On criticism

Comments : Came across two gems on criticism in a book of English translations of Sanskrit poems. Never realised the fuddy-duddy language had so much fun stuff - they only taught us the boring, moralistic poems in school. - Zen

The fire of envious critics’ tongues
Refines the true poetic gold.
Should we not celebrate in cheerful songs
Poor fools who give us benefits untold ?
- By Varahamihira


Strike me, and try me to your heart’s content
With fire and touchstone : I accept my fate.
But oh I bitterly resent
The fact that you should weigh me with a pennyweight.
- By Sudraka

Mr. Rock & Roll

- Amy Macdonald

So-called Mr Rock & Roll,
Is dancing on his own again,
Talking on his phone again,
To someone who tells him that his balance is low.
He's got nowhere to go, he's on his own again.

Rock Chick of the century,
Is acting like she used to be,
Dancing like there's no-one there.
Before she never seemed to care,
Now she wouldn't dare.
It's so Rock & Roll to be alone.

And they'll meet one day far away,
And say, 'I wish I was something more.'
And they'll meet one day far away,
And say, 'I wish I knew you, I wish I knew you before.'

Mrs. Black & White she's never seen a shade of grey,
Always something on her mind,
Every single day.
But now she's lost her way,
And where does she go from here?

Mr. Multicultural sees all that one can see,
He's living proof of someone very different to me.
But now he wants to be free,
Free so he can see.
And they'll meet one day far away,
And say, 'I wish I was something more.'
And they'll meet one day far away,
And say, 'I wish I knew you, I wish I knew you before.'

He'll say, 'I wish I knew you
I wish I met you when time was still on my side.'
She'll say, 'I wish I knew you
I wish I loved you before I was his bride.'

And so they must depart,
Two many more broken hearts.
But I've seen that all before,
In T.V, books, and film and more.
And there's a happy ending,
Every single day.

And they'll meet one day far away,
And say, 'I wish I was something more.'
And they'll meet one day far away
And say, 'I wish I knew you, I wish I knew you before

Comments : A friend introduced me to this song yesterday and I was hooked in the very first minute, both by the lively tune and by Amy’s voice, and then drawn in further by the interesting character names – Mr. Rock & Roll, Mrs. Black and White, Mr. Multicultural. The descriptions say it all, Mr. Rock and Roll speaking on the phone to someone who’s only telling him his balance is low, what better way to describe being alone and having no one to speak to ? Or Mr. Multicultural, who ironically, wants to be free so that he can see.

p.s. If you haven’t heard the song yet, listen to the video here and a live performance here.

By,
Zen

The Wind That Shakes the Barley

Robert Dwyer Joyce

I sat within the valley green, I sat me with my true love
My sad heart strove the two between, the old love and the new love
The old for her, the new that made me think on Ireland dearly
While soft the wind blew down the glen and shook the golden barley

'Twas hard the woeful words to frame to break the ties that bound us
But harder still to bear the shame of foreign chains around us
And so I said, "The mountain glen I'll seek at morning early
And join the bold united men," while soft winds shake the barley

While sad I kissed away her tears, my fond arms round her flinging
A yeoman's shot burst on our ears from out the wildwood ringing
A bullet pierced my true love's side in life's young spring so early
And on my breast in blood she died while soft winds shook the barley

I bore her to some mountain stream, and many's the summer blossom
I placed with branches soft and green about her gore-stained bosom
I wept and kissed her clay-cold corpse then rushed o'er vale and valley
My vengeance on the foe to wreak while soft wind shook the barley

But blood for blood without remorse I've taken at Oulart Hollow
And laid my true love's clay cold corpse where I full soon may follow
As round her grave I wander drear, noon, night and morning early
With breaking heart when e'er I hear the wind that shakes the barley.

Comments : The background to the title of this poem itself justifies running it. Thanks to Nikhil for the poem and the context : It's from a 19th Century poem that tells of a young Irish boy who soon will leave his sweetheart to join others fighting the English in the 1798 rebellion. They would carry barley in their pockets as provisions on the march. When they were slain and their bodies pitched into unmarked mass graves by the English, from their bodies the sprouting barley came to symbolise that Irish resistance to the British would never die.

From wikipedia : 'The Wind That Shakes the Barley' is a 2006 Ken Loach film set during the Irish War of Independence (1919–1921) and the Irish Civil War (1922–1923). Written by long-time Loach collaborator Paul Laverty, this drama tells the story of two County Cork brothers, played by Cillian Murphy and Pádraic Delaney, who join the Irish Republican Army to fight for Irish independence from the United Kingdom. It takes its title from the song "The Wind That Shakes the Barley".

Soap

By Nissim Ezekiel

Some people are not having manners,

this I am always observing,

For example other day I find

I am needing soap

For ordinary washing myself purposes.

So I’m going to one small shop

nearby in my lane and I’m asking

for well-known brand soap.

That shopman he’s giving me soap

but I’m finding it defective version.

So I’m saying very politely — -

though in Hindi I’m saying it,

and my Hindi is not so good as my English,

Please to excuse me

but this is defective version of well-known brand soap.

That shopman is saying

and very rudely he is saying it,

What is wrong with soap?

Still I am keeping my temper

and repeating very smilingly

Please to note this defect in soap,

and still he is denying the truth.

So I’m getting very angry that time

and with loud voice I am saying

YOU ARE BLIND OR WHAT?

Now he is shouting

YOU ARE CALLING ME BLIND OR WHAT?

Come outside and I will show you

Then I am shouting

What you will show me

Which I haven’t got already?

It is vulgar thing to say

but I am saying it.

Now small crowd is collecting

and shopman is much bigger than me,

and I am not caring so much

for small defect in well-known brand soap.

So I’m saying

Alright OK Alright OK

this time I will take

but not next time.

- from Very Indian Poems in Indian English

Comments : Thanks for the poem, S. Will quote your comments from another site here :
'Time for some humour, and the giggling, silly kind of very Indian humour at that. Who better to turn to than Nissim Ezekiel?

Like a series of photographs he presents an incident. One that you have probably seen play out in markets, in street accidents, in railway stations time and time again.'

Black Oaks

By Mary Oliver

Okay, not one can write a symphony, or a dictionary,

or even a letter to an old friend, full of remembrance
and comfort.

Not one can manage a single sound though the blue jays
carp and whistle all day in the branches, without
the push of the wind.

But to tell the truth after a while I'm pale with longing
for their thick bodies ruckled with lichen

and you can't keep me from the woods, from the tonnage

of their shoulders, and their shining green hair.

Today is a day like any other: twenty-four hours, a
little sunshine, a little rain.

Listen, says ambition, nervously shifting her weight from
one boot to another -- why don't you get going?

For there I am, in the mossy shadows, under the trees.

And to tell the truth I don't want to let go of the wrists
of idleness, I don't want to sell my life for money,

I don't even want to come in out of the rain.

Comments : Thanks to S for pointing me to this site.
Liked this poem for the imagery of the woods, and silent black oaks contrasted with noisy blue jays. But most of all, for these lines, ‘Listen, says ambition, nervously shifting her weight from one boot to another -- why don't you get going ? ’ - Zen

An ode to Sorpotel

By Philip Furtado

For the hotchpotch known as haggis
Let Scotchmen yearn or yell;
On the taste of Yorkshire pudding
Let the English fondly dwell
Their famed tandoori chicken
Let Punjabis praise like hell
But for us who hail from Goa
There's naught like SORPOTEL !

From the big wigs in Colaba,
to the small fry in Cavel
From the growing tribes in Bandra,
to the remnants in Parel.
From the lovely girls in Glaxo,
to the boys in Burma Shell
There's no Goan whose mouth won't water,
when you talk of SORPOTEL!

And oh, for Christmas dinner
Don't you think it would be swell
If, thanks, to a freak of fortune
Or by some magic spell,
We could as they can in Goa
Have a bottle of cajel
And toddy-leavened sannam
To go with SORPOTEL !

Comments : I liked the first paragraph of the poem. Also the random place which led me to it - for some reason, this poem is on the official Konkan Railway website.

Note : Cajel refers to a distilled liquor made of cashew and toddy is fermented coconut or palm juice, which is frequently used like yeast to make sannas, a type of rice cakes made in moulds with a batter of ground rice, toddy, coconut and sugar and then steamed.

One Step Backward Taken

By Robert Frost

Not only sands and gravels
Were once more on their travels,
But gulping muddy gallons
Great boulders off their balance
Bumped heads together dully
And started down the gully.
Whole capes caked off in slices.
I felt my standpoint shaken
In the universal crisis.
But with one step backward taken
I saved myself from going.
A world torn loose went by me.
Then the rain stopped and the blowing,
And the sun came out to dry me.

Comments - I loved the imagery in the beginning of the poem, from 'not only...' till '...in slices'; paints a vivid picture. - Zen