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    Light grew less in his eyes and other poems
    Light grew less in his eyes and other poems
    Light grew less in his eyes and other poems
    Ebook228 pages1 hour

    Light grew less in his eyes and other poems

    By Jagannath Rao Adukuri

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    About this ebook

    Poetry is product of an exquisite sensibility, the ability to respond to complex emotional or aesthetic influences. Is there a sensibility unique to a country or its people, directly flowing from their cultural conscious? Apart from the poet’s own sensitivity to the influences around him, the sensibility relates to the people who form his milieu. An Indian poet writing in English will draw from his own cultural conscious and incorporate in his vision complex aesthetic influences working on him to produce poetry that relates to his people. Such work will still have some appeal to a global audience because the English that results is a unique creation of Western expression with Indian flavor. The myths that form the stuff of poetry may have been born in the Indian soil but its memes, defined as units of cultural expression, will always have something in them to appeal to a much wider audience.


    We do not have daffodils in India for a Bloomsbury poet to write poems about. But we have our own unique sensory influences to work upon. But essentially poetry remains a universal experience that is enjoyed by audiences anywhere in the world.

    The 175 -odd poems in this collection are rooted in Indian sensibility. The imagery used in them are reflective of the language patterns employed by the people of this country. Their recurring myths are familiar to an average Indian and do not warrant scholastic efforts to relate them to their context.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherNotion Press
    Release dateOct 12, 2014
    ISBN9789384878054
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      Book preview

      Light grew less in his eyes and other poems - Jagannath Rao Adukuri

      Light Grew Less in his Eyes and Other Poems

      Liberated Verse Rooted in Indian Sensibility

      Jagannath Rao Adukuri

      Notion Press

      5 Muthu Kalathy Street, Triplicane,

      Chennai - 600 005

      First Published by Notion Press 2014

      Copyright © Jagannath Rao Adukuri 2014

      All Rights Reserved.

      ISBN: 978-93-84878-05-4

      This book has been published in good faith that the work of the author is original. All efforts have been taken to make the material error-free. However, the author and the publisher disclaim the responsibility.

      No part of this book may be used, reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

      Contents

      Title

      Copyright

      Introduction

      The rope of fire

      Decision

      Onion rings

      Tea at 17000 ft

      The hanging things

      Plaster of Paris

      We rest our minds on television

      Worship

      The hand

      Keeping melody alive

      The gated community

      Shoulder talks with head

      Picture word

      Concentration

      Unfilling

      The death of a leader

      My mother’s brocade

      Prayer

      Weather

      Tarpaulin

      Diwali

      Celebrating the new rich year

      The elephant-God

      The miners are here

      The rocks of Hampi

      On return to Mumbai

      Pitchers

      The boy priest of Lepakshi

      Tsunami memory

      Spread-eagled

      Wheat dance

      Temple bells

      Rain in October

      Golconda

      Celebrating the new year

      Our God in Puri

      Child in the mausoleum

      The light grew less in his eyes

      The shifting horizon

      Ceremony

      Broken sun

      Bankura horses

      Sanchi monastery

      Stanley’s Dabba

      The bearded painter

      The stone maidens of Ramappa temple

      Flowers, leaves, fruits

      Meme

      Visit to the Jagannath temple

      Death of an English teacher

      Sea stories

      Immortality

      Coal

      Kash flower

      The clouds of Darjeeling

      The tea women of Darjeeling

      What the cow on the road divider is thinking

      The boy monks of Gangtok

      Rice pounding

      Mobs

      Homesick

      The lunch box

      The three G’s

      Boy

      The leaning tower

      Barfi

      Pollen

      Face

      Pilgrimage

      When our cups runneth over

      Visa desire

      Unhappy stars

      Girl topic

      Smelly addresses

      Sai Baba of Shirdi

      Continuum

      Auto-rickshaw in Hyderabad

      The night of Shiva

      Camera missing

      Flowers in the evening

      Divorce

      Nine holes

      Philosophy

      Kolkata boys, Boston boys

      God’s palanquin procession

      Chariot on a bean leaf

      River of Desire

      Potsherds

      Iconoclasts

      Women in the morning

      Between me and the sun there is this sea of cars

      A child’s birthday

      Creation is a myth

      Sorority

      The village post master

      Turbans

      God’s pretty feet

      Cooking in village

      Hollow men

      Girl statues

      Bodies in fans

      Phone walls

      Blooming houses

      The invisible sky

      Elbows and feet

      Peacock feather

      Dolphin’s nose in cyclone Hud Hud

      Bodies and chocolate

      Bricks for cotton

      The mosquito killer bat seller

      Bumblebee

      Matter

      Houses of dusk

      Polka dots

      Silver eyes

      Dimsa

      Brittle gods

      Red bangles

      On my mother’s first death anniversary

      Incense

      Year-end

      Belly groundswell

      Thread

      Eclipse

      A sonnet for Eighty and Five

      Burial of the fruit

      The dancing nuts

      Your crows, our crows

      History words

      Cow dust

      The coconut moon

      River steps

      Out of bounds

      Jack was a fruit

      Twilight’s dust

      God in mountains

      The window

      Posture

      Tar

      The call never comes

      We felt small

      The old stool

      The baby girl

      Orange radio

      Father

      Faces

      Questions

      Sepia

      Silences

      Fragmentary

      Mother

      Walk

      Midnight music

      Lonely

      Parijat’s fall

      Art in nature

      Cloth

      History’s dead

      Nameless bones

      Lime flowers

      Brittle

      Leap of faith

      Kangchenjunga

      Earth quake

      Oil lamp

      We stymie you

      Introduction

      The light grew less in his eyes and other poems

      Liberated poems rooted in Indian Sensibility

      For want of a better nomenclature we may call it the Indian sensibility, the sensibility that operates between an Indian poet and an Indian audience. Poetry is a product of an exquisite sensibility which is roughly equal to the ability to appreciate and respond to complex emotional or aesthetic influences, sensitivity to sensory stimulii, etc. The question is often asked if there is a sensibility unique to a particular country or its people, directly flowing from the cultural consciousness of its people. Here we are not talking merely about the poet’s own sensibility, his own sensitivity to the influences around him. The sensibility also relates to the people who form his milieu from which he operates. Thus, an Indian poet writing in an alien tongue will draw from his own cultural conscious and incorporate in his vision the complex aesthetic influences working on him and manage to produce a body of poetical work that relates to his people more than to the Western audiences using their language in a manner that may sound outlandish to them. Nevertheless such work will still have some appeal to the global audience because the English that results is a unique creation of Western expression with Indian flavor. The myths that form the stuff of poetry may have been born in the Indian soil but the memes, defined as units of cultural expression will always have something in them to appeal to a much larger audience.

      The physical environs are unique to the landscape around the poet. Thus we do not have daffodils in India for a Bloomsbury poet to write poems about. But we have our own sensory influences to work upon. But essentially poetry remains a universal experience that can be enjoyed and appreciated by audiences anywhere in the world.

      The question is whether an alien language does adequate justice to the

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