A Big Fat Indian Wedding on Day Eleven of #NaPoWriMo 2023

Dear Readers,

Day Eleven of #Na/GloWriPoMo challenges the poet

to play around with the idea of overheard language. First, take a look at Naomi Shihab Nye’s poem “One Boy Told Me.” It’s delightfully quirky, and reads as a list, more or less, of things that she’s heard the boy of the title – her son, perhaps? – say. Now,  write a poem that takes as its starting point something overheard that made you laugh, or something someone told you once that struck you as funny. 

a mandapam

At a Big Fat Indian Wedding

Aunties in saris and uncles turban clad,

a toothless granny, cousins, Mom and Dad

gathered together on the flowery mandapam

to bless the newlyweds: a radiant bride and her shy groom.

"Was it Love?" asked the aunt with a golden bust.

"Na. Honestly Maami-- it was purely lust."

said the groom without blinking an eye.

I swear I heard a collective-connective sigh!

Of course, there was silence for a split

second. OMG! Dammit...

What guts. What clarity! 

Hurrah! I say, for such confident morality.

I wish we had more of this on display

at cocktails and dinners and soirees of midday.

What fun to know what you really think

about life, her dress, this venue, your drink.

And if ever such a day shall dawn,

sign me up for every party on the lawn.

But, if you will continue to hide behind niceties and blah,

I'm telling you now, I won't come. Mwah!

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My day started with a doctor's appointment (nothing serious) and a momentary loss of memory. I forgot where I'd parked my car in the parking garage next to the hospital. All's well that ends well. I found my car. 

What a contrast the evening has been when the prompt unlocked a very old and funny memory. I enjoyed writing to the prompt. 

A Sea Shanty on Day Ten #NaPoWriMo 2023

Dear Readers,

Day Ten of #Na/GloWriPoMo has been the hardest prompt thus far for it challenges the poet to write a sea shanty.

I'm of the mountains. I do love the sea but to write a sea shanty! Well, that's another story or poetry.

In order to connect to my inner-being, I closed my eyes to conjure up seascapes or sea songs that would gently tide me over to 'lets-give-it-a-go' port.

I live in Qatar--a nation proud of its pearl-diving heritage. Suddenly, an idea flashed. Why not look at some of the pearl-diving-sea-songs for inspiration. 

Going down rabbit holes of discovery is a favourite and fabulous thing. I found out that the lead singer of sea-songs is called the nahhām.

According to this article on QDL, "The nahhām was a paid professional singer, regarded foremost important on every boat and ship."

The following is an attempt ...

Doha, Qatar

nahhām nahhām nahhām 

The song you sing of love

is the kohl, her eyes

becomes the night

They ask me when 

the tide will turn

The hearth and the fire

have just one desire

nahhām nahhām nahhām 

The song you sing of longing

is the jasmine, her hair

O! the mighty waves

She un-braids just for me

The debts are not yet paid

She says, but come home anyway

nahhām nahhām nahhām

The song you sing of pearls

is the promise, her embrace

The salt I taste makes me thirsty

May Allah have mercy

Pray and sing His praises

She's seeing the same moon as me.

nahhām nahhām nahhām....

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"Generally, lyrics are derived from literary and colloquial Arabic poetry." states the article. 

"While the lengthy rhythm cycles remind the listener of the temple music in Kerala (south India), the communal bourdon singing recreates an atmosphere similar to the music of Tibetan monks or Sattya Hindu monks in Assam (north-east India)."

Like a true sea-voyage, I ended up finding pearls of wisdom from the songs of the sea. I hadn't set out to find any of this. 

Here's a sample of  Sea Music from Qatar: 

Day Nine #NaPoWriMo 2023

Dear Readers,

Wishing you a fabulous Sunday and Happy Easter to all those who are celebrating.

The(optional) prompt on Day Nine of #Na/GloPoWriMo encourages the poet to write a sonnet.

But first, I'd like to share a poem I read a few minutes ago. It's the featured poem for Day Eight on NA/GloWriPoMo site and it's unmissable. You can read it here : To Create...

There's something about structure that makes me want to rebel. But this year (perhaps it's a sign of ageing or acceptance--I don't know) I'm giving structure in poetry a go.

The sonnet I wrote follows the general rule of 14 lines and it's about love. Plus, I tried to follow the following rhyming scheme: ABBA, ABBA, CDECDE.

I've removed it from the post as it's a first draft of sorts. 

picture taken in July 2021 in Oregon.

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I'd recommend reading Adam O'Riordan's article, 'The Sonnet as a Silver Marrow Spoon' published by Poetry Foundation if you'd like to write a sonnet yourself.

Day Eight of #NaPoWriMo 23

Dear Readers,

In order to give my April attempts (first drafts, really) a fighting chance to mature into good enough poems to submit to literary journals in the future, I've decided to remove some of my poems (those that I feel have potential to grow) from my blog after a day. I have to thank Romana for planting this idea in my head.  Submission processes are rather exacting and at this point in my life, I'd like to find nurturing homes for my poems.

The(optional) prompt for Day Eight of #Na/GloPoWriMo challenges the poet to use all of the 'Twenty Little Poetry Projects" (originally developed by Jim Simmerman) in one poem. 

You may want to click on the link Day Eight to find out what these twenty projects are. 

In order to get myself in the mood to write to such an extensive prompt, I visited some of the poets who'd written and posted their entries already. I must say I was impressed and motivated in equal measure. 

I've taken my poem down but have left these beautiful roses from a garden in Srinagar, Kashmir (clicked in August 2022) to wish you Happy Easter Sunday.

Day 7 #NaPoWriMo23

Dear Readers,

In order to give my April attempts (first drafts, really) a fighting chance to mature into good enough poems to submit to literary journals in the future, I've decided to remove some of my poems (those that I feel have potential to grow) from my blog after a day. I have to thank Romana for planting this idea in my head.  Submission processes are rather exacting and at this point in my life, I'd like to find nurturing homes for my poems.

And on to Day Seven of Na/GloPoWriMo. The (optional) prompt prods the poet to 

"Start by reading James Tate’s poem “The List of Famous Hats.”  Now, write a poem that plays with the idea of a list. Tate’s poem is a list that isn’t – he never gets beyond the first entry. You could try to write a such a non-list, but a couple of other ideas would be to create a list of ingredients, or a list of entries in an index. A self-portrait (or a portrait of someone close to you) in the form of a such a list could be very funny. Another way into this prompt might be a list of instructions."

I'm sharing two poems today. One that I wrote just now and one from last year.

The new poem has been removed. But the one from last year awaits...

Topikapi Palace, Istanbul, April 2022

This nonet from Na/GloWriPoMo 2022 is a list of instructions:

How to make love ( a nonet)

Un-button the what ifs, the why nots

mindfully. Take the layers off. Now

wriggle out of all mistakes

you ever made. Let go.

Bathe in forgiveness.

Hand on heartbeat.

Close your eyes:

dhak… dhak…

dhak.

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Thank you for visiting this page. I look forward to reading your comments. Have a lovely day.

Breaking everything #NaPoWriMo23

photo taken in Spring' 22 in Istanbul.

Hello Readers,

April arrived in the middle of home renovations and work-related travel. I was quite sure of not reaching my favourite space (i.e. the blogging world) at all this month but when the Day 1 prompt of #NaPoWriMo23 prodded to me to go-on-give-it-a-go, I accepted his annual ritual gleefully. 

But Day 2 stumped me. I didn't write a word. I could have but I chose to finish the day with a glass of red instead; watching home renovation programmes on a loop with my daughter. We loved it.

Here we are on Day 3. Birmingham sun is falling in big, warm squares on the wooden floor of my daughter's flat. I'll be making my way back home in a couple of hours. There's a train ride followed by a flight on the day's horizon. But for now there is e.e. cummings.

Two days ago, while browsing in the Oxfam book shop, I chanced upon a book of 'selected poems' by e.e. cummings. This poem (untitled, of course) fits in perfectly with the Day 3 prompt which encourages the poet to "Find a shortish poem that you like, and rewrite each line, replacing each word (or as many words as you can) with words that mean the opposite... (It’s sort of like taking a radio apart and putting it back together, but for poetry)."

Winter is like a sure foot

(which comes carelessly

out of Somewhere) scattering 

a window, out of  which people look (while

people stare

disarranging and unchanging placing

carelessly there a known

thing and a strange thing here) and

unchanging nothing carelessly

winter is unlike a perhaps

Hand in a window

(carelessly to

and fro keeping Old and

New things, while

people stare with little care

holding on to a perhaps

fraction of flower there placing

a pillar of earth there) and

without healing anything.

The original poem by e.e. cummings:

Spring is like a perhaps hand

(which comes carefully

out of Nowhere) arranging 

a window, into which people look (while

people stare

arranging and changing placing

carefully there a strange

thing and a known thing here) and 

changing everything carefully

spring is like a perhaps

Hand in  a window

(carefully to

and fro moving New and 

Old things, while

people stare carefully

moving a perhaps

fraction of flower here placing

an inch of air there) and

without breaking anything.

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Thank you for visiting my blog on Day 1 and for leaving your wonderful comments. I'll be visiting your spaces as soon as I'm back home -- I promise:)

A poem inspired by the cover of Kafka on the Shore -- Day 1 of #NaPoWriMo23

Dear Readers,

Hello. Hope you've been well. 

It's Day 1 of #napowrimo23. It has dawned wet and grey where I am.

Poets, Start Your Engines prods the prompt and challenges the poet to "write a poem based on a book cover."

Engine started. Challenge (almost) accepted. 

I wrote this poem inspired by 'Kafka on the Shore' last year. Why not enter it to start the challenge and then take every day as it comes, I tell myself as I punch the laptop keys and hope that another 'new' poem will find its way to me while I go about my day. 

Thank you for being here and for reading my poetry.

You know I'd love to read your comments.

Wishing you all a fabulously creative April.

Arti

“Kafka on the Shore”

This cat, all-white, thumbnail size

stares at me from a semicircle of white:

A thick arch drawn to the right of the spine.

A moon must’ve spilt in half or gone to hide

Behind.

 

But this cat, all-white, thumbnail size

sits quite still

under a rectangle, built with walls

that are white:

cradling in its solid arms, all-white

Dark and Light

hints of Blue and a dollop of Navy.

 

The cat’s tail, a twisted white noodle, fallen off mid-bite from a fork

questions me with its shape.

The all-white tail of the all-white cat

asks: “when will you look up?”

Or perhaps it’s the cat, white and thumbnail size,

that’s prodding me to put the phone down and pick up

the book it’s etched on instead,

and read that which is claimed

by the New Yorker to be

“An insistently

 metaphysical mind-bender”.

 

If you take your gaze away from the cat, all-white and thumbnail size

and let it hover

just above the thickly drawn white rectangle on the cover,

you’ll discover that while Haruki Murakami lies imprisoned

in the rectangle’s strong and solid arms,

Kafka on The Shore

roams free

on Dark and Light hints of Blue and  a dollop of Navy.