I won’t go down there this year
Duty calls dear son, why fear?
The din the lights the rush the air
The loot in my name I can’t bear
They throw me in the dirty sea
That kills the poor fish!Can’t they see?
That’s true my baby but you see
There’s those that come flocking to me
And you and and they’ve been waiting all year
Because you give them hope my dear
We bear the din the dirt the loot
The organisers don’t give a hoot
But the common folk who flock to us
We can’t let them down because
We are their only hope
Relegion may be a dope
But it helps them bear the pain
Their prayers must not go in vein
Go my son alone this time
Next month will be family time
When we visit Kolkata
For another year of this gatha
Tag Archives: poem
I won’t go down there this year
A poem with alternate lines being romantic and the reverse
For you my darling I’d go anywhere
As long as you pay my business class fare
For you my sweet I will do anything
As long as I am paid for it in cash kind or Bling
For you my beloved I’d write a whole song
But only if you agree to go away for long
For you my dear lover I’d give up my life
As long as you don’t ever get near my wife
Reflections, Poems by Tanuka Bhowmik, a Review
It is highly presumptuous of me to try to review a book of Poetry, as I have only rudimentary acquaintance with this art form. In our youth we professed a love for poetry and spouted Neruda for much the same reasons as we took up palmistry, to impress ladies. My own attempts to write poetry take a strange turn and end up as limericks, often unprintable. Serious poetry is rarely attempted sober, and incomprehensible once sober. But those who can’t; criticise, and the poet herself asked me to give an honest opinion, having greater faith in my critical facilities than I do, so who am I to complain?
Poetry, I thought, had to either rhyme, or be incomprehensible. Tanuka’s Poems did not fit in either category, so I was confused. Even an unschooled prosaic hack like me could figure them out, and moreover, enjoy them. Those that didn’t hit my head straight away, went a bit lower, and hit straight on the heart.
Poetry also could be I suppose, saying a great deal in very few words. Therefore these qualify.
The cover is beautiful, playing on the title, a reflection of a gull striking the water, in a golden yellow backdrop.
Tanuka’s reflections are categorised in six groups;
Social and Political, reflecting her social and political conscience;
Love, the imagery from her romantic thoughts;
Pain, the picture of her soul;
Reflections, a shadow of her thoughts;
Others, kaleidoscopic images from her consciousness;
And finally, Translations from Tagore, which are a reflection of her religion. For all true Bongs, their religion is the truly secular worship of Rabindranath.
It was the last section that truly floored me, for only the very brave attempt to translate their reigning deity, and the really talented succeed. Having known the original pieces, I could realise that Tanuka’s translations, reflect both the sense and the rhythm, a rare feat.
My personal favourites were many, but I will mention a few here.
One is” Words”, from the political section, which was about the bathos of the chatterereti deliberating the future of the dispossessed. The Poets angst and frustration are starkly evident.
Another is” Love in the times of Cholera”, named after my favourite novel, another surrealistic take on passion.
“Meal times” I liked because it rhymed, had a lovely beat, on a fuzzy warm subject, like comfort food.
But the one that touched me the most was “For my Daughter”, because they touched a nerve. I miss my daughters, as they have both left the nest.
Decades ago, when editing our college magazine, I had published a poem by this poet which I did not quite understand. Mean minded classmates had complained that I had done so as she was a PYT. This, in fact, she was, and still is, going by the picture in the back jacket. But this brilliant book vindicates my stand, and I tell my pals “So there! She always was a Poet, only you philistines didn’t know it!”to borrow from my favourite poet, Ogden Nash.
Looking forward to more such reader friendly poems from this poet, good job Authors Press, make this a bestseller.
My Ideal Man
My ideal man must earn a pile
Drive the snazziest automobile
Own a penthouse with an ocean view
But he must be non materialistic too
He must be a six foot man
Six pack abs, an even tan
He should look like Richard Gere
And when I’m home, he must be there
To rub my feet, and brush my hair
And cook for me, plus do his share
Of household chores, like clean and dust
And outdoor chores, of course he must
He must also listen well
And be well read and smart as well
Be a thorough gentleman
That’s all to be my ideal man
Honoria chucked a riddle at me
Which Plum creature would I like to be?
The only stipulation I need to watch
Is this denizen of Plumsville must be fond of starch
I wracked the excuse I have for a mind
Stout Plum creations, in order to find
But all those large forms that occurred to me
Were characters I would hate to be
Stinker Pyke….. the name says it all!
Claude Pott… is like creatures that crawl
R Jones ….is the creepiest spy
Bickersdyke….was Red in view and eye
The Duke of Dunstable is a Royal ass!
The efficient Baxter….I will gladly pass
It looks like Plum does not agree,
With those fellow beings, on an eating spree
But no! There’s Beach! He breaks the scale
Buttling, however, is beyond my pale
Then it struck me! The Fattest of ALL!
Is an adorable creature, which holds in thrall,
An Earl, and all the County Press
I chose! I shall be the “Empress”