Showing posts with label Random Poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Random Poetry. Show all posts

Sunday, July 8, 2007

Random Poetry - A.K.Ramanujam

Attipat Krishnaswami Ramanujan (1929-1993) was an author who wrote in both
English and Kannada. Ramanujan wore many hats as an author: he was a
playwright, folklorist, philologist, translator, and poet. In his academic work
as a scholar of literature he drew on his skills as a producer of literature.
His academic research ranged across four Indian languages: Tamil, Kannada,
Telugu and Sanskrit. He published about both classical and modern variants of
these literatures and also argued strongly for giving local, non-standard
dialects their due.

- Introduction courtesy www.wikipedia.com
What he said
What could my mother be
To yours? What kin is my father
To yours anyway? And how
Did you and I meet ever?But in love
Our hearts have mingled
Like red earth and pouring rain
- Translation of a Sangam poetry by A.K.Ramanujam

Still Life
When she left me
after lunch, I read
for a while.
But I suddenly wanted to look again
and I saw the half-eaten
sandwich,bread,lettuce and salami,all carrying the shape
of her bite.
- Original poem by A.K. Ramanujam
Self-Portrait
I resemble everyone
but myself, and sometimes see
in shop-windows
despite the well-known laws
of optics,
the portrait of a stranger,date unknown,
often signed in a corner
by my father.
- Original poem by A.K. Ramanujam

Random Poetry - Arun Kolatkar

I have always loved Arun Kolatkar's poems epsecially the Jejuri collection. I
thank Era.Murugan who introduced me to Arun's poetry.As usual, I encourage you to google (search the web) for more details about
this poet.The below introduction and poetry is published courtesy:
http://www.hcu.ox.ac.uk/cgi-bin/jtap/board/config.pl?noframes;read=9846

Poet: Arun Kolatkar
This is a poem by Indian poet Arun Kolatkar. Its a beautiful poem ridiculing
the commercialisation of pilgrimage at jejuri, Maharashtra.

Yeshwant Rao
"Are you looking for a god?
I know a good one.
His name is Yeshwant Rao and he's one of the best.
look him up when you are in Jejuri next.
Of course he's only a second class god and his place is just outside the main temple.
Outside even of the outer wall.
As if he belonged among the tradesmen and the lepers.
I've known gods prettier faced or straighter laced.
Gods who soak you for your gold.
Gods who soak you for your soul.
Gods who make you walk on a bed of burning coal.
Gods who put a child inside your wife.
Or a knife inside your enemy.
Gods who tell you how to live your life, double your money or triple your land holdings.
Gods who can barely suppress a smile as you crawl a mile for them.
Gods who will see you drown if you won't buy them a new crown.
And although I'm sure they're all to be praised, they're either too symmetrical or too theatrical for my taste.
Yeshwant Rao, mass of basalt, bright as any post box, the shape of protoplasm or king size lava pie thrown against the wall, without an arm, a leg or even a single head.
Yeshwant Rao.
He's the god you've got to meet.
If you're short of a limb,
Yeshwant Rao will lend you a hand and get you back on your feet.
Yeshwant Rao does nothing spectacular.
He doesn't promise you the earth Or book your seat on the next rocket to heaven.
But if any bones are broken, you know he'll mend them.
He'll make you whole in your body and hope your spirit will look after itself.
He is merely a kind of a bone-setter.
The only thing is, as he himself has no heads, hands and feet, he happens to understand you a little better."

Random Poetry - Richard Brauigan

I am planning to randomly publish poetries from my favourite poets (as ever,
this list grows day after day).
These sample poems are from Richard Brauigan.I encourage you to google (search the web) for more details about this poet.

Color As Beginning
Forget love
I want to die
in your yellow hair

My Nose Is Growing Old
Yup.
A long lazy September look
in the mirror
says it's true.
I'm 31
and my nose is growing old.
It starts about 1/2 an inch
below the bridge
and strolls geriatrically
down for another inch or so:
stopping.
Fortunately, the restof the nose is comparatively
young.
I wonder if the girls will want me with an
old nose.
I can hear them now
the heartless bitches!
"He's cute
but his nose
is old"

At the California Institute of Technology
I don't care how God-damn smart
these guys are: I'm bored.