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

           

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

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

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

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