Do You See?
Three mini-reviews for BLUE VESSEL. This is after award winning poet and fiction writer Rumjhum Biswas reviewed the book on The Four Quarters Magazine.
Tim Buck, my scholarly and discerning friend from Arkansas, wrote this — actually a micro one — on his music-poetry-arts-philosophy blog. Micro, but solid, pithy and melodic.
Poet and educator Ananya Guha placed a review in the new but fast rising journal from the Northeast — The Thumb Print magazine (editor Teresa Rehman). Short but analytical. I got embarrassed he drew some parallel to Ted Hughes and Philip Larkin. I mean, oh no! But Ananya is a prolific and seasoned writer-cum-columnist.
The third review is not a review so to say. More a reflection. Written by my young student friend Mihir Vatsa who happens to be good poet himself. He was determined to send a version of it to a journal but wanted the uncut one on his blog. When he asked me, I said sure, go ahead! It’s a delightful read because he talks about other things like how we stumbled upon each other on FB, and how I’d thrown a challenge at folks to write their version of Leda and the Swan! And somewhere he refers to me as “teacher”. Well!
Almost after an entire year, we had a Sunday tea party with M’s colleagues. I never had the time with writing, teaching, chores and travels. He always wanted one for sometime. For me a dinner was still an impossibility with everything going on around me. So there was our old gang from EFLU. Chicken kebabs, fritters, spicy lentil vadas, five different types of sweets, soda pop, masala chai, Darjeeling tea… Enough, right? Of course I didn’t cook anything. All from a famous snack shop right next by. All this followed by guitar and songs and silly gossip. We did well.
It was Father’s Day yesterday. While I marvel at how American “days” have permeated ours, it’s probably not too bad to remember dad, or Baba, as I called him. Suddenly I recall that I discussed him quite recently with a newly met person. Unusual of me to talk at length about my dead father with a man I met only a few extended hours. But it wasn’t uncomfortable. Whether it was the new place I was in, the all-pervading memory of my father, the mellow waterfront evening, or just my new acquaintance’s ease of interacting — I do not know.
But it appeared that he was once young, and in love:
Yes, that is a high school me behind my sweet mother. Brother overcame his teenage consciousness to pose with the rest of us,
Hence nothing but ee cummings comes to my mind.
“more frequent than to fail”
So what’s the fear?