Block Fall from the Zyklon Door
When you have passed nonplussed
by rumours
of ovens
of being burned alive by the horde
calcinated bones in torrid ashes
teeth without a name
pebbles in the sands of hate waves
When between you and the other side
is the block-flesh thrust through to Himmelweg
too late
you smell the Zyklon trap
about to be sprung on your innocence
your children looking to you for a way out
not daring to believe
you have left home without an answer
You can only wonder at how they led you
each child's hand ensconced in its mother's
the old and the infirm weeded out
the pill in the nape
of men rushed ahead from their charges
huddled
slapped jostled
whipped
for daring to ask with rifle butt
whacked
jabbed bundled
trundled
the eye searching hazily the breach under the helmet
benumbed fate
squashed hope
in the last faltering meek steps
It's only
when you're on the other side of yourself
between you and the block-flesh
forming on the other side of the zyklon door
You may wonder why you let your anger go
in safekeeping
Dedicated to those sacrificed in Concentration Camps during World War II.
(© T.Wignesan 1987: July 2,1987 [from the collection: back to background material,1993])
poem by T. Wignesan
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Related quotes
He who creates re-creates himself
for René Passeron
You may not grow old too soon
if
Things you have known will come back to you again
No revision nor recall need put them back in place
Time was when you knew the time
the place the face
Even the scarce women in prized moments gone in pain
Who would care nor what would it matter
in which life upon what water
you have trailed your fingers
upon waves of papers
Let your mind brush
some canvas in a rush
Left your mark
upon some bark
Wed some wanton women
spawned wholesome omens
Made as if the artier your words
held some moment in a perennial frame
Never to be banged away by fading suns
collapsing quasars
asteroid storms
puncturing galaxies
usurping black holes
Can this act of writing seize the moment
Or is it your way of saying
What else is there to be done?
Let the unknowable undermine the unknown
Here on this planet
we have made our sinuous conventions
stick to paper and canvas
stone and sound
And words that are haloed
by the sickness of the poet
though all is not lost for the pen
whose blood will
possess
anchor
expose
our futile justifications
explications
ratiocinations
doctoral dissertations
And generations will tremulously grant him
The right to unravel the eternities
For one who dared capture the moment
In the capsule of a poem
Dedicated to René Passeron
(©: T.Wignesan 1987 April 12,1987 [from the collection: back to background material,1993] Pub. in T. Wignesan. Poietics: Disquisitions on the Art of Creation. Allahabad: Cyberwit.net,2008. 'Poem of the Month' at Alongstoryshort site, April 2012.)
poem by T. Wignesan
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You Said: Why Can't I have My Day
a cherished paper-cutting
for
those who forgot to care
and for you
too late
a cribbed account
in pale bold face
on some crowded backpage
which lapped up the soya stains on the takeaway counter
some faded picture of you
crammed in nubile twists of fronting elegance
in meagre-columned glossy pages
you said: why can't i have my day
why should a destitute Greek prince
lord it over the world
just by tying a knot with his regal cousin
your eyes recognising too late
a world you may never see again
a world you may not be seen in again
all your self-suffocating words
and all those poured in contempt
on you
through you
for you
to feed those who grudged your fleeting glory
Now now that all may be forgotten
now that no bile inhabits this carcass
over some too pulpy a fruit
a taste of you
from freshly-turned earth
bloody juicy earth
our teeth caught
clinging to your bleeding shredded flesh
of cells into cells
of us into our selves
___________________________________ _________________________________________________ ____
(© T.Wignesan, Paris,1987; from the collection: Poems Omega-Plus: a less than obvious sequence,2005)
poem by T. Wignesan
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Born to die at Stromboli
« Think, the world remembers only the poets. The name of a country depends on how its poets behave. »
Sarvepalli Radhakrishnan, the Philosopher-President of India*
Whoever dies at his Stromboli
needs no excuse to be born
as those who sail their ships
to the farther regions of the mind
even if they lose their way
finding their way back to sanity
While those who invent the Soul
construct pyramids
cathedrals
stupas
to raise those royal patrons
who raised them
to the skies
or even
those who lived to soothe others
with televisions
cars
innoculations
like those who raised townships
settled industries on reclaimable land
Much like those who gave their names
to bills of rights
to streets
faculty buildings
political dynasties
All these and more may need no excuse
Such even centuries hence may not accuse
But where alas is the poet
the painter of million melodies
assailing the living tastes of times
and bounded traditions
they that need to be examined
explained
exclaimed
declaimed
Men who have strayed from the volcano of their birth
For fear of leaving no revenge nor challenge on this earth
Note
* The philosopher's parting words to me in New Delhi when he was the vice-president in May 1961.
(©: T. Wignesan, May 30,1987, Paris, from the collection: back to background material,1993]
poem by T. Wignesan
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Embryo
You who sexless heard the pounding of the sex
nerves conditioned to the tune
through all the slushy push of distending flesh
in the ooze slime of semen vaginal fluid
Your eyes turned inward
heart brimming to the flush
fed by your central runaway generator
though
your frail limbs were hardly sketched
in the clasp of a Reichian curve
through all the terrifying pounding
More terrifying still
Now YOU see the crook of the aborting metal
the surgeon's staff
dig into your behind
puncturing
the gossamer sack of your promised dream world
avoiding at every thrust
the inevitable dismemberment
charred chicken wings coming apart in cinders
JOLT of the bend in the crook
your eyes to the back of you
a ninja without arms or legs
whirling upwards
flying in the face of crookish metal
by the grit of your teeth
FIRST your spine goes
shrivelled skin over mashed bone and marrow
the nerves a calligrapher's skein
vaguely stretched over your incumbent's drawn face
TILL your seminal fluid
stains the blood
splashing through every thrust
of the abortionist's clinical will
YET you resist
STILL clinging to your umblical chord
the silent screams of your unformed mouth
reaching no where
the mother sprawled on the trolley etherised
In the distance a faraway distance
a vague throbbing
away from prying eyes
a ringing call unanswered
and you let go...
see your will turned to mash
Only your long sleep nurtured your dream
a singular dream of a snuffed world
YOU HADN'T EVEN BREATHED
Notes
On seeing an ecography of an abortion on the FR3 French TV programme: 'La Marche du siècle: Contraception et avortement', March 4,1992 at 20.40 hours. Professor Etienne Baulieu, the inventor of the oral abortive pill, was the guest of honour.
[© T.Wignesan - March 10,1992, Paris, from the collection: back to background material,1993]
poem by T. Wignesan
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Flesh Wound
We flew over miles of ocean--be prepared.
I don't have the faintest notion who'll be there.
You underestimated; nobody sympathized.
I think you'll soon feel better once we get inside.
I see the door is open -- Why don't we walk right in?
Let's put our party hats on and let the fun begin!
We should have called and said that we were on our way;
Who would have ever guessed that you'd be so unreachable?
Just another flesh wound--another thorn in my side
Just another flesh wound--another wonder-cure that you tried
Just another flesh wound--another scratch on your hide
Just another flesh wound--another irritation you abide
You know the rumour's going that he was synthesized.
And if we had to dress, I wouldn't be surprised.
I say -- you're so outrageous -- you'll go to number one!
They'll have us both arrested for having too much fun.
Just another flesh wound--another scratch on your hide.
Just another flesh wound--another thorn in your side.
Just another flesh wound--another bruise on your pride.
Just another flesh wound--another paranoia that you hide.
And when she held her nose, she took an underdose.
It was nice to see her completely comatose.
You go first, you're completely debonair;
Let's go dutch -- it's only fair.
Just another flesh wound--another thorn in your side.
Just another flesh wound--a minor injury you dignified.
Just another flesh wound--another unsuccessful suicide.
Just another flesh wound--another curse that you ride.
song performed by by Robert Palmer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Too late for amends
It is as though an unjust hand punished you
As if the Adlerian guiltless position in the constellation wasn't enough
toppling you from a pedestal
You were groomed for position
for heading a family
vacated by the head himself
out of time
So they protected you
pampered you
the custom required it
there were sisters whose dowries you were supposed to earn
there were grounds whose circumferences you were designated to crush
there were centuries and goals you were bound to knock with stick and bat
there were exams you were deemed to sail through
there were jobs you were merely to inherit on merit
The second son was sacrificed
He was too close a second
They turned a deaf eye to your sacrificial deeds
the suffocating cries
'Work on what has been spoiled by the father and the mother.'
-Hexagram 18-
Other hands worked on the second son
Other sacrifices nearly came to pass
Fierce jungles
swirling muddy rivers
stalking cobras
poisonous thorns
aboriginal hunters
even your suffocating arms to lock the broken neck
fresh from a hanging
These worked
where the mother and father failed
and instilled a wish for survival in your Abel
How could you be blamed for being the first born boy
if the second took longer to arrive
or instead came as a baby girl
Neither parent may be faulted
How could either have known or foreseen
Your traversing of the desert
alone
often in shame
in fear of being found out
You kept your back straight
You honoured your position
You wore that air of masterfulness
in your stride
in your respect for the meek for the fairer sex
in your willingness to come to the aid of the needy
in your alas mind's reach
bereft of the means to give it authority
In your own mind
you had wandered far
as far and beyond the distances of your strides
within three posts four walls open ground and air
you never bothered with approving thumps on the back
nor the little-watched heroic actions on some turf
nor did you recount these match-winning feats
in a thirst for applause
You were the quintessential sportsman
You played your last game alone
far away from your folk
You had no wish for a farewell
Yet you are mourned in pain by all
Dedicated to T. Ganesan (1931-1985)
(© T.Wignesan 1993, Paris, April 14,1993; from the collection: back to background material,1993]
poem by T. Wignesan
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On His Father's Side
On his mother’s side
Born in Bethlehem
On his Father’s side
No one before him
On his mother’s side
Growing and learning
On his Father’s side
All knowledge showing
On his mother’s side
Stuck in one location
On his Father’s side
Present in every nation
On his mother’s side
He was hungry
On his Father’s side
The multitudes he did feed
On his mother’s side
At Calvary he died
On his Father’s side
He was the essence of life
On his mother’s side
Buried like other men
On his Father’s side
He rose again
On his mother’s side
Human and weak
On his Father’s side
The God of eternity.
poem by Joses Tirtabudi
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The Best of the Night to you, too, Bala...
So you took the covert road of the night
and stalked me
while I listened to Vivaldi up to midnight
At two when you were ready to go
you woke me stunned stark in your memory
your impishly entrancing laughter
your dark bright pupils beaming through the slits of your tightly drawn
lids
your ivory teeth basking in uncontrollable mirth
your blacker than black ear-antennae and higher than high civil-
servant brows
marking your dark-diamond worth
your patience
your more than necessary feeling for the less than fortunate friends
and relatives
stretched cummerbund tight round your caring nature
How you knew how to share your luck
Always a little put out for your beneficiaries' putout-ness
Worrying speechless night after night lest your luck run out
teeth in protesting grind
against the risks of your calculated outstepping
Paths led up straight
for one whose smiles funnelled from the heart
lit in ever-foraging circles of fire
There was no obstacle to the summit
for you took with grace
only what you knew how to spare
with care
Do you remember your run-up to the crease
your Lindwall-delivery dragging the clasping flannel round hobbled
boots
your anger
at the wicket that went on a no-ball
Do you remember your opening bat
that snicked the runs to leg and off
which dozing umpires signalled as byes from pads
Do you remember Brigitte
her perky bobtail
her boucles of prancing hair
lances on her forehead
sickles on her verti-vir-ginous temples
Where are the bridges you have crossed
and those you had planned
and those you saw grow pebble by pylon and cementing stone
where the roads you laid
up virgin forest and limestone
Where indeed the buildings you repaired
erected
re-erected and razed
and the thousands and thousands of miles
you rode the wild seladang of the primeval jungle
hand on hump
with no stars in the paly night to guide you
through venomous blukar
and the boiling green torture
seared deep into your burning entrails
these that now have run out on you
Watch now how the river glues under your fuming stare
when the monsoon torrents sweep the knock-knee-ed pylons to a side
those dry as split-bark legs of yours
itching once too often in comforting company
though a little spindly for a Pied Piper
Yet you made the puppety Peninsula run
down drains and monsoon pipes
to a purge-full sea
Who is there now who wouldn't wake to your fits of irrupting gurgly
merriment
to ease the tension
amongst unlikely fellows
who who wouldn't miss your seething whiteheat glee
at his side
You who knew how to accompany Kay and Richard
up to the closed door of your last night
a very good night on your lips
Your opening bat's duty done
the side shored-up in safekeeping
the last fast breathless ball you faced
nicking the bails off
You needn't return to the pavilion
for the standing ovation goes on
for you Bala
long after the cloddy-stumps lie slain on the tiled floor
Dedicated to E. Balasubramaniam
(June 13,1935 - August 7,1993)
(©: T. Wignesan, August 8,1993 - Paris; from the collection: back to background material,1993]
poem by T. Wignesan
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Coin Of Fate
In my hand is my coin of fate
It tells me at who I am to project my hate
With just a flip of the coin we shall see
What fate has determined what is your destiny
On one side is written of forgiviness and prayer
The other side is covered in scratches and shown little care
If me catching the side with prayer is your fate
Then you will be left alone and safe from my hate
But if the side displayed is the latter
Then save your breathe for your pleas will not matter
You will meet the side of me that is deaf to your cries
And know that anyone who meet this twisted being inside me dies
So, now let us play my little game
Let us see what fate has in store
*Flips the coin*
Well, it seems that I will stay tame
What say we play once more
poem by Vasto Grom
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Violent Side
Here comes the night
Here comes the anger
Hidden so deep inside
No one can see
Behind these eyes
There walks a stranger
Wandering through the dark
Following me.
Control the violent side
Control the violent side
Control the violent side
Control the violent side.
Electric light
Shining on your block
Sayin to everyone
The power is on
While your alarm
Set up for safety
Keeps out invaders who come
But still cant control.
Control the violent side
Control the violent side
Control the violent side
Control the violent side.
Got to fight to control the violent side
Every day and night
Ive got to fight to control it.
song performed by by Neil Young
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A cure for forty death-dealing cells
Impotent at birth
Impotent at death
and only somewhat potent in between
Why were you born without your own consent
What was the karmic guilt of your first birth
and what about those maimed in the mind
crippled in the womb
eaten by meningitis
by herpes
by syphillis
by aids
What are their chances of mending their karma
And what about that baby born without a brain
How is it to be blamed
for not giving its organs to some transplant bank
Who cares if you live on
If you die
who cares
and for how long
Does one have to care
being but ephemeral
(© T. Wignesan, April 2,1992, Paris - from the collection: back to background material,1993)
poem by T. Wignesan
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So Alive
Today I watched the boats
Moving through the harbor
Walking on water
In your arms I'd stay
Forever if I could
Fireer if I may
Keeps me in your thoughts, don't disappear
I am on your side
And so alive
So alive it isn't real
If this is how I feel
Then nothing now is true
And nothing now can ever be taken away from you
Sinking in the past
The things that shouldn't last
Just put to bed and stand beside me
Stand beside me
Always on your side
I'm on your side
And so alive it isn't real
I am on your side
And so alive
And so alive
And so alive
I am on your side
I am on your side
I am on your side
And so alive
So alive
song performed by by Ryan Adams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Crouchin’ On The Outside
One two three four five six seven eight hey baby you're a little too late
I'm standin' on the outside lookin' in at you on the inside
Lookin' out at me on the outside lookin' in
Through the window of my madness at a place I never been
And you say you understand just what my trouble's all about
But you're sitting on the inside playing on the win side
While I'm freezing on the outside in the what's-it-all-about side
Lookin' in at you on the inside looking out
One two three four five six seven eight hey Jim let's talk about hate
I'm walkin' on the white side lookin' 'round at you on the brown side
Lookin' back at him on the black side lookin' down
And we're mouthin' words of freedom but we don't make any sound
And we clasp our hands in brotherhood and then go wash our hands
While you're stayin' on the brown side on the go-ahead-and-put-me-down side
While I'm standin' on the white side on the got-me-way-up-tight side
Lookin' back at him on the black side lookin' back
One two three four five six seven eight hey Claude don't bother to wait
You're cruisin' on the gay side lookin' straight at me on the straight side
Lookin' way at you on the gay side lookin' straight
And you're screamin' from the rooftops bout the pleasures that won't wait
And your closet's full of queenly gowns for extra special dates
And you're campin' on the gay side on the c'mon-out-and-play side
While I'm over on the trick side on the got-to-find-a-chick side
Lookin' way at you on the gay side lookin' straight
One two four seven nine eight twelve fifteen nineteen eighteen ninety-nine twenty-four else
[ sax ]
One two three four five six seven eight hey Miss hallucinate
You're boppin' on the hip side laughin' at me on the flip side
Chasin' after you on the hip side losin' my grip
And you're walkin' on a tightrope and you're tryin' not to slip
And you say you found out where it's at and give it all a try
So you're groovin' on the hip side in the come-and-take-a-trip side
I'm movin' on the square side in the show-me-when-and-where side
Chasin' after you on the hip side lookin' high
Lookin' at you on the hip side lookin' out yeah
Lookin' at you on the flip side lookin' back
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
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I hate myselfs
I hate myselfs
every bones
every piece of flesh
every rotten organs
I hate myselfs
My very essences is rotten
my hearts a soild block of dry ice
my souls shattered and lost
I hate myselfs
wont kill myself
there are to many personalites I would
have to take with me
All yelling for attention
all wanting to be up front and alive
not hiding behind my eyes
in a brain that does not now
who it is
I hate myselfs
I walk alone
but hear voices
I sleep alone
but with many
I cry
and they laugh
I hate myselfs
Self the center of a healthy personality
yea try telling that to the 7 guys there right now
I hate myself
I hate myself
I hate myself
I hate myself
I hate myself
I hate myself
I hate myself
poem by Vincent Armone
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Willow Tree
Let me be your weeping willow tree
Surround you with my long limbs
My dear, let me grow in the shade
In the sands by the bank of your river
Let I drink from your streams
The cool breeze fill my leaves
We will sing together
Water over the pebbles
And Ill be by your side forever
I wish I was a weeping willow tree
I wish I was a weeping willow tree
I wish I was a weeping willow tree
Sweet river caress how softly
Stir my searching roots
Shading the sun in the summers heat
Let I cool you
We have been dancing so long
In the winters freeze and the summers drought
We survive
We belong
Let us sing together
Water over the pebbles
And Ill be by your side forever
I wish I was your weeping willow tree
I wish I was a weeping willow tree
I wish I was a weeping willow tree
Let us sing together
Water over the pebbles
And Ill be by your side forever
Let us sing together
Water over the pebbles
And Ill be by your side forever
We can sing together
Water over the pebbles
And Ill be by your side forever
Let me be
Your willow tree
Your willow tree
song performed by by G. Love & Special Sauce
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Full Speed Ahead
Full speed ahead my child
God is right by your side
Full speed ahead my child
Hate will not come close to
Where love abides
Full speed ahead my child
No turning back
You've got nothing to hide
And He is on your side
Full speed ahead my son
You've changed the course of history
Something never thought could be done
Go forth in peace my child
Let not pride in your heart abide
Stand firm in your beliefs
As others watch in disbelief
Now full speed ahead my child
Do your job with pride
Thus saith the Lord!
For he has spoken
And his words can never be broken
As you go full speed ahead
Tarry for the living and not for the dead
Don't forget to keep the Lord in view
No matter what valley you might be travelling through
Go forth in peace my child
Full speed ahead
You are Barack Obama
Born to lead
No longer will you be judged by your color or creed
So full speed ahead
Never look back
God is taking you on a journey
He has got your back!
poem by Mitzie Thorne
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Several Species Of Small Furry Animals...
Aye an a bit of mackeral settler rack and ruin
Ran it doon by the haim, ma place
Well I slapped me and I slapped it doon in the side
And I cried, cried, cried.
The fear a fallen down taken never back the raize and then craig marion,
Get out wi ye claymore out mi pocket a ran doon, doon the middin stain
Picking the fiery horde that was fallen around ma feet.
Never he cried, never shall it ye get me alive
Ye rotten hound of the burnie crew. well I snatched fer the blade o my
Claymore cut and thrust and I fell doon before him round his feet.
Aye! a roar he cried frae the bottom of his heart that I would nay fall
But as dead, dead as a can be by his feet; de ya ken?
...and the wind cried back.
[in english] thank you.
song performed by by Pink Floyd
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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At The Crossroads
at the crossroads,
kneeling before the fire,
exchanging spit
with the shadows.
surrounded by ghosts,
familiar, and real.
laying aside all else,
reaching deep within,
kicking the ashes
from my boots.
flesh unto flesh....
daring to live.....
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Child In Us
playful, runs, and hides
this is the child in me
in us, always in the side
of carelessness,
mistakes, and always
changing dispositions,
the incapacity to hold
anger, and the capacity
always to forget,
enemies now, friends again,
no ambitions, just the toys
and always be with
mother, though father
may come and hug sometimes
and produce memories
unforgotten,
the child in us
the innocence that was lost
the imagination undiscovered
how we wish be be children again
how can we be?
we are about to close the door
it is dark and there is no time
to play anymore.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Road Block
Yeah!, all right!
Oh, ain't no problem
Carry no heavy load
Lord, no!
Why can't i love you, baby ?
You try to block my road.
You try to block my road. hey!
Oh, better off to hand you
Everything i own, ha ha ha ha!
Strange to see you waiting for me,
You try to block my road, yeah yeah,
Try to block my road
Hey, hey, hey, hey.
Road block
Road block
Road block
Road block
Road block daddy daddy daddy
Road block
Road block
Alright on the road block
Road block
Road block
Road block
Road block
Road block
Road block
Yeah! road block
Road block, alright, alright, alright!
Road block
Road block
Road block
Road block
Road block
Road block
Whoa road block
Road block
Road block
Road block
Road block
Road block
Road block
Road block
Road block
Road block
Road block
Road block
Yeah!
Try to block my road, daddy daddy daddy
I said now every time i turn around
Why, try to block my road
Why did you try to hurt me try to block my road
I said all i ever wanted to do was try to block my road
N-now all i ever wanted to do was to love you try to block my road
Tell me, tell me, tell me try to block my road
Tell me, tell me, tell me now try to block my road
Waaah try to block my road
Waaah try to block my road
Try to block my road.
Ha ha!
Oh, ain't no problem
Carry no heavy load
Oh no, no!
Why can't i love you, baby ?
You try to block my road.
Hey hey, try to block my road,
Now now, try to block my road
Right, right, honey right now!
song performed by by Janis Joplin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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