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VRISHcmc PUBLICATION - 2
Biographical Note
Arvind Krishna Mehrotra was born in 1947 at Labore
• Lino-culs :' Cenlre spread: Bhupen Khakhar. Cover and inside: Gu/am Sheikh. Photograph of the poet (back. cover) : Harbans Chadha. Types cut on Ihe back cover (lina) : layendra Soni.
He Jives at 37, Balrampur House. Allababad; runs the ezra-fakir press which publishes ezra and an occasional poetry pamphlet; co-edits damn you I a
mag of the arts; teaches, is marfied.
• Books & Pamphlets
Bharatmata: A Prayer (Bombay. the ezra-fakir press; 1966) Woodcuts on Paper (London, Gallery ""'umber Ten; )961) Bachchichakra: the last poems (Unpublished; 1968) Pomes I Paemes I Poemas : Collected Shorter Poems I '
( Baroda, Vrisb<1lik Pr... ; 1971)
c#l9
Acknowledgements
Some of the poems have appeared in : Pusbpanjali, Manhattan Review, Prisoner, Trace, The Only Journal of The Tibetan Kite Society, Allahabad University Magazine .
VRISHCHIK . 4 Residency Bungalow University office compound Baroda-2. Gujarat, ,ladia,
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'Bachchichakra IX', 'Old Poem, Stray Poem', 'Poem to a Bombskulled Child" 'Leftovers' are appearing in
New Writing in India, ed. Adil Jussawalla (London, Penguin Book.).
Every moment is a moment of blood in Bangia Desh to-day. minare ts of mosq ues.
Blood ha s risen over towering mo numents and
Blood of the martyrs of libera ti on move ment has over flown acros s the frontiers; yet the
so called giant nations have virtually slept over this mass-scale butchery of unarmed innocents by the military stooges of West Pakistan.
R. N. 15189/69
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VRISHCHIK April - May 1971. Year: 2.
Nos.: 6-7.
Editors :
Gulam Sheikh Bhupen Khakhar 4 Residency Bun galow, University omce co mpound,
Baroda-2. Gujarat, India .
Space donati ons in this number :
Dynamo Dilectries., Baroda. Bhara t Lindner Pvt. Ltd., Baroda. C hika Ltd ., Bombay. Mercury Painls a nd Varnishes Ltd ., Bombay. Vo lt.s Ltd., Ahmedabad.
The Artists' conforence called by the cenlral Lalit K.la Akademi has largely been successful as the proposal to change the constitution of the Akademi was unanimously accep ted by the house. Though there are some differences of opinio n over the rraming of the coustitut io n a nd its details, the conference accepted tbe proposa l of forming an electora l co llege of the wo rking artists, art critics and art historian s of India. This college of roughly 300 initial members (the number may va ry according to survey of the active artists etc.,) may elect a general council who may elect a board of nine directors ass igned to carry out specific programmes with full responsibilities and powers give n to them. The house has appointed a committee to work on th e proposed draft of the electora l college and present a report as SOO D as possible .
., The workings of the stat.e Lalit Kala Akademi of G ujarat has created wide-spread dissatisfaction among the working artists of Gujarat resulting in tbe boycott of the an nual exhIbitions of the Akademi since last three yea rs. We call (0 all working art ists of Gujarat to unite again and fight against the un-democratic set up and dem and a ne w constituti on and changes in the policies of tbe Akademi to promote and safeguard the interests of the a rtists of Gujarat. An open letter to the artists of Gujarat is being drafted to call a meeting of artists to form a union of the a rtists of Gujarat.
Publ ished by Gulam Sheikh from 4 Residency Bungalow, University Office Compound. Baroda-2. and printed by A. N. Joglekar at 3-A Associates, 4-5, Laxl11i Estate, B'lhucharaji Road, Baroda,
for MITUN
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CULTURE AND SOCIETY a
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OLD POEM, STRAY POEM
am a farmer
have bullocked the countryside dropped blisters for seeds have harmlessly killed sexless earthworms have fed the earthy cracks like a saviour have peeled my tired clothes and given them graciously to her who wears my tiredness
have seen god in the nude
TO WHOMSOEVER IT MAY CONCERN
this is to inform he who opens this that when i have been simplified to a pair of un breathing nostrils and my laugh been eaten by beasts of the air, in short, after my death my throat should be zipped open with my wife's claws and poems slicking there like cinema posters be scraped and sold as wastepaper to cover costs incurred in
the last rites furlher my tongue should be thoroughly cleaned before it is burnt, and the few punctuation marks
still sticking to ilS pores be picked out wilh tweezers by a qualified zoologist
POEM TO A BOMBSKULLED CHILD
it is time for for for for
the the the the
forests to stitch a hut of leaves sea to hump islands earth to quake vol canoe to smile like a sunflower with lava-petals for the river to gather its fi shes and slowly shrink up the waterfall and begm the trickles all over again it is time for the paleolithics to bring out pots and pans from museums! squeeze colors from roots to fill the goat's eye on tbe evergreen stone-canvas! to cook fresh myt~s as tbey roast the cow on the fire made by rubbing stars
IT IS TIME FOR US TO ROLL OURSELVES INTO A FULLSTOP AND WATCH THE BULLET REPLACE TH E SEED THE BAYONET THE PADDY STALK IT IS TIME FOR US TO TELL OUR nULDREN TO TELL THEIR CHILDREN THAT ASTRONAUTS WERE DINOSAURS. AND SCIENCE. PORNOGRAPHY
1/
goodbye, my love. the cart comes/ these bullocks drive me to the new hell. upon my grave do not sow flowers or grapes nor empty your sad brown and common eyes i, bave forgotten all / and your little feet grow smaller rare winds bl ow bere ringing bells of your silence. listen, tbe barking dogs; come away. thru tbis blurr'd murkiness i hear wolves/ my worms have left for fresher corpse. we sball kiss, undisturbed, just this once and close ourselves to the madman nigbt togetber we shall roam a cadenced world between water and music/ with the eclipse i'U follow your footprints down the balfshades . . . ..... ...... into tbe valley and as tbe western sun dawns at sunset toucb your untouched palms
FIVE POEMS FROM
IX by evening's low tides with the help of a mouthless wind grave my body small as stitches and leave me there. someone give the birds, grain;
till that old swooping vulture ascends . . . when j'm about to embark hush away her griefstricken tree from near my pillowand break the bottled clouds then guide her gently thru ways of summer-rock and winter root and bring her here so i can look from the thickly ticking wells, a face, clockless and calm with my rainbow-blood let her still hands help me to the shrouded barge; and who will tell those thieves not to fish for my ashes, in the cutglass-river instead of oars, give me a mirror;
and with death for a loud sail shall row towards one dim egyptian gulf
~CHC:HIC]fAK1~A'
XlII
XIV
Quick stalks thighs warm yards wind a dove-driven chariot an icelogged island rattling snowcage dancing apes, my coagulated hours untamed serpents her window shut and sahara-covered pair of vacumn-eyes.
no longer bound to the rise and set and the hail and shine i took a rainbow out of night and climbed the cursed noon to melt and marry to his darkest ray so sow the sun with seeds
Between centipede-veins uncoiled burns the stove of sadness torn the frock of limbs leaning on madness hair on rain stabbed by clock-strokes stitched in a sack buried to wolves tied tortured by pale touch frozen to the red tree one withered gardner plucks.
at least to wear the wound-white robe, rattle dungeons in the sky, and bleed five-finger-flowers or bitches on the ivory cross
Smoke-entangled still-born hell-hole flame-nailed ,a dim-smouldering home and nearness all ago. The Ocean forgets his worn bag-a-tricks. Death in its thirty-ninth wink. An escaped voice pulls in with the tide. Dawn reappears with his trident. The nun-faced moon collects her psalms. And, from-mausolean-mountainsunleashcd-by-stiff-volcanic-arms gallopthe-thigh- released -riders-of-sunnight-1lesh-sea-to-tear-timeand-crack-doom.
ahoy! to depth's witch-crafted fears. bury one dream-worn hand and age-dawned hair and holding the harp of vowels quick the plundered ocean
FOR HART CRANE
On April 27, 1932, a few moments before noon, Hart Crane walked to the stern of the ORIZABA. The ship was about three hundred miles north of Havana, leaving the warm waters which fifteen years before he had first known and sung as mYlhic haven of rest. He took off his coat quietly, and leaped.
- from 'Hart Crane' by Waldo Frank
XVII image- groin'd and sea-tress'd a monthless woman her ode-fill'd hour. tick-tock and sentry-marching time
i have lost a bird called i and this slowly frozen stage is melting around me or my beats flickering like lame pendulums; violins play upon my nerve, x-rays
lark - breasted and season-mated in a castle of waves her wedding.
blossom in my lung, someone has left me a cow-shaped stone a hoof of thaw and a bell of mud
tick-tock and sentry-marcbing time where is my bird called i exiled to elba on a three-legged day sbe picks her smog-gray hair. tick- tock and sentry-marching time upon sand-lock'd shores clank her handcuff'd eyes. the winds swirl, and sink. tick- tock and sentry-marching time a murder'd bird sbe walks in sleep; swallow-made summers gone tock -tick and sentry-marching time
crows stare from the window dead
heavy-claw'd hours raven-like sit, brood, and do not stir; dusk droops; feathers gleam to illuminate this standium:
a drizzle of asb and coal on this bone-studded paralytic back which way has my i-bird flown grass tombs catch fire, a broken hen lays in a cactus shell, ODe autumn- candle gi gles brown wax teeth, cosmos
leans like pisa.
wbere is the be-bird
who wore black's unsinking colour,
chirped his bugle, swung his limb and . was last seen happy over the sbort-sighted sea playing patience with a heart-hungry shark
DEMON LOVER
Older than bark or bone, he now leaves,
LEFTOVERS
followed by his convoy of tides ; and a long line of crawling stars move into the moon's pyramid
His arm is lilted over the blown bridge, he floats autumnal on a raft of burning river trees
Calling out to a dogdom which wags like a thrice-bit sun, he echoes his aesop
and merry are the rabid leaves. Come again; 0 come again he whistles; a mud swan
raises her head ; and fhh are wriggling in his bent sea. Four feet and a fleeing whisper; branches lower their hearts; he picks up horizon's vein. The topsy winds are turvy sailing his equatorial skull, and waterweeds are busy quietening the rumbled deep We called him Landlord Madman and he is going away, he lived there in that lighthouse of whales. He came one dawn to make birds with his hair, shape roots with his I!yes,
and you fish are the words he spoke.
The illfated hulk of Eternity lands an old crumpled belly, some weed-sowing mermaid has her hair forced with twigs
and a heavy wound explodes inside her fort of blood. The heartbeak Stops. Below float stray towers of sand, chess-kings, square pyramids. My bachelor-ghost feeds alone on the moon shot like a rabbit, on Nuts & Roses. Hemlock & Cud. Chews an hour from hell-brewn winds. Deep-born shred of Twilight dangles over the lifted and hairless ape of water, as coastal buttocks scowl. The green wave thinks. The blue one feels. Killers thrive. And everyman marries his own vulture.
AN APPENDIX
I Seeing a depth Different from the Dead Sea's depth I move towards the river's Fiery udder
Your eyes shut And you'll reach the house of The Woman of Twenty Five Trees I've asked her to give you
With me are masks Of trees, the age of dust, the serpent's ears Leaves with fingerprints and one Mad corpse
Shelter and a lamp At night again the quick Scorpion May attack you and if He sees your palms
Overgrown with grass I'm leaving behind the rocks to wrestle With a sculptor's hammer and firstBorn shapes the sea
Bleeding his venom Will turn vicious and his sting lengthen You must leave before dawn keeping Watch over the dark sky
Himself did chisel why my childhood saw those nun-shaped ghosts wby sunsets are so scaring and what happened
For my mossage With sunrise a bright arrow shall appear Over the eastern h~rizon And that's the sign
To the forest Of naked panthers feeding upon
and the thin arrow shall Pierce your by-then-rounded womb for a full Grown ten-limbed ten-faced ten-tongued
a raw
Dream are questions for the Earth to answer
Woman to emerge
For I must leave The overrun dog's bark to lumpen in tbe air To those nine vultures sitting patiently On a nearby branch
Dancing drumming the Sky's dark hide wearing a garland of fifty four Heads and seeing her your face will At once turn ashen and
Old age already points Its Buddhist finger and youth shows her incestuous rose But you must get back to tend the Flower-pots where I've
Your body be the warm urn Then a conch shall blow across the five drifting Continents, oceans, the subterranean and air-borne kingdoms
Planted sleep To keep watch over my sand-feathered Bird and her rain-gripped cage You walk that sea-hidden road
Announcing
A man woman and child Born of seedless Fertility
II In the distance My river appears pushing behind the Sea with its large branched feet Slipping past
Storm-torn trees Their roots merry in the wind And (uneral pyres pushing shadows into The watery spaces
The thighs of a Mediaeval fort and shaking off tbe boats Which try to hold its loose waters Together as hairpins
A head the seaHorse rides the pyramid and
It then flings its Arms around the white mountain
helpessly My eyes have become wells, windows and waterfalls at once And frozen I melt My way along the sunken cOfndnrs
Of this blue- throated and lock-born river Which touches
engineers
Embalm tbe river's madness As it fl ows through The dial of a large clock And just before tbe endless doorway a small fish Comes and points out tlie Country of The Big-Fisted Fish [n a lane between two iocebergs she says Seven of her children Have been shot
The daily sun
It's not for me
I'm given an oar of weeds and
flattened bone And the bell around my neck is wrung By him whose umbrella
To help you I tell her I'm late Already the la st flood Approaches
Is the hood of a snake I sit on the st0mach of a whirpool And sink my boat and rivers flow Beneatb the water
Water- wreath you can lay On the tomb of an Unknown Soldier
Now green-legged Spiders mating in sandcastles Pleasure boats stili screaming For the shore
I now feel The touch of broad-limbed fires And in my eyes tbe rush of unbodied wings
Dead pilgrims Heads of cattle turned to pebbles Boulders the mountain has flung In anguish
And the hourChoked volcano I've carried
But here's a
upon me
Warms and tben slowly Erupts
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EPILOGUES
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If the dllors of perception were cleansed every thing would appear to ':'an as it is, infiinite. , For man has closed himself lip, till he sees all things thr/)' narrow chinks of his cavern.
WILLIAM BLAKE
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For just as the children's crusade may be said to t.ypify the Middle Ages, -precocious children are typical of the present age. Tnfact one is tempted to ask whether Ihere is a singl~ man feft ready, for once, to commit an outrageous folly : Nowadays 170t . eve" a ' Silicide kills himself in desperation. SOREN KTERKEGAARD
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The painter HENRI ROUSSEAU died last wefk in Paris, a retired employee of the toll set;vice who for many years exhibited regularly at the Salon de Jlldepet(dants alld the Salon d'Automne paintings whose naive composition won hinl a certain notoriety. Chronique des Arts, 1910 There are no great men save the poel, the priest, and the soldier.
The man who sings; the man .who offers up sacrifice and the man who'sacrifices himself. ~
The rest are born for the whip. Let us beware of the rabble, of common-sense, good-nature, inspiration, and evidence. CHARLES BAUDllLAIRE Every holy thing wishing to remain holy surrounds itself with mystery.
STEPHANE MALLARME
The place of the gods or of any oth~r external entity or reality is now occupied by the word. The poem has no exterior object or reference; the reference of a word is another . word. Thus, the problem of poetry's meaning becpmes 'clepr only when one observes that the meaning is not outside of the poem but within: not in what th~ words say, but in wbat is ..aid between tbem. . OCTAVIO PAZ
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SURREALISM, n. Pure psychi" auto'tnatism, by which is ill tended to eXpress, verbally, in wriling, or by other means, the real proce;s of thought. Thoughi'. dictation. in the vbsence of all control exerciset;l by the reason and outside all aeslheti. or moral preoccupati~ns. It tends definitely to do Ql~ay with all other psychiu mech~nisms and t6 substitute itself for them i~ the soilition of the principal problems of life. AN DRE BRETON Compound Words ,in Dylan Thomas's Early Poems: Alliterative five-falhomed, sky-scraping, grave-gabbing, hemlock-headed, tree-tailed, sea-straw, sea-sawers, whale-weed, sea-struck, topsy-lurvies, Tom-thumb, tell-tale,
. grave-gr.oping, fair-formed, hard-held, sky"signs, come-a-cropper, hairy-heeled, windiveli, scythe-sided,Jour{ruited, dog-dayed, man-melting, sea-slicked, tomorrow-treading. t
I caredfor the· colours the words cast on my eyes.
DYLAN THOMAS
Dal1'!n Tagore. We -got out three good books, Sturge Moore alld I, and then because he thought it ;"ore important to see ana know English than to be a great poet, he brought out sentimental rubbish and wrecked his reputation. Tagore does not know English, no Indian knows English. Nobody can wrile with music and style in a language not learned in childhood and ever since the language of thi3 thought. WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS
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Bad writing comesfrom insufficient curiosity. /
EZRA POUND