Appearing and slipping past
Into the bushes,
It is really beautiful,
Beautiful to see.
The golden jackal standing before,
Close by,
Getting visible by chance
And instantly slipping past,
What can more interesting than this?
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Let it be today, my identity,
Let that tomorrow comeWhen I shall introduce to you myself.Mybe it that they will introdce meWhen I shall not be hereAnd sorry to say it, I could not it myself.Let us go now,Tomorrow I shall say it and that too if possible on my part.
Dalit poetry,
The fisherman working all daylong,From early in the morning,Casting nets,Catching fishAnd putting into the weal.Dalit poetry,Found I in the cobbler’s home,Working from dawn to dusk,Doing the leather workAt the city centreOr the town squareBy the footpathOr on the platform,Polishing the boots.Dalit poetry,Found I in viewing the gipsy girls,Ill-clad and ill-clothed,Asking for almsInto the train bogies,Holding…
The jackals’ night,
I want to go to, go to,The jackals’,Jackals’ nightvisible in the darkAnd running awayUnder mist and fogSlippingAll into darkness,The jackals’ lonely nightAway from the woods and forested tracksInto the human garbage heapsSearching for foodQuarrelling with dogs and crows.
Poetry as terracotta plates
Sculptures chiselled and hewn fromStones,Poetry as artifacts,Sculptures and figurines.
Ask the divorcee,
What it passes on her heart,Ask,Ask her,Say you,You it not,Let her,Let her say,Say it,What this life,Life of hers has,What,What love and living has,Has?Divorcing her,Can you be happy,Happy indeed?Breaking her heart,Can you be,Be happy really?You do not try to give tears,Tears to the eyes of anyoneAs the falling teardrops spare it none,The teardrops falling from the…
John Berryman
Columbia, Minneapolis, Minnesota,Memories of father,Growing over the years,Haunted byGood and bad memories,Coming to terms with lifeWith alcoholism and depression,Writing of The Dream Songs,Belonging to the Confessional school of poetry,The beards flowing,Closing of the chapter otherwiseHow to take to,Take to!