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AIR DELHI HOSTS BRIAN's POEMS ON GOA
Last Sunday evening at 9.30 pm (September 24, 2006) Brian Mendonca was heard
reciting his poems on the Rajdhani Channel of AIR Delhi. The frequency is
450.5 metres Medium Wave(AM), corresponding to 666 kilohertz. The crisp
capsule of Brian's poems paints a canvas of idyllic Goa, against a backdrop
of his encounter of the eternal truths of life, viz. life, love, beauty and
death. The script is provided below. Since this broadcast may not be picked
up by stations beyond transmission radius of 300 km. The poems were recorded
earlier in AIR studios. This programme was made possible through the
initiative of Vijendra Sajwan, Programme Exective, AIR Delhi.
SCRIPT FOR POETRY RECITATION ON AIR DELHI
Tonight I am going to present 5 poems for you bringing you the flavour of
Goa in its many colours and its many moods.
The poems I will present are:
'Last Bus to Vasco'
'Requiem to a Sal'
'Father Joseph Rowland-Salema'
'Sonya'
'The Bells of St. Andrews'
'Last Bus to Vasco' was written on a bus journey from Panjim to Vasco in
1997. In the early days when this poem was written, the last bus to Vasco
from Panjim bus stand used to leave Panjim as early as 8 pm. Whatever ones
business in Panjim or beyond the river Mandovi one was always anxious to
make it in time to catch the last bus home to Vasco -or risk getting left
behind.
LAST BUS TO VASCO
I
Cool zephyrs of night
Under the canopy of the western sky,
Everything dissolves
Places, smells, memories, distances.
Orion smiles in benevolence.
Full-busted fisherwomen urge their pantulems onto the bus.
"Maincho gho" seethes the conductor.
Mandovi bridge lights kiss me farewell
As I gaze down,
>From Bambolim slope.
"2213," "PAGE ME" scream the hoardings.
"Fulancho Khuris," spires doffed in benediction
Matrimandir of the faithful.
"O Lord, hear my prayer"
"Siridao Siridao, vos vos."
Ancient palm trees, lonely sentinels
Penetrate the inky darkness.
"Kingfisher Bar and Rest."
Shrouds the brooding Goa Velha cemetry.
II
Zuari crossing
Sodium lights shimmer on the Styx.
Tourists whistle; "Iea maray!"
Hurry up please it is time.
Here time stands still.
Unlike the stormy Krishna, or the restless Jamuna
The lambent Zuari
Receives the prow of the ferry boat
In Cosmic harmony.
Must call home. It's late.
"All-lines-in-this-route-are-busy. Please-call-after-some-time."
III
Crossroads Cortalim
Watermelons galore.
"Ieta?"says the matador van.
9.05 pm.
Red tail lights flicker,
Cavalcade of vehicles head for home.
DEA, MH, GAO-2
"Vasudhaiva Kutumbakam."
The rim of land parleys with the river.
Goa Shipyard. Pothole crater ahead!!
Where tyre wheels measure
The undulations of social interactions.
KTC bus stand, Vasco.
My two-wheeler sulks at my inattention.
On the road once more,
The short ride home . . .
To Goa, my own Ephraim.
My next poem 'Requiem to a Sal' was written in Mangor Hill in 1987. The poem
is about the timber-providing Sal tree which is much sought after for
construction purposes.
REQUIEM TO A SAL
They came
Armed with axes
And split its bark with gashes
In a frenzied madness
The glistening blade
Laying bare
The oozing gum, the ebbing life . . .
Stroke after stroke
They hack relentlessly,
Until,
With a mighty shudder
What was, ceases to be
'New building coming up' -- they said.
O hear my cry piteous Mankind!
As years roll by, and you multiply,
Will we be bereft of Nature's supply?
REST in Peace, dismembered One,
Condemned to oblivion by thankless sons.
Your sprightly shade, your laden boughs
The carefree twitter of morning birds.
Forgotten.
We will miss you.
The world is too much with us!
Alas Man! You exact too high a price
To fashion yourself shelters through ruthless device.
The next poem is composed on a little village in north Goa called Siolim.
'Fr Joseph Rowland-Salema' was written in 1999 during the parish feast of St
Anthony of the church of Siolim.
FR JOSEPH ROWLAND-SALEMA
Fr Joseph Rowland-Salema
Is parish priest of St. Anthony's, Siolim
'That's what they call me,' he says
as he listens to Bach on CD.
He roams the chambers of his 16th-century church
With a grave poise, you'll have to agree
Holding a finger on his lips, and a furrow of a frown
To silence the pixea of Siolim.
Of St. Anthony and his icons - the brown habit, the lily,
the tonsure, the Child
The village people know little
Save that in Padua he was born, in the 12th century (I think)
At the time of Francis of Assisi.
Like channels of peace, the rivulets run by
As marigolds of saffron set aflame a wayside khuris.
The tulsi manch metamorphoses into a plinth for a cross
As an old man in kaxti walks with a stick on the bridge.
Konkani music (Lorna) blares as drinks are served
Village belles wish you 'Happy Feast'
looking straight in your eyes.
'I am independent' says Cardoze as he delves into his Xacuti
'The next time you come to Bombay, you must stay with me.
Of Remo of Siolim I see little
But Natty, Constance, Milagrin are glad to have me,
Of the baby with the cleft lip, inquires are made
'This is their daughter, you now,' I'm told.
And Fr Joseph Rowland-Salema
(They say he was earlier at Vasco parish)
Adjusts his soutane in the afternoon heat
And as the kadio-bodios wind down their stalls
- 'This time much earlier!'
The baskets of mangoes in the boot of the wind-god
-Saved from the bhat specially for us -
Jiggle in our memories
As we rumble over the hills.
>From the river to the sea, now listen to the love and longing which
permeates 'Sonya' a person I met beneath the stars, and travelled with in
Goa in 2002
SONYA
from the whistle to the kiss
i have known you for many lifetimes
in the afternoon shade of panjim church
in the dusky waves of calangute
over the winding roads of sinquerim
to the pitch dark waters of betim,
Basel, setubal, goa, madras
homes of the self, anchor of the fugitive
where are you going? where are you now?
dawn girl, gazer of sunsets,
sand in your shoes, moonlight in your face
aqui o mar acaba e a terra principia.
(Here the sea ends and the earth begins)
Across a span of almost 20 years from 'Requiem to a Sal' in 1987 tonight's
recitation ends with 'The Bells of St Andrews' inspired by St Andrews
Church, Vasco in 2005. Here death and life mingle in acceptance of the
cosmic design.
THE BELLS OF ST ANDREWS
The dazzling white
of St. Andrews Church
Its tolling bells
remind me of who I am
Those whom we love
Sleep nearby
Red mud, white stars
Blossoms of gold
The rising sun
slants through the
eastward church door
shuffling in for the 6.30 AM Mass
At 7 the Goa Express trudges in
to Vasco station
Its horn coinciding with
the final blessing.
Egrets over the marsh
reeds lisp to coconut trees
Steeple over the rooftops
River Zuari beyond
Place of origin
Final destination
White meets blue
in the liquid sky.
Recorded by the poet Brian Mendonça for AIR, New Delhi on 20 September 2006
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