meta-metaphoricity & ontological dysphoria

7/27/2019 Meta-metaphoricity & Ontological Dysphoria

1/33

Barzakh in the Mahabharata- if Bhishma were Babu

Women are Water tho' into the World they bring

Vedic Earth, Fires & heirs to the King.No Bhishma, I, tho' my head's uncrowned

My Ganga is but babies drowned

Beowulf & barzakh- the Babu version

All who kill are Cain save theirLoaf-Lordlive

& to Murder's Mummy,Blood Moneygive

Or, patripassian son, bybeot's lofgeornost

Tread the barzakh wyrd ofTiamatlos

Sceve, the Saone & 'le sujet surpasse le disant'If I knew the City where now you are

I'd shed my tears in its Reservoir

As it is, I can but sigh

Thy peignoir perilous else skin to dry

Midons! As blazon is, a rough tongue- thy towel

& as to the Saone, that sad Celt eliding vowel

Peace hath a Prince! now, turning away the meek

Mine the lachrymae with no terroir in your cheek.

Pliny 28.1313 Vestalesnostras hodie credimus nondum egressa urbe mancipia fugitiva retinere in loco precatione, cum, si semel recipiatur ea ratio, et deos preces aliqu

coniectatione.

Thy Vestal fury, to my back, a rod

Am I the altar of the Unknown God?

Your eyes and lips yet concur

Some kissing of you might occur

Gabrielle

Go to her now her Beauty dims & this World's glory has faded

& tho' she still calls out to her kids, my ears have grown jadedThou blessed among gossips, God, this truth also tell

To serve in thy Heaven she must reign in my Hell

Properties are theft

Foci diametrically lustrated in every fibration

Heart hurts the head by its each vibration

Yet my frozen, geometrically frustrated, rime

Is holocaust to many fingered Time

Envoi-

Properties are theft & to Essence hurdles.Prince! if God's proof lessens Godel'
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2/33

Poetry's Wine is its own Klein bottle

Why might a poet, even a crap poet like me, feel a need to believe his oeuvre has, at least

potentially, properties we might call closure and connectivity? In other words, why might a

poet want everything he writes to be mutually contiguous or inter-navigable?

A reporter does not have any such desire or expectation of his body of work. Today, he is

covering a gangland killing, tomorrow it's a fashion show, the day after a Party Political

Conference, and finally he might end his days running a Trade Magazine for Chemical

Engineers or Pigeon fanciers or whatever it is that pays enough to keep him out of jail for

defaulting on alimony or child support from his string of failed marriages.

Why can't poets be like reporters?

Why do they instead insist on aping that most contemptible type of journalist who begins

with gossamerjeu d' esprits then graduates to spinning out eccentric feuilletons before,

firmly grasping the auriferous thread connecting the two, finally settling down to a Midas like

senescence of Inedia recycling the same old bromide or jeremiad for the Op Ed columnswhile still believing it to be gold not dross?
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3/33

One answer is that perhaps poets see themselves as 'the unacknowledged legislators of the

world' and therefore are committed to knitting everything together according to a principle of

harmonious construction made prescriptive by the lyric beauty of its 'bright line' aesthetic

judgements.

If this is the case, can neglect, as opposed to obloquy, ever really constitute a sufficientlycondign sanction against the unimpeded practice of the poet's vocation? Masturbation, at

least on this side of the North Sea, is still stigmatized, yet to be called a versifier no longer

carries the same freight of opprobrium as the ubiquitous 'Wanker!' with which not just our

elderly Mums, or avuncular old College Professors we've kept in touch with, but virtually

everybody we turn to hoping to discuss the finer things in life, greets our effusions and either

slams down the phone or unfriends us on Face Book.

One important reason for the de-stigmatisation, if not rise in status, of the practice of writing

verse has to do with the wide-spread belief that it is now confined to menstruating women of

mean intelligence, recovering alcoholics of extreme belligerence and such moralising lunatics

and inept terrorists as harbor a malice against the common weal not even its own all too

dramatic, or democratic, self-destruction can blunt.

Another, perhaps actually intimately related, point has to do with the manner that the

persona of the poet has been individuated and abstracted out of both the craft of poetry and

that which it navigates.This means that any two poets can constitute a barzakh- an isthmus

between two bodies of water, one salt, one sweet- and writing poetry becomes the project of

populating that imaginal limbo. However, something topologically more complicated- like

the Hopf fibration pictured above- obtains when a poet identifies more than two poets as

providing a 'covering set' for his poetic universe.

For example, the American poet, Jessica Greenbaum,writes-

'Here is the handful of poems that cover the thought-world particular to me:

Poem Without an End, byYehuda Amichai

Under One Small Star, byWisawa Szymborska

The World Is Too Much With Us, byWilliam Wordsworth

Adams Curse, byW.B. Yeats

Brief for the Defense, byJack Gilbert(this can alternate with Try to Praise the Mutilated

World, byAdam Zagajewski)
http://www.poetryfoundation.org/article/245994http://www.poetryfoundation.org/article/245994http://www.poetryfoundation.org/article/245994http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/245974http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/245974http://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/yehuda-amichaihttp://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/yehuda-amichaihttp://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/yehuda-amichaihttp://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/wisaawa-szymborskahttp://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/wisaawa-szymborskahttp://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/wisaawa-szymborskahttp://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/174833http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/174833http://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/william-wordsworthhttp://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/william-wordsworthhttp://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/william-wordsworthhttp://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/172057http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/172057http://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/william-butler-yeatshttp://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/william-butler-yeatshttp://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/william-butler-yeatshttp://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/jack-gilberthttp://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/jack-gilberthttp://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/jack-gilberthttp://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/adam-zagajewskihttp://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/adam-zagajewskihttp://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/adam-zagajewskihttp://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/adam-zagajewskihttp://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/jack-gilberthttp://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/william-butler-yeatshttp://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/172057http://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/william-wordsworthhttp://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/174833http://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/wisaawa-szymborskahttp://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/yehuda-amichaihttp://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/245974http://www.poetryfoundation.org/article/245994


4/33

One Art, byElizabeth Bishop'

The problem here is that though the resultant covering militates for closed paths,

orientability- think of theKlein bottle-is going to be a much taller order because thefiber

bundleconstituted by the covering poets is going to generate holes and toruses and Moebiusstrip like weirdness and, for some cardinalities, Strangeness so beautiful it must be true.

Now, the older notion of poetry as something impersonal, like Math, meant that you could

simply turn poets into ideal types, or make them synonymous with specific lemmas or

Research Programs so that the covering space defined by a list of poets is orientable and has a

canonical or high salience Schelling type solution- so partial ordering comes as standard.

Here, just as in the barzakh of the ghazal- or the type of poetry that arises from the

conjunction of two poets- e.g. Dante and Laforgue for early Eliot- the task of populating the

isthmus or limbo between them can proceed with high orientability and algorithmic

orzairjalike fecundity. Milton is into both the Bible and boring epics- no problem, Satan can

soliloquise and Angels fire canons. Michael Madhusudhan likes both Valmiki and Tasso- no

problem, we get the interminableMeghnad Bodh Kavya.

Those were the good old days. Greenbaum, naming her covering set of poets, asks 'Is there

any blank space left for a new poem, old subjects?

My concern is less noble

Not that Heaven we blame that our throats are dry

Nor our drunken Mullah's obscene reply

But that all these years we've of the Saqi thought ill

When Poetry's Wine is its own Klein bottle
http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/176996http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/176996http://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/elizabeth-bishophttp://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/elizabeth-bishophttp://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/elizabeth-bishophttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Klein_bothttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Klein_bothttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Klein_bothttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fiber_bundlehttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fiber_bundlehttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fiber_bundlehttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fiber_bundlehttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fiber_bundlehttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fiber_bundlehttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Klein_bothttp://www.poetryfoundation.org/bio/elizabeth-bishophttp://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/176996


5/33

Dismal, Lord of Hosts, Thy dismissal of Masses

By an attack,Circumcellion,rendered disabled all my days

I'm that fabled hellion works vengance in mysterious ways

Dismal, Lord of Hosts, Thy dismissal of Masses

Till Baby bit my nose and threw away my glasses.

Envoi-

Tri-Vikrama,my Prince, did I love you to pieces?

Thy Paraclete, I evince, knows nowEpiclesis
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6/33

Jeremy Bentham vs. Yang Wan Li

Intense, long, certain, speedy, fruitful, pure

Such marks in pleasures and in pains endure.

Such pleasures seek if private be thy end:

If it be public, wide let them extend

Such pains avoid, whichever be thy view:

If pains must come, let them extend to few.

(Jeremy Bentham)

When Yang Wan Li, prefect of Changzhou, found leisure to write some poetry he found the

difficulties of administration grow light. Unfettered from past models, writing in a natural

style, he was astonished by his own productivity. Having returned to the capital, Yang

received a letter from an old friend 'Changzhou has recently had another change of prefect.

The prefecture you once found no trouble in administering is now at least ten times as

difficult! Are you still not ready to bring out those poems you wrote there?"

'The Poems are a tool to straighten out the world. There are people who say, In the Way of

the sages, the Book of Propriety is strict, while the Poems are easy-going. Well, I must ask:

who is there who understands that the Propriety is easy-going within its strictness, and the

Poems strict within their easy-going nature? When the sages were finding the way to

straighten out the world, they first had to find how to hunt out the worlds strongest common

feelings.

When they had found these common feelings, and worked in accordance with them in the

task of straightening people out, how could they fail to be obeyed? For reform grows
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7/33

from repentance, and repentance grows from [acknowledgement of] public society. If

repentance is not spoken about, it is no longer unsettling: if it is not spoken about in public,

self-interest and denial take over. ... The sages would never allow the world to lose the sting

of repentance, or to deny the force of public criticism. And so in this way they called on the

public to make the criticism, and used that criticism to inspire repentance. So the worldsmiscreants cannot avoid

repentance. Repentance brings reform, and reform brings return to the fold of goodness.

This is the way that the Poems teach! Are the poems really easy-going, then? Majestic in

the inexorability of their criticism, absolute in the implacability of their judgments: are the

Poems really not strict?'

Yang Wan Li,Shilun

What the Celestial Emperor in wry jest has spoken

I understand- thepaulownia l eaf as jade token

Enfeoff ing poor poets

Poor poets! We gain gr ief not land.

This is my version of Yan Wan Li's

(from 'Sunflower Splendor'- my favourite Chinese anthology)

In my version, I've put in a reference to the founder of the Sate of Chin (from which we getthe name China) who was enfeoffed jestingly by the Emperor with a paulownia leaf cut to

look like the jade token of feudal office.
http://coombs.anu.edu.au/SpecialProj/ASAA/biennial-conference/2004/Jeffcott-C-ASAA2004.pdfhttp://coombs.anu.edu.au/SpecialProj/ASAA/biennial-conference/2004/Jeffcott-C-ASAA2004.pdfhttp://coombs.anu.edu.au/SpecialProj/ASAA/biennial-conference/2004/Jeffcott-C-ASAA2004.pdfhttp://books.google.co.uk/books?id=xGBYRAIfExsC&pg=PA298&lpg=PA298&dq=jade+pawlonias&source=bl&ots=cNGl0ZWk1f&sig=6BPNODD7XSfgdGTgUOYtr5NJEaw&hl=en&sa=X&ei=P3ymUauRKKO60QWamYHwDA&ved=0CDcQ6AEwAA#v=onepage&q=jade%20pawlonias&f=falsehttp://books.google.co.uk/books?id=xGBYRAIfExsC&pg=PA298&lpg=PA298&dq=jade+pawlonias&source=bl&ots=cNGl0ZWk1f&sig=6BPNODD7XSfgdGTgUOYtr5NJEaw&hl=en&sa=X&ei=P3ymUauRKKO60QWamYHwDA&ved=0CDcQ6AEwAA#v=onepage&q=jade%20pawlonias&f=falsehttp://books.google.co.uk/books?id=xGBYRAIfExsC&pg=PA298&lpg=PA298&dq=jade+pawlonias&source=bl&ots=cNGl0ZWk1f&sig=6BPNODD7XSfgdGTgUOYtr5NJEaw&hl=en&sa=X&ei=P3ymUauRKKO60QWamYHwDA&ved=0CDcQ6AEwAA#v=onepage&q=jade%20pawlonias&f=falsehttp://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5clwEsPMpxM/UaaHKrqecxI/AAAAAAAAA58/zs6tX4VVuPk/s1600/Capture.JPGhttp://books.google.co.uk/books?id=xGBYRAIfExsC&pg=PA298&lpg=PA298&dq=jade+pawlonias&source=bl&ots=cNGl0ZWk1f&sig=6BPNODD7XSfgdGTgUOYtr5NJEaw&hl=en&sa=X&ei=P3ymUauRKKO60QWamYHwDA&ved=0CDcQ6AEwAA#v=onepage&q=jade%20pawlonias&f=falsehttp://coombs.anu.edu.au/SpecialProj/ASAA/biennial-conference/2004/Jeffcott-C-ASAA2004.pdf


8/33

Yan Wan Li somehow captured my imagination when I was young. I now think that he

represents a sort of Utilitarian ontological dysphoria that unites all that is best in Buddhism

with China's own long and variegated tradition of literary culture as inculcating zeal for the

common good.

The true Abhijnanasakuntalam

Whether his mother lustily sinned, or, in Love, was betrayed

Certes, the first Emperor of Ind, profited by her trade

Said Shakuntala to the King- whatever the cost

Kiss my ring or thy heir is lost.

Drama in Music

'Music is Feminine and awaits

'Drama's fertilizing seed'

Woe to a Wagner who abates

Dung to Dis' womb's meed

Infandum, Regina, iubes renovare dolorem

Like Confucius, turning Fifty, I grasp the Will of Heaven

But the Love of Women less than when I was Seven

I thought Memory's Saqi would have more class

Than to pour Wine in aClaude glass.
http://socioproctology.blogspot.co.uk/2013/05/the-true-abhijnanasakuntalam.htmlhttp://socioproctology.blogspot.co.uk/2013/05/the-true-abhijnanasakuntalam.htmlhttp://socioproctology.blogspot.co.uk/2013/05/drama-in-music.htmlhttp://socioproctology.blogspot.co.uk/2013/05/drama-in-music.htmlhttp://socioproctology.blogspot.co.uk/2013/05/infandum-regina-iubes-renovare-dolorem.htmlhttp://socioproctology.blogspot.co.uk/2013/05/infandum-regina-iubes-renovare-dolorem.htmlhttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Claude_glasshttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Claude_glasshttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Claude_glasshttp://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2kR6aFbd998/UaaIGrkQb0I/AAAAAAAAA6I/X7BTxFY4e7k/s1600/Capture.JPGhttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Claude_glasshttp://socioproctology.blogspot.co.uk/2013/05/infandum-regina-iubes-renovare-dolorem.htmlhttp://socioproctology.blogspot.co.uk/2013/05/drama-in-music.htmlhttp://socioproctology.blogspot.co.uk/2013/05/the-true-abhijnanasakuntalam.html


9/33

The folly of reading Ghalib as un-Muslim- Ghazal 65

Every beauty throngs to thee, by propinquity, in all candor

I only accede to tyranny, so a rival raise thy dander

Ghalib wrote this when he was about 19{65,1}

sitam-kash malaat se h kih hb tujh pah shiq hai

takalluf bar-taraf mil jeg tujh-s raqb hir

1) I am oppression-accepting from advice/prudence, for beautiful ones are your lovers

2) {leaving aside formality / 'to tell the truth'}, aRivallike you will become available [to me]

finally
http://socioproctology.blogspot.co.uk/2013/05/the-folly-of-reading-ghalib-as-un.htmlhttp://socioproctology.blogspot.co.uk/2013/05/the-folly-of-reading-ghalib-as-un.htmlhttp://www.columbia.edu/itc/mealac/pritchett/00ghalib/065/65_01.html?http://www.columbia.edu/itc/mealac/pritchett/00ghalib/065/65_01.html?http://www.columbia.edu/itc/mealac/pritchett/00ghalib/apparatus/names_index.html?unicode#raqibhttp://www.columbia.edu/itc/mealac/pritchett/00ghalib/apparatus/names_index.html?unicode#raqibhttp://www.columbia.edu/itc/mealac/pritchett/00ghalib/apparatus/names_index.html?unicode#raqibhttp://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ceo9BKPTsvQ/UY-nQxtPasI/AAAAAAAAA5M/qEKJ54qhMVw/s1600/images+(1).jpghttp://www.columbia.edu/itc/mealac/pritchett/00ghalib/apparatus/names_index.html?unicode#raqibhttp://www.columbia.edu/itc/mealac/pritchett/00ghalib/065/65_01.html?http://socioproctology.blogspot.co.uk/2013/05/the-folly-of-reading-ghalib-as-un.html


10/33

The commentators, and Prof Pritchett herself, take Raqib as 'rival in love' and neglect its

other meaning, when applied to God, as protector as in the phrase 'Allah raqib'.

Ghalib's ghazal 68- harif-e-matlab-e-mushkil

For to its own maze unequal, the Mystic path enchants

& Prayer's Alexanderine purpose, Khizr supplants

Why wander the waterless wastes of univocity, ego?

You yet retain a conception of high and low.

Its tryst is a glorious spectacle but where is the Mind?

Where Alexander's mirror by Anticipation refined?

Every atom of the Udhri being but Sun worshipping sand

Night & the Desert's love-play may the Simoom understand

The bowl of the starry Heavens is the waste-paper basket of the glib

Don't ask the depth of Siduri's Tavern of Madness, Ghalib!

Note

Al Khdir (Khizr), who first appears in the Epic of Gilgamesh, led Alexander to the Waters of

Life but drank from them alone.

Alexander is considered the inventor of the mirror. (So the one Empire he can't conquer,

command his attention/ Allah to Alexander allots the Mirror's invention).

The Banu Udhra were a sun-worshiping tribe who 'died when they fell in love'. Lailah &

Majnun belonged to this tribe.

Wisdom dispensing Siduri, in the Epic of Gilgamesh, kept a Tavern at the end of the World.

(See Prof Pritchetts'Desertful of roses' for full commentary)

arf-e mat lab-e mushkil nah fusn-e niyz

du qabl ho y rab kih umr-e hir darz

1) it's not equal to a difficult purpose, the incantation/enchantment of prayer/desire/neediness

2) may the blessing/prayer be accepted, ohLord,that the lifetime ofKhizrbe long
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11/33

nah ho bah harzah bayb-navard-e vahm-e vujd

hanz tere taavvur me hai nasheb-o-farz

1) do not be, foolishly/absurdly, a desert-wanderer of the illusion/imagination of existence

2) still/now in your imagination/thought is lowness and highness

vil jalvah tamsh hai par dimh kah

kih dje inah-e intiz r ko pardz

1) union is a {glory/appearance}-spectacle, but where is the mind/spirit/mood

2) such that a finish/perfection would be given to the mirror of waiting?

har ek arrah-e shiq hai ftb-parast

ga nah hk hue par hav-e jalvah-e nz

1) every single sand-grain of the lover is a sun-worshipper

2) even on [his] having become dust, the desire/wind of the glory/appearance of coquetry did

not go

nah pchh vusat-e mai-hnah-e jun hlib

jah yih ksah-e gard hai ek hk-andz

1) don't ask about the extent/capacity of the wine-house of madness, Ghalib

2) where this bowl of the heavens/'wheel' is a mere/single/particular/unique/excellent dust-bin

My Honeymoon in Kashmir

Thus is my Christian Wollf-man by Fraud transcended

& thus every Frankly rape therapy ever ended

Not Nature or Culture, 'tis the Tame & the Wild

Snatches,Nund,the doll of a neglected child

Note

As is the death of a neglected child, to a destitute mother, such relief

Know, Nund, Love as Second Creation in, now, the Eternity of Grief.

Kipling & Khusrou

A stripling Kipling and Kara KhitanKhusrou

Taught me Ind to naught Indian know

So the Soul dream, let God sleep
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12/33

Baa baa, Baba'sOrhan sheep

To Saigyo's ends, is the cat's wife thin

A Solomon's treasure is Mansur's fate

Yet I, majnun,but Night await

Tho' the Milky Way wends to Li Po's Inn

ToSaigyo'sends is the cat's wife thin?

Derrida's letter to a Japanese friend.

Octopus traps! Ink's synoglyph hordes in which I, Derrida, dream Izutsu

As Friendship's Timeless Sea Roads fleeHolzwege'sEternal Rome

Hlas!Fart and the French Academy farts flatteringly with you

Shit yourself and stink forlorn all the long hayride home.

Notes

1)

'Modern scholarship has shown us that in a region of the timeless East, a language reaching

its own state of perfection is deconstructed [s'est deconstruite] and altered from within itself

according to the single law of change, natural to the human mind,' Villemain, *Preface du

Dictionaire de l'Academie*."

(Derrida-letter to a Japanese friend)

2)

(SeeBasho's poetry. Apparently, Japanese fishermen lowered an array of clay pots into the

water and then tipped them over on their side. Small octopoi crawled into these pots, thinking

them safe shelter in the coral reef, during the bright carnivorous moonlit nights of Summer.

Before daybreak, the fishermen reversed the orientation of the pots, probably by tapping anipad app for switching from Landscape to Portrait, and then them octopoi were Sushi.)
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13/33

Ghalib's ghazal 33

Its pathways but puttees to the blistered poppy's marching band

Not a droplet of the parterre's Hawaiian wave hasn't sand

Of Jamshed's grail's graven design, a luckless Prometheus lacking wine

Steals not fire but ire & Satire's self-contemning Plimsoll line

Tho' in the Silence its Songs sow the Rose shreds its skirt

Calling the nightingale cuckoo, still Scent & Color flirt

I'm not green but grown lean chasing not the dragon, but a tramp

Color & Scent distinguish to extinguish my smell of the lamp

Tho' a hundred times manumitted from the fetters of Love

How housel my heart that's foe to flight above?

Without heart's blood in the eye, Vision's wave is of dust

So haunting its bouquet, Wine's bodega went bust

A garden in bloom- thy heart's unrolling picnic rug's display

Spring's purple cloud is which Mind's Beaujolais?

See Prof. Fran Pritchett's Ghalib site for a scholarly treatment.

yak arrah-e zam nah bekr bh k

y jdah bh fatlah hai lle ke dh k

be-mai kise hai tqat-e shob-e gah

khech hai ajz-e aualah ne hat ayh k

bulbul ke kr-o-br pah hai handah'h-e gul

kahte hai jis ko ishq halal hai dimh k

zah nah hai nashshah-e fikr-e suhan mujhe
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14/33

tiryk-e qadm h dd-e chirh k

sau br band-e ishq se zd ham hue

par ky kare kih dil h ad hai farh kbe-hn-e dil hai chashm me mauj-e nigah hubr

yih mai-kadah harb hai mai ke surh k

bh-e shiguftah ter bist-e nasht-e dil

abr-e bahr hum-kadah kis ke dimh k

not a single grain of the earth of the garden is useless) here even/also the path is the

wick/bandage of the tulip's wound/brand

without wine, who has the strength for the tumult/terror of awareness?

weakness of enthusiasm/spirit/stomach has drawn the line on the cup

at the doings of theNightingaleare the smiles of the rose

what they call 'passion' is a defect of the mind)

it's not fresh/new to me, the intoxication of the thought/idea/imagination of poetry

I'm a longtime opium-addict of the smoke of the lamp

a hundred times, from the bondage of passion we became free

but what can/would we do? for only/emphatically the heart is an enemy of

freedom/disengagement

without heart's blood, the wave of the gaze in the eye is dust

this wine-house is ruined for [want of] a trace of wine

your garden in bloom, a carpet/spread of the joy/fruitfulness of the heart

the spring raincloud, the {cask/distillery}-house of whose mind?

Truth is cheap- if spatio-temporal

Truth is cheap- if spatio-temporal

& Pascal's Sphere's sine/jyaephemeral

Contested rents to our Rome decrees

Lewiseligible Druid trees

Truth is cheap- like children to the rich.
http://www.columbia.edu/itc/mealac/pritchett/00ghalib/apparatus/names_index.html?unicode#bulbulhttp://www.columbia.edu/itc/mealac/pritchett/00ghalib/apparatus/names_index.html?unicode#bulbulhttp://www.columbia.edu/itc/mealac/pritchett/00ghalib/apparatus/names_index.html?unicode#bulbulhttp://socioproctology.blogspot.co.uk/2013/04/truth-is-cheap-if-spatio-temporal.htmlhttp://socioproctology.blogspot.co.uk/2013/04/truth-is-cheap-if-spatio-temporal.htmlhttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jy%C4%81,_koti-jy%C4%81_and_utkrama-jy%C4%81http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jy%C4%81,_koti-jy%C4%81_and_utkrama-jy%C4%81http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jy%C4%81,_koti-jy%C4%81_and_utkrama-jy%C4%81http://plato.stanford.edu/entries/lewis-metaphysics/natural-distinction.htmlhttp://plato.stanford.edu/entries/lewis-metaphysics/natural-distinction.htmlhttp://socioproctology.blogspot.co.uk/2013/04/truth-is-cheap-like-children-to-rich.htmlhttp://socioproctology.blogspot.co.uk/2013/04/truth-is-cheap-like-children-to-rich.htmlhttp://socioproctology.blogspot.co.uk/2013/04/truth-is-cheap-like-children-to-rich.htmlhttp://plato.stanford.edu/entries/lewis-metaphysics/natural-distinction.htmlhttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jy%C4%81,_koti-jy%C4%81_and_utkrama-jy%C4%81http://socioproctology.blogspot.co.uk/2013/04/truth-is-cheap-if-spatio-temporal.htmlhttp://www.columbia.edu/itc/mealac/pritchett/00ghalib/apparatus/names_index.html?unicode#bulbul


15/33

Children of the rich- Phoenicia's, that is, Moloch's

Lewis elite eligible,Scripts phonetic are bollocks

From Carthage, what figs Cato's return?

Augustine plucked yet must burn.

Truth is Cheap, Small and Out of Control

Your formula for Philosophy,de Fontenelle

'Curiosity plus Myopia'- fits too well

Thejouissance ofLewis eliteaporia

Love's Liebnizian ontic dysphoria.

Truth is Cheap

In the struggle for non-existence, defeat entails

Lewiselite eligibilityor of but Saints the praise

Close to thy throne the, of necessity, few

Bulk so large as to obscure us from view

For Wine is a stone flung by the fist of the Moon

For Wine is a stone flung by the fist of the Moon

O Master of Madness, instruct me, Majnoon!

Tho' thy 'eye of a footprint' in 'a river of sand'-

Aglitter with tears- I... understand...

Faiz's- 'tum naa aae'e the'What does Ghalib's 'khoon-e-jigar' mean in the context of Faiz's poem? My guess is that

Ghalib is referencing a peculiarity in Bedil's theory of color which, because of its Sufi

foundation, has a chilastic meaning. Ghalib, self-effacingly, mentions his use of astrology and

philosophy to tart up his ghazals. Perhaps, the fact that the Marxist Revolution lives upon the

memory of its doomed 1848 tryst, and the further eschatalogical fact that all trysts fail prior

to the final conflagration, and that this interregnum is one peculiarly favorable to a

hypertrophy of doomed trysts, for Faiz unites him to Ghalib and Bedil by reason of a

common elision of the method of Zattali- which, after all, is what the genius of the language

calls for.
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16/33

'Fore flamed our tryst all was as has come to pass

Horizon's mist, Road's twist, Wine red in the glass

But now that wine cup, road and azure Sky

Are the color of my heart where blood goes to die

Like the cataract in an old shepherd's eye

Or the egg stain on a Joint Secretary's tie

Or some such recherche list rushing out of style

Till, to curdle our tryst, you tarry awhile

Ah! my ragged song were, in Russian, Choral

Tho' in Urdu, now, just sloppy Oral

tum jo naa aa'e the to har chiiz vahii thii kih jo hai

aasmaaN hadd-e-nazar, raahguzar raahguzar, shiishaah-e-mai,

shiishaah-e-mai

aur ab shiishaah-e-mai, raahguzar, rang-e-falak

rang hai dil kaa mere, "khoon-e-jigar hone tak"

champaa'i rang kabhii, raahat-e-diidaar kaa rang

sur'ma'ii rang kabhii, saa'at-e-bezaar kaa rang

zard pattoN kaa xas-o-xaar kaa rang

surkh phuuloN kaa, dahakte hu'e gulzaar kaa rang

zahar kaa rang, lahuu rang. shab-e-taar kaa rang

aasmaaN, rahguzar, shiishaah-e-mai

koii bhiigaa hu'aa daaman, ko'ii dukhtii hu'ii rag

ko'ii har lahzaah badaltaa hu'aa aa'iinaah hai

ab jo aa'e ho to Thahro kih koii rang, koii rut ko'ii shai

ek jagah par Thahre

phir se ik baar har ik chiiz vahii ho ke jo hai

aasmaaN hadd-e-nazar, rahguzar rahguzar, shiishaah-e-mai,

shiishaah-e-mai


17/33

English Translation by Naomi Lazard

Before you came things were just what they were:

the road precisely a road, the horizon fixed,the limit of what could be seen,

a glass of wine was no more than a glass of wine.

With you the world took on the spectrum

radiating from my heart: your eyes gold

as they open to me, slate the color

that falls each time I lost all hope.

With your advent roses burst into flame:

you were the artist of dried-up leaves, sorceress

who flicked her wrist to change dust into soot.

You lacquered the night black.

As for the sky, the road, the cup of wine:

one was my tear-drenched shirt,

the other an aching nerve,

the third a mirror that never reflected the same thing.

Now you are here againstay with me.This time things will fall into place;

the road can be the road,

the sky nothing but sky;

the glass of wine, as it should be, the glass of wine.

Constipation is the soul of wit

Semele, in the drifting sands of what Desert fathers write.

Is the Miltonic phrase, dazzled, fulgurite

A constant inspiration moving mouths to shit

Proving constipation the soul of wit.

What the hawthorn marks or the hazel mends

Madness loves me, this I know

But wasn't so sure a score years ago.

When those feet, in Ancient Times

Trod the Tuirgen of all Treason's crimes
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18/33

Misprision is madness, but madness such a bore

Till brokering a deal for Arimathean Joe-

A classic long firm fraud on Credulous druids

Rood worshipers rude fuddled by alcoholic fluids-

I saw that, like Athens, Albion endures behind walls of wood

Which the blood of Christ cures full sour but good

Yet Nelson's oaks set the child Jesus free

To board the Armada of Calvary

Envoi- Prince! what the hawthorn marks or the hazel mends

Breathless, yet, the Ash tree bends.

The serpent of the English tongue

'I know my rights' is the serpent of our Edenic tongue

Tho' to but count its wrongs can it to song be stung

Now, to Salem's a-sail Albion'shomo sacerof the tree

Can tears' salt avail to season the sea?

The dog it was that died.

Unable to even curate the ruins it couldn't create

Let Bengal more rabidly the British berate

Tho' our Didi'sown Top Cop once bit herNot bitter, she has cop killers to liberate

Another Hindutva hymn to Hitler

Thy breast, now the West, when last it knew pity

ToRamprasad Sen,Life said 'tough titty!'

Tho' the Jew-nitid States, for thy wife, sitshiva

My week, thy weak, Paranoid Parvati, Shiva!
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19/33

Oscar to Speranza Wilde

A Christian canbe a gentleman- indeed, mustbe so

If 'tis but Mammon which to Christ says 'No!'

As for Greek or Roman or thy Celtic Art

How Christian is my pagan heart!

Snowing in the dark

Summer Nights are a wine I've very gradually overcome

But now it's snowing in the dark, I drink dark Rum

My Day's work done & if Dawn asks why

Say I'm the dandruff moon of this bald black sky

Kiratarjunya vs Vyadhagita

TheKiratagraciously share what their hunting skills supply

TheVyadhagraspingly sell what to but butcher they buy

No matter how meat is begot or who its begetter

Kirata or Vyadha- the latter eat better

Krauncha Giri as true Guru

Whom Ganesh circled to the Globe circle round

& Brutus kissed, kissing Omphalic ground

Together traduce but Tertullian's Orbis Tertius

Whose Cursus Honorum is a Lacus Curtius

An arrow slyly let fly or spear furiously hurled

Vent vortices whereby Worlds mill to the World

Thus- its own Montanist hole, axial to birds-

Krauncha Giriis the true Guru of words

Envoi-

Prince!- Balmik's krauncha or Cain's instructive raven

Hearts show no Hearts know a phoenix haven.

Lest Kabir sigh or Suhuni frown
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20/33

Time is a wheel to whose kiln is day

& Night a river for we tryst with clay

Lest Kabir sigh or Suhuni frown

Let Sita burn & Rama drown

How remiss my Madness that it should thus Unite

Abandonment's Joys and this Toy's Fright?

Fire!- plastic pistol, by Poverty fraught

Thou lonely toy, for my boy, I bought

Pascal's Dutch Book as Harbhat Pendse's

Pascal, I wager, theDutch bookof thy Penses

Was Savarkar's Marathi for Harbhat Pendse's

Ah!Animula vagula,twixt Jyoti's gang-rape and Pratibha's Suttee

Revere who Rudra, recall na Vishnu-hu pritivi-pati!

Notes

1) V.D. Savarkar read Herbert Spencer (affectionately known, he tells us, as Harbhat Pendse)

in Marathi translation as an adolescent. Spencer awoke in him a great indignation at British

exploitation of India. Sadly, Savarkar failed to see the idealistic humanism and revolutionary

potential of the British working class- people likeGuy Aldred,'the boy preacher of

Holloway', who took over publication of the 'Indian Sociologist' and served a harsh sentence

of penal servitude for his temerity. Spencer's Economics/Evolutionary Theory did not have

the benefit of Game Theoretic insights and should, perhaps, be re-examined at least from the

point of view of Bergson's critique of him.

2) na Vishnuhu pritivipati-Vishnu is the Lord (or husband) of the Earth. Suttee- i.e. Sati- isthe wife of Shiva that is Rudra.

Orphic lies

(Husserl probably thought that each possible world has a unique possible transcendental

subject but in so far as two such transcendental egos are directed at the same Nature, then

they are compossible and so intersubjectivity aint empty. I often feel the same way about

having to pick up my dry-cleaning.)

All characteristica universalisso hideous to our eyes

In what un-natural numbers must Siren rhapsodize?
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21/33

That galley slave or Captain, all equally are rapt in

Ego's web, the world-tide's ebb- Orphic lies

Najat ka talib aur Sayujya Mukti

Higher than perfect Union with the Divine

Is a loaf of bread, a Jug of Wine

& a fat chick with such low self esteem

God bought a Time Share in my dream

Commentary-

It is well known that the goal of Illuminationist or non-Dual theosophy is greatly to beabhorred-salokya-sarsti-samipya- sarupyaikatvam apy uta diyamanam na grhnanti/ vina

mat-sevanam janah-My devotees do not accept salokya, sarsti, sarupya, samipya, or oneness

with me (sayujya)even if I offer them liberation-

because they greatly prefer serving me. (SB 3.29.13)- so too,verily, is the Gnosis or

Theophany of the adepts of askesis-kaivalyam narakayate- which is no better than the

condition of a hell dweller.

Yea, for sooth, the Supreme Lord, bored beyond tears by the assiduity of his (admittedly

shite) servitors, delights most in Time Share Salesmen because how can that not be a gooddeal- right? It's like an investment which grows in value the more you bunk off work and get
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22/33

shit-faced at some real trashy 'resort' which, like you actual ly own, that's the beauty of it.

Also they give you a real valuable present- like a big Screen TV, or maybe a genuine silver

plated dessert spoon or other classy stuff like that just for sitting through a presentation.

And they say, Maya does not exist!

Three Krishnas thus did Karan requite

The Sun's chariot stuck- that his steeds might run

Labor in the muck- afford thy foe-men fun

Three Krishnas, thus, did Karan requite

War is Hell, the rest sheer Spite

Ulupi

That no Warriors true in Death's waters drown

Poets knew, yet to their own Wisdom crown

So no Ulupi, grieving, a son might scold

Embraced Undine weaving her coif of gold
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23/33

Sanskrit translation anybody?

Alas!Adi Shesha, all Samadhi but is klesha- Skandha-mara!

Arise! Ved Vyasa, mount Mount Kailasa- Hari-hara!

Alack! my poison sac, thee, Mohini charms but to excise

So, envenomed against Love, Christ's dove, I, as Suka, revise
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24/33

(Skandha-mara, or Mara asmetaphorfor the entirety of conditioned existence)

Requiem for Phillipos

Ire, thyAshvamitra- horse-friend- is yetHippolytus

Whom, Iyer, imprecation defend, thou Thersites

Ashwatthama, hoarse voiced thusHari choiced

& Philosophy's Phaedra in Buridan rejoiced.

Ghalib's ghazal 61

N.B. I've revised the first couplet on the basis of an excellent comment received. I suppose I

may add that my version of this Ghazal is based on the notion that the beloved's duty of

cruelty is of anamr al taklifi(as opposed to takvini) sort- i.e. it is a supererogatoryimitatio

dei.

My Ramadan heart trembles at the Sun's dark duty of refulgence

Upon that desert thorn I'd fall as Night's dew of indulgence.

Marvel not that Zuleikha's mirrored chamber's mascara has run!

Again Jacob's eyes argent tain the mise en abyme of his son.

Majnun was still learning two letters of Thy Name

When Night and the Desert ciphered my fame

Charred pieces of my heart for the salt cellar so compete

Death is the elixir makes my undoing complete

The coquette's duty of cruelty of which Thy Devotees sing

Is that Black Sun which shines on the back of every thing

Again Dusk stains the clouds that half-forgotten hue

Of the flower garden afire for parted from you

.

To bear witness to such coquetry e'en Paradise its Peace barters
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25/33

Doomsday is the wind winnowing the dust of us martyrs

Ghalib, quarrel not with the Confessor if he collar you by force

Think, how driven was Despair to hishand take recourse?

See Prof. Frances Pritchett's'desertful of roses' site for Urdu script and detailed commentary.

larazt hai mir dil zamat-e mihr-e darahsh par

mai h vuh qat rah-e shabnam kih ho hr-e bayb par

nah chho arat-e ysuf ne y bh hnah-r

safed ddah-e yaqb k phirt hai zind par

fan-talm-e dars-e be-hvud h us zamne sekih majn lm alif likht th dvr-e dabist par

farhat kis qadar raht mujhe tashvsh-e marham se

baham garulkarte prah'h-e dil namak-d par

nah iqlm-e ulfat me ko tmr-e nz ais

kih pusht-e chashm se jis ke nah hove muhr unv par

mujhe ab dekh kar abr-e shafaq-ldah yd t

kih furqat me tir tish barast th gulist par

bah juz parvz-e shauq-e nz ky bq rah hog

qiymat ik hav-e tund hai hk-e shahd par

nah lanise hlib ky hu gar us ne shiddat k

hamr bh to hir zor chalt hai gareb par

Plain meaning as given by Pritchett.

My heart trembles at the trouble (or pain) taken by the shining sun

I am that drop of dew/'night-wetness' that would be on a desert thorn

Even/also here, His ExcellencyJosephdidn't leave off chamber-adorning

The whiteness/whitewash of the gaze ofJacobwanders/travels/spreads on the prison-cell

I am oblivion-{instructing/instructed/writing/copying} in the lesson of self-lessness since that

era/time

WhenMajnunused to write lm alifon the wall of the schoolhouse

To what an extent I would have found freedom from the trouble of salve/ointment!If the

pieces of the heart had agreed among themselves over the salt-dish

In the clime/region of love/affection there's no account-book of coquetry such

That there would not be a seal/stamp of/from the back of the eyes on its title page

Now, having seen the sunset-stained cloud, there {comes / would have come (?)} to mymemory
http://www.columbia.edu/itc/mealac/pritchett/00ghalib/061/index_061.html?urduhttp://www.columbia.edu/itc/mealac/pritchett/00ghalib/061/index_061.html?urduhttp://www.columbia.edu/itc/mealac/pritchett/00ghalib/061/index_061.html?urduhttp://www.columbia.edu/itc/mealac/pritchett/00ghalib/apparatus/names_index.html?unicode#yusufhttp://www.columbia.edu/itc/mealac/pritchett/00ghalib/apparatus/names_index.html?unicode#yusufhttp://www.columbia.edu/itc/mealac/pritchett/00ghalib/apparatus/names_index.html?unicode#yusufhttp://www.columbia.edu/itc/mealac/pritchett/00ghalib/apparatus/names_index.html?unicode#yaqubhttp://www.columbia.edu/itc/mealac/pritchett/00ghalib/apparatus/names_index.html?unicode#yaqubhttp://www.columbia.edu/itc/mealac/pritchett/00ghalib/apparatus/names_index.html?unicode#yaqubhttp://www.columbia.edu/itc/mealac/pritchett/00ghalib/apparatus/names_index.html?unicode#majnunhttp://www.columbia.edu/itc/mealac/pritchett/00ghalib/apparatus/names_index.html?unicode#majnunhttp://www.columbia.edu/itc/mealac/pritchett/00ghalib/apparatus/names_index.html?unicode#majnunhttp://www.columbia.edu/itc/mealac/pritchett/00ghalib/apparatus/names_index.html?unicode#majnunhttp://www.columbia.edu/itc/mealac/pritchett/00ghalib/apparatus/names_index.html?unicode#yaqubhttp://www.columbia.edu/itc/mealac/pritchett/00ghalib/apparatus/names_index.html?unicode#yusufhttp://www.columbia.edu/itc/mealac/pritchett/00ghalib/061/index_061.html?urdu


26/33

That in separation from you, fire used to rain down on the garden

Except for / apart from} the flying/flight of the ardor of/for coquetry, what will have

remained permanent/eternal?!

Doomsday is a mere/particular/unique/excellent swift/brisk breeze on the dust of the martyrs

OR A mere/single swift/brisk breeze is Doomsday on the dust of the martyrs

Don't quarrel/fight with theAdvisor,Ghalib-- if he would use force/severity, so what?

Even/also our power, after all, operates on the collar

So not Ararat, Eve's tears defile

The Future, vast, is unknown to me.

It dams the Past's dark tributary

Soil Aswan Death's renewing Nile

Not Arafat, Eve's tears defile

Caliban ycrypt in Miranda eyes

Too Beautiful child, you yet are wise

To turn a negligent ear to my replies

Nor with Worldy Wit to Catechize

A Caliban ycrypt in Miranda eyes

& so, tho' partaking of a common repast

I into outer darkness yet am cast

The lad you look at, looking only at me

So all, in him, my secret see.

That Love be humbled, yet is Pride

& to Caliban, betrothed, the Church as bride

Beauty, Child, is this unshriven hide
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27/33

It seeks The Word it can't abide

Envoi-

Prince! Milan had a Mage 'fore Prospero

Tho' Magic be all it now can know.

Is this homophobic?

InBrompton cemeterythe crickets sing

& Gravestones shudder as Gays do their thing

Autumn as close as toTashbihThought

God alone stays His Wrath

Shruti

Naught in Love but islimerence

Nor in Om aught but immanence

Tho' the Surd yet be deaf-able

Nothing heard e'er was effable

Mother, thou axe obsidian to thine obedient's slaughter

Albeit we are such stone as against which sacred mountains, snow-clad, up rise

Flint heart- must thy kick to the chest, yet, Love Connubial, surprise?

Mother, thou axe obsidian to thine obedient's slaughter

Mercy skull garland thee, Himavat's daughter
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28/33

Can mercy be found in the heart of her who was born of the stone? [a reference to

Kali as the daughter of Himalaya]

Were she not merciless, would she kick the breast of her lord?

Men call you merciful, but there is no trace of mercy in you, Mother.

You have cut off the heads of the children of others, and these you wear as a garlandaround your neck.

It matters not how much I call you "Mother, Mother." You hear me, but you will not

listen.[15]

sung by the tragicPannalal Bhattacharya

I, Ashvatthama, being of unsound mind

I,Ashvatthama,being of unsound mind

Make this Will in favor of all Mankind

Though I must live & Death thy lot

Krishna's curse is but Thought

Max Muller

The Race's childhood in the Veda's page

Or aught, not cant, inKant's senile rage*

Time ne'er lost what Max Muller found

An Orient Sky but beneath the ground.

*Gerhard Lehmann observes, in the first fascicle, Kant's retreat,

caused by his declining health, from the discursive development

of an argument. Instead, Kant concentrates "more and more on

one point," by incessantly redefining Transcendental Philosophy.

A series of redefinitions that, as Lehmann puts it, finally become

"enigmatic" when Kant determines Transcendental Philosophy as

"galvanism" (AA XXI, 133, 135) and comes to see its principle in

"Zoroaster" (AA XXI, 156).(27)

haqeeqat-e-muntazir nazar aa libas-e-majaz mein

Why bruit the Saqi as Metaphor?

Brims the flute, her Truth
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29/33

Rumi, Death, I'm better for

To whose Breath is Ruth.

Text of Iqbal's haqeeqat-e-muntazirhere

Not Usury alone is the rust of Gold

That thy Tavern, by their blazon, should my tomb encroach

Saqi, drunk in the cemetery, I my odes reproach

For Wine is a cup more than words can hold

Not Usury alone is the rust of Gold.

Kant & Maimon

To Kant's Mendelsohnian medley

Maimon's Votive is Vatic

Silent but deadly

An incense apophatic

The Saqi as Swedenborg

Callous is the Saqi & Capricious sure

But the Wine she serves,alas!, is pure.

Thoughtless Love yet must torments devise

& Heaven above, let Lust surprise

God is more than I can Google

'The last shall be first' is not a bitter Thought

If stayed from the Vineyard byNoble Rot

More than Pyrrho poor, or Occam frugal

God is more than I can Google

Wine more than I can drink

The World has Woe more than we can know
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30/33

& Thoughts more fraught than we can think

This Cellar'd kiss I stole a score Summers ago

Is Wine, Saqi, more than I can drink.

Vertigo to go.

On my knee, the babe, to thwart & trounce me

Asks- 'Am I a cheque that thus you bounce me?'

Kids today being so querulously Slovak

They'd say the same to Kim Novak

English History 101

For English is a Children's History fraught

With Silly Wars, Savage Roses fought

The Truth is- for aught utterly Alive

Naught 'tis Love dare survive

The Clepsydra's eye.

Did a look between us pass?

Like Wine in a falling glass

Or music suddenly hushed

A Last Supper rushed.

There is no place we might belong

Nor night to a nuptial song

Nor Time to teach to cry

The Clepsydra's eye.

An executive summary of my book 'Ghalib, Gandhi & the Gita'

'Meta metaphoricity in Ghalib- if that Dutch cap still fits

Or the same in the Gita- douching Bengalified twits

Or any Gandhi who, to Congress, yet parties

A butt holes but pirates, so Yo Ho me hearties!'
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31/33

Thanks anon whom I hope topersonallythank anon.

The Saqi as a Professor of Feminism

I saw Indian Feminism play false with Mum

Now who will marry her ugly son?

'Amma!please to meet the Grape's daughter

'At J.N.U, Prof. Saqitaught her'

Drunk 'fore dusk

Does Harlot Night unbind her hair?

Drunk 'fore dusk, I'm unaware.

Thou fallen flower of Sabbath tresses

Saqi, the honey bee me distresses

Foolscap's jest

Now Poverty stalks me

Mere Paranoia talks Me

Tho' all Treasure be but Foolscapjest

Pleasureis &stationary Quest

Post-Feminist kah-mukri

Kah- mukri, 'suggestion & denial', in medieval Hindvi verse, 'takes the conventional

framework of a dialogue between two women, one of whom thinks that the answer to the

riddle posed must be 'her lover', only to be confronted by her friend with the anticlimax of an

alternative, prosaic answer.'

My guess is that the Purabi element in this takes a poignant dhvanitincture from the

Uma/Menaka, mother/daughterAgamani vijaya song cylce.

How transpose this to our own rancorous, mother resenting, woman-beware-woman, Post-

Feminist topos?
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32/33

Dunno, but this is my first stab-

The moon like a scarred and pitted wrecking ball

Took a swing but missed our balcony

Is the luckless Hun who lives down the hall

Happy now her son has no eyes for me?

I originally put down 'manhoos' for luckless- but girls don't really think the mother of the cute

boy-next-door ismanhoos. Unlucky, yes, since they are bound to lose, but not inauspicious.

Ere the Saqi taste this Wine.

For I'm the Cellar in which I hunt

A bottle deeper than itspunt

Bacchus, Lord, grant me a Sign

Ere the Saqi taste this wine.

To drink in Summer is a losing game

Now,Mansur,your dragon is tame

Only Pain has wings & in the Saqi's eyes

Still storms Heaven & scorches Skies

Saqi, thy husband's kiss were a bitter reward

Thou battered wife of one drunk on God

I'll have another, having no other recourse

You and him will never divorce.

Envoi-

Prince! We too, like Judas, have tasted Wine

Wretched Subjects of your Right Divine.
http://socioproctology.blogspot.co.uk/2012/06/how-saqi-tasted-wine.htmlhttp://socioproctology.blogspot.co.uk/2012/06/how-saqi-tasted-wine.htmlhttp://www.wineloverspage.com/questionary2/punt_whats_that_dent_in_the_bo.phphttp://www.wineloverspage.com/questionary2/punt_whats_that_dent_in_the_bo.phphttp://www.wineloverspage.com/questionary2/punt_whats_that_dent_in_the_bo.phphttp://books.google.co.uk/books?id=1SFzTG5mvIQC&pg=PA76&lpg=PA76&dq=mansur+al+hallaj+wine+dragon&source=bl&ots=u7BaveGEu3&sig=9wiVFVBBUEusCitzebq1u3jOhNo&hl=en&sa=X&ei=oJ3sT_HZN4http://books.google.co.uk/books?id=1SFzTG5mvIQC&pg=PA76&lpg=PA76&dq=mansur+al+hallaj+wine+dragon&source=bl&ots=u7BaveGEu3&sig=9wiVFVBBUEusCitzebq1u3jOhNo&hl=en&sa=X&ei=oJ3sT_HZN4http://books.google.co.uk/books?id=1SFzTG5mvIQC&pg=PA76&lpg=PA76&dq=mansur+al+hallaj+wine+dragon&source=bl&ots=u7BaveGEu3&sig=9wiVFVBBUEusCitzebq1u3jOhNo&hl=en&sa=X&ei=oJ3sT_HZN4http://books.google.co.uk/books?id=1SFzTG5mvIQC&pg=PA76&lpg=PA76&dq=mansur+al+hallaj+wine+dragon&source=bl&ots=u7BaveGEu3&sig=9wiVFVBBUEusCitzebq1u3jOhNo&hl=en&sa=X&ei=oJ3sT_HZN4http://www.wineloverspage.com/questionary2/punt_whats_that_dent_in_the_bo.phphttp://socioproctology.blogspot.co.uk/2012/06/how-saqi-tasted-wine.html


33/33

Sharab/ Suhrab

The Symposium is a mirage of Wine's Loneliness

As is the Academy that of the Symposium

To whose Shekinah is wholly Holiness

Saqi, thy Mi'raaj ad nauseam.

Sita & gita

Time endures as deadlocked lustration

Space strobes as entropic frustration

Its own epoch, not Rk raptures Gita

Tho' her own N.G.O, I know, captures Sita.

Whale cum

I was inspired to write this poem after a visit to a learned Lacanian Sufi/Buddhist ascetic,

whose doormat, rather than spelling out 'Welcome' bore the impress of the ejaculate of the

largest of marine animals thus pithily prompting the seeker-after-truth to question the wholeof Sassurean linguistics- not the axiom of categoricity merely.

Morality is blind Samsons pillar

& Immortality the Minds caterpillar

Of Barzakhs butterfly dream

& Bardots Thodol scream

Which is another way to say

Isthmus twixt my salt tears & such wine sweet as she appears

Might not this Iyer write Sufi shite today?

Or must Pico fucking monopolize Gay?
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meta-metaphoricity & ontological dysphoria

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