AncientPromises

Poetry-lover, reluctant writer, Sunday painter, passionate gardener.
Views are personal.

[AncientPromises @DevakiSeena]

Atlas ~ by Kay Ryan

Extreme exertion
isolates a person
from help,
discovered Atlas.
Once a certain
shoulder-to-burden
ratio collapses,
there is so little
others can do:
they can’t
lend a hand
with Brazil
and not stand
on Peru.

[AncientPromises @DevakiSeena]

It's the dream ~~ by #OlavHauge

It's the dream we carry in secret
that something miraculous will happen,
that it must happen –
that time will open
that the heart will open
that doors will open
that the mountains will open
that springs will gush –
that the dream will open,
that one morning we will glide into
some little harbour we didn't know was there.

[AncientPromises @DevakiSeena]

At one time you had so many smiles:
astonished, rapturous, roguish smiles,
sometimes a little sad, but all the same smiles.
I'll find a field where grow hundreds of smiles.
I'll bring you a handful of the loveliest smiles,
but you'll tell me that now you don't need any smiles,
that you're so tired of others' and my own smiles.
And I'm tired too of others' smiles.
And I'm tired too of my own smiles.
I have so many defensive smiles,
making-me-still-more-unsmiling smiles.
But virtually I haven't any more smiles.
You, in my life, are the last of my smiles,
a smile, on whose face there are no more smiles.

~~ 'Smiles' by #Yevtushenko

#apoemaday

[AncientPromises @DevakiSeena]

Harbour ~ by Miroslav Holub

But the sea was measured
and chained to the earth.
And earth was measured
and chained to the sea.

They launched
cranes, lean angels,
they calculated
the wail of widowed sirens,
they foresaw
the nervous unrest of buoys,
they drafted
the labyrinth of routes around the world.

They constructed
the Minotaurs of ships.

They discovered five continents.

The earth was measured
and chained to the sea.
And the sea was measured
and chained to the earth.

All that is left
is a small house above the canal.
A man who spoke softly,
a woman with tears in her eyes.
All that is left is the evening lamp,
the continent of the table,
the tablecloth, a seagull that does not fly away.

All that is left
is a cup of tea,
the deepest ocean in the world.

[AncientPromises @DevakiSeena]

The Teacher ~ #MiroslavHolub

The earth rotates, says the young pupil.
Not so, the earth rotates, says the teacher.

The hills are turning green, says the young pupil.
Not so, the hills are turning green, says the teacher.

Twice two is four, says the young pupil.
Not so, twice two is four, the teacher corrects him.

Because the teacher knows best.

[AncientPromises @DevakiSeena]

Napoleon ~ by Miroslav Holub

Children, when was
Napoleon Bonaparte born,
asks teacher.

A thousand years ago, the children say.
A hundred years ago, the children say.
Last year, the children say.
No one knows.

Children, what did
Napoleon Bonaparte do,
asks teacher.

Won a war, the children say.
Lost a war, the children say.
No one knows.

Our butcher had a dog
called Napoleon,
says Frantisek.
The butcher used to beat him and the dog died
of hunger
a year ago.

And all the children are now sorry
for Napoleon.

#MiroslavHolub

[AncientPromises @DevakiSeena]

@ArdraManasi Rukmini Devi Arundale this is

[AncientPromises @DevakiSeena]

What if Orpheus,
confident in the hard-
found mastery,
should go down into Hell?
Out of the clean light down?
And then, surrounded
by the closing beasts
and readying his lyre,
should notice, suddenly
they had no ears?

'Orpheus in Greenwich Village' poem by #JackGilbert

~ painting by #BenedettoGennari
#apoemaday
#poetry
#art

[AncientPromises @DevakiSeena]

@PicoIyer Traversal

[AncientPromises @DevakiSeena]

Many people act
as if they hadn’t been born yet.
Meanwhile,
however,
William Burroughs, asked by a student
if he believed in life after death.
replied:
– And how do you know you haven’t died yet?

''Brief reflection on Death' ~~ #MiroslavHolub
#apoemaday
#poetry

[AncientPromises @DevakiSeena]

'When the bees fell silent' - Miroslav Holub

An old man
suddenly died
alone in his garden under an elderberry bush.
He lay there till dark,
when the bees
fell silent.

A lovely way to die, wasn't it,
doctor, says
the woman in black
who comes to the garden
as before,
every Saturday,

in her bag always
lunch for two.

#apoemaday
#MiroslavHolub

[AncientPromises @DevakiSeena]

Like frozen water there I found him,
With thoughts that were like leafless trees around him.

Like water frozen to its depth I saw him,
No summer was ever long enough to thaw him.

I tried to make him angry, only
He grew more cold and reticent and lonely.

I tried all ways I could to love him:
I crept up closer and I leaned above him.

I pierced his surface in good part
And made a plumb-line of my heart:

But he was frozen through and through,
How deep he was I never knew.

'Portrait' poem by #SalomondelaSelva

*****************

painting by #BarbaraKroll

[CinemaRare @CinemaRareIN]

. @MiraPagliNair unveils the first look of her next #Amri, a tribute to Amrita Sher-Gil, whose fearless vision transformed modern Indian art.

Featuring. #AnjaliSivaraman as Amrita with #EmilyWatson @JaideepAhlawat @jimSarbh #AnjanaVasan #KrisztiánCsákvári & @priyankachopra.

[AncientPromises @DevakiSeena]

At one time you had so many smiles:
astonished, rapturous, roguish smiles,
sometimes a little sad, but all the same smiles.
I'll find a field where grow hundreds of smiles.
I'll bring you a handful of the loveliest smiles,
but you'll tell me that now you don't need any smiles,
that you're so tired of others' and my own smiles.
And I'm tired too of others' smiles.
And I'm tired too of my own smiles.
I have so many defensive smiles,
making-me-still-more-unsmiling smiles.
But virtually I haven't any more smiles.
You, in my life, are the last of my smiles,
a smile, on whose face there are no more smiles.

~~ 'Smiles' by #Yevtushenko

#apoemaday

[AncientPromises @DevakiSeena]

I spend the days deciding
on a commemorative poem.
Not, luckily, an epitaph.
A quiet poem
to establish the fact of me.
As one of the incidental faces
in those stone processions.
Carefully done.
Not claiming that I was
at any of the great victories.
But that I volunteered.

'Convalescing' by #JackGilbert
#apoemaday

[AncientPromises @DevakiSeena]

~~ [Platform ~~ #ImtiazDharker

On the platform opposite
three men and one woman
are reading newspapers,
six people are speaking into phones,
or listening. One is sitting on a tin
case marked 'Fragile'
A boy yawns, then
looks at the girl wearing green boots.

The board shuffles
through its pack of numbers.
A poster offers Escape Routes.
Trains come and go.

Now only four on phones.
Where did that man
go, carrying his fragile cargo?
Easy to lose count.
Some leave in time. Some stay.

#apoemaday

[AncientPromises @DevakiSeena]

When Kadambari entered the Tagore household as Jyotindranath’s child-bride, she was 9 yrs old and Rabindranath was 7. Being closer in age to Rabi, a deep friendship blossomed between them, and she soon rose to the status of his muse and literary companion. She persuaded him to read aloud his writings, while he “shared the benefits of my sister-in-law’s hand fan”. This relationship during Tagore's impressionable years has been subject to much speculation and controversy.

In Suman Ghosh’s biopic Kadambari, Konkona Sen lives the part. Parambrata Chatterjee though convincing as the young Rabi, pales beside Konkona.

Kadambari is said to have called Tagore 'Bhanu' meaning 'sun', while he nicknamed her 'Hecate', the Greek goddess with three faces linked to the moon, witchcraft and magic. Hecate is a liminal goddess - invisible, obscure, hidden. It is probable this nickname reveals the quality of their relationship.

Many of Tagore's early works are dedicated to Kadambari, including 'Bhagno Hridoy (Broken Heart) and his lyrics Tomarei koriachhi jibaner dhrubo tara (Thou art the guiding beacon of my life). Also, Tagore's short story 'Nashtanihr (Broken Nest) is based on their relationship and the basis of Ray's all-time classic 'Charulata'.

A few months after Tagore’s marriage, Kadambari overdosed on opium and ended her life. Following her death, in a letter to C. F. Andrews, his close associate, Tagore wrote, “But where is the sweetheart of mine who was almost the only companion of my boyhood and with whom I spent my idle days of youth exploring the mysteries of dreamland? She, my Queen, has died and my world has shut.”

It was in the last decade of his life that Tagore took to expressing himself through the medium of art. He painted women with ovoid faces, doe shaped eyes and wearied gazes. Tagore reportedly told the artist Nandalal Bose: "The look of the eyes of Kadambari Devi have become so deeply imprinted on my mind that I can never forget about them and when I paint portraits, not unoften her glowing eyes present themselves before my sight. Probably that is why the eyes in my portraits take after her eyes."

‘The suicide of a star,' which he wrote as an ode to Kadambari depicted people's indifference to her death.
'A Star Kills Itself' by Tagore
A star jumped down from the sky to the black waters of the sea as if in a fit of madness. Millions of stars, alarmed, saw this act of suicide, saw how a speck of light that had been with them vanished in utter darkness in a few moments.
It rushed to the depths of the sea, down to the rocky floor strewn with many stars whose light was extinguished forever.
What was wrong with this lost one? I alone know the answer. I alone know what was consuming it during its brightness.
It was the torture of unceasing laughter. A piece of live coal laughs to hide its blackness. The more it laughs, the more does it burn. When it could no longer endure the pain of burning, it jumped down from the realm of light, setting out for the cool, black waters.
Hundreds and thousands of shining stars gazed at the fallen one and laughed in disdain.
“No loss to us.” “The sky remains as luminous as ever.”

#Kadambari #TagoreJayanti
#NotesToMyself

[AncientPromises @DevakiSeena]

Not hammer strokes, but the dance of the water sings the pebbles to perfection. #Tagore
@GurudevTagore @Tagore150years
(painting by #RabindranathTagore

[AncientPromises @DevakiSeena]

I think that the habit of gloomy poetry is very funny. It’s like a special competition in losing.
― #MiroslavHolub
#aquoteaday

[AncientPromises @DevakiSeena]

'Clowns' by #MiroslavHolub
Where do clowns go?
What do clowns eat?
Where do clowns sleep?

What do clowns do
when nobody
just nobody laughs
any more
Mummy?

#apoemaday