2017: The year so far

I travel the open road

Song of the Open Road (Part I) by Walt Whitman

Afoot and light-hearted I take to the open road, 

Healthy, free, the world before me, 
The long brown path before me leading wherever I choose. 

Henceforth I ask not good-fortune, I myself am good-fortune, 

Henceforth I whimper no more, postpone no more, need nothing,
Done with indoor complaints, libraries, querulous criticisms, 
Strong and content I travel the open road. 

  




Source: Youtube.com

The earth, that is sufficient, 

I do not want the constellations any nearer,

I know they are very well where they are, 

I know they suffice for those who belong to them. 

(Still here I carry my old delicious burdens, 

I carry them, men and women, I carry them with me wherever I go, 

I swear it is impossible for me to get rid of them, 

I am fill’d with them, and I will fill them in return.) 
 

 

My thoughts

This poem speaks to me of the eternal call of the road and the wandering spirit who cannot resist that pull. I had explored this theme in my own poem 'The Vagabond' a while back. What fun it would be to be footloose and fancy-free - to go wherever the road takes me, without inhibitions, without obstacles, without fears. As the world unfolds at every new stretch of the road, new vistas will be revealed and new experiences will be lived.

The poem also reminds me of 'Invictus'- being the 'master of my fate': "I ask not good fortune, I myself am good fortune". This does not mean that I have no burdens or worries - but as the poet puts it, though "I carry my old delicious burdens", I am "strong and content" to travel the open road again and again.

Walt Whitman (1819-1892)

Whitman is regarded as one of America's most significant nineteenth century poets. In his most famous collection of poems, 'Leaves of Grass', he celebrated democracy, nature, love and friendship. This monumental work, inspired by his travels through the American frontier, chanted praises to the body as well as the soul and found beauty and reassurance even in death.

Forest of secrets

Book review: Flame in the Mist by Renee Ahdieh

A heady rush in the blood, a faster beat of the heart, every nerve on high alert - any book-lover will recognize this feeling - of unexpectedly discovering a few pages into a book that this is a rare treasure one can't let go of till the last chapter, come what may. Forget sleep, food, office work, test preparation, grocery, guests - everything. One is so sucked into the world created by the author that the world outside ceases to exist. Such authors have that extra genius - every chapter they write becomes progressively more enthralling. Such books are extra awesome - one cannot not review them. So here I am - eight months after my last novel review - driven to review this clever, clever book, "Flame in the Mist" by Renee Ahdieh. This was the last book of my 2017 half-yearly target book list and after having finished all the books on that list, I can honestly say that none of the other books came even close to this one.

I had found the author's debut novel, "The Wrath and the Dawn" enchanting, with its fiery heroine, Shazi and its slowly developing romance and Arabian Nights setting. Its sequel "The Rose and the Dagger"was good, but not as brilliant. "The Flame in the Mist"is completely different from the previous duology - with a feudal Japan setting, more historical overtones than fantasy and a lot more political intrigue. It is also less romantic, though the romance, when it comes late in the book, is breathtaking. The book does have elements of Mulan and 47 Ronin, but in the end, has an unique plotline.

The heroine of the book is Mariko, the young daughter of a wealthy samurai clan, Hattori. She has always been the odd one in the family - a cerebral person who thinks deeply before she acts, is able to read people and predict their motivations and is an aspiring inventor. Being a woman in feudal Japan, she has far less freedom of choice than her twin brother, Kenshin, though she constantly wants to learn more about the world.

Curious had been the word most often ascribed to her when she was younger. She’d been the watchful sort of child. The one conscious of every mistake. When Mariko had erred, it had usually been intentional. An attempt to push barriers. Or a desire to learn. Usually it was that. A wish to know more.
As she grew from a curious child into an even more curious young woman, the word she most often overheard at her back was odd. Much too odd. Far too prone to asking questions.
Far too apt to linger in places she wasn’t meant to be.

Source: pininterest

When the book begins, Mariko is journeying through the creepy Jukai forest (forest of demons) with her entourage, on her way to the imperial city of Inako, be married to the emperor's son, Prince Raiden. It is part of a political arrangement that is designed to elevate the status of her family. On the way, her attendants and guards are suddenly attacked and murdered, apparently by the infamous Black Clan of deadly warriors who are said to frequent the forest. Mariko overhears that the Black Clan wants to kill her and escapes into the surrounding forest. She devises a plan to track the Black Clan and infiltrate them - to find out why they intend to kill her and to plot her revenge.

Follow orders. Engender trust. Strike when they least expect it.

She is also motivated by the freedom to act as she pleases - she knows that the moment she gets back to her family, they will resume the preparations for her arranged marriage. As Mariko disguises herself as a boy and meets up with the Black Clan, she comes across as much more cautious than Ahdieh's previous heroine Shazi - Mariko is more of a planner and strategist who has to constantly motivate herself to be brave and take action. Her growth arc throughout the book from an intellectual to a warrior is a treat to watch.

We choose what we are in any situation, be it a word or an idea....

Be as swift as the wind. As silent as the forest. As fierce as the fire. As unshakable as the mountain.

The introduction to the Black Clan and its members led by Ranmaru and his second-in-command Okami is explosive - Mariko and the readers are straight away pulled into the dark forest frequented by the Clan, with its chilly streams, misty cliffs and carnivorous trees called Jubokko. Mariko pretends to be a determined but inexperienced young boy, Sanada Takeo, who has fled from his family. As she undergoes rigorous initiation training as a new Clan recruit, she realizes that the forest spirits and trees actually protect the clan from enemies and her revenge plan will have to be more carefully devised.

Never forget, Sanada Takeo, in this forest, there is no place to hide.

 As the days go by, Mariko tries to win the Clan's trust through her various invented weapons. She also discovers to her surprise that the clan actually is like a Robin Hood type gang - stealing from the rich and redistributing to the poor. As Mariko struggles to reconcile her perceptions of who is good and who is evil while still keeping her true identity hidden, she develops an unexpected friendship with the cook Yoshi and an enigmatic relationship with Okami, the quiet ninja-like warrior with strange fighting abilities. The hate-to-love relationship that slowly unfolds between Okami and Mariko is straightforward and honest, even though both are still guarding their secrets. Mariko knows that this relationship can never be, once the Black Clan knows who she really is. But still she can't force herself to stop or be dishonest about her feelings.

The stars could fall - the moon could crash from the heavens - and Mariko would not care.

Then he kissed her again, and it was a controlled fire on her tongue. The type that threatened to burn into a crashing, thrashing ache. The type of kiss Mariko had thought to avoid at all cost. The unpredictable type. The dangerous type.

Source: wall.alphacoders.com

The story never loses its pace - moving back and forth between Mariko's quest, Kenshin's search for his twin sister and the devious machinations at the imperial palace, Heian Castle in Inako:

Inako.
A city of a hundred arched bridges and a thousand cherry trees. A city of mud and sweat and sewage. A city of golden cranes and amber sunsets.
A city of secrets.

There are plots and counter-plots, family feuds, cunning consorts and enigmatic princes, betrayals and murders. It seems no one is what he or she seems to be on the surface - everyone has a hidden identity or ability. The author wonderfully recreates Japan of the feudal era with its social norms, customs, dresses and hierarchy. Her writing shows the amount of research that must have gone into the preparation of this book.

As the prologue of the book indicates, the present-day events are somehow linked to shogun Takeda Shingen's seppuku or ritual suicide ordered by the emperor ten years' back. But the readers will keep guessing what the link is till the very end. What is the wolf-life beast which follows Mariko in the forest? Who or what is the evil fox spirit? Which of the princes is more evil - Crown Prince Roku or Mariko's betrothed, Prince Raiden? Which of the Emperor of Wa's wives want more power - his wife the empress or his consort Kanako? Will Kenshin and Mariko's increasingly opposing philosophies force the twins to fight on opposite sides? Other than these questions, there are some shocking revelations at the end of the book, which have left me craving for the sequel.

Having said that, this book is still a must-read. Do not wait to buy it - make sure you get your hands on this book and then retire to a cave-like secluded place for the next five hours till you finish this book. After that go into hibernation for one day to reorient yourself with the real world again! This book is that addictive.

Drops of poetic essence

Haiku

I have always been fascinated by brevity - how does one convey clarity of expression using the least number of words? Anyone can convey depths of emotions using a multitude of elaborate descriptions. But describing a poignant emotion extremely briefly - that is a true art! Remember the exercises in precis-writing that we did in English class in school? We had to summarize accurately yet as briefly as possible the substance or gist of ideas contained in a text. What if the same concept were to be applied to poetry? Wouldn't it be unusual? That is precisely what 'Haiku' is.

In Japanese, 'hai' means unusual and 'ku' means verse. So  'Haiku' literally means unusual verse. They have been called 'little drops of poetic essence' or evocative snapshots constructed of words or transcendent images. Haiku is a form of short poetry popularized by 17th century Japanese poets Matsuo Basho and Ueshima Onitsura. This poetic form was later adopted in English by poets such as Ezra Pound. Recently I read a beautiful collection of haiku in English, but more about that later. Today's post will showcase some of my favorite haiku.

Soundlessly they go,
the herons passing by:
arrows of snow
filling the sky.

- Yamazaki Sokan


Life: a solitary butterfly
swaying unsteadily
on a slender stalk of grass,
nothing more. But so exquisite!

- Nishiyama Soin

Overdressed
for my thatched hut:
a peony blossoms.

- Kobayashi Issa


An empty road
lonelier than abandonment:
this autumn evening.

- Matsuo Basho

The frozen moon,
the frozen lake:
two oval mirrors
reflecting each other.

- Matsuo Basho


Fever-felled mid-path
my dreams resurrect, to trek
through a hollow land

- Matsuo Basho

All translations by Michael R. Burch

Coming to modern times, copied below are some sublime examples of contemporary haiku in English by poet Tyler Knott Gregson from his book, 'All the Words are Yours'. This gem of a book has now rekindled my love for this form of unusual verse:

You, the fierce and wild,
the bravery buried deep,
the scream to the wind.
 ..................................................

Let it all crumble
let all you shouldn't carry
burn beneath your feet.

 The pieces you lack
are waiting inside of me
to find you again.
................................................

Your soul knew my soul
long before we needed skin
to spend a life in.

Lay down your roots now
let them wrap tight around mine
sink deep in the soil.

.......................................

The shadow of us
the remnants of who we were
fade now in the light.

The magic made by melody

 

I am in need of music by Elizabeth Bishop

 

I am in need of music that would flow
Over my fretful, feeling fingertips,
Over my bitter-tainted, trembling lips,
With melody, deep, clear, and liquid-slow.
Oh, for the healing swaying, old and low,
Of some song sung to rest the tired dead,
A song to fall like water on my head,
And over quivering limbs, dream flushed to glow!

There is a magic made by melody:
A spell of rest, and quiet breath, and cool
Heart, that sinks through fading colors deep
To the subaqueous stillness of the sea,
And floats forever in a moon-green pool,
Held in the arms of rhythm and of sleep.

 

Source: Music Notes Wallpaper collection

My thoughts:

Music touches us all in some way or the other. Though our preferences for genres of music may change, one will be hard pressed to find any human being who doesn't like some form of music. I think a liking for music is one of the basic traits of being human. There is music all around us in nature - in the call of the birds, in the rustling of the leaves, in the whistling of the breeze, in the gurgling of the streams and maybe even in the whirling of the stars high above. We just have  to listen and be soothed - "held in the arms of rhythm and sleep".

Music has always been my refuge and my solace in times of distress or depression. Notes of music flowing through my blood, falling "like water on my head", truly feel like a healing breath, "a spell of rest", a calm port in a sea of storm. At night, after a busy maddening day, I often relax by listening to my favorite Sufi melodies or swaying to the rhythm of an old song. That is why I can identify so strongly with what this song conveys.

About the poet:

Elizabeth Bishop (1911-1979) was an American poet and a short story writer. During her lifetime, she was a respected yet somewhat obscure figure in the world of American literature. However, after her death, her reputation has grown significantly. She was a perfectionist who did not write prolifically and wrote only 101 poems during her lifetime. Her verse is marked by precise descriptions of the physical world and an air of poetic serenity, but her underlying themes include grief, longing and a struggle to find a sense of belonging. 

What is love?

When dew laden grass grazes my bare feet
and fresh flower petals feel velvety to my palms,
When white mountains blow cold breaths on my face
and mellow winter sun gently brushes my skin -
Love touches me.

When a stray dog looks up at me with liquid eyes,
his warm furry body leaning on me with trust,
When my grandmother places her wrinkled hand
on my head, smiling at me with ancient wisdom -
Love comes to me.

When those rows of lost faces from frozen frames
gaze at me, from another time, another place,
When in the middle of a tedious, wrenching day,
my friend sends me a line in remembrance -
Love envelopes me.

When I get tired of the churn of daily existence
and pray till pure peace bathes my being,
When I look down at the lines I have written,
wringing my heart and cracking my soul -
Love penetrates me.

Who said love is difficult to find?

The pattern

A network of causes
a maze of actions
a cobweb of events
a cross-stiched design
a hand weaving threads
thin yet tensile
crisscrossing paths
converging to one point
and diverging again
like tributaries of a river
or winding trails on hills
going round and round
everything happening
just outside my senses
a pattern emerging
forming and dissolving
always beyond my grasp

At the crossroads
is it time to stop
and look back
at the roads I have taken
or could have taken
all the roads I haven't taken
but should have taken
would the whole map
be revealed to me
would someone come
and show me the way
would I know why I'm going
the way I'm going
would all the paths
lead me to the same
end

The abstract painting of life

I splatter some wet crimson turmoil
unevenly on an ochre morning

A dab of burnt sienna passion
merges with a cobalt violet evening

I mix a few drops of blue black madness
onto a wide expanse of indigo night

Layering iridescent white streaks of emotions
to add texture to charcoal grey senses

Source: www.wallpaperbetter.com

I apply a glazing of matted gold
to make raw umber wishes look luminous

Vivid patterns of acrylic emotions
transform rapidly under my hands

colors of feelings words of hues
shades of people brushes of dreams

All blend together on my canvas
a vibrant swirling painting

always alive
always changing

Source: www.amazingwallpaperz.com

 My thoughts:

I have recently developed a fascination for the abstract art form and the various techniques of acrylic painting such as layering, flicking, dabbing and glazing. I have also become familiar with the various shades of acrylic colors that exist and how they can be blended and transformed into something which is almost violent to look at yet strangely soothing. I realized how a painting can portray the same depth and complexity of emotions that a poem can and how it can help us express some of the turbulent emotions raging within us. Out of these thoughts was born this poem.

Home

The moth never builds a nest
flying from one plant to the next
It sits where it pleases
for an hour or a night
Then moves to another branch
its papery wings fluttering
The wind carrying it along
or breaking its flight sometimes
But the moth worries not
It's neither a butterfly
nor a little brown bird
but something in between
Its tiny feet may get stuck
on a soft wood bark
and the pollen of a flower
may seem suddenly sweet
But the moth flies on
Not knowing how to turn back
Having never seen a nest
Does it ever wonder
as it moves away
That tree I left behind
that flower I touched
Perhaps it was home?


My thoughts:

All my life, I have felt a struggle inside me between holding on and letting go, between going and coming back, between motion and inertia, between wanderlust and homesickness. Maybe it's because I have never ever known the feeling of a true home in my adult life, and maybe I have lost contact with what it means to be part of a family. I do not know if my circumstances have fuelled my restlessness or it was always in me, but here's what I do know: give me too many years in one place and I will start struggling to break the bonds of the known city.

I have recently left a city where I had lived for more than 8 years and moved to a totally unknown city. As I try to settle in my new environment, I discover in me the same strange tug-of-war - between longing for the familiar landmarks and much-loved faces of my old city and anticipation to explore a new territory with new ways of living. Even while I am writing this, I'm still struggling with this irrepressible desire to take a trip back to meet old friends and run away from this alien place, even if only for a few days. Trust me, this change is not easy and I'm still coming to terms with it after two months. But the bigger question is: was it required or was it just a bye-product of my restless nature?

I recently heard from someone about an 80-year old man who is appearing for a Master's Degree because it is something he had always wanted to do but had never got around to. On my trek to the formidable Tiger's Nest in Bhutan, I met a 60 plus man who was laboriously trying to climb a steep cliff, because he had never managed to visit this monastery in his youth and had always wanted to. What drives these people to do such things? They know it will not be easy at their age. They no longer have anything to gain financially from accomplishing such things. These are ordinary people just like you and me doing out-of-the-ordinary things for no apparent, practical reason. Such stories force me to stop and think.

The human spirit is said to be indomitable, the lifetime as a human is said to be the most coveted of all reincarnations. Why? Is it so that we can complete the designated years of education, do a 9 hour job, earn an acceptable amount of money, live in a standard family and stay within the four walls of the apartment we have bought with our saved money? Or is it because we are all born with the power to make most of our seemingly implausible dreams possible?

As I reach middle age, I often ask myself - if 60-70% of my life is now over, have I done the things which I have always wanted to do? Or have I been too afraid of letting go of the things I currently treasure and those I feel I can't do without? Is my desire to belong somewhere stopping me from acknowledging the high I feel when I set my foot in a new place, stand in front of a tall mountain, or sink my feet into the waves of an endless sea? If I have always wanted to paint or learn how to play the piano, what is stopping me from learning them? If I want to retire to a small cottage in the mountains with a dog for company, what is holding me back?

Is our affinity for home and security keeping us from realizing what we were meant to be? Is the fear of being out there alone real or perceived? Are we using love and family ties as excuses to cling too tightly to our comfort zone? How much are we willing to risk to open ourselves to new experiences and new learnings? Are the barriers to reaching our dreams outside us or inside us? That, my friends, is what we all need to ask ourselves.