see me through doors that are voices carrying asphalt when it should be loam - dream me through doors that are voices, silting hue - when will the sun sit with me, remember sunken sky & play with half-lives? see me through lives that are doors that are voices carrying the silt of days, banks that are salt & hue -
how much burden do the ghosts of everyday scars carry? the faint smell of their nonpresence is all it takes to weigh down their mourn theirs is the past and the circle theirs is the next day and the next rounding off the circle the scars of nonbeing go about their childlike ways tracking noons fearing the thought of the coming dark and the next & the weight of it all -
In gorges, dragons voice age-old explanations. In pools ten hundred feet deep, you hear them. Cruel waves keep strict accounts, drinking blood to nurture children and grandchildren, but without ancient Kao Yao’s gentle justice, feasting on prison-drowned spirits is empty. Something there, mystery haunting darkness, the futile talk of ghosts goes on and ever on, gorges hearing cascades cry lament, gorges mourning widowed gibbons. There’s nothing human in the sound of gorges, gorges where blades of churning water slice at themselves, and now, sage hearts all hidden away here, who marshals these bitter and drowned pleas? - Meng Chiao, from Laments of the Gorges
The tidyness of verse: grain that is smaller than earth's witnessing girth home that is Larger than the pronouns of wasted wish sound that is vice, skin and rupture this is The tidyness of verse sharp as the smell of knowing the birth of grain, home & sound -
what seeks the would of war, the hallowed gorge1 & spill of light in want of light?2 the seethe that seeks the feel of night furiously free, joyously I3 seek alone the crux of flight who seeks the should of war?
(1) Who can welcome laments of the gorges, gorges saying What will come will come. - Meng Chiao, from "Laments of the Gorges"
I hear it singing, / I sit up, awake. / It is a mountain rising, / lovely and immense.
I see myself / in the shine of it / and I want light.
I am full / with greed. Give to me
– Linda Hogan
maiN hooN aazaad —- mujhe fikar naheeN hai koi
aik ghanghor sakooN, aik kaDi tanhaai
mera andoKhta hai –
what seeks the retch of war, the hallowed veil & tempered scream of make & remake? the seethe that seeks the harm of arms those arms that brook no care to take, retake and build & bake who seeks the retch of war?
protector of secrets1, harbinger, truth-in-stain as the scream that wills as a parable illegit as a mountain-stone rolling threads of incomprehension So that in the depths of the darkest night The sun shines forever a tell us that story again2, of the flow and its night as the sandgrain that wills as a parable illegit as a mountain-stone rolling waves of inconstancy So that in the depths of the darkest night The sun shines forever worshiping love alone3, subsisting in subsistence alone, so that in the depths of the darkest night, the sun shines forever - harbinger, truth-in-stain parable illegit as a mountain-stone, I, sandgrain, subsist, scream -
(1)– from ‘haraami’ by Meeraji
qudrat ke puraane bhedoN may jo bhaid chhupaae chhup na sakay, is bhaid ki tu rakhwaali hai
(a)– from ‘Songs That Cannot Be Silenced’ by Hien Luong from Vietnam
So that in the depths of the darkest night
The sun shines forever
(2)– from ‘aik thee aurat’ by Meeraji
puraani kahaani may kya lutf aae, hamay aaj kis nay kaha tha — puraani kahaani sunaao
(3)– from ‘haraami’ by Meeraji
jo chaahay reet ki baat kahay, hum peet hi ke matwaalay haiN
Used to be the bird settled down on the green you sowed, its chirp saying thanks Gaia glad now when it perches on some green, there is a riddle for the sky - and you - to solve how can the bird even speak to the sun's flare with such flutter? Gaia spins an urgent tale no sooner has it been said than the words are felt futile then forgotten
koi kahe ye kis ne kaha tha, keh do jo kuch kehna hai
meeraji keh kar pachtaaya aur phir kehna bhool gaya
who said say what you have to say?Meeraji
I said, regretted, then forgot to say
- The classical is weight as well as fetter, the gravitas choking the possible
- Meeraji (1912-1949) can most aptly be described as a “tragic” poet, where the tragic is silent on the joy infusing his song
- i. The guardian of the past is calm / standing fearless and firm on earth
ii. magar ye maazi ka paasbaaN pur sukoon dil se / zameeN pe ik be-niyaaz andaaz may hai qaaim
iii. Father fear, can you calm the
— possibility of fear,
— the child alone in the knowledge of fire,
— the woman quiet as the burn within rages without?
It took calm to hoard sea-blessing, earth-char, mountain-hark it took all the strangeness that the mussels could gather midstream to bring Song to flute, need to burn, soothe to tremor it took hearsay, birdflit, hearttick to overcome flight, reduce roadtear, become multipludinous -
when you spin the tale, the x-axis meeting the why of forlorn metastasized asymptotes of utmost hubris, the storyline mutates into song mutates into symbols that retch out meaning from the shell that numbed as it echoed – when you tiptoed on the storytellers tail ouching the eastern spirits sense of unwantoncy, the tarred streets cried for old ground compelling the poem to tend to the low – the burn of roots & the crafting of impossible syllable –