The
last reading for the year 2015, a poetry session, was held on December 4.
Though
there were only five members who made it to the reading, eight poets
were read and discussed. Zakia said that the session was unexpectedly vibrant in spite of the curtailed attendance.
Sunil, Priya, Gopa, Zakia, Thommo
Priya
read Afro-American poet Langston Hughes, who has been read before.
She read his most famous poem – The
Negro Speaks Of Rivers,
written when he was just 17. The
others poems she read were – You
and Your Whole Race, feet O’jesus, The City and Park Bench.
An
American poet, novelist, playwright and activist Hughes is credited
for introducing the new literary art form – jazz poetry, as a
leader of the Harlem Renaissance. Hughes homosexuality remained an issue amongst the literati of his time.
Sunil, Priya, Gopa, Zakia, Thommo
Priya
said she read Hughes after meeting a black artist , with the same
name, working at a residence in Vagamon, a hill station located in Kottayam-Idukki border of Idukki district of Kerala. The artist told her that
crimes against the Blacks continued in America as before and that
there had been no respite as generally believed.
Sunil
said that even in Bangalore the African community is treated with
suspicion adding that there is some good reason behind that. They
have often been found guilty of crimes such as drug peddling and
related violence. Gopa said that the AAP government in New
Delhi too had unearthed a drug racket involving Africans.
Sunil
said that an African from a small country in Africa who was training
in Kochi rued the fact that nobody here spoke with him. He felt
lonely and ostracised.
Thommo
narrated about an African who he met during his Kolkata days and that
the man was a helpful character. But after he returned to Nigeria,
which saw violence later, nothing more was heard from him.
Gopa
read four poets who have written about sisters. She said that she has
two sisters and they are close, but lately she was having some
differences with one of her sisters over issues of parenting their
children. She felt it was a good time to select poems that deal with
relationship between sisters. She read My
Sister Laura by
Spike Milligan, Brother
and Sister
By Lewis Caroll, The
Sisters
by Rainer Maria Rilke and One
Sister I have in the House
by Emily Dickinson.
The
mix of poems and poets read by Gopa were widely discussed, especially
Dickinson’s poem about her sister in law and confidante, Sue.
Sunil
read G. K. Chesterton whose wit was once again enjoyed by the group.
The poems were – The
Englishman
and A
Ballad of Abbreviations.
True to Chesterton's ethos, both poems were about true blue Britishness and
about their competitors in the English language, the Americans.
St
George, the patron saint of England was discussed and Sunil said that
the St George Church in Edapally is associated with powerful graces; he has
been saved many times by his faith in Saint George.
Zakia
read the popular 13th Century Iranian Sufi poet Rumi. Jalāl
ad-Dīn Muhammad Rūmī, also known as Jalāl ad-Dīn Muhammad
Balkhī, Mawlānā/Mevlânâ, Mevlevî/Mawlawī, and more popularly
simply as Rumi, was a 13th-century Persian poet, jurist, Islamic
scholar, theologian, and Sufi mystic. Rumi's poems have been widely translated into many of the
world's languages . He has been described as the 'most
popular poet' in the United States, in fact as a 'best selling poet.' Rumi's
works were written mostly in Persian.
Thommo
read D.H. Lawrence’s A
Bad Beginning. The
suggestive circumstances in the poem were discussed animatedly. While
Sunil wondered if there was a reference to a third person in the
poem, Gopa and Priya felt that a husband was giving an ultimatum to
his wife who perhaps had a roving eye? Priya felt that the poem was
written on the morning of what is referred to as the Morning After.
Thommo said that Austria was a landlocked country and hence the sound
of the steamer horn in the poem must be a reference to Europe, or else to a boat on one of the many lakes in Austria.
As
there were few readers the group felt that there was time for
discussing the poem and poet but as all discussions go astray the
group digressed into other subjects.
Everyone
wished each other Merry Christmas and Happy New Year at the close of
the session.
Sunil, Gopa, Zakia, Thommo
Sunil
and Zakia have selected The
Long Road to the Deep North
By Richard Flaganan as their novel for 2016. Thommo and Priya have selected The
Gropes
by Tom Sharpe, Joe and Kum Kum have selected Brideshead
Revisited
by Evelyn Waugh. The other groups have to send in their selections.
The
next reading date in January 2016 was not discussed but tentatively set
for Friday in the third week.
Poems
Read
Priya
Langston
Hughes (1902
– 1967)
The
Negro Speaks of Rivers
I’ve
known rivers:
I’ve
known rivers ancient as the world and older than the flow of human
blood in human veins.
My
soul has grown deep like the rivers.
I
bathed in the Euphrates when dawns were young.
I
built my hut near the Congo and it lulled me to sleep.
I
looked upon the Nile and raised the pyramids above it.
I
heard the singing of the Mississippi when Abe Lincoln went down to
New Orleans, and I’ve seen its muddy bosom turn all golden in the
sunset.
I’ve
known rivers:
Ancient,
dusky rivers.
My
soul has grown deep like the rivers.
You
and your whole race.
You
and your whole race.
Look
down upon the town in which you live
And
be ashamed.
Look
down upon white folks
And
upon yourselves
And
be ashamed
That
such supine poverty exists there,
That
such stupid ignorance breeds children there
Behind
such humble shelters of despair—
That
you yourselves have not the sense to care
Nor
the manhood to stand up and say
I
dare you to come one step nearer, evil world,
With
your hands of greed seeking to touch my throat, I dare you to come
one step nearer me:
When
you can say that
you
will be free!
Feet
o' Jesus
At
the feet o' Jesus,
Sorrow
like a sea.
Lordy,
let yo' mercy
Come
driftin' down on me.
At
the feet o' Jesus
At
yo' feet I stand.
O,
ma little Jesus,
Please
reach out yo' hand.
Park
Bench
I
live on a park bench.
You,
Park Avenue.
Hell
of a distance
Between
us two.
I
beg a dime for dinner-
You
got a butler and maid.
But
I'm wakin' up!
Say,
ain't you afraid
That
I might, just maybe,
In
a year or two,
Move
on over
To
Park Avenue?
The
City
In
the morning the city
Spreads
its wings
Making
a song
In
stone that sings.
In
the evening the city
Goes
to bed
Hanging
lights
Above
its head.
Gopa
Spike Milligan (1918 – 2002)
My
Sister Laura
My
sister Laura's bigger than me
And
lifts me up quite easily.
I
can't lift her, I've tried and tried;
She
must have something heavy inside.
– Spike
Milligan
Lewis Carroll (1832 – 1898)
Brother
And Sister
"SISTER,
sister, go to bed!
Go
and rest your weary head."
Thus
the prudent brother said.
"Do
you want a battered hide,
Or
scratches to your face applied?"
Thus
his sister calm replied.
"Sister,
do not raise my wrath.
I'd
make you into mutton broth
As
easily as kill a moth"
The
sister raised her beaming eye
And
looked on him indignantly
And
sternly answered, "Only try!"
Off
to the cook he quickly ran.
"Dear
Cook, please lend a frying-pan
To
me as quickly as you can."
And
wherefore should I lend it you?"
"The
reason, Cook, is plain to view.
I
wish to make an Irish stew."
"What
meat is in that stew to go?"
"My
sister'll be the contents!"
"Oh"
"You'll
lend the pan to me, Cook?"
"No!"
Moral:
Never stew your sister.
– Lewis
Carroll
Rainer Maria Rilke (1875 – 1926)
The
Sisters
Look
how the same possibilities
unfold
in their opposite demeanors,
as
though one saw different ages
passing
through two identical rooms.
Each
thinks that she props up the other,
while
resting wearily on her support;
and
they can't make use of one another,
for
they cause blood to rest on blood,
when
as in the former times they softly touch
and
try, along the tree-lined walks,
to
feel themselves conducted and to lead;
ah,
the ways they go are not the same.
– Rainer
Maria Rilke
Emily Dickinson (1830 – 1886)
One
Sister Have I In Our House
One
Sister have I in our house,
And
one, a hedge away.
There's
only one recorded,
But
both belong to me.
One
came the road that I came—
And
wore my last year's gown—
The
other, as a bird her nest,
Builded
our hearts among.
She
did not sing as we did—
It
was a different tune—
Herself
to her a music
As
Bumble bee of June.
Today
is far from Childhood—
But
up and down the hills
I
held her hand the tighter—
Which
shortened all the miles—
And
still her hum
The
years among,
Deceives
the Butterfly;
Still
in her Eye
The
Violets lie
Mouldered
this many May.
I
spilt the dew—
But
took the morn—
I
chose this single star
From
out the wide night's numbers—
Sue
- forevermore!
– Emily
Dickinson
G.K Chesterton (1874 – 1936)
Sunil
G.K
Chesterton
The
Englishman
St
George he was for England,
And
before he killed the dragon
He
drank a pint of English ale
Out
of an English flagon.
For
though he fast right readily
In
hair-shirt or in mail,
It
isn’t safe to give him cakes
Unless
you give him ale.
St
George he was for England,
And
right gallantly set free
The
lady left for dragon’s meat
And
tied up to a tree;
But
since he stood for England
And
knew what England means,
Unless
you give him bacon
You
mustn’t give him beans.
St
George he is for England,
And
shall wear the shield he wore
When
we go out in armour
With
battle-cross before.
But
though he is jolly company
And
very pleased to dine,
It
isn’t safe to give him nuts
Unless
you give him wine.
A
Ballad of Abbreviations
The
American's a hustler, for he says so,
And
surely the American must know.
He
will prove to you with figures why it pays so
Beginning
with his boyhood long ago.
When
the slow-maturing anecdote is ripest,
He'll
dictate it like a Board of Trade Report,
And
because he has no time to call a typist,
He
calls her a Stenographer for short.
He
is never known to loiter or malinger,
He
rushes, for he knows he has "a date" ;
He
is always on the spot and full of ginger,
Which
is why he is invariably late.
When
he guesses that it's getting even later,
His
vocabulary's vehement and swift,
And
he yells for what he calls the Elevator,
A
slang abbreviation for a lift.
Then
nothing can be nattier or nicer
For
those who like a light and rapid style.
Than
to trifle with a work of Mr Dreiser
As
it comes along in wagons by the mile.
He
has taught us what a swift selective art meant
By
description of his dinners and all that,
And
his dwelling, which he says is an Apartment,
Because
he cannot stop to say a flat.
We
may whisper of his wild precipitation,
That
it's speed in rather longer than a span,
But
there really is a definite occasion
When
he does not use the longest word he can.
When
he substitutes, I freely make admission,
One
shorter and much easier to spell ;
If
you ask him what he thinks of Prohibition,
He
may tell you quite succinctly it is Hell.
Rumi (1207 – 1273)
Zakia
Rumi
Poems?
D.H. Lawrence (1885–1930)
Thommo
D.H.
Lawrence (1885–1930)
A
Bad Beginning
THE
YELLOW sun steps over the mountain-top
And
falters a few short steps across the lake—
Are
you awake?
See,
glittering on the milk-blue, morning lake
They
are laying the golden racing-track of the sun;
The
day has begun.
The
sun is in my eyes, I must get up.
I
want to go, there’s a gold road blazes before
My
breast—which is so sore.
What?—your
throat is bruised, bruised with my kisses?
Ah,
but if I am cruel what then are you?
I
am bruised right through.
What
if I love you!—This misery
Of
your dissatisfaction and misprision
Stupefies
me.
Ah
yes, your open arms! Ah yes, ah yes,
You
would take me to your breast!—But no,
You
should come to mine,
It
were better so.
Here
I am—get up and come to me!
Not
as a visitor either, nor a sweet
And
winsome child of innocence; nor
As
an insolent mistress telling my pulse’s beat.
Come
to me like a woman coming home
To
the man who is her husband, all the rest
Subordinate
to this, that he and she
Are
joined together for ever, as is best.
Behind
me on the lake I hear the steamer drumming
From
Austria. There lies the world, and here
Am
I. Which way are you coming?
(From
Look! We Have Come Through! 1918)
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