Friday, February 27, 2009

The Veiled Suite

In my next life, I am going to have a life. I spent the day reading Satyajit Ray’s memoirs. Many thanks to a friend for forgetting the book twice. No, I haven’t seen his movies. Yes, poor-philistine-me. That’s going to change soon. But, I have read the Shahid Ali poem about the Apu trilogy. Also, this Shahid Ali extract from his collected poems, published all but recently:

I wait for him to look straight into my eyes
This is our only chance for magnificence.
If he, carefully, upon this hour of ice,
will let us almost completely crystallize,
tell me, who but I could chill his dreaming night.
Where he turns, what will not appear but my eyes?
Wherever he looks, the sky is only eyes.
Whatever news he has, it is of the sea.

Saturday, February 7, 2009


The snow buried your balled cries.
Acetone corroded your belljar.
But preserved the emptiness.
Stifling full.
Rolled back your eyes never blink.
Never miss a thing.
It means nothing.

Stop crying now.
Here is a hand.
Virgin honey.
Fructose. Sweetness! Sweetness!
Till it becomes bland.
It means nothing.

It is summer now.
April is so cruel indeed.
Your forgetful snow melts.
The glazed ocean of memory.
It hurts the eyes.
I listen to the drops of your deception.
And wait for the tide of your knife.
It means nothing.

Insomnia is anesthetized.
I am. I am. I am.

Sylvia Plath ended her life in the February of ’63. It is fitting that I just finished reading her autobiographical novel “Belljar” now. I also came across a poem that I had not previously read at the end of the book. Here it is:

“I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)”