Vijaya Sundaram

Poet, Musician, Teacher, and Amateur Visual Artist

This Box

This Box
©April 25th, 2017

ByVijaya Sundaram

Within the knitted bones of this ageing skull,
Lives a little girl who dreamed her life away.

What she saw with her clear, wide eyes
She transformed into colours, skies
Full of music, full of song.

There were joys and sorrows, fears and rage, but dull
She was not, for all was sharp, and all, a play.

Sometimes, a rafting loneliness
Sometimes, a laughing only-ness,
As she poled her barge along.

She lives amidst the stories and songs in that box.
She longs to break it open, as she knocks and knocks
From within, but all she hears is the still sighing
Of stars, while she keeps her lone vigil, undying.
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NaPoWriMo 2017
Today is Day 25 of NaPoWriMo 2017, and the prompt is about little, secret spaces.
Here’s the prompt:

In 1958, the philosopher/critic Gaston Bachelard wrote a book called The Poetics of Space, about the emotional relationship that people have with particular kinds of spaces – the insides of sea shells, drawers, nooks, and all the various parts of houses. Today, I’d like to challenge you to write a poem that explores a small, defined space – it could be your childhood bedroom, or the box where you keep old photos. It could be the inside of a coin purse or the recesses of an umbrella stand. Any space will do – so long as it is small, definite, and meaningful to you.

Monastic Illuminations

Monastic Illuminations
©April 24th, 2017
By Vijaya Sundaram

Snails and horses, sex and darts
And armored men with enlarged parts
And women with distended hares
Extended branches, full of snares.
All jokes aside, are these sad hearts?

Devoted to their prayer-books,
Deprived of hugs and loving looks,
These monks, lacking another’s love
Are raised, instead, to worlds above.
Are these, then, thoughts they cannot brook?

Or, do they thrive on scenes like these,
While singing psalms on bended knees,
Laughing with well-disguiséd mirth,
At things that cannot live on earth,
But which they gaze upon with glee?

Were they the precursors of crazed
Apocalyptic painters, dazed
With visions of another world,
Where those from paradise were hurled,
And found themselves down here, amazed?

Warrior snails and valiant knights
Flatulent and naked, sights
As one would never want to see
When thinking thoughts of piety
Enough of this, out with the lights!
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Today is Day 24 of NaPoWriMo 2017, and it’s time for Ekphrastic poetry, another thing I’d not previously (consciously, at any rate) essayed to do.
The prompt reads:

Today, I challenge you to write a poem of ekphrasis — that is, a poem inspired by a work of art. But I’d also like to challenge you to base your poem on a very particular kind of art – the marginalia of medieval manuscripts. Here you’ll find some characteristic images of rabbits hunting wolves, people sitting on nests of eggs, dogs studiously reading books, and birds wearing snail shells. What can I say? It must have gotten quite boring copying out manuscripts all day, so the monks made their own fun. Hopefully, the detritus of their daydreams will inspire you as well!

Two Elevenies

Two Elevenies
©April 23, 2017
By Vijaya Sundaram

Complacency
Getting fatter
In government halls
Growing like a cancer:
Metastasis.

Resistance
Fighting back
In city streets
Growing like a chorus:
Solidarity.
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NaPoWriMo 2017

Today’s Day 23 NaPoWriMo 2017 prompt is to write two elevenies.  (I’d never even heard of this poetic form before, and am delighted by it!)  Here’s the prompt:

Our prompt for Day Twenty-Three comes to us from Gloria Gonsalves, who challenges us to write a double elevenie. What’s that? Well, an elevenie is an eleven-word poem of five lines, with each line performing a specific task in the poem. The first line is one word, a noun. The second line is two words that explain what the noun in the first line does, the third line explains where the noun is in three words, the fourth line provides further explanation in four words, and the fifth line concludes with one word that sums up the feeling or result of the first line’s noun being what it is and where it is. There are some good examples in the link above.

A double elevenie would have two stanzas of five lines each, and twenty-two words in all. It might be fun to try to write your double elevenie based on two nouns that are opposites, like sun and moon, or mountain and sea.

Seedlings

Seedlings
©April 22nd, 2017

By Vijaya Sundaram

See, when you sow seeds,
You want good starter soil
Gentle water, bright indoor lights
In dark climes, winter-bleak, and
Sunshine when the cold breaks.

Say a prayer as you sow,
Sing a little note of love,
Pat down the soil, and
Hope for the best.
Every seedling wants love,
Even if it knows it will
Be food eventually.

Watch your seedlings grow,
Shy and sweet, sticking heads
Out of soil, drinking in air,
Sucking at water at the roots
Hungrily eating light.

When they outgrow their homes,
Transplant them, but oh!
Careful with the roots!
Prepare some bigger pots,
Add new, moist, rich soil,
Retain some of the old.

Set down your seedlings.
Stand back!  Bow your head.
Your pride casts a shadow.
Let your seedlings grow!

The Earth awaits them,
Spring hums rich, green desire.
Bright warmth saturates coolness.
Soon, they’ll be tall; you’ll want
To set their roots in good,
Quiet-breathing earth.

Hum with circling bees,
Crazed, nectar-dazed, as they
Fly in from your neighbor’s hives,

While you water your seedlings.
Their leaves unfurl with lust,

Their fruits swell with pleasure.
This lust is purer than any other.


Watch your seedlings grow.
Give deep, drunken thanks.
It’s a sacred thing to play
Midwife to Life.

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NaPoWriMo 2017Today’s Day 22 NaPoWriMo 2017 prompt is to write a “Georgie.”  I’d never heard of this type of poetry until now.  Not sure what the form is, but the content, I gather, is a sort of “how to” agriculture-themed poem.

Housemate, Overheard

Housemate, Overheard
©April 21st, 2017

By Vijaya Sundaram

He spoke above the shower –
The water running down –
A waterfall of vitriol,
Gurgling into a drain
Full of rage.

Loud he was, and angry.
I hate you, who-do-you-think-you-are
Strutting around, full of yourself,
Thinking you own the place?
You smug, self-satisfied a–h—.
Playing your music, inviting friends,
Just you wait, you f@#ker!

Downstairs, aghast, 
We looked at each other,
Eyes round like pennies
About to drop.

Jobless, hungry, secretive, single,
He clung to the form of things,
Donning a well-ironed shirt,
Neatly creased trousers, jacket,
Pretending to go to work,
Spending mornings at an Arlington diner –
And afternoons, evenings,
Who knew where?

We paid his share of the rent.
Made sure he ate dinner with us,
Afraid he might die.
Heard him rant against us
In the upstairs shower
Night after night.

Tried to reach his family.
In the end, they arrived,
A kindly old Jewish couple.
Eyes a-brim, hearts broken,
They waited with him, as he packed,
Thanked us, smiled a grateful smile,
Said a quiet, saintly goodbye,
And left.

Loneliness is a shell,
Inside, a voice beats against it
Waiting to get out.

We overheard him.
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NaPoWriMo 2017The Day 21 NaPoWriMo prompt was to write about something overheard, and incorporate it into a poem.

Games I Prefer

Games I Prefer
©April 20th, 2017

By Vijaya Sundaram

Games?  Like run-jumping?
Or ball-fling-falling?
Or bat-smashing-ball over fences
Or whistling-racquet thwacking birdie?
Or mud-wrestling and arm-wrestling?
Or mashing someone’s face to crowd-boo-cheers?
No thank you!
I prefer no games, save those
That I can play in quiet.
Where no one wins,
And there is no opponent,
And the fun is in the moves,
And the moves are a dance
And the dance is a spiral,
And the spiral ends when
One steps away, hurtling
Rapidly out of the galaxy,
And return in time for coffee.

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NaPoWriMo 2017
Today’s Day 20 NaPoWriMo 2017 prompt was to write with a game in mind.
I wrote it before midnight EST, but edited it, and it was a couple of minutes past midnight!
Something is up with the napowrimo site.  It didn’t let me post my poem there.

Me-creation

Me-creation
©April 19th, 2017

By Vijaya Sundaram

At the very start, before all else,
There was Song.
Fear and phlegm, fatalism and faith
Churned within, too.
Rich blood and love fed a world.

Head and heart, tail and spine,
Fingers and toes, nose and eyes,
Forming cell by cell.
Star-stuff, yes, dark matter, too.
A whole universe, tumbling
In a womb, in the sweet dark.

Songs slipped into bloodstream,
Made their way to tiny ears
Slipped into heart and lungs
Still forming.

Tap-tapping away, a drum-beat
Grew stronger, and the stars
Gathered in eyes.
Playing with the umbilical
Climbing up and down it
Feeling her way in the red-dark.
So secure, so quiet, so sane.

And then, a slipping out,
A brightness, a definition of shapes,
A limit and limitlessness of things.
Skin, meet air.

World still forming,
Centred and eccentric,
Waking and sleeping,
Still, endlessly making.

There are worlds within words,
And worlds without words.
All within, and without,
Liminal, always.

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NaPoWriMo 2017Today is Day 19 of NaPoWriMo 2017, and the prompt was to write a Creation Myth poem.

Today, Springing

Today, Springing
©April 18th, 2017

By Vijaya Sundaram

Dogs a-tumbling down the hill
Grubbling on the grass
Tailashing away in sun-cold Spring.
The air, awash in hound-cry,
Barkling and squeawhimpers,
Blue-ens and trembles
Like a live thing, ready to tackle
The season hovering like a
Butterfly, unsure and zigzaggering
Above a single dandelion,
Which captures all the delight
Of the sun in beam-bloom.
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NaPoWriMo 2017

Today’s Day 18 NaPoWriMo 2017 prompt reads:

Today, I challenge you to write a poem that incorporates neologisms. What’s that? Well, it’s a made-up word! Your neologisms could be portmanteaus (basically, a word made from combining two existing words, like “motel” coming from “motor” and “hotel”) or they could be words invented entirely for their sound. Probably the most famous example of a poem incorporating neologisms is Lewis Carroll’s Jabberwocky, but neologisms don’t have to be funny or used in the service of humor. You can use them to try to get at something that you don’t have an exact word for, or to create a sense of sound and rhythm, or simply to make the poem feel strange and unworldly.

A Nocturne

A Nocturne
©April 17th, 2017

By Vijaya Sundaram

Stars collect in violet skies
Like salt in an empty plate
Shaken by an idle hand,
Beautiful and brittle,
White and scattered,
Far, so far away from me.
Walking on this darkened street,
Dog near my feet, there’s
A catch in the  throat,
A sudden ache, a yearning.

Spring air collects in my hair
And around my neck,
Like the hand of a lover
Grazing ever so lightly
The neck of the beloved,
Making her shiver; spring air,
Fragrant with scents  that only
My dog can know, and she’s
Not telling me what she knows.
I do not contend with mysteries.

Doubt and unease collect in my blood
And so do certainty and peace.
They jostle each other, streaming
Through my veins, my arteries,
Beating currents, fast and strong,
Bearing life and death, scenting
Its river banks, urging flowers ,
Silting land, sifting through borders.
I exhale, while swirling currents
Tumble into a waiting ocean.

If I become a bit of shaken salt
In a night sky filled with darkness,
Or spring air stirring lilacs
Awakening all the senses,
Making a human and her dog
Yearn for something with no name,
Would I miss all of this?
Would I know to miss it?
And when all of it is gone
Would the world re-form, or sleep?
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NaPoWriMo 2017
Today is Day 17 of NaPoWriMo 2017, and the prompt was, quite simply, to write a poetic nocturne.

मझदार (Mid-Stream)
IMG_0691

Photograph of the River Yamuna taken from the Taj Mahal, 2015©By Vijaya Sundaram

मझदार
(Mid-Stream)
©April 15, 2017
By Vijaya Sundaram

Mid-stream, the boat stalls
And turns round and round,
Then, stops.
The compass has broken,
The oars hurt my arms.

The skies wheel around me
Night stars burn cold
And a loon
Makes itself heard;
The air bends to listen.

On the farther shore,
A storm churns the sky
Here, all is calm,
Then, a cry parts the waves
And falls like a stone.

On the farther shore,
Fires burn bright
The night is acrid
Death strains at the seams,
Skies rain down terror.

I remain, stranded,
Midstream, watching.
Fog collects around me.
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Today is Day 15 of NaPoWriMo2017, and I was honored to be Featured Poet today for my Three Clerihews from yesterday.  Thank you, all for visiting, and for your kind words!

NaPoWriMo 2017