DANCING WORDS, East Grinstead, 3 December 2004
 

India’s Song

(to Indra Nath Choudhuri) (2001)

(from Beauty, Be My Brahman, 2004)

 

India is her land – too vast to know,

            Outlasting the ploughs that scratch her face,

            Or the trains criss-crossing her to and fro.

 

India is her past – too old to trace,

            Older than even the gods she conceived,

            Or the realms her deepest words embrace.

 

India is her injustice – that long has grieved

            Parents of children born to be poor,

            Made the real too unreal to be believed.

 

India is her people – more and more,

            Their hopes like temple-sculpture twined,

            Whose energies surge as their talents soar.

 

India is her warmth – of the summers that grind

            Limbs to a torpor, but release at dark

            Wit, companionship, deftness of mind.

 

India is her death – the cosmic spark

            That creates, yet finally purifies:

            That destroys a whole universe, leaving no mark.

 

India is her beauty – her deer-like eyes,

            Her wet black hair – but her squalor too:

            Her perfume and stink, her truth and her lies.

 

India is her tolerance – but also her saffron hue,

            Too bright, too bright for some who dwell

            In her orbit: for them she must dress anew.

 

India is her promise – still to be born from her spell,

            A song that those who love her hear

            In their heart of hearts, yet which cannot dispel

 

Her pain and rage and confusion.  Will it ring out near

            In the new age?  Will its meaning grow?

The planet will need the song to be strong and clear.

 

 

Autistic Children (1970)

(from Eight Sections, 1974)

 

This is our room.  Come in.

It’s too small: an Edwardian

playroom.  Light, though,

with windows to the garden.

Shall I open a window?

 

Penny, Penny, smiling

and trembling all the day,

you breathe too fast that’s why

you often faint away.

We try and make you walk

because you never walk,

Penny, heavy-girl Penny

needs proper legs not stalks.

 

Lanky Andrew knows

he shouldn’t fiddle there:

there?  Nothing was once

an echolelic stare.

Woman’s Own, Andy?

Dance like a puppet

to the unstrung echo

of a brassičre, Randy, the poppet.

 

Nicky, the darling grins

if you praise his Lego tower,

chirrups when he’s tickled, shrieks

when he’s under the shower.

Chinese Nicky, are you happy

when you’re happy, was it best

to be merrily selfish

from the time your self went west?

 

Bernard’s a lad who loves

to play at cars: thin

arm highway: Vrrmm: halt

at a black, chinchopper chin.

So fastidious, dapperly

jumps like a spring.  Mad

boy, Bernard!  Didn’t you talk

to your mother in Trinidad?

 

This is their room.  Come in.

It’s too small: an Edwardian

Playroom. Light, though,

With windows to the garden.

Shall I open a window?

 

            *

 

Tim, fringed with light,

a choice of places: stands.

Sits: calves tight

to the floor, flickering hands.

Or, sliding the window,

skips behind the shed

to his own flagstone: where Tim

sits, bobbing his head.

Come now, Tim, you’ve often

done jigsaws: try!

Pieces served to a fleeting

hand and teetering eye.

Smile across the table

for doing it?  Stern,

tremulous twelve-years,

piggy-back, high?  Burn

the light with your smiles, Tim,

the air with chuckling, till,

refused a ride forever

you will let fly, you will

chuck around  (Time, whose spinning

Limbs grind to a sad,

Panting gaze, we are sure

Is neither stupid nor mad).

 

            *

 

To spin, quietly, some thing,

or the ball behind the shed,

on, and in, is to pin

his bevel-eyes and head

to their own rocking,

tick…tock…or the ball

spins on earth to be thrown

at the same tree to fall

again to its same spinning.

tick…tock…or we swing

Tim up, back and ever

the teacher of time who sings

like a stream, over and there,

under leaves, netted by slim

traces of the sun by which

we are trying to see you, Tim.

 

            *

 

Water.  The filling of mug

from bottle means ship

the stuff from mug to bottle

through a funnel or it will slip

your fingers.  Good.  We advance,

we advance.  Sunlight leaks

through walls along a wire:

switch it off?  I speak with words, Tim, to close

door, dry hands,

fetch sweets: he does.

We hope the smile that stands

at the window wires up

sunshine to make man.

Look at me, Tim.  The smile,

still dripping, closes like a fan;

eyes withdraw from the light,

swivel, turn askance

into darkness, intelligent

of time.  We advance, we advance?

 

            *

 

One step forward is two

steps back.  Tim, walk properly.

A hopscotch homewards

from the shops, spindly

with fear.  Watch.  Magnets

harness the poles as words

do living.  Games.  South

to south is northwards backwards.

Bricks.  Support the stair

behind.  Colours.  Brown

goes with brown.  Drawing.

A circle  must be round.

Words.  Say after me.

NYAA!  Bones flaying

knock bricks flying

through the window.  Shsh.  Eyes

crack sunlight to squinny

through fractured glass

and toys to the dark spinny

where spindleshank Tim swings:

tick…tock…Look:

Sunlight is broken under leaves.

Words, Tim, patch

it whole.  But, what

is our mind’s end if not

to smash the light of words,

to squint right through the slots

we make for time and swing

into dark, O Tim, you gently

spinning freckled thing?

 

            *

 

Racing the path to the garden,

on your marks, get set,

ready steady go!

With a ride for reward or you fret,

Tim, ups-a-daisy so you flash

the light from your eyes to mine,

from teeth which crackle with the chuckles

that are speech, Tim, your signs!

Soft.  Fondness for me now.

The message, I will be missed,

in cheeks, crimped with joy,

turned wistfully to be kissed.

What about Tim the menial?

Come and clear the plates,

Go and fetch the sweets:

the smile, we hope, waits

at the cupboard to pluck ‘please’

from sunshine.  It does.  We advance.

I ask:  all gain without loss?

A single please is a chance

for servitude, no hope

of light in words to sting

through to their own wordless

end.  Darkness swings,

Tim, in the wake of the sun.

Come.  A choice of places

stands at the window, turns

away with sunlight on his face.

 

            *

 

This is our room.  Come in.

It’s too small: an Edwardian

playroom.  Light, though,

with windows to the garden.

Shall I open a window?

 

Bernard’s a lad who loves

to play at cars: thin

arm highway: Vrrmm: halt

at a black, chinchopper chin.

So fastidious, dapperly

jumps like a spring.  Mad

boy, Bernard!  Didn’t you talk

to your mother in Trinidad?

 

Nicky, the darling grins

if you praise his Lego tower,

chirrups when he’s tickled, shrieks

when he’s under the shower.

Chinese Nicky, are you happy

when you’re happy, was it best

to be merrily selfish

from the time your self went west?

 

Tim’s the one the sun

gives black hair shining speckles;

his limbs are long, pale skin

come out in tiny freckles.

Tim is mournfully jealous

of Nicky’s new spinning top:

come along, sit in your chair

and we’ll get you a lollipop.

 

Lanky Andrew knows

he shouldn’t fiddle there:

there?  Nothing was once

an echolelic stare.

Woman’s Own, Andy?

Dance like a puppet

to the unstrung echo

of a brassiere, Randy, the poppet.

 

Penny, Penny, smiling

and trembling all the day,

you breathe too fast that’s why

you often faint away.

We try and make you walk

because you never walk,

Penny, heavy-girl Penny

needs proper legs not stalks.

 

This is their room.  Come in.

It’s too small: an Edwardian

playroom.  Light, though,

with windows to the garden.

Shall I open a window?

 

 

The Saint (1983)

(from ‘Seven Poems’ in Louring Skies, 1985)

 

The grip of her hands is warm with sin;

Her holiest smile is an impish grin.

Once she was proud of her hands’ soft skin

And she washed and scrubbed to clear them of sin.

Right hand said, ‘Wash again, there is sin

Still clinging to my delicate flawless skin.’

Left hand said, ‘If I let you win

No man nor woman shall be her kin –

She must stick her arms in the rubbish-bin!

In the battle of the hands neither should win.’

The grip of her hands is kind with sin;

Her holiest smile is an impish grin.

 

 

The Lake (1983)

(from ‘Seven Poems’ in Louring Skies, 1985)

 

We had to learn.  We had to break

Asunder, tear our hearts to make

Wounds that could heal.  O kind heart-ache,

O nightmares, blest if at last they wake

To this reconcilement!  Look at the lake:

Our smiles join sun, join wind to rake

Its face into joy.  We do partake,

Sometimes, of power that can sometimes shake

Life into beauty.  The waters may quake

Coldly again; the spell will break;

But let us remember, for hope’s sake,

Today our smiles walked on the lake.

 

 

In the Playing of Sarod (1969)

(from Beauty, Be My Brahman, 2004)

 

How to make Anguish from a string?

 

I want the contours of the plains

In music moksha-bound,

A soft scream

Alone in time,

Inkling of each and all.

 

I find it in the steadying of a tone,

- The act of steadying,

Crossing the bridge,

That harbours consonance,

Reaching purity,

Claiming the peak

That raises my cry

Up towards absence

To be lost in silence,

Perfect in silence…

 

Can opposites merge?

 

Only in the reflected melody of the stars,

The moon, the sun expiring,

The begetting rain,

The whimper of the vastness

Between mountain and the plain –

 

In the playing of sarod,

Songs of origins again.

 

 

On Giving a Sarod (1999)

(from Beauty, Be My Brahman, 2004)

 

Sarod, my teacher’s hopes of me

Were long ago betrayed.

So why have I let you lie so long

Unused, unheard, unplayed?

 

Was it because I thought one day

I’d pluck your strings anew?

Or did I hope to find at last

A player worthy of you?

 

Or was it just because you seemed

To represent my youth

(Those months at Sanawar, aged eighteen)

And I couldn’t face the truth

 

That youth in time must be given away?

But now, with my donation,

I feel no pain of loss, but rather

The joy of liberation.

 

I understand, when I observe

My students’ youth and yearning,

That, when we teach, we need to give

Not only age and learning

 

But also our youth; and if we don’t,

There’ll be no vital spark,

No gleam of hope in our students’ eyes,

No pathway out of the dark.

 

And this I’ll think if ever I pass

The Music Department’s rooms

And hear the twang of my old sarod:

That a student only blooms

 

If a teacher gives away his youth,

Lightening, thus, the load

That age and experience place on him!

So I give you gladly, sarod.

 

 

Song of the City (tr. 2000)

Rabindrananath Tagore (1895)

(from Beauty, Be My Brahman, 2004)

 

Where has it gone, that noble calmness,

Fresh and pure and graceful greenness,

Edged with a hem of shining blueness,

            Beautiful, kindly world?

Sky’s delight by light excited,

Secretive gardens, coolly shaded,

Where have the buzzing bees retreated –

            What brings us to this pass?

O city, city, jungle of people,

Road after road, buildings innumerable,

Everything buyable, everything saleable,

            Uproar, hubbub, noise.

Enormous profits, thumping crashes,

Sky-polluting foul dust-flurries,

Whipped by the sun into swirling eddies,

            Soiling heaven and earth.

Everything fitful, broken, fleeting,

No lasting sign behind remaining,

A quick combining, fast dividing

            Dash to the sea of death.

Pathetic weeping, raucous revelry,

Tyrannous arrogance, abject slavery,

Futile striving, malicious raillery,

            Hurtling forward en masse.

Nothing fixed for a single moment,

No desire for anything permanent,

Constant activity, ceaseless movement

            By day and by dark of night.

Each in pursuit of a gleaming fantasy,

Desperate to hunt and catch an illusory

Golden deer that dances endlessly –

            Old and young rush on.

It’s like a ritual bonfire leaping,

Snouts and trunks of fire flailing,

Scrabbling and scratching the sky with raging

            Hunger for more and more.

Crowds of men and women around it,

Hurry to heap and stoke and worship it,

Break and smash their lives to nourish it,

            Offer their souls as fuel.

Fanatics serve it with butchered bodies,

Feed it with bones and gushing arteries,

Feeling in all their rites and ecstasies

            Death’s golden allure.

Flames rise high with roaring menace,

Sky is clouded with smoke from the furnace,

Sun and moon disappear in a thunderous

            Universal blaze.

Winds whipped up by heat to a frenzy

Circle the dazzling fire in a fury,

Dismally roam and howl frustratedly,

            Whoosh and hiss and sigh –

Flutter and flap with the helpless terror

Thousands of mother-birds showed at that horror:

Holocaust when the forest of Khandava

            Fell to Agni’s greed.

Brahmins, Kshatriyas, Vaisyas, Sudras,

Age and status no longer matters,

All converge as the burning gathers,

            Hurl their lives right in.

Seeing this massive fiery spectacle,

Heart, like a fly, is drawn to the dazzle,

Longs to add to the wild hubble-bubble

            Blood of self-slashed veins.

City, O city, rushing and pouring

Constantly forth like foaming and bubbling

Wine – let me lose myself by drinking

            Deep of your essence today.

Stony nurse of human endeavour,

I shall become your fellow-traveller,

Stay awake with crowds that stagger

            Through drunken, sleepless nights:

Whirling along with the communal frenzy,

Joining the great unfettered orgy,

Sinking my inmost dreams recklessly,

            Let me be part of you.

Peace and calm I’ll treat as nothing,

Plunging down to the depths and soaring

Up on a comet’s tail and stretching

            My arms towards the sun.

Whatever the games that fate has planned for me,

Some of them right and some of them wrong for me,

Some of them sweet and some bitter agony -

            I’ll take them as they come.

Round on the wheel of joy and misery,

Riding high on poetry’s fantasy,

Swooping down with prose’s gravity,

            Swung by the merry-go-round.

Seizing the city’s trumpet of conquest,

Grabbing all that is hardest and furthest,

I the unstoppably wildest and strongest

            Will take what I want by force.

Joining the ranks of the bullies and predators,

Will and desire foisted on others,

Snatching food from my fellow-creatures,

            I’ll tighten my violent grip.

The world in my mind will now be merely

A place for me to stamp on freely:

Kingly rule and daylight robbery

            Seen as different no more.

Wealth and assets I’ll raid and shatter,

Reap my harvest by looting the farmer,

Unleash the king’s great horse to wander

            Brazenly over the world.

Newly thirsty and newly eager,

Hungry for new kinds of work and power,

Page after page swiftly turned over

            In life’s unfolding book.

Crooked and tortuous paths ahead of me,

Start unknown and end not clear to me,

Forward I’ll rush and cross unstoppably

            Rivers, mountains and seas.

Looking ahead and never behind me,

A nestless, restless bird-of-the-night I’ll be,

You, fickle Fortune, laughing, will race me,

            Bewildering will-o’-the-wisp –

I shan’t bow down or beg before you,

I shan’t sit back and passively wait for you,

Let us fight – you’ll see who’ll master you,

            I’ll bring you back in chains.

Human life is not for ever,

Fame and wealth and status and power

Are not the slaves of any owner –

            The river of time takes all.

So for a few days, a few nights only,

Let the clashing and crowded city

Fill the glass of my life completely

            With churning, heady wine.

 

 

A Prayer for this Crawling Earth

(from ‘Shakespearean Sketches’ in The Retreat, 1994;

reprinted in Beauty, Be My Brahman)

 

A prayer for this crawling earth,

For all who make me think a man a worm,

For all who are at the worst,

Like the suckling mother who makes

The Bombay traffic lights so slow to change

And me the more superfluous the more I wait,

Ignoring her pleading hands

Outside my taxi-window; yet even she is glad

She is not the worst; so a prayer for the limbless man

I fastidiously step around

As I thread the Chowringhee crowds;

Blind Gloucester was the furthest down

For Shakespeare,

Yet he gave him Edgar:

A prayer for all for whom there is even no Mother Teresa,

And for me, too, if in some unimaginable blinded time

There is no wife, no daughter, no God to come

And say, ‘Give me thy arm.’

 

 

It is Your Giving that My Gifts should Honour

to the tune of Ananda-dhara bahiche bhubane by Tagore

(from Gifts: Poems 1992-1999; reprinted in Beauty, Be My Brahman)

 

It is your giving that my gifts should honour

It is your giving that my gifts should honour

Giving me my life with all its privileges and with its pain,

                                                            for I want no other

It is your giving that my gifts should honour

 

And the lives of every creature, all those who must endure

Far worse pain than I know; even the cruelty –

And the lives of every creature, all those who must endure

Far worse pain than I know; even the cruelty

Torturing our planet, all is a great wonder –

It is your giving that my gifts should honour

 

Vast is the world’s becoming, thus what I offer,

In what I write for you, must have grandeur –

Vast is the world’s becoming, thus what I offer,

In what I write for you, must have grandeur,

Tragedy and wit and humour, thoughtfulness and beauty,

Good and Evil both must energise me –

Tragedy and wit and humour, thoughtfulness and beauty,

Good and Evil both must energise me

If I’m to make my talent fit for its giver

 

It is your giving that my gifts should honour

It is your giving that my gifts should honour

 

 

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