The Spider's WebDedicated To Prof. IAJ JeyadossBy Nirmaldasan Webpublished in March 2019 Tribute To Prof. IAJ Jeyadoss Of Loyola College Vernal Equinox, World Poetry Day -- Prof. IAJ Jeyadoss!
Patriotic Indian, Secular Soul -- Prof. IAJ Jeyadoss!
Tamil Spirit, Noble Kinsman -- Prof. IAJ Jeyadoss!
Loyolite Sincere, English Star -- Prof. IAJ Jeyadoss!
Sometime Dean, Always Teacher -- Prof. IAJ Jeyadoss!
-- Nirmaldasan 21st March 2019
Contents 1. The Testament 2. Tennyson's Flower: A Glosa 3. The Bodhisatta First Version 4. Ode To Bhairavi 5. Hymn To Bhairavi 6. Humbaba Dead 7. Poetic Prose: Fall Of Nahusha 8. The Cul-de-sac 9. A New World 10. The Pheasant 11. Golden Droppings 12. Paradise Lost In Seven Tweets 13. Pangram 14. Free Verse: The Mango Weevil 15. Visual Verse 16. Echo Verse: The Displaced Weevil 17. The Weevil Equivoque 18. Weevil Anagrams 19. Chronogram 20. A Glosa On T. Ashwin Kumar's Verse 21. Non-linear Verse 22. Lipogram Lines 23. Two Cinquains 24. Tanka 25. Your Penance Will Bear Fruit ... 26. A Letter To Rain 27. Hastinapura 28. Chaucer's Manciple's Tale 39. The Shorter `Waste Land' 30. Bouts-rimes 31. The Temple Bell 32. Literary Fragments 33. Palinode The Testament (from The Vision Of The Baptist, Book II, Canto IV, lines 53-105)
And John the Baptist answered them, saying, "Nothing can man receive save from heaven. Ye yourselves bear me witness, that I said, 55 I am not the Christ but sent before him. And he that hath the bride is the bridegroom: But the friend of the bridegroom rejoiceth To hear the bridegroom's voice with joy fulfilled. Jesus Christ must increase and I decrease. 60 Whosoever is of the earth, speaketh Of earthly things; but he is from above, Sent by God to testify what is true. And those who receiveth his testament Shall wake up unto everlasting life. 65 On others shall descend the wrath of God." Then with them he shared also Christ's teachings Nobler than his: the sermon on the mount, Which he had heard from the wind and the trees, From the sound of waters and chirping birds 70 And from the Holy Ghost which filled him now. Remember the teachings of Baptist John? "He that has two coats," that's what he had said, "Let him impart one to him that has none. And he who has meat, likewise let him do. 75 Exact no more than that which is your due. Do violence to no one in deed or thought And with your wages be thou satisfied." Noble teachings these, but nobler than these Is the sermon on the mount, where Christ says 80 "Think not I am come to destroy the law. I'm come not to destroy, but to fulfil. Ye have heard it said that the laws permit An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. But I say to you: resist not evil. 85 Whosoever smites thee on thy right cheek, To him turn thine other also. And if Any man sue thee at the law to take Thy coat away, give him your cloak also. And whosoever compels thee to walk, 90 Compels to walk a mile, go with him twain. "And behold the fowls of the air: for they Sow not, neither do they reap nor gather Into barns yet God the Father feeds them. And consider the lilies of the field, 95 How they grow; they toil not, nor do they spin And yet verily I say unto you That ev'n Solomon in all his glory Could never be arrayed like one of these. Therefore, take ye no thought of the morrow, 100 Saying, `What shall we eat, or drink, or clothe?' For God who feeds the birds and clothes the grass Knoweth that ye have need of all these things. And so seek ye first the kingdom of God, His righteousness, and truth will make you free." 105
Tennyson's Flower: A Glosa (from A Quiver Of Arrows)
"Flower in the crannied wall, I pluck you out of the crannies; Hold you here, root and all, in my hand, Little flower but if I could understand What you are, root and all, and all in all, I should know what God and man is."
But how did you in the crannies grow? Perhaps some bird let its droppings fall On a perfect wall without a crack. But fallen seeds no strength they lack To cranny the wall sure and slow, Flower in the crannied wall.
A potted plant cannot flower so well; You break man's wall and bloom with ease. I do understand Nature's mystic power That makes kin each bird and flower. But for reasons I may or may not tell, I pluck you out of the crannies.
In maiden's tresses flowers lie Lovelier than those across the land. Lovely flowers bloom in crannied walls, And blessed flowers in sacred halls Decking household Gods; but I Hold you here, root and all, in my hand.
The world seems so dry and stiff, The world seems so dry and bland. There be moments of bliss and pain And yet no sense of loss and gain. All cannot but only be fine if Little flower but if I could understand…
Yes, I will think and try my best To know why man has built a wall. But I think God, Nature and Man Form a tight-knit human and divine clan. So I ought to know, count myself blest, What you are, root and all, and all in all.
Once I know what you are, root and all, I should know that life is bliss. Once I know the deep roots of life, I should know both love and strife. Once I know why man has built a wall, I should know what God and man is.
The Bodhisatta First Version (from Literary Trivia & Curiosities)
I have been a dormant seed, seasoned by showers of spring. I have been a dancing reed with foot rooted in the soil.
I have been a caterpillar devouring the freshest leaves. I have been a butterfly fluttering embroidered wings.
I have been a chameleon changing colour from bark to bark. I have been a swift-winged kite hovering over a terrestrial prey.
I have been little prince Siddharth, nursing a crimson wing of a wounded swan.
Note: Composed on October 26, 1995. I later recast the lines in metre and added it to a collection titled `Truth & Pleasure' in Tinai 2
Ode to Bhairavi (from A Quiver Of Arrows)
Fair Empress, the winds rouse the sleeping buds. See them bloom so fair in various hues; The reeds are filled with music soft And birds sing songs of praise upon the bough. The waves roll upon the peaceful shore And seem to chant a vedic hymn. All, all for thee, thou blessed Queen! Victory to thee, victory to thee! Victory to thee, our beloved Queen!
How lightly you wear the sparkling crown, How sweetly sways your righteous sceptre; These shew to us that thou Came to serve and not to reign. Enchantress! thou hast chained the devil And transfixed it on a tree. The dark spirit shrieked like an owl And strove in vain to break its chains.
Who shalt have the heart to frown When thou pass by in thy majesty? The tigers may lurk in the deep woods And crouch to prey on thee. But when thy crescent smile they behold, They shalt grow as mild as a lamb And play about thy lotus feet.
Hail, hail to thee, O Bhairavi! Rivers shall flow once again And roll on to kiss the Bengal bay. And devotees shall throng thy shrine To worship thy countenance. Om Shanti, Shanti, Shanti.
Hymn to Bhairavi (from A Quiver Of Arrows)
With a crimson ball in her arm Morn appears with rosy cheeks And wakens sweet Silence from her dreams Of the moon and jewelled stars of Night. And Silence glad inclines her conched ears To hear the whispers of the breeze, The flap of wings, the ditties of birds And the serene melodies of waking thoughts.
This is the day... this the day Each rose shalt blow without the thorn And each bee shed its thorny sting. This is the day which returns with Spring To mark this glorious day of days On which our beloved Queen was born... Yea, Bhairavi our beloved Queen...
The priests in every house of worship Chant thy name and hymn thy praise, For thou always bend thine ear To list to the poor man's plight; And thy starry eye and moonlight smile Illumines the peasant's sorrowed heart. Thou was born to create and not to destroy, Was born to fulfil the eternal law Whenever adharma waxes and dharma wanes To take a human shape on earth And strengthen the arms of those who toil And wipe from their eyes the tears they shed.
Yet 'tis true, though strange it seem, that thou Wast never born nor canst ever die, But hast ever been and is and shall be, The alpha and omega, the beginning and end! Each chaste heart is thine, where enshrined Deign to accept this our solemn hymn.
Humbaba Dead (from Moonlight Miscellany)
The stars will not glow again Humbaba, the guardian of the woods, Is dead, killed by two friends Gilgamesh and Enkidu.
The winds will not blow again Humbaba, the guardian of the woods, Is killed, slain by two friends Gilgamesh and Enkidu.
The rivers will not flow again Humbaba, the guardian of the woods, Is slain, axed by two friends Gilgamesh and Enkidu.
The forests will not grow again Humbaba, the guardian of the woods, Is axed, murdered by two friends Gilgamesh and Enkidu.
Poetic Prose: Fall of Nahusha (from Moonlight Miscellany)
King Nahusha of Hindustan is now the King of the gods. Since he was good on earth, they thought he would be good in heaven too. But that was not to be. He desired with lust every nymph he saw and soon his greedy eyes fell on Indrani, the queen of the gods.
She said she would yield if he came on a palanquin borne by the sapta rishis, the seven sages. They obliged and as the palanquin went along a little slow, Nahusha lost his cool and planted a kick on Agastya's shoulder saying, "Sarpa, sarpa!" meaning "Faster, faster!" The sage simply agreed with him to say, "Sarpa, sarpa!" meaning "Serpent, serpent!"
Nahusha metamorphosed into a serpent, serpent a python huge and fell faster, faster from presumptuous heaven back into the humble earth!
The Cul-de-sac (from A Quiver Of Arrows)
The beaten path runs into a cul-de-sac and Madam Leela's joint.
Tinklings of glasses subside, the lights grow dim. Leftovers on plantain leaves are thrown into the bin.
The beggar dressed in rags sits reclined undisturbed by the scribbled wall.
The bin overflows. Leftovers include half-smoked cigars, cigarettes and beedis and oily condoms. Some are knotted and some are not.
The guests leave by midnight, retrace their steps out of the cul-de-sac and Madam Leela's joint.
The beggar no more sits reclined by the wall. Like an hairy ape he springs towards the bin on fours. And so do the dogs.
The moon is full, the night is calm. The cesspool mirrors the starry skies.
A New World (from A Quiver Of Arrows)
Many beauty queens Throng this House of Fame With immortal longings...
Here there is no earth But a mosaic floor And a parade of flesh.
Here there are no skies But a painted roof And thoughts with wanton wings.
Here there's no water But whisky and gin And tongues salivating.
Here there is no air But cigarette smoke And the breath of passion.
Here there is no light But glittering jewels And eyes burning with lust.
Quit this House of Shame! Seize the earth, the skies, Water, air and light… Come, fashion a new world...
The Pheasant (from A Quiver Of Arrows)
God shall save the queen, But who shall save the pheasant? The queen has wrung its neck And sports its plumes at church. God shall save the queen.
Golden Droppings (from Rocking Pegasus)
In Panchatantra there is A story of a strange bird Whose droppings turn into gold. Listen to that tale in verse. This bird a hunter ensnared And put it into a cage. "It's an ill-omen," he thought And decided to present The bird to the king lest he Be condemned to die for it.
The king was happy to own Such a peculiar bird. He ordered his guardsmen to Give the bird choice food and drink. But the king's counselor said, "Why waste food and drink on it? How can dung turn into gold?" The king mused awhile and then He shouted, "Set the bird free!"
Upon a door the freed bird Sat and let its droppings fall. The droppings turned into gold. And then the bird flew away.
Paradise Lost In Seven Tweets (from Playful Poesy)
1/7 Eve arose. 2/7 Adam was asleep. 3/7 She went for a walk. 4/7 She ate an apple. 5/7 She gave Adam a bite. 6/7 He tasted it happily. 7/7 God declared them sinners.
Pangram (Sentence comprising every letter of the English alphabet; from Moonlight Miscellany)
Adam dozes but Eve wakes, quietly picks a jinxed fruit and eats enough.
Free Verse: The Mango Weevil (from Playful Poesy)
A mango weevil laid an egg in a flower. It looked at its shadow in the river below and flew away.
When the egg hatched, the flower had already become a fruit and so the young weevil was trapped in the seed.
The mango ripened and fell into the river and floated on and on … down the hill and through the fields and sandy plains … and into the sea.
There it was caught in a fisherman's net. The fisherman sliced the fruit and the weevil flew out of the seed.
But is the weevil really free? The poor creature is sick at sea and flies to and fro knowing not that its home is far away.
Visual Verse (from Playful Poesy)
Echo Verse: The Displaced Weevil (from Playful Poesy)
Voice: I'll sing a song of weevil Echo: Evil Voice: In evil hour weevil trapped Echo: Our weevil trapped Voice: Within the seed Echo: In the seed Voice: Fate bade the mango Echo: Go! Voice: And the mango went you know Echo: No Voice: Dropped from tree freely Echo: Really Voice: Into the stream and sea Echo: See! Voice: Behold the fisherman! Echo: Hold the fisherman! Voice: Too late … Echo: Ate Voice: Like an oaf ate Echo: Fate Voice: But the weevil flies free Echo: Flies free? Voice: May be no Echo: Know Voice: By Fate its world is placed Echo: Well displaced Voice: Well, the weevil it flies! Echo: Ill it flies! Voice: Can we save the weevil? Echo: We will! Voice: If there's a wee will Echo: Weevil Voice: Thereof lies a way Echo: Flies away!
The Weevil Equivoque (First read down each column, then read across the two columns; from Moonlight Miscellany)
Weevil Anagrams (from Moonlight Miscellany)
Weevil -- We live! Mango weevil -- Evil man, we go!
Chronogram (from Moonlight Miscellany)
How many weevils? weeVILs LIV or LVI? 54 or 56 weevils!
A Glosa on T. Ashwin Kumar's `Waking Up With A Polar Bear' (from Moonlight Miscellany)
"When I woke up from a hot summer night, So hot that I had slept in my underwear, The heat had melted all the world's ice, And I woke up with a polar bear."
I had swooned into a slumber deep Like a comet in a flash of light; And found myself melting a dream When I woke up from a hot summer night.
Even the helpless gods are crying treason! O where is the biting cold of winter? Of what use these blankets this season? So hot that I had slept in my underwear.
Throw the sun into another galaxy, And let the waning moon wax and rise And cool the earth before the heat, The heat had melted all the world's ice.
When I curled up into a ball of fire, Went in flames, I thought, my underwear. The glaziers in global warming disappear And I woke up with a polar bear.
Non-linear Verse (the lines can be read in any order; from Literary Trivia & Curiosities)
For ever and for ever, In the wilderness sands, On the banks of a river, A banyan tree stands, Like a sage in prayer.
Lipogram Lines (Every line will have all the vowel letters excepting one vowel: a e i o u in that order; from Moonlight Miscellany)
For the sun the world pines, But shadows fall as a mist Over north, south and west; In the east the sun shines And brightens my lipogram lines.
Two Cinquains (from Rocking Pegasus)
MYNAH
Birdie, Do you hear me? Like a banner unfurled Your wings are spread to scale the skies. Adieu.
THE PREY
Beyond The spotted deer Lurks in stillness the beast. Its spots they say can never change. It springs …
Tanka (from Literary Trivia & Curiosities)
The clock has struck five, The world is about to wake; Crows caw in the skies, A lizard clucks on the wall, And `Milk!' cries the old milkman.
Your Penance Will Bear Fruit … (translated from the Tamil of Dr. G. Arasendiran, written in memory of Parvathiammal, mother of Velupillai Prabhakaran, 21 February 2011; from Passionate Verses & Other Translations)
Dwelling in the Himalaya, Mother Parvathiamma! Name of Goddess is thine, Now a being divine!
Velan, our victorious Lord, Primal being and primal source; Kalan who destroys our foes; Karikalvalavan our protector; The Cheran who raised for Kannagi a stone; And great Madurai's Pandyan king All these in one mingled form, You gave birth to Prabhakaran; O mother, our respects to you, Our respects with a bowing head!
To perpetuate the name Of Velupillai the brave, You, mother tigress, Bore a tiger Prabhakaran; O mother, our respects to you, Our respects with a bowing head!
For eight crore Tamils To find a footing sure, O mother Himalaya, You bore a lofty peak! O mother, our respects to you, Our respects with a bowing head!
The troops he recruited For asserting our rights; He raised the waves unceasing; He tarred all foxiness, Destroyed the traitors And took the land by storm! Such a person, you bore, O mother tempest! O mother, our respects to you, Our respects with a bowing head!
To erase the name of the Sinhala Who destroyed our homes and our kin, You bore Prabhakaran the thunderbolt, O mother, O vast firmament! O mother, our respects to you, Our respects with a bowing head!
The Tamils of the world With emotions of the heart Shed tears overflowing And clasp your feet To utter a word, To utter a word.
Will my son light my pyre, Will my son light my pyre, Crores of times you may have thought And become weary and dejected With the pulse beating low!
Your son will light the pyre, Your son will light the pyre! He will erupt like a volcano, Destroy the thundering Sinhala; And tossing him into the flames, Your son will light his pyre, Your son will light his pyre.
Your penance will bear fruit, Your name will last for ever. O mother, our respects to you, Our respects with a bowing head!
A Letter To Rain (translated from the Tamil of P. Shalom, Rocking Pegasus)
Descend instantly, O ruler of water-droplets! Embrace the soil of the Tamils, bring relief to the ryots.
Grant pure droplets as a gift as life to the grains, as happiness to all nature.
O noble rain, ever satisfying our wants, come once again and make us dance with ecstasy!
Hastinapura (translated from the Tamil of Subramanya Bharati; from Rocking Pegasus)
With gardens filled with flowers, Refreshed by the morning dew; With lakes, clear as crystal; With groves that a variety yields Of fruits which meet the devas' taste:- Is the city of Hastinapura.
With sculptures and paintings With music and dancing; With danseus's whose honey'd lips Heavenly kisses impart; With temples of art, where Daily rites are performed; With smell of incense, emanating From burning sandal wood; With priests chanting hymns; With debates and tests in skills By large crowds witness'd; With men, scholarly and wise; With chariots, by fine horses drawn; With bare-bodied men, Knowledged in the use of arms Of spears, lances and darts Shewing their shoulders broad And strength that canst meet That of elephants five score:- Is Hastinapura, matchless and stately.
And in quietism lived some (Relishing not artistic things; With actions unjust, by Maya inspired: Like flattery and performances Of many a false rite and sacrifice):- In the embellished, ancient, Hastinapura of northern Hindustan.
Chaucer's Manciple's Tale (opening lines modernized, from Rocking Pegasus)
In the days, when on this mortal ground Phoebus dwelt, as in ancient writings found, He indeed was the most gallant knight Whom none equall'd in bow and arrow fight. Once, the sleeping python's breath he still'd 5 When the earth with the sun's warmth was fill'd. And noble deeds he wrought with his bow Which still do in noble minds echo. A minstrel he was of utmost skill, And had a voice which instill 10 A melody in the ears for long. Not King Amphion, who wall'd Thebes strong With a voice so mellow and divine, Could sing as he in notes half so fine. Hence was he a wight of fairest kind 15 Since first the earth its shape had assigned. What needs his self the praise of my tongue? As no fairest wight the earth has sprung. And gentleness did his semblance shew, And fill'd was with worth and honours due. 20 And he (beauteous flow'r of manhood) Who, in deeds of valour, above all stood, Was wont to bear, for pleasure's sake And as sign of triumph over the snake, In his hand a bow, as myth portrays. 25 Now in a cage had he for many days A crow, which he fostr'd and did teach, As jays are taught, the art of human speech. And as a swan's, were its feathers white; And it could, the speech of every wight, 30 Imitate, when a tale it should tell. No nightingale could ever sing so well, Nor, even for a part, come near That enchantic voice of merry cheer.
The Shorter `Waste Land' (Apologies to T.S. Eliot and none to Ezra Pound; from Playful Poesy)
April is the cruellest month. That corpse you planted last year in your garden, Has it begun to sprout? Will it bloom this year? I will show you fear in a handful of dust.
Madame Sosostris, famous clairvoyante, Had a bad cold, nevertheless Is known to be the wisest woman in Europe With a wicked pack of cards. [Seven eight lay them straight.] Tell her I bring the horoscope myself: One must be careful these days.
The time is now propitious, as he guesses, The meal is ended, she is bored and tired, Endeavours to engage her in caresses Which still are unreproved, if undesired Flushed and decided, he assaults at once; Exploring hands encounter no defence; His vanity requires no response, And makes a welcome of indifference.
When lovely woman stoops to folly And paces about her room again, alone, She smoothes her hair with automatic hand, And puts a record on the gramophone.
[One two Remove your shoe Three four Shut the door Five six Choose your chicks Seven eight Lay them straight Nine ten Come again]
To Carthage I came Burning burning burning O Lord thou pluckest me out O Lord thou pluckest Burning
What is that sound high in the air? Murmur of maternal lamentation.
Phlebas the Phoenician, a fortnight dead, Forgot the cry of gulls, and the deep sea swell And the profit and loss. A current under sea Picked his bones in whispers. As he rose and fell He passed the stages of his age and youth Entering the whirlpool.
The boat responded Gaily, to the hand expert with sail and oar The sea was calm, your heart would have responded Gaily, when invited, beating obedient To controlling hands.
Here is no water but only rock Rock and no water and the sandy road The road winding above the mountains Which are mountains of rock without water. Your shadow at morning striding behind you. And your shadow at evening rising to meet you.
Shall I at least set my land in order?
Datta. Dayadhvam. Damyata.
Shantih shantih shantih
Bouts-rimes (with rhymes from Emerson's Brahma; from Literary Trivia & Curiosities)
The leopard slays, The lamb is slain; And Nature's ways Revolve again.
The hunters are near, Each day's the same; The king will appear And hunt for fame.
Night and Death are out, Fate will clip your wings; And a song of doubt The dying swan sings.
Hell is the dark abode For those with sins seven. But the meek and mild and good Find a place in heaven.
Temple Bell (Imitation of Jane Taylor's Twinkling Star; from Moonlight Miscellany)
Tinkle, tinkle, temple bell, How I wonder what you tell, Within the heart with music fills, Like an echo in the hills.
As we go the temple round Thrice within the sacred ground, Then we hear your blessings ring, Tinkle, tinkle, in chorus sing.
When to home we turn to go, Along the path with footing slow, Let your ringing cast a spell, Tinkle, tinkle, temple bell.
Literary Fragments (Complete them if you will; from Moonlight Miscellany)
1. A BRIDAL HYMN
The bride is beautiful like the twinkling stars, The groom is handsome like the waxing moon, The guests bless the couple like the raining skies, They sing a bridal hymn …
2. DOMESTIC OIKOS
Hail the domestic oikos, Nothing better than the family, Sweetest society …
3. ASCETIC COSMOS
Hail the ascetic cosmos, Nothing better than solitude, Aham Brahmasmi ...
Palinode (from Moonlight Miscellany)
I fondly hope you have not read My verse titled Humbaba Dead. But if you have read that ode, Please also read this palinode:
The sun sinks into the main, The stars glow again!
The earth shakes its mane, The winds blow again!
The clouds burst into rain, The rivers flow again!
Birds' droppings seeds contain, The forests grow again! Nirmaldasan's Poetry
An Eaglet In The Skies (1996) A Pocket Book Of Rhymes (2006) Silver Jubilee & Other Poems (2008) Borrowed Robes (translations, 2012) Ode To Gaia (2015) Flights Of Vedanta (2018)
Online Rocking Pegasus (2002) Literary Trivia & Curiosities (2004) Visual Poetics (2004) A Quiver Of Arrows (2007) The Pleasures Of Indolence (2014) The Passionate Verses & Other Translations (2015) Poetry Workbook (2016) Playful Poesy (2017) The Vision Of The Baptist (2017) Moonlight Miscellany (2018)
Nirmaldasan is the pen name of N.Watson Solomon, an independent Communication Consultant. His long association with Dr. Nirmal Selvamony resulted in the tinai series 1-3 (2001-04), in which some of his best poems are published. He has co-edited Essays In Ecocriticism (2007) along with Dr. Selvamony and Dr. Rayson K. Alex. He is the creator of the Green Density Measure, an ecocritical tool for analysing literary texts, and the Strain Index, a formula for measuring readability. Most of his writings are available at the nirmaldasan home page: |
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