Do You See?
Among a few things, I have joined back the gym. After lounging around for days, ever since I returned from Scotland, I hit the cardio machine this morning. It’s tougher than you imagine, to resume a routine disrupted. In Stirling, however, I never felt any ‘disruption’. Although getting up at 5 or 6 in the morning — my usual gym/exercise time — was virtually impossible for me owing to the cold grey weather. I could at least take a brisk walk around the Airthrey Loch within the campus. The path and around it, one has enough scope for walking mildly uphill or downhill. Good for lazy bums like me.
In Hyderabad, it’s been raining recently. Pleasant, really pleasant, no doubt. And I’ve been eating and meeting friends. Although I’m told I look fitter after Scotland, gentle debauchery with food and drinks is going to score soon. I do weigh 2 kilos less than when I’d left for Stirling. Let’s not get antsy but let’s keep the flab away.
Well, did we just talk about food debauchery!
Internet outages are debilitating prospects. With showers, occasional power cuts and inexplicable Internet outages slowed me down these last few days. Finishing an article, sending a workshop concept note, parleying with two poetry editors, and sending draft chapters to an agent (is he?) — ugh, so much to cover. Today it is better. Let’s hope for the best.
Blog has been idle for a few days. Reasons are above.
“All I wanted to do was paint sunlight on the side of a house,” said Edward Hopper (or words to that effect), and there have been legions of poets and filmmakers obsessed with light. I would side with the irrational visionary romantic who says light came first, and darkness but a fleeting shadow to be swept away with more light. (“More light!” cried the great poet, dying.) Poets and painters are the natural bearers of it, and all I ever wanted to do was paint light on the walls of life.
I never wanted to be a poet. It chose me, I didn’t choose it. One becomes a poet almost against one’s will, certainly against one’s better judgment. I wanted to be a painter but from the age of ten onward these damn poems kept coming. Perhaps one of these days they will leave me alone and I can get back to painting.
Photo from the referred set of paintings in the article above, courtesy Poetry Foundation. Ferlinghetti says, “What I have in mind is art as the locus for fathoming man’s fate.”
Ezra Pound: I Have Beaten Out My Exile, 2009, oil and acrylic on canvas, 24 x 18 in
Stray thought. I’m grateful to those that speak up. Others have no use for me. Okay, limited use, in a Miltonian sense!