Showing posts with label 201704E. Show all posts
Showing posts with label 201704E. Show all posts

Interview of Pramila Khadun by Vatsala Radhakeesoon

Pramila Khadun is a famous and powerful voice in the field of writing. She has authored various poetry books, novels, anthologies and cooking books.
Here goes an enriching and inspirational interview with the unique writer/poet from the exotic tropical island, Mauritius.
Pramila Khadun
Vatsala Radhakeesoon: Tell us about your early life, family background and actual life?

Pramila Khadun: I did my Bsc in Food and Nutrition from S.N.D.T college, Pune. I am married to Raj khadun and have three children, namely Dr Rajnee, Captain Kaviraj and Priyumvada. I was head of Home Economics Department and now I am retired spending my time writing.


Vatsala Radhakeesoon
Vatsala: Initially how did your interest or determination for book writing spring?

Pramila: I have always been fond of reading and writing. I write everyday with the same enthusiasm. Writing is cathartic and helps us reach out to others. Initially, I wrote poetry, which I find so magical and charming as we can speak volumes in a few words, stirring the mind and soul of readers. Then I wrote a textbook entitled 'Food and Nutrition Simplified' meant for school certificate students. It is currently being used in colleges across the island. I also wrote a novel, 'When love speaks'.

Vatsala: In a fast moving world, engulfed by Information Technology, what is the role of a writer/poet in society?

Pramila:
The role of the poet is to create a balance in society.  Information Technology, though essential for human progress cannot kill the beauties of a person’s soul by not allowing him/her to think about himself/herself and always being engrossed in technology.


Vatsala: Mauritius is a multilingual country. Though, English is the official language,  Kreol and French are much widely used in daily life. What are your reasons for choosing English as the language to write poetry?

Pramila:  English is the language written and spoken across the world. Writing in English brings a wider readership. However, I would love to mention that writing in Kreol and French are equally cathartic.


Vatsala: Having authored more poetry books than other genres shows your special love for poetry writing. Is poetry writing your first love as an author?
How did you start writing poetry?
Pramila: I was doing my Bsc degree in Pune and our college magazine was about to be issued. Students were asked to contribute articles. Somehow, for reasons unknown to me, I chose to write a poem entitled, 'Open me the gates of a world different'. To my great surprise, I won the first prize and since then I continued writing. I can thus call poetry my first love.

Vatsala: What inspires you to write? Do you have a favourite theme that you mostly enjoy to bring forth in your creative written art?

Pramila: Poetry is ‘The record of the best and happiest moments of the happiest and best minds’ says Shelley.It is the most philosophic of writing as clearly stated by Aristotle. Poetry has always attracted my imagination, it is my forte. I love producing poetic oeuvres of great luminosity, impassioned writing with wide horizons, characterized by sensuous intelligence and humanistic integrity. I love writing that catches the dewdrop and reflects the cosmos. My sources of inspiration can be anything –  an abundant solitude, the fragrance of sandalwood, a child knee-deep in mountain greaa, the swirling clouds, animals mating, wind arabesque, the spire of a church and so on. My favorite themes are nature, pain, love and peace.
Vatsala: You are one of the writers born and grown up during the
pre-independence / colonial period of Mauritius. Has any event of this period been the propelling force for your writing?

Pramila:
The pre-independence/ colonial period of Mauritius was a difficult one. We were all poor and in many cases parents preferred sending boys to schools and colleges and girls had to take care of household chores. My parents, avant-gardistes par excellence believed in equal opportunities offered to girls in the educational field. In this way, I persevered and succeeded along with my sisters.
I was also impressed by the political movements and the struggle for gaining the island's independence.

Vatsala: What are the sequences or steps involved in your poetry writing? How do you approach the writing of a new poem - the starting point, the unstoppable flow and the final message?
Pramila: Whenever I write, I do my prayers first for I believe that without God's guidance, nothing can be achieved. After all , poetry is God's voice. Once I am inspired to write, I delve deep in the crevices of my imagination and remove the pearly poems

Vatsala: Who are your favourite authors/poets and which of them have had an influence on your  writing?

Pramila: My favourite poets have been a perfect blend of  those from the past and present like Ravindranath Tagore, Shelly, Wordsworth, Milton, Khalil Gibran, Tiruvalluvar, Pablo Neruda, Kamala Das, Angelou, Kabir, to mention but a few.
All poets inspire me, to be honest, whether he or she is a well-established one or a burgeoning one. The one poet who has a far reaching much influence on my writing is
Gibran.

Vatsala: Your main poetry books are entitled Priyam, Rajnee and Kavi. Please tell us about these collections of poetry and others if any?

Pramila:
Priyumvada, Rajnee and Kavi are named after my three children. I wrote them during the early years when I started writing. I was 25 years old. After these three collections, I wrote 'Igniting key', co-authored by Dr Ampat Koshy and Dr Bina Biswas.

Vatsala: What does poetry mean to you? How would you define it and how do you wish readers to perceive your poems?
Pramila: Poetry means all to me. It is light, it is love, it is all we perceive in life.
I would love my readers to dive deep in the realm of my poetry and feel the vibes.


Vatsala: What type of poet would you best describe yourself – the Feminist, the Versatile, Nature poet or any other particular type?
 Pramila :I would best describe myself as a poetess for humanity. I write to bring change in our world. What I desire most is a clean world where all men are brothers living peacefully in harmony with nature and the elements.


Vatsala: What are the challenges that you face as a women poet and what would you advise other women poets?

Pramila: We may be living in a world of equality but the patriarchal factor still predominates. Women have to struggle a lot to make their voices heard and their writing felt. Having their works published is not easy as well.
I would advise other women poets to continue in their struggle as there is always light at the end of the tunnel. We must never give up as fruits of hard labour and perseverance are always sweet.


Vatsala: What advice would you give to young poets?

Pramila: To young poets, I would say, read lots, the more you read, the better your writing becomes. And remember, poetry is divine, touch hearts more than minds. And your mind must be without fear for you can fight any battle with the power of your pen.
Vatsala: How can Poetry be used for the betterment of humankind and
as an experienced poet, what message would you like to give to the world?


Pramila:
Poetry can be mind and soul-stirring and by stirring, poets make people think, remedy the situation and bring desirable changes. To the world, I would say however much progress we may do, keep in mind that human beings need love more than anything else.

Vatsala: We sum up this lovely conversation with some of your beautiful poems from the books Rajnee and Kavi:

Sadness


When states collapse, there is sadness.
Fading of arts is sad as well.
Sadness is in wars and disasters,
In the tranquility of autumn,
And in the singing of constellations.

The sadness of Saint Exupery’s
“Little Prince” was deep and genuine.
So was Wordsworth when sad
And pensive he lay on his couch.

When the evening breeze blows gently,
There is sadness.
When the sick man prays ardently,
There is sadness.
When the palm tree in full bearing is cut,
There is sadness.
When sages sing songs sweet,
There is sadness.

Sadness is in the violin,
In the solitary wine bottle,
In the broad midnight moon,
In lovers’ languishing,
In couples’ longing,
And in the rose that blooms and dies.

 – Pramila Khadun, Rajnee


Lost in a Whirlwind  Romance

He had the  shoulders of a football player
And his eyes burned like quiet fire.
She nestled close to him
like a tiny animal seeing its mother.

She looked like fine porcelain
And gleamed as invitingly as hot teapot.
She drove him mad with her youth,
Her ways of dressing up and her sensual beauty.
She played with him as happily
As a school girl plays with her dolls
while he looked at her with a longing look.
She murmured in his ears soft words
As sweet as sea-sound.


While the horses stood with draped manes,
And tilted hind-hooves,
They kissed each other warmly and passionately.
Lost in a whirlwind romance,
They could hardly hear the tiny barking of dogs
And the women calling their herd of sheep
while the sun was setting with all its majesty.

 – Pramila Khadun, Kavi


Daastan Hijraton ki

A Unique Dastangoi Presentation by Jawaid Danish
Special Report by Padmaja Iyengar 'Paddy'

Dastangoi is a 16th-century Urdu oral storytelling art form and has its origin in the Persian language. Dastan means a tale and the suffix goi makes the word mean "to tell a tale".  At the centre of Dastangoi is the Dastango or the storyteller, whose voice is his mainstay in orally recreating the dastan or the story. This format of story-telling largely included tales drawn from the epics, fantasies etc. to engage audience attention. In the bygone era when digital media was unheard of, Dastangoi was a great source of entertainment and also enlightenment.

In India, this art form of story-telling saw its zenith in the 19th century, led by dastangos Amba Prasad Rasa, Mir Ahmad Ali Rampuri, Muhammad Amir Khan, Syed Husain Jah, and Ghulam Raza. Mir Baqar Ali was another leading practitioner of Dastangoi that received a set back with his death in 1928. However, the art form saw a revival in 2005 thanks to the untiring efforts of the Indian poet and Urdu critic Shamsur Rahman Faruqi and his nephew, writer and director Mahmood Farooqui, who have played a significant role in the revival of Dastangoi in the 21st century.

Renowned Theatre Personality and Poet Jawaid Danish from Toronto (Canada) was in my city of Hyderabad to present his Daastan Hijraton ki (Epic of Migration) at the Urdu Hall, Hyderabad on 9th April, 2017 and at the University of Hyderabad on 10th April, 2017. I had the good fortune to be an audience at his Dastangoi on both the days! How could I miss such a golden opportunity and the double bonanza?

Daastan Hijraton ki by Jawaid Danish primarily deals with the angst, agony, issues, concerns and insecurities of migrants to another country..in this case Canada. The trials and tribulations narrated in this highly relatable and contemporary Dastangoi, instantly engage audience attention, with Jawaid Danish himself switching into the various characters of the hour-long tale. And this is precisely what sets Daastan Hijraton ki apart from other Dastangois in which the narrator tells the stories with their highs and lows. But here is Jawaid Danish, himself playing the characters of the Daastan!

Padmaja Iyengar 'Paddy'
What stood out in his Daastan Hijraton ki, were the felicity and aplomb with which Jawaid Danish transformed into the various characters of his Daastan (story)!!! A tilt of his head and he was Jawaid himself, a change of posture and he was Abubakar Batliwala, the has-been Mumbai Bhai speaking the Bombaiya Hindi, a change in his tonal quality and he was Shubrati the cook from Meerut speaking in the typical Urdu-Hindustani dialect of North India, a slight gesticulation and he became young Banerjee from Bengal, moonlighting (actually sunlighting) as a cab driver by day and preparing to fulfil his medical school ambitions by night, or the poet Iqbal Shahryar with his Sheroshayari …, with all these characters interacting with Jawaid Danish playing himself from time to time!!! Each has a tale to tell of why he is in Canada and why he could not or would not go back to India.

Daastan Hijraton ki is excellently complimented and aided by Jawaid’s considerable theatre experience that has the audience riveted to their seats, traversing the journey and living the lives of the five characters portrayed by him, speaking different dialects or Boli Tholi retaining their authenticity and unique flavour. One can empathize with every character of the Daastan Hijraton ki, largely because of the way Jawaid brings each to life on the stage with a story one can easily identify with eg. the helplessness of the uneducated, hapless Shubrati from Meerut whose passport has been confiscated by his employer to ensure that he constantly remains in his employer’s stranglehold. With Batiliwala, the has-been don, one is transported to the underbelly of Mumbai and with the Bengali-speaking Banerjee to Kolkata…The magic of Jawaid Danish speaking all these languages and dialects effortlessly, truly holds us spellbound and in his sway throughout! His voice control and modulation as he seamlessly switches from one character into another, is truly commendable.

All in all, Daastan Hijraton ki is a masterclass act by Jawaid Danish!!! The Q & A Session that followed his performance at the University of Hyderabad on 10 April, 2017, when he patiently and comprehensively answered audience queries was interesting and enlightening. I feel fortunate that I got the golden opportunity to watch Daastan Hijraton ki on two consecutive days!!!

About Jawaid Danish
Jawaid Danish is a renowned theatre personality and poet from Toronto, Canada where he has been living for over three decades. He is the Founder and Artistic Director of Rang Manch, that promotes Indian theatre in Canada. He also organises the annual Hindustani Drama Festival, that showcases the varied and rich heritage of Indian theatre. All the leading theatre personalities from India, have been a part of this annual event.

A celebrated author of 12 books in Urdu, Jawaid Danish’s rich repertoire of works includes drama, travelogues and poetry collections. While he mostly writes in Urdu, his plays have been translated into English, Swedish, Hindi, Bengali and Kannada. Some of the plays from his award-winning book ‘Hijrat Ke Tamashey’ were adapted for a 13-episode serial produced by Omni 2 T.V., Toronto.  His latest book of plays is ‘Chalees Baba Ek Chor’. Besides, he has also produced a film ‘Bada Shayer Chota Aadmi’ the first Indo-Canadian Urdu Film.

Jawaid Danish is a recipient of several prestigious awards notably The Civic Arts Award – Pickering 2010, South Asian Theatre Festival Award – New Jersey 2008 and the Shiromani Sahitya Award – India 2007 and more recently, Sadaf International Award, Doha Qatar, 2016, Ghalib Award-Drama, New Delhi India, 2016 and AmuAward of Excellence, Toronto Canada, 2016.

My association with Jawaid Danish began when I was compiling poems for ‘Amaravati Poetic Prism 2016’ the International Multilingual Poetry Anthology published by the Cultural Centre of Viayawada & Amaravati (CCVA). When I requested him for his Urdu poem, Jawaid not only readily sent me his poem but also shared a recording of the poem in his rich baritone that also had the accompaniment of a singer who beautifully added a soulful musical dimension to his Urdu poem ‘Chehrey’. When this recording was played at the International Multilingual Poets’ Meet at Vijayawada on 13 November, 2016, it received a standing ovation and a spontaneous request for an encore. Such is the magic of Jawaid’s poetry and presentation!

Jawaid Danish is currently in India visiting various places and presenting his Daastan Hijraton ki (Epic of Migration) in the Dastangoi format, besides participating in literary events. To Dastangoi, often a narration of episodes from epics, fairy tales or fantasies, Jawaid Danish has given a contemporary touch by speaking of migration – its pains, pressures and pleasures! To him, goes the credit of reviving this unique story telling format in the West in all its glory, finery and fanfare, with his own theatrical touches and flourishes, donning the traditional costume worn by the Dastangos of the yore and thus recreating the magic of Dastangoi!

Jawaid Danish
Artistic Director, RangManch-Canada
Director, Panorama India
647.970.3270
jawaiddanish@hotmail.com
|||Padmaja Iyengar
Poet, Writer & Reviewer Hon. Lit. Advisor
The Cultural Centre of Vijayawada & Amaravati
Reach: +91 9948269211
Content courtesy: RareMyLiterature.Com


Poetry by Ryan Quinn Flanagan

Ryan Quinn Flanagan
They said some nice things

about the body in the casket
stiff, like how you remember your grandparents,
even in life;
the persistent reassuring way their necks never seemed
to turn, as though they had been cut from marble
and left for statues

virtuous because the young do not understand
the bedroom, and the old run from it
like a schoolyard bully concocted of tongues
and pillows

and no one had anything bad to say
because it was not right for
such occasions

taking turns sharing their stories

the priest with more of a say than most
because he held the keys to the
house

and when they were done
a long line formed to walk by the casket
with all those stories fresh
in their heads;

everyone knowing the man,
and never the grave.



The Red Queen

could not be seen
all at once
because it was said
her beauty would
be too great
as to blind any
viewer

and when I put her
on the front of my book
I had you in mind

that clumsy mudslide way
you ogle everything
into easy pocket change
relevance

and how
you would scream
when your eyes were cut
from your head

and lead away
in a beverage cooler
over many time zones
on ice

by the trigger men

of modern
science.



Equine to the Nines

I had crossed into the old city
skipping rocks over chipped cobblestone
and the jazz from inside the club
made me stop and listen with tired ears
that had not eaten in three days
and the sound my belly made
was the sound of the poor,
some deep unruly grumbling
under shirt,
and I decided to group it in with
the percussion section and then
I felt a little better,
watching the horse drawn carriages
shit in the street
as the young lovers that sat behind it
enjoyed the sights and ignored
the smell.



Dreary Fox

Dreary fox
your stockingless leg marvels
no longer bend at
the knee

denizens of the bad beer
down throaty smoke-charmed
gullets

and there was a time when I pretended
to know you
like those cards that come with a new wallet
and you don’t throw them out,
they are alien to you and still somehow part
of the daily working paradigm
the same way eyebrows can be plucked
like the strings of a guitar

for a song
that with crush you
with its catchy trash compactor

emptiness.

Spotlight: Scott Thomas Outlar

Poetry by Scott Thomas Outlar Scott
Thomas Outlar hosts the site 17Numa.wordpress.com where links to his published poetry, fiction, essays, interviews, and books can be found. He is a Best of the Net and Pushcart Prize nominee whose work has appeared in hundreds of literary venues, both in the United States and internationally. Scott serves as an editor for Walking Is Still Honest Press, The Blue Mountain Review, The Peregrine Muse, and Novelmasters.
Scott Thomas Outlar
Numbers Game
  
Let’s stay awake
through all hours of the night,
here with the pillows,
and talk about heavy subjects
such as whether or not
soulmates actually exist;

or

let’s get sloppy drunk
to receive the revelation
that the sky is set to fall
in eleven hours.

Age is just a number,
it’s true…
until it kills you.

Platitudes and empty promises
are not one and the same.
I’ve consumed them both in triple doses.
One keeps me high as a kite
most of the time,
and the other always
leaves me in the lurch.

Prophecies and hand-me-downs
predict a righteous future.
I saw you up there screaming for your silver.
Even if you collect a pile
of jewels and gold,
you’ll still be starving and cold
by the time you taste your grave.



Bacchanalian Sundown with S’mores
  
The only person that some people
will lie to in life is themselves.
Even this
is bound to catch up sometimes.

Others are far more indiscriminate
with the way in which they spread their wicked wares.
But such as these
are easy to see
from three thousand miles away
with ten thousand rays of light
shining bright, shining hard, shining true.

They always catch themselves on fire
in the end,
and some of us
love to watch
a good flame burn.

So let us laugh
and dance
with wine
and marshmallows.

So let us sing
and weep
with tears
of honest joy.



Zero-Point Transition
  
This is not a poem about me
even though I have already used the word me twice
and I will use the word I thrice
by the time it’s through

Lose your smaller self
to the source
and you just might find
something bigger
smiling back
at your simpler soul



Floor It 

When red turns to green,
it’s not just a sign of new buds
shifting into leaves during spring.


Poems by Louis Kasatkin

Louis is editorial administrator at www.DestinyPoets.co.uk and founder of Destiny Poets and in his spare time is a civic, community, political activist, blogger and general nuisance to the status quo!
 Louis Kasatkin

Notes on the Lives of Dreams

Years tick away with
their incessant urgency,
days expire in a breath;
There is not world enough
to encompass all that
has been dreamt;
Unrequited dreams are
promises of a future
aborted in the womb;
I am left raging
with the fire
of a thousand unborn Suns.

Notes on the Poignancy of Suffering

We shared
a feigned nostalgia
for those things
that none of us
could remember
or would even care to;
Of how,
the world broke our hearts
and left them scattered
in a thousand pieces
for collectors of detritus
in some far distant future
to catalogue,
for someone
to publish learned papers
on what all
those broken pieces
meant.

The Poetry of Pramila Venkateswaran

Review by Usha Kishore
Pramila Venkateswaran
Pramila Venkateswaran, poet laureate of Suffolk County, Long Island (2013-15), and author of Thirtha (Yuganta Press, 2002) Behind Dark Waters (Plain View Press, 2008), Draw Me Inmost (Stockport Flats, 2009), Trace (Finishing Line Press, 2011), Thirteen Days to Let Go (Aldrich Press, 2015), and Slow Ripening (Local Gems, 2016) is an award winning poet who teaches English and Women’s Studies at Nassau Community College, New York. Author of numerous essays on poetics as well as creative non-fiction, she is also the 2011 Walt Whitman Birthplace Association Long Island Poet of the Year.
Multicultural fluidity and a resonant voice that bridges the earthy and the esoteric
Pramila Venkateswaran’s poetry touches the heart, inspires the mind and stirs the soul. It is  characteristic of diasporic writing where Indian myth meets Western form, narrative traverses continents and assimilation mingles with difference.  Venkateswaran’s two chapbooks Thirteen Days to Let Go (Kelsay Books, Aldrich Press, 2015) and Slow Ripening (Local Gems, 2016) exhibit multicultural fluidity and a resonant voice that bridges the earthy and the esoteric. 

Slow Ripening is an exploration of the rites of passage, from youth to age and the wisdom that comes with age and experience; here, the poet draws comparisons with the natural world, brings back memories and poetises Indian myth.   Myth is elicited in “Mirages,” a poem, based on the Indian epic, Mahabharatha, which narrates the story of the warring Pandavas and Kauravas and evinces how the seeds of war are sown into the mind of man.  The poem opens with Duryodhan mistaking water for blue tiles in his cousins’ palace of illusions at Indraprastha and closes with the grave foreshadowing of war.  In the current geo-political climate, the poem seems to be a metonym for the exchange of rhetoric and war mongering among nations:

…this time with his flowing robes
he stepped into the shock of
water and the wicked laughter
of his cousins, egged on by their friend,
Krishna, who knew it only takes a seed
for war to ripen in one’s heart.


Indian superstitions are a living myth.  People believe in them so intensely that it affects their day to day lives.  In “Hiding from the Eclipse,” Venkateswaran explores, in the form of a childhood memory, one of the many superstitions associated with the lunar eclipse.  The belief that pregnant women have to conceal themselves from the eclipse, lest their unborn babies are affected, is described in:

“Does the moon think baby is the sun?”
“She might,” said mother, and I imagined
the moon sailing into our street and into
mother’s  ball of a belly and sailing out again,
bloated, and I was glad we were hiding
from the moon’s voracious appetite.


 “What is April Ripe For?”  is a ghazal and draws from the poet’s  personal experience of Swamiji jokes, her teacher’s relief of the ending of semesters, exams and the celebration of success and her musings of the natural world in “dawn parading the magic ink of April.”  The poem has a Chaucerian ring to it, reminding one of: Whan that Aprille with his shoures soote/ The droghte of Marche hath perced to the roote/And bathed every veyne in swich licour.

Venkateswaran’s lines echo in unison, also bringing in a plethora of visual and auditory images of the Spring season such as bird migration and flowers, while employing pathetic fallacy in thoughts that rejuvenate the mind of man and verse rebirthing in poets:  Mallards  bobbing on speckled waves, artic terns floating in the wind,  geese honking April April and purple crocuses showing their faces among garden trash.  The poem closes, in true ghazal style, pertaining to the title of the collection, relating to aging and experience:
                                                                
            The gloom of winter has withered my skin and robbed my heart.
            If Pramila is to be restored, it can only happen in April. 

In contrast, “Dear Cosmetic Companies” is a pungently humorous epistle that writes the aging process of the female body.  In true ecriture feminine, the poetic persona examines herself in the mirror and discovers grey hair above the temples, “crows’ feet” “blackheads popping like mustard seeds” and the “pale stretch of skin, breathing blue, rising toward dipping nipples.”  The poetic voice then appeals to the cosmetic companies for eternal youth and calls for the universal understanding of “female thingamajigs.”

            I am writing to you to save me, dear deities
            of eternal ripeness of youth,
            work your magic, make my skin supple,
            my face glow with the gold of your creams…
            …send me potions for my twin mounds
            to assume their rightful glory… 

The reflection on the current state of the world and the USA comes across in powerful poems like “Two Voices” and “He Runs, the Policeman Pulls out his Rifle.”  The poet ponders on gun crime, terrorism, history (Jallianwalla Bagh) and what it is like to live in America:

…I don’t want to hear Guantanamo,
Hiroshima, Birmingham, now we can walk
our streets in peace, Fergusson, South Carolina,
shoot –to-kill-black men-like-rabid-dogs powerful
for after all we are ashes, ashes, we all fall down,
a free society.    (“Two Voices”)

Other poems with impact are the “Grand Piano in Gaza” and the ekphrastic “Magritte’s Le Viol (The Rape), 1934.” The former is a villanelle, highly structural, with its five tercets and a quatrain and its repeated rhymes and refrains; but poignantly moving as it is based on the BBC report of the salvaging of the grand concert piano of the Nawras Theatre in northern Gaza:

Some here reject music as haram, as if it would cloud
Reason. But the bombs missed a Sara or Miriam
As she played the keys now waiting to be restored.

The ekphrastic poem outlines the predicament of womanhood and its susceptibility to rape and violation; this is an angry female poem:

You painted breasts in place of her eyes,
an untrimmed vagina instead of a nose,
a rectum for the mouth,

as if to say anatomy is all the rapist sees.
Or did you want to say that men
see only her sex on woman’s face?

The defence of modern poetry in “Gripes about Poetry’s Dire Prediction,” reminds one of Jonathan’s Swift’s satire The Battle of the Books: 


Those lines from tradition that you think is real art
have misogyny and racism stiffened into rigor mortis
after modern poetry waged its war on the battlefield
of free verse, rescuing readers on the
front lines plagued
by friendly fire, who thought change was the
death of poetry.
                                                         
and the “Museum of Ex-es” makes you chuckle at the  humorous reality of  life:

            Time will help the ex-es become extinct like dinos
            and decades or centuries from now, their bones
            will be placed in a museum of Ex-es, so the jilted,
            divorced, separated and spurned can visit
to feel the warm twist of schadenfreude.

Thirteen Days to Let Go,  a threnody to the poet’s father, is a collection that echoes the highly personal voice of the poet, highlighting her ambiguous relationship with her father, her Indian background, her musings on life and the diasporic Indian’s dilemma of home and abroad.  One of the most conspicuous poems of the chapbook is the eponymous Thirteen Days to Let Go.  Set in 13 sections, the poem chronicles the Tamil Brahman funerary rites brought to the reader in striking imagery and vivid metaphors. The poem is an outpouring of grief, anger and broken relationship and at the same time, a reconciliation with the death of a parent.  This poem like the funeral is a ritual, it grieves for the departed, recalls memories, offers rites and prayers for the deceased and celebrates life.   Opening with the poignant line: “Finally I am in your absence,” the poem progresses to the numbness that overwhelms an offspring on parental bereavement in the second section, when the poetic persona flies home to attend her father’s funeral:

            Flying across an ocean and two continents
confused between day and night,
knees stiff, throat dry, I sat frozen
trying to focus on your struggle
toward death.

The poet emphasises on the patriarchal Hindu funerary rites in Section 3.  Traditionally Hindu women are not empowered to conduct funerary rites for their parents; that right rests solely with the male offspring:

            I don’t carry
            the flaming branch
to the pyre,

but light the fire of words
awakening the soul

to the numinous. 

The poet however wants to exercise the right of language in order to awaken the deceased father’s soul to the numinous.  There is regret here and a degree of pain in the differences with the father, which now needs to be resolved in his absence: 

            Where is your disconnection?
            Your frustration and mine?
            The in-between years?

            …The well of anger has dried.
            Joy I keep fenced like
            the endangered.

The combatting of loss and the coming to terms with it are brilliantly expressed in:
           
            My anguish
                        is a fog I carry
                                                in my chest.

The ritual of a Hindu funeral is listed and the loss is measured in:

            Three rows of ritual rice balls:
            You are in the first row.  Your ancestors
            cast next to you gleam like planets

Mantras chanted at the funeral become words of the poem: these words I speak to reach your realm/…these mantras are alphabets of longing. 

In this collection, the poet’s pre-occupation with death is synonymous with her mourning.  for her father: 

            This winter, death is at every corner.
            In every house, a ghost clings until
the bier vanishes behind gray trees.  (“Ceremony”)

Death pervades the whole collection.  Even a boat trip in Kerala usher in thoughts of drowning:
           
            What if the boat splits, the motor shuts,
            and we drown, burqas, saris, shirts
            spreading, later washing upon some unknown shore…  (“Sailing to Fort Kochi”)

“Winds rip our time together” and “murmurs refuse to fade” as memory haunts the mourning and the poet finds it difficult to reconcile.  However, reflections on life and nature allude to our own limited time on earth as the poet ponders on mortality.  The temporal and spiritual dimensions are measured out in a Dickinsonian undertone: 
           
            How long will grid and clock march me?
            I am wood cut to size, anima escaped
            from the reining in.    (“The Unfolding”)

Usha Kishore
 Venkateswaran’s voice has a resilient power in its reflections.  She mediates wilfully on nature, life and memories.  Her diction is sophisticated, her sensibility relatable to any reader of poetry, in the West or the East.  Her verse has an ambience that draws the reader into her poetical world that lies somewhere between India and the USA, replete with images of cultural and geographical significance:
             By the waters of the Hudson
            two thoughts embraced
            out of the sacred union
            was born
            light

            …You are Noor.  You are light. 
            (“You are Noor, You are Light”)