'No Place To Sleep, No Place To Call Our Own'

[SivaRamanathan]

'no place to sleep, no place to call our own'.

Our dead ancestors, once lay buried
on the banks of the Cauvery,
stretched out, sandwiched between holy ash
Bilva leaves and rock salt; we pushed in mud
and powdered brick thrice into the pit
our backs turned, not looking.

Why wait a year to lay out the cemetery?
One year is one day for the departed,
it is all that the sun takes to travel
from Uttrayanam to Dakhinayanam.
The dead are hungry, they visit the earth
and hover over their family for food.
We used to place a Siva Lingam
on the cemetery, sweeping, cleaning
the surface , placing flowers ,offering up
our prayers ,floating vegetables on the river
every anniversary of their death.

We who bury our dead offer the body to worms
the concept of giving, even after death.

Father came back in my brother's dreams
after he had left us, saying his cemetery
was not symmetrical, so my brother
rebuilt a parallelogram, making sure
it was father’s skull .'The same high forehead',
he told me on the telephone,'it is him alright,'
probably holding daddy's skull in his hands.

Father made perfection necessary, nagging him
even in his dreams as he had done
when he was alive.

Today the Council has leveled
all our cemeteries with bulldozers.
They have built a meditation hall
shaped like a pyramid
where the bodies burn with camphor
electricity, gas and prayers.

All we get is a handful of ash
to immerse in our holy rivers.

'Atman', is an architectural masterpiece
with tall chimneys to disperse
the smell of burning flesh.

Melodious music as if the dead are murmuring,
'no place to sleep, no place to call our own'.

I remember as a child how I prayed to the dead
on the river banks, as the train crossed the river
I flung coins for the peace of my ancestors.














We Can No Longer Bury Our Dead We Have Got To Burn Them

Our ancestors, once lay on the banks of the Cauvery.
Stretched out, sandwiched between holy ash.
Bilva leaves and rock salt, mud and powdered brick
pushed into the pit thrice, back turned, not looking.

Why wait a year to build the cemetery?
One year is one day for the departed,
it is all that the sun takes to travel
from Uttrayanam to Dakhinayanam.
The dead are hungry, they visit the earth
and hover over their family for food.
We used to place a Siva Lingam on the cemetery
sweeping and cleaning the surface
placing flowers and offered our prayers
even floated vegetables on the river
on every death anniversary.
We who bury, offer our body to worms
the concept of giving even after death.

Father came back in my brother's dreams
after he left us,saying his cemetery
was not geometrically accurate,so my brother
rebuilt a parallelogram, making sure it was father’s skull.
'The same high forehead',he told me on the telephone
'it is him alright,' probably holding daddy's skull in his hands.
Father made perfection necessary, nagging him
in his dreams as he had done when he was alive.

Today the Metropolitan Council has leveled
all the cemeteries with bulldozers.
A meditation hall in a pyramid shape has been built,
where the bodies burn with camphor, electricity,
gas and prayers. All we get is a handful of ash
to immerse in our holy rivers. 'Atman',
is an architectural masterpiece with very high chimneys
to let out the smell of burning flesh.
Melodious music as if the dead are murmuring,
'no place to sleep,no place to call our own'.

I remember as a child how I prayed to the dead
on the river banks, as the train crossed the river
I flung coins for the peace of my ancestor.















Our ancestors, once lay on the banks of the Cauvery
stretched out, sandwiched between holy ash, Bilva leaves and rock salt
mud and powdered brick pushed into the pit thrice, back turned, not looking.
Why wait a year to build the cemetery? One year is one day for the departed,
when the sun travels from Uttrayanam to Dakhinayanam
The dead are hungry, they visit the earth and family for food.
We place a Siva Lingam on the cemetery, some may use seven,
We sweep and clean the surface and offer flowers
float vegetables into the river. We who bury, offer our body to worms.
Father came back in brothers dreams after he left us
Brother rebuilt a geometric parallelogram, making sure it was father’s skull
Father made it necessary, nagging him in his dreams
as he did when he was alive.
Now the Metropolis has had a bull dozer to level all cemeteries
A meditation pyramid has been built, where the body burns
With camphor, electricity, gas and prayers.
All we get is a handful of ash to immerse in our rivers.
Atman, architectural masterpiece, pyramids, high chimneys
To let out the smell of burning flesh
Melodious music, no place to sleep, no place to call our own
I remember as a child how I prayed to the dead on the river banks
As the train crossed the river I flung coins for the peace of my ancestor.

[FrankDyer]

Our ancestors, once lay on the banks of the Cauvery.
Stretched out, sandwiched between holy ash.
Bilva leaves and rock salt, mud and powdered brick
pushed into the pit thrice, back turned, not looking.

Why wait a year to build the cemetery?
One year is one day for the departed,
The the sun takes to travel from Uttrayanam to Dakhinayanam.
The dead are hungry, they visit the earth and family for food.
We place a Siva Lingam [in] the cemetery, some may use up to seven
We sweep and clean the surface and offer flowers and
float vegetables on the river.

We who bury, offer our body to worms.
Father came back in our brother's dreams after he left us
My brother rebuilt a geometric parallelogram, making sure it was father’s skull [unclear menaing here]
Father made it necessary, nagging him in his dreams
as he did when he was alive.

The city council [or Council elders] has leveled all the cemeteries with bulldozers
A meditation pyramid has been built, where the bodies burn [assuning you are speaking of all the bodies uncovere dby the bulldozers]
With camphor, electricity, gas and prayers.
All we get is a handful of ash to immerse in our rivers.
Atman, architectural masterpiece, pyramids, high chimneys
To let out the smell of burning flesh
Melodious music, no place to sleep, no place to call our own
I remember as a child how I prayed to the dead on the river banks
As the train crossed the river I flung coins for the peace of my ancestor.

Your poetry is rare and evokative of an age that has passed. There is longing in your poetic voice. You state facts simply and yet there is power there. Your trasmit saddness and poigiancy in every caress of a line. I think you could be like your sister, great. You tell us stories and we are lost for words, a new world opens up. Surely this is what poetry is about.

I think you must check your work thoroughly before posting to tease out the meanings you mean to convey. Your work is so full and richI think you must use punctuation.

I think Penumbra was too kind to you, you need critisism, and then you will imptove. Your voice is great, the narratives wrings our hearts but you need to work on your English usage. I wish Mojave was here, he could help you much better than anyone I think.

[SivaRamanathan]

Our ancestors, once lay on the banks of the Cauvery.
Stretched out, sandwiched between holy ash.
Bilva leaves and rock salt, mud and powdered brick
pushed into the pit thrice, back turned, not looking.

Why wait a year to build the cemetery?
One year is one day for the departed,
it is all that the sun takes to travel
from Uttrayanam to Dakhinayanam.
The dead are hungry, they visit the earth
and hover over their family for food.
We used to place a Siva Lingam on the cemetery
sweeping and cleaning the surface
placing flowers and offered our prayers
even floated vegetables on the river
on every death anniversary.
We who bury, offer our body to worms
the concept of giving even after death.

Father came back in my brother's dreams
after he left us,saying his cemetery
was not geometrically accurate,so my brother
rebuilt a parallelogram, making sure it was father’s skull.
'The same high forehead',he told me on the telephone
'it is him alright,' probably holding daddy's skull in his hands.
Father made perfection necessary, nagging him
in his dreams as he had done when he was alive.

Today the Metropolitan Council has leveled
all the cemeteries with bulldozers.
A meditation hall in a pyramid shape has been built,
where the bodies burn with camphor, electricity,
gas and prayers. All we get is a handful of ash
to immerse in our holy rivers. 'Atman',
is an architectural masterpiece with very high chimneys
to let out the smell of burning flesh.
Melodious music as if the dead are murmuring,
'no place to sleep,no place to call our own'.

I remember as a child how I prayed to the dead
on the river banks, as the train crossed the river
I flung coins for the peace of my ancestor.

[FrankDyer]

[The title lacks impact, it is too banal, suggets you shorten and give it something. Anything but this]

Our ancestors, once lay on the banks of the Cauvery. [dead ancestors, ay buried, make sure we know they are dead]

Stretched out, sandwiched between holy ash. [seemingly serenly? they were happy there, or rather we were happy they were buried there]

Bilva leaves and rock salt, mud and powdered brick [Wahat about Biva leaves, are them embalmed in salt, should you not say so, emablmed?]

pushed into the pit thrice, back turned, not looking. [placed in a pit or grave or hole or cavern, but why thrice. Are you using thrice because its a new word?]

Why wait a year to build the cemetery? [We don't build a cemetry do we? surely we lay out a cemetry?]
One year is one day for the departed, [is as one day]
it is all that the sun takes to travel
from Uttrayanam to Dakhinayanam.
The dead are hungry, they visit the earth [We feel that they may be hungry, its just a ritual rally to show we have not forgotten them]

and hover over their family for food.
We used to place a Siva Lingam on the cemetery
sweeping and cleaning the surface
placing flowers and offered our prayers [don't we offer up prayer?]

even floated vegetables on the river [even is used as a comparison, do you need even here?]

on every death anniversary. [on evry aniversary of their death]
We who bury, offer our body to worms [we who die offer our bodies to worms]
the concept of giving even after death. [its not a concept is it, it is a practical act]

Father came back in my brother's dreams
after he left us,saying his cemetery [space after coma]
was not geometrically accurate,so my brother [surely you mean : 'not symetrically laid out?]

rebuilt a parallelogram, making sure it was father’s skull.
[You are stuborn as well as confusing, what has a paralleogram to do with the shape of father's skull? seperate the thoughts or clarify]
'The same high forehead',he told me on the telephone
'it is him alright,' probably holding daddy's skull in his hands. [It is him]

Father made perfection necessary, nagging him [make sure we know him is your brother, better still give your brother a name]
in his dreams as he had done when he was alive.


Today the Metropolitan Council has leveled [drop metraploitan, we really don't need this kind of accuracy, council will do.
all the cemeteries with bulldozers. [better make it persoanl, our cemetry]
A meditation hall in a pyramid shape has been built, [We (they) (I) built a meditaion hall in the form of a pyramid]
where the bodies burn with camphor, electricity, [are burned]
gas and prayers. All we get is a handful of ash
to immerse in our holy rivers.
'Atman', is an architectural masterpiece with a high [tall] chimney
to let out the smell of burning flesh. [to disperse]
Melodious music as if the dead are murmuring,
'no place to sleep, [space] no place to call our own'.

I remember as a child how I prayed to the dead
on the river banks, as the train crossed the river
I flung coins for the peace of my ancestor.

[SivaRamanathan]

'no place to sleep, no place to call our own'.

Our dead ancestors, once lay buried
on the banks of the Cauvery,
stretched out, sandwiched between holy ash
Bilva leaves and rock salt; we pushed in mud
and powdered brick thrice into the pit
our backs turned, not looking.

Why wait a year to lay out the cemetery?
One year is one day for the departed,
it is all that the sun takes to travel
from Uttrayanam to Dakhinayanam.
The dead are hungry, they visit the earth
and hover over their family for food.
We used to place a Siva Lingam
on the cemetery, sweeping, cleaning
the surface , placing flowers ,offering up
our prayers ,floating vegetables on the river
every anniversary of their death.

We who bury our dead offer the body to worms
the concept of giving, even after death.

Father came back in my brother's dreams
after he had left us, saying his cemetery
was not symmetrical, so my brother
rebuilt a parallelogram, making sure
it was father’s skull .'The same high forehead',
he told me on the telephone,'it is him alright,'
probably holding daddy's skull in his hands.

Father made perfection necessary, nagging him
even in his dreams as he had done
when he was alive.

Today the Council has leveled
all our cemeteries with bulldozers.
They have built a meditation hall
shaped like a pyramid
where the bodies burn with camphor
electricity, gas and prayers.

All we get is a handful of ash
to immerse in our holy rivers.

'Atman', is an architectural masterpiece
with tall chimneys to disperse
the smell of burning flesh.

Melodious music as if the dead are murmuring,
'no place to sleep, no place to call our own'.

I remember as a child how I prayed to the dead
on the river banks, as the train crossed the river
I flung coins for the peace of my ancestor.

[BobBradshaw]

This is very good, Siva...one of your best, with a strong, at times wistful voice. Frank has mentioned the high points, but I just wish to reemphasize how good this poem is. We're immersed in another place and view, which is always fun. I like how the poem closes as well. Polish the poem as much as you can...I'm sure it will be an IBPC candidate. Best

[Bernie01]

Siva---

for the anglo American, this is somewhat exotic...but exotic does not make a pom....

be careful to not recite facts like a museum docent giving a tour.

I suggest killing all of verse 2.


the fascinating detail to me was the wafting smell of the new, the modern crematorium. and how poignant, and sad. the mourner receives only the ashes of a loved one. but what would I otherwise receive as a more permanent remembrance?

"Altma" means Spirit---or Soul---is that right? and Altma is the name then of the newly constructed crematoria, yes? I would consider a remark, a line about how India is running out of space---even for the dead. you might remember the American film, The Loved One, in which a real estate developer says:

I've got to find a way to get these stiffs off my property.,


or even the serious book by Jessica Mitford...the american way of death.


the visit by the departed ancestor, is good, but not worded smoothly now or with economy. please rethink that passage.

your close has melancholy, has feeing...good. but you use the word river twice. necessary? and can more emotion be shared with the reader?

here is a stab...

as a child....I flung coins...etc....as though the dead could pay their fare to Shiva or purchase a few buns and crisps in the Chowringhee market....



love your title. you are working toward a poem.

bernie

[SivaVelliangiri]

o place to sleep, no place to call our own

Our dead ancestors once lay on the banks of the Cauvery
in a sitting posture, sandwiched between holy ash dried Bilva leaves, salt crystals , mud and powdered brick
pushed thrice into the pit.
Why wait a year to lay out a cemetery?
One year is as one day for the departed,
it is all that the sun takes to travel
from Uttrayanam to Dakhinayanam.

The dead are hungry; they visit the earth
and hover over their family for food.
Every anniversary,
we used to place a Siva Lingam on the cemetery,
sweep the surface
place flowers and offer our prayers, float vegetables on the river

We who bury, offer the body to worms.


Father came back in my brother's dreams
after he had left us, saying his cemetery was not 'not symmetrically laid out '.
Brother had the cemetery rebuilt in the shape of a parallelogram making sure it was father’s skull ;
'The same high forehead', he told me on the telephone
'it is him ,' probably holding daddy's skull in his hands.
Pre-Final
no place to sleep, no place to call our own

Our dead ancestors once lay on the banks of the Cauvery
in a sitting posture, sandwiched between holy ash dried Bilva leaves, salt crystals , mud and powdered brick
pushed into the pit thrice, back turned, not looking .
Why wait a year to lay out a cemetery?
One year is as one day for the departed,
it is all that the sun takes to travel
from Uttrayanam to Dakhinayanam.

The dead are hungry; they visit the earth
and hover over their family for food.
Every anniversary,
we used to place a Siva Lingam on the cemetery,
sweep the surface
place flowers and offer our prayers, floate vegetables on the river

We who bury, offer the body to worms
giving even after death .

Father came back in my brother's dreams
after he had left us , saying his cemetery was not 'not symmetrically laid out '.
Brother had the cemetery rebuilt into a parallelogram making sure it was father’s skull ;
'The same high forehead', he told me on the telephone
'it is him ,' probably holding daddy's skull in his hands.

Father made perfection necessary , nagging brother
in his dreams as he had done when he was alive .
Today the Council has leveled our cemetery with bulldozers.
They built a meditation hall in the form of a pyramid
where the bodies are burned with camphor, electricity, music and prayers. All we get is a handful of ash
to immerse in our holy rivers .
'Atman', is an architectural masterpiece with a tall chimney
to disperse the smell of burning flesh.
Melodious music as if the dead are murmuring
'no place to sleep, no place to call our own'.

I remember as a child how I prayed to the dead
on river banks, and flung coins for my ancestors
every time the train crossed any river;
coins for the bus fare to Shiva’s abode.
Father made perfection necessasity nagging brother
in his dreams as he had done all through his life.
Today the City Council has leveled our cemetery with bulldozers.
They built a meditation hall in the form of a pyramid
where the bodies are burned with camphor, electricity, music and prayers. All we get is a handful of ash
to scatter in our holy rivers .
'Atman', is an architectural masterpiece with a tall chimney
to disperse the smell of burning flesh.
Melodious music as if the dead are murmuring
'no place to sleep, no place to call our own'.

I remember as a child how I prayed to the dead
on river banks, and flung coins for my ancestors
every time the train crossed any river;
coins for the bus fare to Shiva’s abode.













Our dead ancestors, once lay on the banks of the Cauvery
in a sitting posture , sandwiched between holy ash
dried Bilva leaves, salt crystals , mud and powdered brick
pushed into the pit thrice, back turned, not looking.

Father came back in my brother's dreams
after he had left us, saying his cemetery
was not 'not symmetrically laid out '.
Brother had the cemetery rebuilt into a parallelogram
making sure it was father’s skull ;
'The same high forehead', he told me on the telephone
'it is him ,' probably holding daddy's skull in his hands.

Father made perfection necessary, nagging brother
in his dreams as he had done when he was alive.
Today the Council has leveled our cemetery with bulldozers.
They built a meditation hall in the form of a pyramid
where the bodies are burned with camphor, electricity,
music and prayers. All we get is a handful of ash
to immerse in our holy rivers .
'Atman', is an architectural masterpiece with a tall chimney
to disperse the smell of burning flesh.
Melodious music as if the dead are murmuring
'no place to sleep, no place to call our own'.

I remember as a child how I prayed to the dead
on the river banks, as the train crossed the bridge
I flung coins for the peace of my ancestors for
their bus fare to Shiva's abode.

[Bernie01]

S---


your poem references the Cauvery---a river. that passage is wonderful.

and a river bank at the end of the poem, but no reference to coins elsewhere. The poet hopes to purchase "the bus fare to Shiva's abode." for the departed.

money, all of a sudden.

a sophisticated thought for a child, yes? seems more likely a child might wish to purchase a sweet treat for the dead, yes?

the restless, stateless, existence of the departed is a real drama for the poem. as I said, I love the title:


No Place to Sleep, No Place to Call Our Own.

your latest revision is for me a faster, cleaner read. I am better able to assemble the details of burial, ritual and a visitation to the living in dreams. I like that the departed father continues his nagging characteristic even in death.

the last lines, still lag behind my expectation---I want something fresh there, and something human and personal---I think the poem has exhausted references to Indian deities. the emergence of a child wishing to acknowledge and honor the dead is excellent, but she is a child and her expression should be within the emotional vocabulary, the reference frame of a child. not an adult, not a religious figure. yes?no?

to me the poem is direct and persuasive, the details real and clear, the narrative I follow now more easily than in the first versions.




bernie

[SivaVelliangiri]

B
Thank you for your sensible comments.And Frank, a great thanks for your meticulous edits. I could not have gone back to this without 'your coaching' and Bob's nod.

edited after Bernie's comments

'no place to sleep, no place to call our own'

Our dead ancestors once lay on the banks of the Cauvery
in a sitting posture, sandwiched between holy ash
dried Bilva leaves, salt crystals, mud and powdered brick
pushed thrice into the pit, back turned, not looking.

Why wait a year to lay out a cemetery?
One year is as one day for the departed,
it is all that the sun takes to travel
from Uttrayanam to Dakhinayanam.

The dead are hungry; they visit the earth
and hover over their family for food.
every anniversary.

We place a Siva Lingam on the cemetery,
sweep the surface, shower flowers
and offer up our prayers , float vegetables
on a banana leaf across the waters.

We who bury, offer the body to worms
giving even after death.

Father came back in my brother's dreams
a week after he had left us, saying his cemetery
was not 'not symmetrically laid out '. (Brother
had napped on a nearby 'six by three'
while the mason worked that afternoon.
He revisited our native place
had the cemetery rebuilt into a parallelogram
making sure it was father’s skull ; 'The same high forehead
he told me on the telephone,'it is him alright,'
probably holding Appa's skull in his hands.

Father made perfection a necessity, nagging brother
in his dreams as he had done all through his life
when he was alive. Today the Town Council has leveled
our family resting place with bulldozers. They have built
a Devarom Hall in the form of a pyramid; the corpse is pushed
into the furnace in the conveyor belt with a chunk of camphor;
electricity does the rest. The audio plays the Devarom
all we get is a handful of ash to scatter in our holy rivers.

'Atman', is an architectural masterpiece
with a tall chimney, tall enough to disperse
the smell of burning flesh. Melodious music
as if the dead are murmuring,
'no place to sleep, no place to call our own'.

I remember as a child how I prayed to the dead
on river banks, every time the train crossed any bridge,
I flung copper coins for Appa's and Amma's ancestors
to buy 'inzi mitthai.'

Foot-note
Copper purifies river water.Maybe that is why it became a ritual.

[SivaVelliangiri]

Is this 'sotheay' person a spammer?

Siva

[FranktheFrank]

You may be correct Siva, until the forum has a genuine test of validness for writers or poets these sad demons will enter and post whimsical and trite remarks that have no bearing on the work or on reality. I suppose the admin is tired of removing them because without a valid test they will keep on coming back under different names.

I see this poem growing Siva, growing strength.

The new poem should go into the original post headed 3rd Revision or 4th as the case may be.

The Title is good, I like it, it should be as thus:

No Place to Sleep no Place to Call our Own.

First word and last capitalised
every word less than three letters not capitalised,
no punctuation in a title, you could sue a dash if so inclined.

No Place to Sleep - no Place to Call our Own.

*****
Our ancestors, buried near Cauvery,
stretched out, sandwiched between holy ash,
Bilva leaves and rock salt; we pushed in mud
and powdered brick thrice into the pit,
our backs turned, not daring to look.

Why wait a year to lay out the cemetery?
One year is one day for the departed,
it is all that the sun takes to travel
from Uttrayanam to Dakhinayanam.

The dead are hungry, they visit the earth
and hover over their family for food.
We'd place a Siva Lingam
on the cemetery, sweeping, cleaning
the surface, placing flowers, offering
prayer, casting vegetables on the river,
on the anniversary of their death.

We who bury our dead offer the body to worms
the concept of giving, even after death. [like this]

Father came back in my brother's dreams
after he had passed on, complaining the cemetery
was not symmetrical, so my brother rebuilt
as a parallelogram, making sure it aligned
with father’s skull. 'The same high forehead,
he told me on the telephone. It is him alright,'

[speech literals: 'British' or "American" can be inter-spaced and the speech continued,
but capitalise the first word and use a full stop.]

holding Daddy's skull in his hands. [Daddy used as a name, capitalise]

Father made perfection necessary, nagging [break on a verb, Billy showed me this]
him in dreams as in life.

Today the Council has levelled [double 'l']
all our cemeteries with bulldozers.
They have built a meditation hall
shaped like a pyramid
where the bodies burn with camphor
gas and prayer.

We get a handful of ash
to immerse in our holy rivers.

'Atman', is an architectural masterpiece
with tall chimneys to disperse
the smell of burning flesh.

Melodious music as if the dead are murmuring,
'No place to sleep, no place to call our own'. [capitalise first letter within speech literals]

As a child I prayed to the dead on the river bank
and when a train crossed the river
flung coins for the peace of my ancestors.

*****


Siva I have taken enormous liberties with your poem
I hope you forgive me. I feel it is more succinct now.
Keep or dispose of as led.
I think Bernie brought this back, the poem concept is good.

I see it as a longing for the old ways and a difficult
transition to the new, an adjustment to meet the needs
of a population of 1.2 billion people and millions of bodies
needing to be burned and the ashes sent on the way of the river.
I think you have brought out very well the care for the dead
the old practices that mean so much to so many people.
The new ways are more efficient, no more body parts shocking
people washing in their holy Ganges, no stench of decay
because of lazy practices, but the longing for the old
ways comes through very well.

I have adjusted punctuation and spelling
you still need to check spaces yourself, it is your poem.

Best wishes, I hope Michael reviews this for September IBPC.
I may nominate it, wait until the end of the month,
see what you do with it.

[Michael (MV)]

 
Hi Siva and fellow WB poets:


I'm noting that Siva's poem from 2015 has been workshop-revived & revised -

and Frank's July review: :

"Best wishes, I hope Michael reviews this for September[August} IBPC.
I may nominate it, wait until the end of the month,
see what you do with it."

^^ actually, Frank, it will be the August,

and also I have noted Bob's July review in this thread:

"This is very good, Siva...one of your best, with a strong, at times wistful voice. Frank has mentioned the high points, but I just wish to reemphasize how good this poem is. We're immersed in another place and view, which is always fun. I like how the poem closes as well. Polish the poem as much as you can...I'm sure it will be an IBPC candidate. Best"


^^^ Later, in July, I will initiate the August IBPC 2017 thread @ Palaver, where hopefully these nom-nods(and others) will be officially voiced.

It is encouraging to see IBPC potentials early on in the month in the process of workshopping;

hopefully this will expedite the selecting & forwarding to the finals.


A good week to every one



Michael (MV)

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 

[SivaVelliangiri]

Thank you Michael.I am waiting for your workshop.

Siva

[Michael (MV)]

 
Thanks, Siva,

in the event I don't workshop your poem:

1/ your poem has already received informed workshopping by other seasoned WB poets

2/ and it is not conditional that I workshop a poem before it is recommended or selected & forwarded
(that's why I say: the poem as the poet would like it forwarded)

3/ however, I hope to make a workshop visit to your poem, 'no place to sleep, no place to call our own'


in the spirit of clarification



Michael (MV)

Thank you Michael.I am waiting for your workshop.

Siva

 
 
 
 
 
 

[SivaVelliangiri]

Michael
Thanks for your clarification . I did not mean any offence to the poets who have spent their time and effort. Thank you.

Siva

[Michael (MV)]

 
Hi Siva,


no offence taken - never was -

I'm merely clarifying for you and others, too, that it is not necessary that I comment and/or workshop a poem in order for it to be recommended
to represent WB.


If a poem has already received ample, well-informed workshopping, then I usually, but not always, might focus on another poem that has not received
any or little workshopping or response in general.


Also, I was needing to let you and others understand that if I don't comment on a poem, I'm not overlooking.

Ultimately I conserve my now-older energy for the end-beginning of the month to arrange the forwarding our 1-3 poem to the IBPC finals.

Hopefully the early-on voicing in the workshop thread of the poem will be instrumental in expediting the monthly process.


Then MV can be freed up to read, write & workshop - how's that for a triune



Michael (MV) 


 

Michael
Thanks for your clarification . I did not mean any offence to the poets who have spent their time and effort. Thank you.

Siva

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

[SivaVelliangiri]

Hi Michael

Read and understood.

S