Category Archives: Poetic Me

Can’t Read Poetry in Public (CRPiP) Syndrome

I realized, I just can’t read poetry in a manner that sounds like ‘string of meaningful words set to a rhythm and rhyme’ to audience. Here is how my attempts at reading a poem by Ginger Andrews sounded.
Original Poem

“cleaning out my refrigerator
and thinking about writing a religious poem
that somehow combines feeling sorry for myself
with ordinary praise, when my nephew stumbles in for coffee
to wash down what looks like a hangover
and get rid of what he calls hot dog water breath.
I wasn’t going to bake the cake”

My first attempt:
“cleaninoutmyrefri and thinkiabouwritirelegious…..”
So my director goes, “No, you are going too fast! Slow down a bit. Lets do it again”
My second attempt:
“cleaningout my refrigerat A-n-d thinginabout…”
“No No No! Still very fast! Speak each word clearly. People should understand it”, says a visibly frustrated and concerned director. Okay, realization is slowly dawning on me that people are not getting even a single word of poem, and all this while I assumed that they are spell bound by my deep baritone.
My Third attempt:
“(cough)…(cough again) cleaning out mY REFRIGERATOR (clearing my throat) andthingingabout….^&%$….”

Director: (wordless initially and then says)…Go again
Fourth attempt:
“Dgingdoushou chingne totou gimshe ktainshignhm…”

By 7th attempt it sounded like an entirely different language, something that might have been a child born if Latin and Sinhalese made love to each other.

(Few more attempts)
Now, I am just doing it so that my director can fill pages for his book, “How NOT to read Poetry”.
Unanimous agreement by my theater group: Some people just can’t read poetry, no matter how hard they try.

I have started to believe that I might be the connecting link between human species that started reading poetry aloud to people, and the species that carved paintings on stoneĀ  -I can read a poem but it sounds like a stone rubbing against another stone, and on its way it creates an artistic cacophony.

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Shadow Chasers

Water hangs precariously mid way,

As shadow chasers cry past you.

Broken, dirty tattered it lies on floor,

As wind strikes the transparent veil.

Half metal and half wooden sounds,

As chimes paint smudges on wall.

The Cursed Land

The wise old man had said.

That it was the cursed land.

With a fallen wave longing

for a long past band.

A dying star looking over

the silent sands filled with

broken arrows and dead pans.

A pillaged house stood alone

with intact only half a pane.

Must have been old man’s

Or there was somebody more

could never be known

as he never completed his lore.

I still search for the cursed land

but everywhere it looks the same.

Either I didn’t search well as

i am internally lame or

is it is true that the whole earth

today is a cursed land.

Hello world!

With this blog, the count of my blog pages has increased to three!!!!…Well no reason whatsoever of starting this blogpage!!..But now since I have started, I have to be more active and creative and do justice with both my blogpage at Blogspot and this page!!!

So hello world!!!..Welcome to my page of senseless, whacky ideas!!!…..