They hand you a boxFour neat lines joined at supremely perfect right anglesYour body, rounded at the edges, pliable, more flesh than muscleSqueezing yourself into shape you triumph, look you say, I fitSkin compacted into nothingnessCells harnessed to behave One … Continue reading They hand you a box
Saturday, January 10, 2015, I was to be in Paris for the day to meet poet and translator Marilyn Hacker. I had many questions about her experience with the ghazal and ghazal poets; she was generous enough to offer her … Continue reading Paris in the rain
Some English ghazal’s really know how to say it: In Amsterdam. Continue reading In Amsterdam
The past few weeks I have been toying with the idea of getting an e-reader. Many of the books I need for my research and some of the books I want to read are located in and sold from places … Continue reading Is my uneasiness nurtured or organic?
Has the study of literature made me lose the ability to enjoy an ordinary film? Has it? Has it? I went to watch “The Hundred Foot Journey”. The film promised the agreeable mingling of food and diaspora. Purab laughed, … Continue reading When I went to watch “The Hundred Foot Journey”
He destroys my tools And I let him keep his word Just words. Continue reading Just words
Hand – a ghazal The sound of tinkling laughter, words tossed like salad, pointing hands, In the middle of that noise my mind drifted on a boat to familiar hands The body of David was moulded and caressed, Stone was … Continue reading Hand – a ghazal