The Allen Ginsberg Project: Allen in Peru 1960

The Allen Ginsberg Project: Allen in Peru 1960: Beat scholarship - Pedro Casusol Tapias '  " Visiones Divinas (Divine Visions) - Allen Ginsberg’s Peruvian Trip" , an illum...

Words After September 11

        WORDS AFTER SEPTEMBER 11

We will not be quiet, Lord.

We will not hide in books,

Under our desks, Lord.

We will not whisper

In the rowdy street.

We will hop

On our “three-wheelers,”

On the Morning Express,

Wheel up the ramp

And fly  beyond

The limits

Of our comforts.

We will explore again,

And find ourselves

Lost again.  Yet,

We shall hold our hands.

Yet, we shall love

Our neighbor.

Yet, we shall stand

On our dad

And mum’s shoulders,

And we will play yet again.

Let us now honor our dead,

The Earth’s dead.

Let us not tremble.

Let us not be quiet.

Let us not stammer

Through a million

Emergency sessions.

Let us talk

To the bird in the tree,

The bird in the sky.

Let us sing as a flock,

In congregation.

We will

        and shall

And can

        and must not

Be overcome.

Let us walk out tonight,

Tomorrow, and sing

We will

        and shall

And can

        and must

Not be overcome.

Let us go to the films

On Saturday,

To worship any day

We wish.

Let not these burning towers

Be our metaphor.

Let us honor our dead, yes,

And let us build and rebuild

Our metaphors.

-- Indran Amirthanayagam  c)2001  Chennai, India, September 27, 2001

Uncivil War

New Release www.tsarbooks.com

For interview, review & media requests: inquiries@tsarbooks.com Uncivil War Indran Amirthanayagam   Passionate, committed, and deeply humane, these poems bear witness with unflinching honesty to the horrific violence of the Sri Lankan civil war.   “Indran Amirthanayagam is above all the poet of the bloody Sri Lankan conflict and division. His work honours the sufferings of the living and the injustices dealt the dead, and for any reader, as good poetry always does, it speaks for itself, for humanity in general, and rings with its own universal authenticity and grace.” —Thomas Keneally, author of Schindler’s Ark   “This Uncivil War of Indran Amirthanayagam is a personal bloodletting, an exorcism--a blind, brute belief that writing the horror down will keep it under control, corralled, digestible. This is poetry that breaks down barriers of decorum, of art written for mere sensual pleasure. Yet there is a haunting lilt in the lyric voice of this poet. He delves into bitter subjects and finds tunes unbearably beautiful. He has gone into exile, and he says: Let us remember paradise.” —Adam Zameenzad, author of Cyrus, Cyrus   “...This is a Cosmos of a book. Indran Amirthanayagam is the true heir of Neruda in our time.” —Jaime Manrique, author of Our Lives Are The Rivers   “You may never go to Sri Lanka, but if you are a student of the human condition, as all poets must be, then Uncivil War should be required reading. What is a poem to a country torn apart by civil war, by tsunami, by the myriad ways people can bring harm to other people? These poems possess the courage to imagine a different ending, the courage to speak out against brutality; it is the courage of empathy.” —Rachel Rose, author of Song and Spectacle   Indran Amirthanayagam writes poetry and essays in English, Spanish, French and Portuguese. His works include The Splintered Face, Ceylon R.I.P., El Infierno de Los Pájaros, El Hombre que Recoge Nidos, Sol Camuflado, La Pelota del Pulpo and The Elephants of Reckoning, which won the 1994 Paterson Poetry Prize.  His poetry has appeared in numerous magazines and journals throughout the world.  He has also published translations of Mexican poets Manuel Ulacia and Jose Eugenio Sanchez.  He is a diplomat in the United States Foreign Service. He writes a blog on poetry athttp://indranamirthanayagam.blogspot.com.   Poetry Paperback $24.95 ISBN: 978-1-927494-23-3 Order Uncivil War at www.tsarbooks.com     For more information on this and other TSAR titles, visitwww.tsarbooks.com

DISTRIBUTED IN CANADA AND IN THE US by University of Toronto Press Inc. 5201 Dufferin Street Toronto, Ontario, M3H 5T8 Phone: 1-800-565-9523 or (416) 667-7791 Fax: 1-800-221-9985 or (416) 667-7832 E-mail: utpbooks@utpress.utoronto.ca Also DISTRIBUTED IN THE US by

Face Off, a poem,

Face Off

I am tired, my friends too.

Shall we stop the clock,

the writing fool his dance,

move to the Moon

and beyond, sing for supper

in some indigenous tongue

that will disappear

from the planet’s face?

Must be the only rule

for this rueful sojourn:

we will not know

if our children choose

to tread on our bones,

or erect them into columns

and arches. For the rest,

spared of progeny, there is

no guilt or obligation. Just

finish tasks in the planner,

and go off radar, absent

from view on Facebook.

            Indran Amirthanayagam, April 4, 2013  c) 3013 Indran Amirthanayagam

EL DIA SIGUIENTE

          El día siguiente

Renacerás en un instante,

de un día para otro,

aún si has fumado

una media cajetilla

y la panza ha crecido

a causa de vinos crudos

y pesados. La luz

llegará siempre

a los que quieren ver,

y se sienten dispuestos

a amar, a pesar

de la mala racha,

del torbellino. Va

y viene, no circula

por elección humana.

Hay que construir bien

la casa, con válvulas

de escape, poner

ropa floja que

no te aten,

que te dejen respirar

y el amor se dará

cuenta e se infiltrará

a través de un bolsillo.

            Indran Amirthanayagam, el 3 de febrero, dr) 2013

Joder en américa, un poema

            Joder en américa

Al peruano no lo jodas,

al chileno tampoco,

pero entre ellos

se joden con gusto.

Al argentino

le gusta joder.

El venezolano

está jodido

por células

dañadas,

el ecuatoriano,

gentil hombre,

jode solo

los sábados

por la noche,

el panameño

al son

de la rumba,

la plana,

la bomba.

El colombiano

jode por orgullo,

con gracia,

al escuchar

al piano

de Medellin,

el nicaragüense

por unas islas

y su honor

pero con pocos

barcos de patrulla

y mucha fé

en la corte ajena,

mexicanos, si,

chingados

( jodido

en la lengua

por haber

perdido

tejas,)

brazil a salvo

por falar

portugués,

y américa,

mi querida,

que se joda

celebrando

sus derechos,

rosetas

de arcoíris

en sus brazos.

América,

dos dólares

y una nueva

barba, jódete.

Voy

para un café,

un té,

un surtido

de frutas.

América,

este poema

se escribe

en español,

la lengua

más antigua

de la nueva

España.

América,

Allen Ginsberg

se murió.

América,

no vuelvas

a  joder

al sur

de la frontera.

           Indran Amirthanayagam el 24 de diciembre, dr)  2012

Christmas

On the mind tonight Christmas Eve, hymns and children, wide-eyed, grateful for life and the chance to share food and drink, to have a roof, a job, a computer.  Yet every day I read about, and see, those who don't have such pleasures. Let us support them today and every day with our time, our gifts, our energy.

Newtown Poems by Indran Amirthanayagam

            First Poems

There are murders that defy poetry,

challenge its song--I almost wrote

to a duel—ask  what business

do you have with us in the church,

in this memorial mass.

The children who died wrote

their first and last poems.

We do not know the metaphors

paralyzed, as teachers pushed

their charges into closets,

behind bookcases to safety,

before getting shot, plans

the Miss’s had made

for evenings, birthdays,

weddings to come?

            Indran Amirthanayagam, December 16, 2012

           Questions

This Newtown slaughter,

first graders learning to read

and write, teachers,

principal, psychologist,

adults, women entirely,

nurturing elementary

education, now rest

of the country and world,

the human family

in anger and sadness:

What beast roared

at innocents?

Why let him out

to murder us?

            Indran Amirthanayagam, December 15, 2012

          Spare the Rod

Spare the women and children.

Our future resides in their wombs,

the homes they will build

from the ruins. We have bombed

our own since the Wall

was scaled, since that order

to murder the first born.

We try to find reason in madness,

teach our children to believe

in God, the laws, and we fail

for a time, then pick up

goods and ideas

and start to build again,

aided by time, that nothing

ends, just transforms.

            Indran Amirthanayagam, December 16, 2012

          Journalist

What is observed, palpable,

children hiding in closets,

behind bookcases, these

are pixels in the landscape,

essential to the viewer,

to his need to fill the holes

of his empathy, to say

come into the classroom

and watch the revenger's

tragedy, listen to silence

next door where guns

reported,  hear scratching

at the knob,  sit on eyelids

of boys and girls waiting

for the murderer to walk

out, walk in, walk out.

            Indran Amirthanayagam, December 16, 2012

          Sure Thing

I am away from home. I see the human

tragedy, children lost to parents, order

upside down, inheritance uncertain,

restoring mind after grief uncertain,

forgetting details of crime scene

and return of the gun lobby after

a couple of days in black, keeping

quiet: absolute, sure, like the gun’s

silencer, the gun itself, bullets to be spent.

                Indran Amirthanayagam, December 16, 2012

Alimentos, Huari, un poema

Alimentos, Huari

¿Quieres un kashki,

o tomar un punki por la tarde,

indagar en la tierra

por las carnes de cerdo,

res, gallina doradas

en las piedras

de la Pachamanca?

Me quedo con ganas

de caminar al borde

de la laguna Puruhuay

recogiendo porongos,

corriendo

como una gacela

hacia el mirador

para hacer contigo ahí

lo que la primavera

promete por todas partes

a los poetas de corazón abierto.

                Indran Amirthanayagam, el 10 de Noviembre, 2012, Huari

NO CIERREN LA CASA DE LA LITERATURA

 NO CIERREN LA CASA DE LA LITERATURA

                        Indran Amirthanayagam

No cierren la Casa de la Literatura. Que ya es un referente, un ancla, puesta en el paisaje de la oferta cultural en Lima.  Llegué a la ciudad al inacer la Casa, hace tres anos. Recientemente participé en las festividades por su cumpleaños.  Me ha encantado observar cómo han crecido las exposiciones, las conferencias, los congresos, los recitales de poesía.  Es única, una casa que celebra el arte y una estación de ferrocarril que lleva pasajeros en viajes lentos hacia sus sueños.

La casa me ha dejado soñar en una ciudad más amistosa, donde las divisiones de clases y grupos están desapareciendo con cada recital, cada apuesta del arte sobre lo que nos une, lo universal en la particular agrupación de sangre y memoria, el ser humano en su gloria y su miseria, su misericordia y sus desencantos, que el artista pacifica con cada metáfora. Dejen que las metáforas sigan teniendo su espacio, sus juegos de luz en los puestos de escena.  Perú que se enorguellece de su Vallejo, su Inca Garcilaso, su Toño Cisneros,  su Watanabe y Varela, su Vargas Llosa esta ya alegrando su pueblo con su Casa de la Literatura.

No dejen que se convierta en una oficina mas para algún ministerio. Dejen que brille con la luz que emiten los artistas peruanos y sus hermanos artistas de otros lares. Desde la puerta de la  Casa de La Literatura, uno siente que esta al inicio de un viaje por el mundo. Dejen que el viaje siga y que todo Perú se quite su sombrero ante el paso de esta metáfora pacifica.

                                    Lima, el 24 de Octubre, 2012