems to be missing the most.
If the intelligent minds could think, many fools could be saved. The Earth is the biggest fool.
Tuesday, March 4, 2014
The balcony of the unpainted house
The balcony of the unpainted house
I left the house long ago,
When I was just twenty,
My childhood grew up in every corner
Of that universe;
I was born to love the place,
Knew every cell of my balcony,
My terrace, my staircase,
They knew me before I could see;
I’d painted the house with my sounds,
With my smells my sorrows and joys without bounds,
My unsure youth dared to step out,
On the streets whistling, playing, just being,
Wasting times in scores, unnoticed,
Until it was snatched;
Went to a new place though not very far,
Everything there was strange,
The smell, the air, the much bigger terrace balcony,
Reminded me more of the place no more to see;
However, I learned to love the place
My father had bought … in time, I
Began to know the place,
Busy and accounted time travelled with me,
Never gave me the space to be in my long-lost place,
Until years later;
My car just happened to pass near the lane,
In the evening I saw children playing my games,
Guys in their twenties whistling my songs from a little far,
I came out of my car;
My make-up was such a big hide,
Stopped for a minute before the unmoved house,
Games interrupted for a while with children looking vexed,
They thought who on earth this stranger could be,
I looked at the house my parents calling my ears could see,
The balcony of the unpainted house recognized me.
I left the house long ago,
When I was just twenty,
My childhood grew up in every corner
Of that universe;
I was born to love the place,
Knew every cell of my balcony,
My terrace, my staircase,
They knew me before I could see;
I’d painted the house with my sounds,
With my smells my sorrows and joys without bounds,
My unsure youth dared to step out,
On the streets whistling, playing, just being,
Wasting times in scores, unnoticed,
Until it was snatched;
Went to a new place though not very far,
Everything there was strange,
The smell, the air, the much bigger terrace balcony,
Reminded me more of the place no more to see;
However, I learned to love the place
My father had bought … in time, I
Began to know the place,
Busy and accounted time travelled with me,
Never gave me the space to be in my long-lost place,
Until years later;
My car just happened to pass near the lane,
In the evening I saw children playing my games,
Guys in their twenties whistling my songs from a little far,
I came out of my car;
My make-up was such a big hide,
Stopped for a minute before the unmoved house,
Games interrupted for a while with children looking vexed,
They thought who on earth this stranger could be,
I looked at the house my parents calling my ears could see,
The balcony of the unpainted house recognized me.
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