"Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine."

I usually don't post other's poems here..but my poetic mind has gone into deep freeze.. Despair, hopelessness, don't bring out the poet in me.. Joy, happiness, hope do.. So, read Mary Oliver instead..

WILD GEESE

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting —
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

My birthday pics at the brewery

Nandini Layout, where my bro's old flat in Bangalore is, is and always has been a conservative Kannadiga sort of area. So, the Orion Mall and District 6 Brewery in it, is quite out of character in this area. Anyway, I love the brewery, especially for the great beer.. so, decided to celebrate my birthday there with my bro. The beer is made by brewmaster, Paul Hoffman, whose pic is here too.. a lovely genial guy with a cute sense of humour. The last two pics were taken on another day when we had gone shopping at the mall, and stopped off at Starsbuck for some coffee.

Well, this year marks the end of my 50s decade, from the next year I step into my 60s.. I don't feel any older than in my teens..seriously..it comes as a bit of a shock and feels strange that I am considered a "senior citizen" now..

My best birthday gift

Neil, my six year old nephew, a natural abstract artist, painted this for me. When he called me up on the morning of the 21st, he said he was on his deck (we call it balcony here of course) with his paints and paper, thinking of what to paint for me. So I suggested why not paint the lake which his deck overlooks. He said, yeah, great idea, Rita (he sounds so grown up these days) and painted this beautiful picture for me. I've told Nondi, my sister and his mother, to get him into a weekend art class, so that his natural talent is nurtured - just look at the imagination he has, the colours of the sky! 

Passionate despair

I am in passionate despair
Depression is the perfume I wear
It seems Life has ordained wretchedness
For me, so when happiness does finally arrive
If it ever does, I will appreciate it better.
Ever since that night - so many nights ago -
When I'd dreamt that he loved me
I have been sleepless, dreamless
Sitting around waiting
Dabbling into my woes
Plunging into seas of attempted prose
Which I pass off as poetry
Floundering in the throes of my heartbreak
Trying to master this dense disaster
Penning my misery deep into the night
My sleep deprived eyes
Getting puffier by the minute
Hoping for a glimmer of hope
From the other side
Where my slumberous love resides
In resplendent uncaring oblivion

Yeah, even in despair, I can be funny
And god knows I am in despair
But what difference does it make
My love, he will not awake!

How do you paint a dog's howl?

I've begun painting again... and it's beautiful... It's like coming home, after being away for long.. No, it's not easy.. yet.. it never is easy, actually, even when I'm in the flow, but especially so after a long break. The blank canvas, though it's always a thrill to behold..touch..smell..feel.. also fills me with trepidation. Often, I will pencil in a sketch pretty fast... and then flounder, agonising about committing it to paint. When I was young, as far back as I can remember, I would always have a sketch book (we used to call them drawing books, back then.. now, in our Americanised world, it has become an "art journal), which I constantly kept filling, page after page of drawings, watercolour paintings, of anything that caught my fancy.. I don't know when I stopped carrying a sketch book around with me, but somewhere along the way, I did. Somewhere along the way Life caught up with me, dealt me a blow or two, and robbed me of my sketch book.

Now, I think I will get my old companion back.. and fill it again with what my heart feels, what my mind sees.. There are so many wondrous things..the myriad flowers, leaves, rocks, stones on the ground..the sun piercing through cracks in the tree canopies, filtering through leaves.. I love to muse and wonder how to capture those fleeting images with my paint and brush..how exactly can I create that translucent green-gold tint..what stroke should my brush make to capture that impression left in my mind, my soul..

Sunrises, sunsets, the deep black-blue of the night.. dogs howling in the night (as they're doing now).. the dance of light and colour and darkness and sounds..bird calls, a child's cry, a group bhajan filtering in through the window.. All of these always fill me with thrill and excitement deep inside myself.. How do you paint a dog's howl?

I realise that no matter what blows life deals me with, no matter how many times my soul shrivels up and I lose my sketch book, no matter if my art is good or bad or great or nothing..this is the road I was meant to be on.. While sometimes I may lose my way, and sometimes I will just sit on a wayside bench and simply watch the days go by, eventually this is the journey I must take.

One thing of note though.. I have noticed that when I'm in painting mode, I stop scribbling my bouts of poetry, and vice versa.. I wonder why that is so..