My Friend’s Father Professor Carey

[SivaVelliangiri]

My Friend’s Father Prof.Carey

The verandah of Nakulan’s house had a parapet with an easy chair;
of the two rooms, one was his and on the other his mother lay.
Outside the verandah, on the muttam, a single tree
could be seen; In the room inside gurgling noises could be heard
where an old woman who had spent her life with a schizophrenic man
swallowed spittle.

We went to Nakulan’s house in pairs, I was the only girl;
it was boys and young adult men to whom his maid Purdah served tea.
We talked poetry, played automatic lines of original poetry;
in between Nakulan would chuckle
pass jokes or just prompt us to speculate on Professor Carey and quote Cavafy,

‘a secret room above
the dubious tavern. From the window could be seen
dark shadows moving in a squalid narrow lane . . .’

My thoughts boomeranged to Prof.Carey and his students,
how the lurch of shadows puppetted on the staff room walls.
I made mental images of the snake pill tablet,
how it would rise its ugly coil of ash.
I asked, ‘Why the staff room?’ and pat would come the reply
'When a man does not know where the next meal is, he would take it then
and there.
I prided myself that I understood just like the boys.

Nakulan never smoked but he chewed pan and spat out the juice
red fountain that stained the earth with the look of the sick vomit.

Even now I remember how his mother blessed me with a twenty rupee note;
I bought a packet of Dunhill with those extremely long filters
shared it with the boys.

I carried Nakulan’s nuggets,

my memories die fade ...
i must walkaway from myself.
Because he spoke about Non-Being.

..in the distance of time
some days become pyramids.

Was he thinking about his Sushila?

'..a little snuff-colored puppy
with its roundish head;
see how he wags his tail.'

These are lines he stole from Purdah’s grand-daughter.
Purdah’s grand-daughter said casually once
‘The tail of the dog wagged the dog.’



















The verandah of Nakulan’s house had a parapet, with an easy chair;
of the two rooms, one was his and on the other his mother lay.
Outside the verandah on the muttam a single tree
could be seen; in the room inside gurgling noises could be heard
where an old woman who had spent her life with a schizophrenic man
swallowed spittle. We went to Nakulan’s house in pairs, I was the only girl;
it was boys and young adult men to whom his maid Purdah served tea.
We talked poetry, played automatic lines and in between Nakulan would chuckle
and pass jokes or just prompt us to speculate on Professor Carey and quote Cavafy,

‘a secret room above
the dubious tavern. From the window could be seen
dark shadows moving in a squalid narrow lane;’

and my thoughts boomeranged to Prof.Carey and his students,
how the lurch of shadows puppetted on the staff room walls.
I made mental images of the snake pill tablet,
how it would rise its ugly coil of ash.
I asked ‘why the staff room?’ and pat would come the reply
'when a man does not know when the next meal is he would take it then and there.
I prided myself that I could understand just like the boys.
Nakulan never smoked but he chewed pan and spat out the juices in a red fountain
that stained the earth with the design of the sick vomit.
Even now I remember how his mother blessed me with a twenty rupee note
and I bought a packet of Dunhill with those extremely long filters
and shared it with the boys. I carried Nakulan’s nuggets,’

my memories die...
i must walkaway from myself.

because he spoke about Non-Being.

..in the distance of time
some days become pyramids.

Was he thinking about his Sushila?

And these are lines he stole from Purdah’s grand-daughter

..a little snuff-colored puppy
with its roundish head;
see how he wags his tail.

Purdah’s grand-daughter said casually once ( I was there)

‘the tail of the dog wagged the dog.’




PS.Thanks Frank ,Kenneth and Bernie for making me work this out. Soneone,I presume Michael,will help me with the punctuation.I spent a lazy day working it in my head. I feel I have done my best,now. Thanks to this group,a poem is born.

[SivaVelliangiri]

Hi All
I have achieved something. Just touch and go,no ugliness,poetic enough to be prose. I do not wish there were more people like you.I am not able to comment on the poems because sometimes I feel extremely stupid.

S

[FranktheFrank]

Siva, have courage, say what you really think and apologise later.

p.s. within reason.

well done.

[Kenneth2816]

Siva: Thank you for your honesty. I'm sorry you feel
that way. I respect your decision.

Poetry is not a democracy. In the end, the ppet remains despot over the poem.Galway Kinnell says
; "Tell the truth.". It is enough.
Anything less is treason.

I nominate this for IBPC.

[SivaVelliangiri]

Frank
I know you will help me with the punctuation. I have learnt quite a lot from your editing.

S

[SivaVelliangiri]

Kenneth
I do not wish there were more people like you. Because then all three of you would become very ordinary.

S

[Kenneth2816]

I'm less than very ordinary. It's only through my poetry , I hope to escape mediocrity. If only for a time. At the end of my days, if I've left a few memorable lines that inhabit the stratosphere; enough to say "I was here", I'll be content.

[SivaVelliangiri]

Kenneth and Frank

If somebody helps me with the punctuation,then I accept the nom.

S

[Kenneth2816]

^^^ blackmail

[Bernie01]

S---

hooray!

now your poem makes me happy. a logical flow, clarity, and a cast of vivid characters.

i am surprised (and delighted) to find you quoting both the poet Nakulan and Cafavy. (is he read in India?) the lines I quoted to you in your first version of this poem.

hooray. a Greek poet nestled sensuously in his "red room" located in Alexandria, set beside Nakulan's pyramid image. Nakulan speaking in a modern idiom and lyric to me. And i believe to many others.

(i trust the reader to learn the origin of the three lines you quote in your poem.)

I have said before how much i like the image you create here:

Even now I remember how his mother blessed me with a twenty rupee note
and I bought a packet of Dunhill with those extremely long filters

i always encourage---demand in my own poems---that strong images become integrated into the poem.

a mouthful, but the meaning is simple enough. in this case, Nakulan he can wreath himself in black, acrid smoke.

(yes, the poem says he never smoked, but as easily the poem can indicate he smoked----has any crit writer here been interested enough to give a cursory nod to his poetry---let alone his bio? Or, perhaps the narrator puffs a Dunhill with those extremely long filters.

afterall, i have no idea what this phrase means:

I asked ‘why the staff room?’ and pat would come the reply
'when a man does not know when the next meal is he would take it then and there.

to me, a simple narrative answer is to have Nakulan avoid a direct answer and remain "mysterious."

thinking about what that phrase may or not mean takes me out of the poem, nes pas? perhaps a small matter.




This poem achieves a coherent narrative flow, and your "Indian voice"---if i may say that this one time --- clear and fully intact, powerful and rich.



i cheerfully add a second to the IBPC nomination made by others.


bernie

[FranktheFrank]

Any underlined words mean a suggestion to cut
My added commas and periods in bold.
Double spaced only for clarity in editing.
Ieuan

The verandah of Nakulan’s house had a parapet with an easy chair;

of the two rooms, one [of the rooms] was his and on the other his mother lay.

Outside the verandah, on the muttam, a single tree.

could be seen; In the room inside gurgling noises could be heard [gurgling noises from the old woman]
where an old woman who had spent her life with a schizophrenic man

swallowed spittle.
Start new stanza here:
We went to Nakulan’s house in pairs, I was the only girl;
it was boys and young adult men to whom his maid Purdah served tea. [His maid served the boys and young men who visited]

We talked poetry, played automatic lines and in between Nakulan would chuckle [explain usage of automatic lines please, do you mean exchanged pleasantries or polite chit chat

and pass jokes or just prompt us to speculate on Professor Carey and quote Cavafy,

‘a secret room above
the dubious tavern. From the window could be seen
dark shadows moving in a squalid narrow lane . . .’

and my thoughts [would] boomeranged to [about] Prof.Carey and his students,

how the lurch of shadows puppetted on the staff room walls.

I made mental images of the snake pill tablet,

how it would rise its ugly coil of ash.

I asked, ‘Why the staff room?’ and pat would come the reply

'When a man does not [doesn't know when where the [his] next meal is [coming from] he would take it then

and there. [there and then is normal saying]

I prided myself that I [can] understood just like the boys.

Nakulan never smoked but he chewed pan and spat out the juices in a red fountain

that stained the earth with the design of the sick vomit. [with the design of sick vomit is awkward - rephrase?]

Even now I remember how his mother blessed me with a twenty rupee note [Comment-Lush lines]

and I bought a packet of Dunhill with those extremely long filters

and shared it [them] with the boys.

I [still] carried carry Nakulan’s nuggets,

my memories die fade ...

i must walkaway from myself.

because he spoke about Non-Being.

..in the distance of time

some days become pyramids.

Was he thinking about his Sushila?

And these are lines he stole from Purdah’s grand-daughter

'..a little snuff-colored puppy
with its roundish head;
see how he wags his tail.'

Purdah’s grand-daughter said casually once ( I was there)

‘The tail of the dog wagged the dog.’

****


I did it reluctantly, because I liked the original, but it is your poem.

Not every spoken sentence has to be italicised with speech marks, sometimes we think sentences
or report sentences that someone else said, but if it is an actual conversation you should sue them
or italicise the line.

I can't edit for the content of the poem, just tidied up a bit.

If you really feel you want it a certain way, you must stick to your guns.


You have ten days to get this right Siva, ten days to read and re-read and edit
don't forget to keep the new versions, I am sure the fellow poets will advise
the best version. Ten days to print in large print for your eyes and view
every dot and comma with suspicion. If you don't understand why I have used
commas ask in message and I will explain. It takes time, lots of time. Every word
has to be checked and re-checked for clarity. You have already been published,
but you know we grow every day by hard work not by wishful thinking.

[Kenneth2816]

With 3 votes already:)