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Cyril Dabydeen |
SONG FOR ZEUS
--for Alana
Wherever he is,
let him be, in what nether
world it may seem--
a farther place.
Those
knowing eyes,
looking
at me, his face
and
manner too, my tabby
Zeus
he will always be.
Inside, in his home,
then outside looking out
long on Somerset Street,
passersby knowing him.
His vulnerability,
yes,
sometimes
purring,
living
his own life--
I
didn’t know much about
Remembering him only,
a lifetime, far away--
memory, or consciousness,
his soul, you see.
Spirit
locked in, with mine,
nothing
less, now gone--
our
Zeus, always with
a
blessing I know.
-----------------
HIMALAYA
In her own space,
vibrations only
in the cave
An ashram where
she dwells with
an inner glow
The heart’s own place
I’ve come to know,
the soul’s journey
Wandering far--
but how far,
I will never know
Looking up at the mountain:
harmony it seems,
universal being
Hands folded, knees bent,
her face reflecting
the stars I imagine
The Himalaya no less,
making meaning
out of nothing
Being herself only,
life everlasting
I yearn for
__________
FEALTY
A choir of words I sing to you,
the self with other longings
the oath taken, calling out
from a distant place, and
being a believer because
of the mote in my eye
seeking affection always,
wanting forgiveness only
singing louder to you--
with the cathedral of hope,
what I never knew before,
but will keep longing for
paradise I let you know
walking in the Garden,
my Gethsemane with longings
down through the years.
_________________________
BEING INDIAN
He asks me what I am,
if an Indian and to know
where I was born.
Ukraine he’s from, oh
with strong Russian ties
now living in Canada.
What kind?
he asks me,
Indian South American style,
I will let him know.
Places we care about; and
am I an elephant Indian,
or a bow-and-arrow Indian?
Being only who I am
indeed, you see—
always in my style.
___________
MAHATMA GANDHI POEM
--Barack
Obama, A Promised Land
Taking off our shoes
we entered a simple room with
a floor of smooth, patterned
tile,
its terrace doors open
to admit a slight breeze
and
a pale, hazy light.
I stared at the spartan floor
bed and pillow, the
collection
of spinning wheels, the
old-fashioned phone,
a
low wooden writing desk
Trying to imagine Gandhi
present in the room, a
slight,
brown-skinned man in a plain
cotton dhoti, his legs folded
under him
composing
a letter
to the British viceroy
Charting the next phase of
the Salt March; and in that
moment
I had the strongest wish
to sit beside him and talk--
to
ask him where he’d found
the strength and imagination
to do so much with so very
little,
to ask how he’d recovered
from
disappointment;
(more/new stanza)
he had more than his share;
and
Gandhi hadn’t been able to
heal
the subcontinent’s religious
schisms,
--prevent
its partitioning into
a predominantly Hindu India,
and
an overwhelmingly Muslim
Pakistan
--do you know?
_________
(Found
poem)
***
BIO Cyril Dabydeen-- “a noted Canadian poet” (House of Commons, Ottawa), short story writer, novelist, and anthologist. His recent books are My Undiscovered Country (Mosaic Press), God’s Spider (Peepal Tree Press, UK), and My Multi-Ethnic Friends/Fiction (Guernica Editions). Other titles include: Jogging in Havana, Black Jesus and Other Stories, My Brahmin Days, North of the Equator, Imaginary Origins: Selected Poems, and Drums of My Flesh (IMPAC/Dublin Prize nominee and Guyana Prize winner for best novel. A twice nominee for the Pushcart Prize, he won the Okanagan Fiction Prize and the Canute A. Brodhurst Prize for fiction. Cyril’s work has appeared in the Oxford, Penguin, and Heinemann Books of Caribbean Verse, and in over 60 literary magazines, eg., Poetry (Chicago), The Critical Quarterly (UK), The Fiddlehead, Prism International, and Canadian Literature. He is Ottawa Poet Laureate Emeritus. He taught Writing for many years at the UofOttawa. He has done over 300 readings across Canada, the USA, Europe, the Caribbean, and India.
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