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poems from SHESHA: Selected Marathi Poems (1954-2008)

poems from SHESHA: Selected Marathi Poems (1954-2008)



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Published by Dilip Chitre
These are some of my early Marathi poems now included in the book SHESHA published by POETRYWALA, Mumbai, India in September 2008
These are some of my early Marathi poems now included in the book SHESHA published by POETRYWALA, Mumbai, India in September 2008

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Published by: Dilip Chitre on Nov 24, 2008
Copyright:Attribution Non-commercial


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In The Light of Birds
In the light of birds the lunatic wakes from uncountable sleepsHis burning electric wires begin to glowBirds sing in every forest of flesh and blood The lunatic’s fingers turn into strings in the outer silence The darkness of half-asleep awareness roars through The lunatic’s widening arteries, it’s another kind of Waking--- and even total sleep is a frightening fireIt’s compelled to burst out even while being awake. The lunatic sees through his sun-paraphrasing eyes That creates circles centred outside himAnd unaccountable sleep awakens lightnings To sing a vast lullaby in flesh and blood. The lunatic watches a bird...half-closed like eyes...flyingAnd his eyes as they drown begin to chirp.
In Your Poisoned Wounds
In your poisoned woundsFall the shadows of burning planets The splitting breakers of foaming oceans Your invisible paths going through raging storms You spread like lightning flashes through my heartAnd I grew in this darkness.My back will be of darkness when you willLash me with lightningFor one moment my back will turn into darknessWhen you will come back in flashesFrom the undulating shadows of burning planetsInto the grapes of my poisoned wounds.
Eleven Poems for Cesar Vallejo
1. The Disease of Poverty
 The disease of povertyBursts into symptoms of poetryAs incurable lesions. There was a time when one thoughtAfter all is over There remains a pure formless soul.
Now one seesGigantic intestines openingAnd man’sHunger endlessly bleeding.A bird fallen upon the soilLamely crossing horizons That’d have a beak That wouldn’t be filled with the whole Earth’s grain...God lies supineIn the street.One wouldn’t have recognized HimBut for His open mouth.
2.Breaking One Man’s Hunger Into Several Pieces
If the whole world were to share and eatOne man’s hunger broken into several piecesIf the pieces of one man were distributed over the worldAs several broken up wordsWho is going to belch out satisfied with poetry?If the crippled body of a whole society were to take flightInto the sky through one man’s language,Who is going to see the nether worldIn the depth of his eyes from now on?Who, Vallejo, is going to sing from now on?
3.The Song In My Throat After My Knees Got Bruised
 The song in my throat got throttledAfter my knees got bruisedBut I kept the sorrows of others spread aroundAs decorations are set around the idol of 
 The public address system in the lane blared out a songI covered my ears thenAnd protected the silence inside.I always avoided frustration and despairFor that’s what was there on either side of the street The road on which I walkedWasn’t my own way.I wandered in hell as though I were a celestial singer.And you, Vallejo, if you were of this place,An exquisite shanty town would have spreadIn the poetry here---On the smooth complexion of the goddess
An itch that has no cure:A musical glide in the lowest voice
 To smash the guts.
4.The Difference Between Us Is Only This
 The only difference between us is this:When you see a piece of breadHungry mouths open before your eyesWhile I in the prison of hunger Try to find purity in my stomach Thinking of a glass of wine. You see before your eyesForever the day of your death:And I stand, according to my tradition,Still, on a brick,Against my tradition.
5.Agonies Can Fit Perfectly
Agonies can fit perfectlyEven in fourteen linesLike a civil sonnet.Poets are politeIn the murderously rushing chaosOf language.Only a rare one of themGets mashed so much as to be commemoratedAs, Vallejo, you.
6.We Missed Each Other In 1957
We missed each other in 1957I had only two shirsts. Every nightI had to wash one of them. Monsoon made a worse mess.In the morning I’d go to the Ruia CollegeWith a damp shirt on an empty stomach. And there wereSo many girls bursting with youth, but I had only Twelve
in my pocket for a day’s expenses.And even in broad daylight I was a poet doing night-shiftsI smoked a joint and went to the university to look for
Poemas Humanos,
they didn’t have it.It was necessary for me to pass my exams that year.I had to learn my notes by rote.

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