Re: [ZESTPoets] birthday poem for the man

Sat, 28 Jan 2006 08:14:09 -0800

Sorry Ronnie.
 
The brahmanical aspect didn't come through at all...just the agony.
 
my apologies.
 
Jane
 
a pulsating, painful
palpitating parturition
of a piffle of puckered flesh
wailing in a mass 
of uterine tissue and


ronnie banerjee <[EMAIL PROTECTED]> wrote:
Jane
but i thought my poem was not about ageing or a crisis of geriatrics at all. In Hinduism a brahmin is called a "Dvija"; which means twice born. This is so because upon his Upanayana  or the thread ceremony he is supposed attain the right to study the Vedas and therefore have such a spiritual awakening that it amounts to a second birth for him. In other words human existence is not about the physical act of taking birth (as is the case with animals) but has relation to how, in humans, there is a constant effort to effect a makeover, an overhaul of one's personality while fighting one's genetics, inheritance, environment. The existentialists through Sartre would call it "existence preceding essence". In other words there is no fate and a man carves his own destiny or essence if u may. and one therefore cannot forget the "Journey of the Magi" where Eliot talks about the complete transformation of the Magi (the three wise men). Upon seeing the birth of the Saviour -Christ, the Magi themselves get reborn.
"Birth or Death? There was a birth, certainly,
We had evidence and no doubt, I had seen birth and death,
But had thought they were different; this Birth was
Hard and bitter agony for us, like death, our death.
We returned to ur places, these Kingdoms,
But no longer at ease here, in the old dispensation,
With an alien people clutching their gods.
I should be glad of another death".
(excerpts from Journey of the Magi)
 
This is where the poem came from and, with respect, not from middle age crisis.
Regards
Ronnie


jane bhandari <[EMAIL PROTECTED]> wrote:
O what agony.
 
Reminds me of the day my son-in-law crossed thirty...he was so upset. He celebrated his fortieth birthday with more equanimity.
Here's another birthday poem...not so kind, really. 
A metrosexual man worrying about the evidence of ageing...and wondering if he should go for a face-lift. (He did.)
 

THE BIRTHDAY
  
So what if you are forty-five?
You wept over all those candles
That took several puffs
To blow out, not one,
Your heart sinking
At this evidence of aging.
Maybe at forty-six or so
You’ll do it all in one go -
If you leave those cigarettes.
 
You worry 
About middle-aged spread,
The silver streaks, and
That balding patch...
Incipient wrinkles and bags: 
Varicose veins, a paunch,
And the extra chin that
No diet or exercise can slim.
 
But don’t cry, honey –
Just tuck your tummy,
Botox the wrinkles,
Work out at the gym,
And think youthful thoughts:
But remember this:
You just reached the age
Where mental agility
Exceeds physical ability.
 

ronnie banerjee <[EMAIL PROTECTED]> wrote:
Birthday poems had figured sometime back in this group. I had meant to post one but then...
here's that one, provided the topic has not been completely exhausted;
 
A Birthday Poem
 
Birthday.
is there no other name
for a pulsating, painful
palpitating parturition
of a piffle of puckered flesh
wailing in a mass 
of uterine tissue and
shreds of throbbing bits
of maternal joy.
 
 I have come a long way though
from my birth and yet this
day chases me with an unusual
precision
perhaps to remind me that
happiness is a mangled form
entangled in the epithelium of pain.
 
and yet and yet this birth was not
the only one;
for I have,
amidst shrieks and wails
and doubts and shame
amidst love and joy
and sweat and sinew,
felt my own self
writhe in my womb
and have repeatedly seen
entangled in the mass of
dead tissue and blood
wailing pulsating and pounding
the parturition of my identity.
 
Ronnie (Feb 2004)
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