saranyan bee
saranyan bee Poems
There are many bridges in this place
the one I see I shall have to cross,
what if long,
arduous and pebble-some,
...
I wait in the western beach
for the lonely sunset,
watching sunset is a rich affair
...
I was born,
then like a dropp from a large cesspool
escaping to find a course
in the loneliness of wisdom,
...
I have been watching the gardener,
All Tuesdays, that’s when he comes along
To tend to the little landscaped lawn
And the garden in this motley town.
...
Three house flies
There were three flies in my room!
Three house flies,
Harmless by the groom!
...
My mind is a dead fish
Over-power’d by the oil slick,
It cannot sink,
It cannot breathe,
...
I go to see the big Chief
of a big ticket company
with big debts
and big ticket lenders.
...
The care-taker calls me to have my breakfast
just milk, corn-flakes, brown bread toasted
with butter and then jam,
fruits because I dont eat eggs.
...
My son’s friends’ dad passed away
last evening right in the ambulance
on the way up the hospital.
Trapped in a traffic snarl
...
In some crevice in one segment
of my brain
a desire to walk through
...
Another wintry noon
under the gray umbrella,
the yellow sign board
at the patio reads in pulp letters
...
I lift my black-shell specs
off the nose bridge,
index finger holds it over my brows,
as if my forehead where my brain,
...
Near about the refectory
next to my office today,
a pigeon makes her nest
in the tucked away hide-out
...
children at the marble game
marble game by the railway tracks,
tracks close to speeding suburbs
speeding ones, kissing dangers,
...
this is one journey
we must go it lonely,
flowers and chrysanthemums,
so must we all -
...
Why is gold more sensuous than brass
depth of all emotions
mercury in the eyes of my lass?
...
At the next bend
shaped after a hairpin
I had the hunch
to see
...
we sit on a television cable
hanging vertically
down the roof of a four floor
apartment building,
...
saranyan bee Biography
Hi, I came to learn English literature by default. Dont ask me questions, these things happen. But the works of great many that dominated the curriculum of the seventies, travelled with me in an unknown manner. Later on, when a a good friend egged me to write, my facny for Myth, Form and Rhyme gave way to Freshness, Simplicity and penchant for repuditaing the popular perceptions in which we fool ourselves. Modern poetry fascinates me, what is modern? Charles Bukowski, Raymond Carver inspire me a geat deal in a specific manner. The simplicity of their writings left me sort of unnerved each time, every time, whenever I read again and again. I differ with them in as much as that I would like to lay less emphasis on the 'place' and 'immediacy'. I thought in general, poems are supposed to have Universal and Eternal presence and language to serve only as much as the ink. What a poem invokes once to some group of people at some point of time, ought to invoke similar emotions to all the persons at all points of time, even if translated. I like to draw for inferance, the simple lines of a Goanese poet (Forgive me I forget his name, this one is translated from a Indian language Konkanese) .... It roughly translates (he tells God of death who has come to take him away) .... 'leave me tonight, O Lord, leave me tonight because tonight my mother has made me fish with cocoanut rice and cahsewnut brew, leave me tonight Let me savour the dish, sleep well and be with you tommorow' Have I said enough?)
The Best Poem Of saranyan bee
Crossing Bridges
There are many bridges in this place
the one I see I shall have to cross,
what if long,
arduous and pebble-some,
winds into fogging shore
like a treacherous column?
uncertainty is a sloth intruder,
plucks my guts
like strings of guttural lyre
out of tune with itself,
I knock with knuckles
the whale of it’s span to be certain,
it speaks the voice of hollow,
though feeds my fingers
with freeze-slaps of green water
whose murmur’s melody in the ear,
many images travel
like a band in passing,
- sting of a clove
- clanking food bowl,
- smoke from a bazooka gun,
- mosquito bites in the woods
- piling noise when my homestead
was built amidst rubbles;
abiding, far abiding
is the bloom of her face
in the valley of apparitions:
I speak my mind,
'you are no longer a virgin
my princess,
for in my dreams
there's no law that governs
men of fetters’
though I run
a fugitive is in every head,
unharnessed gallops
in which links
from one world to another
are drugged deliberation,
Silence! Indian pond-heron
roosts on the truss
like a flash,
a way of telling me the bridge is safe
so long I have wings
white and blind.
Saranyan BV © December 2011
Mumbai
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