Tuesday, July 31, 2012

Poets Among Us (The Original Version)


Some dear poet friends felt my poem ran too long. So here is the original version. Feel free to look at the two and tell me which you prefer. cheers. Indran


            Poets Among Us

There are poets who take you for a ride,
from which you will not come back alive,

who dazzle with incense and myrrh,
who think sound trumps all sense

or reports of explosions beyond
the garden fence. There are poets

who write lines and pauses
keeping time to a metronome,

who are esteemed versifiers,
gathering in clubs to compose haikus,

or falling in love with the ghazal
and renga, those elegant Oriental pursuits.

There are poets who will be rewarded
by politicians, talk show hosts and

Rotary, Lions or the Theosophists.
Happened in America once,

a poet read, his hair flaying white,
at the inauguration of a president.

Started a trend and a decade.  Poetry
is not far removed from the state

of the nation. Its words make
metaphors, are crafted in stanzas

and books. Poets are self-ordained
but depend on kind strangers

and friends to break bread
at their mass, stopping on pages

to read before heading out
into night or day, to work or play,

to announce, we have rhymes
to share with you, chocolates

for all, a few barbed we admit
with nails, to jolt the conscience,

not send us to the grave. Will you
listen, please, take off your shoes?


            Indran Amirthanayagam, July 30, 2012

Poets Among Us


            Poets Among Us

There are poets who take you for a ride,
from which you will not come back alive,

who dazzle with incense and myrrh,
who think sound trumps all sense

or reports of explosions beyond
the garden fence. There are poets

who write lines and pauses
keeping time to a metronome,

who are esteemed versifiers,
gathering in clubs to compose haikus,

or falling in love with the ghazal
and renga, those elegant Oriental pursuits.

There are poets who will be rewarded
by politicians, talk show hosts and

Rotary, Lions or the Theosophists.
Happened in America once,

a poet read, his hair flaying white,
at the inauguration of a president.

Started a trend and a decade.  Poetry
is not far removed from the state

of the nation. Its words make
metaphors, are crafted in stanzas

and books. Poets are self-ordained
but depend on kind strangers

and friends to break bread
at their mass, stopping on pages

to read before heading out
into night or day, to work or play,

to announce, we have rhymes
to share with you, chocolates

for all, a few barbed we admit
with nails, to jolt the conscience,

not send us to the grave. Will you
listen, please, take off your shoes

and throw them at the Moon,
the Sun, the Stars,  but not

at my face, so help me God,
and let us get on with the race

to write new poems, go beyond
the outer limits of space.

            Indran Amirthanayagam  July 30, 2012  c) 2012

           

Saturday, July 28, 2012

Breathing Stats, Olympics



                                               

            Breathing Stats, Olympics

Some sour puss in the British
government, a rotting apple
chucked out perhaps
from the kitchen at Number 10,
Downing Street, has released
reports about ozone concentrates
over southern England
to coincide with the first salvos
of the Olympic Games.

When the world is staring
at British-style nurses dancing
at the Opening Ceremony,  
we read that athletes
will have trouble breathing,
that excess of nitrogen
dioxide and other pollutants—
far more, curiously,
than in Beijing which

stopped nearby industry
for the Games’ duration,
an option unavailable
to the free capitalist--
along with the expected
heat wave, will cause
asthma attacks and
hardly a world record.
Just imagine

the Olympics to come
over the rest of time,
wheezing and coughing
before sputtering
out of starting blocks.
Now, I understand
you would rather I stop
writing and just watch
the athletics, but as we wait

also for our party conventions
every four years, I ask
you fellow Americans
and democrats, and all
other readers through
the free internet, shall
we make believe, or deliver
a few, hard to smoke,
certainly inconvenient truths?

            Indran Amirthanayagam, July 28, 2012

Tuesday, July 24, 2012

Grief (Aurora), a poem



          Grief

There are no words, one
expects to say, but get
your family together,
pray and break bread.
When the neighbor dies

the same, keep your heart
open to include his relatives
and country. To spend time
mourning we would have
no other activity. This is

the koan--no other ripe
conclusion from the public
and private grief; yesterday
shooting of people
in the cinema in Aurora,

not the brilliant Borealis,
lights dazzling eyes,
but pops and zings from
the murderer's guns, and
today’s news, grandfather dead,

and you on a bus going back
to the city, everybody jostling
aboard with stories, griefs
and joys, you say that life
is shit, I agree, until

we roll out of the mud,
get up and wash our bodies
and calm our minds, remember
how he woke up in the morning
to take his tea, the stories

he told us of the deep country,
what we carry together
from him and Aurora, lights
snuffed out, burning temporarily
in this poem, our memory.


                Indran Amirthanayagam, July 24, 2012

Monday, July 23, 2012

Ante as travas, um poema


   Ante as travas

Começar a escrever
põe uma trava na rua.
É dificil sempre voltar

para dizer adeus, deixar
as lágrimas caírem
sem explicações

ou ensaios para distrair
a alma. Mas quando
a saudade forma

parte da profissão,
não será mais
suportável, um jeito

de preparar o corpo
e o espirito para tudo?
 Teu pai morreu,

seu corpo
no cemitério,
próximo da casa

onde tua mãe mora
ainda em Rockville,
mas seus poemas

formam parte
de tua língua
e deleitam a musa

de teu amigo.
Assim vai a vida,
vencendo

aquela idéia
que foi para nada
seu caminho na terra,

e  teus filhos com você
na sua própria senda
caminhando mais cedo

que esperava, mas
todos estamos aí
vendo a suas necessidades.

Qué mais podemos
pedir, uma comunidade
 de amizades, de irmãos,

ninguém sozinho.
Oremos para as famílias
que perderam os corpos

de seus filhos nas últimas
tragédias.  Lembremos
a todos hoje neste poema,

amanhã com o café ou vendo
a partida ainda que talvez
alguns não gostam do futebol.

            Indran Amirthanayagam, dr) 21 de julho de 2012

Saturday, July 21, 2012

Amanecer, con Mar y Luna


            Amanecer,
con Luna y Mar

Cómo amaneces,
mi Mar? ¿Con los restos
de la Luna en tu rezago?

¿Con la confianza
de siempre que el Sol
te alimente y tu amor

terrenal camine
en tus faldas de arena,
en tus litorales, tus costas?

¿Cómo amanezco
del sueño, que en el día
vislumbraré al Paraíso,

donde no me harás
falta, y el amor
que dejé en la isla

me dará sombra
al borde del Mar
que nos regala la Luna.


            Indran Amirthanayagam, el 21 de julio, 2012,  dr) 2012