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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)

poem by T. Wignesan
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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

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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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.

poem by T. Wignesan
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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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Status

Check your status
And ascertain
What would happen
After the leaves
Turned grey.

My status has no
meaning without my mother
My status is with my mother
My mother is not with me
I could not keep my mother with me
You are the proper person
To ascertain not I.

I am my father'son
Please ascertain
That I tilldate failed.
I could not understand
My position
I could not stand in my line.
My position is in crack
Not in bending down.

poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Next Position Please

Words and music by rick nielsen
People all over the world
They get up they get down
They get in they get out
They get pushed, they go back
Start all over again
Till they get to the end
Im from a small town
Had a poor family
Mama was sick, papa worked the factory
I led a rich life
Never had to work hard
House in the country
Horses in my backyard
Next position please
Do I have to get down on my knees
Next position please
Im in a hurry, so hurry please
Read between the lines
Learn a new message
Read the latest book
Its a new twist
Be the first one to have a new ideal
Youll never get bored with mirrors on the ceiling
Next position please
Do I have to get down on my knees
Next position please
Im in a hurry, so hurry please
People all over the world
They get up they get down
They get in they get out
They get pushed, they go back
Start all over again
Till they get to the end
I wanna move up within the company
I can do better with an opportunity
Why dont they use me instead of abuse me?
Im ten out of ten, not some whore in some movie
I wanna be the biggest gun in the world
I wanna see the tits on every girl
Next position please
You have to get down on your knees
Next position please
Im in a hurry, so hurry please
(repeat to coda)

song performed by by Cheap Trick
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hands & Knees

You see me walking away
What more could I say than sorry
I failed by all your complaints
You pushed a life change but its not me
And filthy hands lay apon my chest
Lay upon my sin, but I do it for green
And in your mind you are blind
And your back turn so fine
Where were you when I needed you most
So mother so father
Im on my hands and knees
So mother so father
Im scrounging for whats left of me
My self-indulgence to blame
For all of the shame in the family
You dont know what its like
How I feel how I cry
How I hate the way I hate my life
So mother so father Im on my hands and knees
So mother so father
Im scrounging for whats left of me
Pues madre, y padre
Esta vida no quiero vivir
So mother so father
I dont want to live this way
So mother so father
Im scrounging for whats left of me
So mother so father
I dont want to live this way
So mother so father
Im scrounging for whats left of me

song performed by by Unloco
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hold Your Position (Stones)

Now here comes the great musical thing called "hold your position"
Rasta, them style ya a just levelment Uncle seen
Hold me position, Just a hold me position
I ya, hold me position, just a hold me position
Go on, hold me position, just a hold me position
Just like Jesus Christ in the valley of decision
Devil come along and tru to deceive man through him
Got him plan from the older one
Him had to hold him position, had to hold him position yeh
Hold him position, had to hold him position
Well rhythm like this makes me and me daughter
Go down at the dance, bubble on the corner
When the rhythm is sweet, we a go hold tighter
Rub-adub like this makes you go one
So you hold your position
Say you hold you position aya
Hold your position, say hold your position
Things and time was a getting slow let off the rhythm
Let the good time roll
Don't bother go a slow and stay a back row
I man come to make the rhythm
Just a rock and flow, because me hold me position
Just a hold me position
Special request to 39 Acker Tree, Frontline, everyman on Kime
UB40 say come and rhyme
Yes, Daddy Stone, me in the dance hall style
So we really come to make it versatile
Because one of a kind we come to blow your mind
So you should hold you position
Yes, hold your position, aya
Hold your position, hold your position
Hold Your Position (cont'd) Stones
Skank steady, Skank Steady
I tell you rock the rhythm
You should skank down steady
You know you say, it heavier than lead
Kinda tougher than tough
You know that Jah, Jah covers
Since he stands over us
So hold your position
Hold your position
Move to the east, and you could a move to the west
Lyrics like this Jab know never go jest
Say chunk ice water say right to your chest
Intercity, outer city everywhere the best you better
Hold you position, just hold your position
Hold you position, say hold your position
Well rhythm like this is really so hot
Let off the vilse because a legal shot
Because we hold our position
Yes, we hold our position aya
Hold our position yes, hold our position
Hold on tight never let go
Tee, ta, tee, say them all in a row
Donkey want water, you should hold him
Joe hold on tight and never let go
Hold your position, just hold your position
Hold your position a ya, just hold your position
Wah dat, hold your position
I say hold your position settle hold your position John
Hold you position Aunty, hold your position
Say hold your position go on
Hold your position, tell them rhythm so crucial
Rhythm so nice like sugar, like a spice
Cause when we a come a dance give you rough, nough, choice
A youth like me should a drive Rolls Royce
Sugar my tea baby, you're irie thought the two of us
Will go to bed cosy
Just a hold me position, hold me position

song performed by by Ub40
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Love Of A Parent

They had married at a very young age
At the time they thought it was a game.
They had been together for a long time
and he thought that everything would be fine.

They had lived together for two years or more
And they thought they knew the score.
At seventeen years of age they felt they knew it all
And life was to have a ball.

With part time jobs they paid their bills
Living together was such a thrill.
Not having to worry about a curfew hour
Now ' they had all the power'.

Going out partying every weekend
Not thinking of the money that they spent.
Coming home late at night, being drunk
They would start to fight.

She started feeling some menstruation pain
And from this point on their lives would change.
She went to her doctor to check it out
Pregnant she was - there was no doubt.

Now their eyes opened to the fact
From this point on there was no turning back.
They now had a child on the way
And they could no longer go out to play.

He got a full time job and straightened up his act
And a better position he would have to attack.
He went back to school To get a better education
And to give his wife and child all that he could give
And with both their incomes they would have to live.

She worked for seven months till she
Could work no longer, and to get their house in order.
When she went to the hospital because her time was due
She found out she was having not one but two.

She gave birth to a beautiful boy and girl
He was a diamond and she a pearl.
The most precious babies you'd ever want to see
And he was the proud father - as proud as can be.

They struggled like most couples do
But he was determined to see it through.
She took her children and held them tight
For in their faces she saw their fathers might.

His love so strong for his family
And this is what they all did see.
And the rest is history.

poem by Louis Rams
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Adam Raised A Cain

In the summer that I was baptized my father held me to his side
As they put me to the water he said how on that day I cried
We were prisoners of love a love in chains
He was standin in the door I was standin in the rain
With the same hot blood burning in our veins
Adam raised a cain
All of the old faces ask you why youre back
They fit you with position and the keys to your daddys cadillac
In the darkness of your room your mother calls you by your true name
You remember the faces the places the names
You know its never over its relentless as the rain
Adam raised a cain
In the Bible cain slew abel and east of eden he was cast
Youre born into this life paying for the sins of somebody elses past
Daddy worked his whole life for nothing but the pain
Now he walks these empty rooms looking for something to blame
You inherit the sins you inherit the flames
Adam raised a cain
Lost but not forgotten from the dark heart of a dream
Adam raised a cain

song performed by by Bruce Springsteen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Brow Beating

Yak- a- back- smart- back- talk- a- back- yak.
I absolutely hate it.
People with status power of position
the only thing they have to do is brow beat,
by only using their brows to entreat.

Buuuuut if you are on the dole all what you will get is
Yak- a-back- smart- back- talk- a- back- yak.
And you can not talk back as if the person on the dole
was some sort of barbarian
unworthy of being an Australian.

There is so much power in those brows
and it accomplishes so much instead of wasting time with
Yak- a- back- smart- back- talk- a-back- yak
Things get done straight away with brow beat
and there is no need to explain to take away the heat.

So much authority accompany those brows
where ever they go nobody stands in the way and there is no;
Yak- a- back- smart- back- talk- a- back- yak.
With authority, status power and position
so much can be done that come to fruition.

With brow beating I wish I can bash their
bloody brains in and destroy the mongrels with my brows.
But if you are on the dole or old you will have to put up with
Yak- a- back- smart- back- talk- a- back- yak
which is one big pain in the bum and yuk.

poem by Jerry Behr Number 2
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Like No Other...Mother

Mother...

Mother, who gave us her heart...her very soul.
Mother, who's understanding never wavered.
Mother, the one who dried our tears.
Mother, she lead us to the path of His Love.
Mother, who washed our cloths and cleaned the house.
Mother, who instilled confidence in her children.
Mother, who walked us to school.
Mother, who loved us like no other.
Mother, who quelled the anger within us.
Mother, who drove us to all our practices.
Mother, who never forgot our special occasions.
Mother, who protected her family, as a lion to a cub.
Mother, who always supported our father.
Mother, who scrimped and saved for our daily needs.
Mother, who was always the last to eat.
Mother, who was always the first to rise.
Mother, who cared for the animals.
Mother, a love that knew no limits.
Mother, who forever placed her family, before herself.
Mother, who was grateful, for every passing acknowledgement.
Mother, whose eyes shined, when she heard the words,
I love you mom.
Mother, who always saw the good in us.
Mother, who always taught us to never, never, give up.
Mother, who instilled in us, to be better.
Mother, who made us believe, we could accomplish anything.
Mother, mother...mother, you were like no other.

Mother, you will always remain, in our
hearts, in our deeds, in our thoughts,
in our lives and in our prayers.

Surely, beyond the stars, there's a special place for Mothers.

poem by Joe Fazio
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Mother...

Mother, you will always remain, in our
hearts, in our deeds, in our thoughts,
in our lives and in our prayers.

Surely, beyond the stars, there's a special place for Mothers.

poem by Joe Fazio
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Mother...This ones' For You...

Mother, you will always remain, in our
hearts, in our deeds, in our thoughts,
in our lives and in our prayers.

Surely, beyond the stars, there's a special place for Mothers.

poem by Joe Fazio
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The Angry Young Man

He had so much anger, so much hate
To lash out at someone he couldn’t wait
An innocent bystander walking down the street
This was the one that he would beat.

If she had suspected what lied ahead
She would have turned her back and fled.
With fists flaring he knocked her to the ground
Her jaw broken - she couldn’t make a sound
They say they don’t know how she survived
With the extent of her injuries
they was sure she would die.

She gave a description of what he looked like
And before blacking out she started to fight
They caught him with the description she gave
They saw that he was full of anger and rage.

They say from his step father he had been abused
And fighting back was of no use.
His mother did not believe what he had said
And she turned - and sent him to bed.

He now blamed his mother for what
His step father had done
no one to turn to, no where to run.
She should have - defended her son.

He and his step father are both in jail
Because his mother had truly failed
To hold a man she did not watch her son
Now look at what he has gone and done.

(child abuse can create stories such as this)

poem by Louis Rams
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On A Seven-Day Diary

Oh I got up and went to work
and worked and came back home
and ate and talked and went to sleep.
Then I got up and went to work
and worked and came back home
from work and ate and slept.
Then I got up and went to work
and worked and came back home
and ate and watched a show and slept.
Then I got up and went to work
and worked and came back home
and ate steak and went to sleep.
Then I got up and went to work
and worked and came back home
and ate and fucked and went to sleep.
Then it was Saturday, Saturday, Saturday!
Love must be the reason for the week!
We went shopping! I saw clouds!
The children explained everything!
I could talk about the main thing!
What did I drink on Saturday night
that lost the first, best half of Sunday?
The last half wasn't worth this 'word.'
Then I got up and went to work
and worked and came back home
from work and ate and went to sleep,
refreshed but tired by the weekend.

poem by Alan Dugan
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Im The Girl

Ive got a memory
A thousand years old
And I know secrets
Ive never been told
And Ive got jewels
I havent found
And theyll return me
To the ground
Im the girl, Im the girl, Im the girl
You know me
Im the girl, Im the girl, Im the girl
You know me
And Im a siren
Ill wreck you on my shores
And Im godiva
Ill call you back for more
And Im medusa
And Im your favourite doll
And Im a georgia okeefe
Hanging on your wall
Im the girl, Im the girl, Im the girl
You know me
Im the girl, Im the girl, Im the girl
You know me
Im joan of arc
Im the girl next door
Im the mother and the daughter
Of the mother and the daughter before
And I remember being born just sound and light
And sound and light and light
And I remember the first time, skin on skin in the arms
In the arms of the night
Well how many times have we looked up into the starry skies
And how many times have we felt the passion rise
Every ruby-lipped girl baby, old lady, squaw junkie, girl after girl after girl
Every muse, whore, good witch, princess, back arching, year after year after year
Im the girl, Im the girl, Im the girl
You know me
Im the girl, Im the girl, Im the girl
You know me
Im joan of arc
Im the girl next door
Im the mother and the daughter
Of the mother and the daughter
The mother and the daughter
Of the mother and the daughter
The mother and the daughter
Of the mother and the daughter
Before.

song performed by by Heather Nova
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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No Money No Honey

There is always talk of the town
As your tongue is sewn
You are speechless at home
You are pawn in her game

She has made you yes man
You are figure of obedient woman
You are doing whatever she demands
You are more of friend than husband

You have no money
So you are not honey
You are driven easy
As you are not choosey

You will be shunted from place to place
As she will use you horse in race
If you fail to reach home in time
You will forced to say outside sometimes

Learn to live with situation
Earn and love more in continuation
Show your worth to her and prove
Take her hand with pride and move

Create a formidable position and own
Make big name and remain known
All will respect if you have money and position
This old position may remain at back door and in transition

Women may want husband of their choice
Sing to their tunes and commit firm promise
They will submit only when assured of comforts
They will set aside anything even if there are bad reports

poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Na Na Na Na

[Supercat]
This is the "Long Long He Love" fe the gal dem, Na, Na, Na Na,
The Rapper Don and 112 he nah gon stay pon the shelf.
I wanna see you rock that ass
Rock that ass
Rock that ass
Rock that ass
Work your body body
Work your body body
Work your body body
Work your body body
Change positions
Change positions
Change positions
New position
I want a new position
Twirk it for me
Twirk it for me
Twirk it for me
Twirk it for me
[Q]
Come a little closer baby
Girl I want to feel your body
Lead you right next to me
We can be the life of the party
I just wanna let you know
I love the way your movin
Never wanna let you go
Never wanna stop the music
[Chorus:]
Girl Na Na Na Na
You don't know what you doin to me
Girl you lookin so sexy
When you doin the dance for me
Hey we goin Na Na Na Na
You don't know what you doin to me
Girl you lookin so sexy
When you doin the dance for me
[Slim]
Now that I've got you babe
Know we gotta keep it sexy
Touchin all over me
Baby it's ecstasy
Lady won't you take my hand
Let's go to VIP I don't think you understand
What you are doin to me
[Chorus:]
Girl Na Na Na Na
You don't know what you doin to me
Girl you lookin so sexy
When you doin the dance for me
Hey we goin Na Na Na Na
You don know what you doin to me
Girl you lookin so sexy
When you doin that dance for me
I wanna see you rock that ass
Rock that ass
Rock that ass
Rock that ass
Work your body body
Work your body body
Work your body body
Work your body body
Change positions
Change positions
New positions
I want a new position
Twirk it for me
Twirk it for me
Twirk it for me
Twirk it for me
[Supercat]
I'm hollerin at this shorty
This hot cutie beautie
Tell me said that she was the managing duty
She said she come in about work 10:30
Tell her fe come a Room 112 and check me
Between you and I we're havin a private party
Sittin me down on the bed that means you're ready to strip me
Jump off her coat and she take off the Vicki night
Yard them gal them love the backshot
Prima gal them love the backshot
S:.. gal them lovely said love and me said
Put pon the shoulder gon touch head back
ATL girl them make them lock
Me said New York gal love it all like a yak (non-stop)
A rapper dapper bounce back feel where the pepper come from blaze up the shot
[Chorus:]
Girl Na Na Na Na
You don't know what you doin to me
Girl you lookin so sexy
When you doin the dance for me
Hey we goin Na Na Na Na
You don know what you doin to me
Girl you lookin so sexy
When you doin the dance for me
I wanna see you rock that ass
Rock that ass
Rock that ass
Rock that ass
Work your body body
Work your body body
Work your body body
Work your body body
Change positions
Change positions
Change positions
New position
I want a new position
Twirk it for me
Twirk it for me
Twirk it for me
Twirk it for me
[Chorus:]
Girl Na Na Na Na
You don't know what you doin to me
Girl you lookin so sexy
When you doin the dance for me
Hey we goin Na Na Na Na
You don know what you doin to me
Girl you lookin so sexy
When you doin the dance for me

song performed by by 112
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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On hearing that Ronnie...

To recall a friend
is never an adieu
he has merely stepped across the landing
the light still beams the door's ajar
you can hear him pacing humming swinging the windows
to let the street in the warmth
the wind ruffled
through his half-opened shirt

Across the spare digs halfway to the Schloss
austere in the shaded light slanting on drab curtains
the bare table rough-hewn the dishevelled books
the gaping porcelain jug and still wet basin
the whiff of fresh-bitten soap the close shave
and the stiff white collar excusing the day-old striped shirt

A gentle tap the door opens to a glass of port
cut bread
and even if you will not
cheese

'Beware! Beware you don't become an Hasbeen! '
he made no bones of his luck from stipends through Reading
the wideopen eyes commisserating through the flailing sheaf
fallen on his ample brow
the hand ever brushing aside
that wilful unconcern in your life
in your little worries your mishaps

And you knew you had mattered in his life

To recall a friend
is to give body to form
to words that bind muscle to bone
those mutual moments

You may come back a quarter of a century later
And he is still there a trifle stumped by your aged face
the mutual moments flow without break

You had driven through four sleepless nights
your eyes peeled beyond weariness
your mind bristling and in the red

'Take care! Take care', he said, 'lest you burn both ends! '

Other worlds other duties
keep you from bringing up his face
keep you from keeping mementoes:
'Never excuse, never apologise! '

yes you might have penned a word
when the stolid face swung back
you didn't for that would've been abrupt
too flippant unceremonious requiring tact

So you turn up a l'improviste
the mutual moments flow over coffee at the Konditorei
the same cream curtains
the same goldbraided periodlike chairs
over neatly folded ceremoniallike lace
the irreal flood of filtered light
outside
no more the tug and grating pull of trams to dull your words

Again the same attentive stare the same empathic vigil
for your fresh worries for your private imbroglios
while he foregoes a meal at the mensa

Only you hadn't known nor suspected
the stealthy pain gnawing away at the bones
nor did he let it be shown

Only the stoic face and the pained look
for your own blasé pain

Dedicated to Ronald Hindmarsh-Midwood (May 24,1930 - January 17,1992) *

(*Ronnie taught English at Heidelberg University when I first met him during the summer semester in 1957.)

(© T.Wignesan, July 4,1992 - Published as a « preface » to Ronald Hindmarsh's commemorative writings: « Mr. Hindmarsh is not writing a book.' 1993; from the collection: back to background material,1993]

poem by T. Wignesan
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