Mariyam- Mid-Term Assignment

(1)Historical Figure/Mythological character 

i)  Sylvia Plath

(Note- The poem is built around the last suicide attempt by Plath. I have played around with the episode of the telephone which she mentions in her poem Daddy, "the black telephone's off at the root, The voices just can't worm through." referring to her husband, Ted's affair.)

From Sylvia

I will see you on the other side,

Where telephones don’t hurt

your existence

which only existed

because you didn’t swallow enough pills

enough times--

Enough.

So I have decided to do it

the right way this time.

Two children will be left behind

but my misery is greater than Greenwood,

You can only depict half of how you feel when you write.

So the telephone has stopped ringing but

The warm whispers are still alive

Under the white linen I changed the last time

last week--

last cup of coffee is cold.

And you minimize my misery in your verses

And ask me to save my sanity

But I smile with my heels flaking

And pearls shining in sad ears

While your resentful hands touch

the skin of a fair woman

without a system of grief or guilt.

I wonder if its time

To forget

All the lies and lie

whole on a moonless night

where loaves of bread come to life,

I am stating my goodbye

to see you on

the other side.

The telephone bill is paid.

The  telephone

bill  is  now

p a i d.

ii) Prometheus 

(Prometheus stole fire and gave it to humankind. For this he was tied to a rock and an eagle ate his liver for eternity)

Prometheus’s Red Flower*

Who would have thought

that my liver will pay the price

for gas stoves in your kitchens

and fireplace in your libraries

with carpets and leather sofas.

I wonder if your tools

Can free me

From bondage with this stone—

If only divorces could work

With inanimate objects

Or curses.

Sisyphus only got a rock to push

And Atlas has the beautiful sky

Medusa got snaked, ah well!

But I got an Eagle stuck

On my liver

Camus should know it’s better to die.

I wonder if Sisyphus is tired yet

Or bored of his rock ball

And Atlas can’t complain

Because now

He has got the best biceps

And Medusa

saved a lot of hair product.

And I wonder if Lucifer is grateful to God

For surviving his fall, at least he has Beelzebub at his call.

Ah, my liver is a phoenix

For all the wrong reasons

And you humans complain

About the chaos

My red flower has created

Burning countries and oceans.

I wonder, if this Eagle likes the taste

Of my liver.

(*Fire, in reference to The Jungle Book)

(2) Line Break

i) On becoming

You talk about becomings

As your mouth creates

smoke clouds.

You make intoxicated love on a sheet

-less bed

like a galaxy

slipped right off your hands

and formed crystal

skies with marshmallows

burning in the sun's eye.

Let us find poetry

in earthworms

and bark of trees and soil

that a farmer toils,

harvests and oceans.

We reap sins.

We plant sinners.

Who do we

                                  become *

                    in this becoming?

Do we become our becoming?

Can you

put me to rest?

Can we **

really find poetry in anything

other than ourselves?

Crystal skies are

b r e a k i n g

It isn’t a beautiful becoming.

(Note- *showing uncertain nature of any change or becoming/process (syntax); ** showing desperation and irritability and building anticipation (speed))      

ii) 

My little dark feet

are motionless **

Hanging just a little

above the marble floor.

Would you care to touch them

with your swift toes

dancing in the nights

of favorable depth of souls

caressing the wind silently

like a lost lover

in shiny deserts and bitter storms?

Would you heal

the cracks*

like open windows

turning black

with endless memories

rotting in corners and creases

of the skin?

or would you rather

leave and look

for a windowless room?

Are you a windowless room?

Would you let me in?

My little dark feet

I hide

in pastel socks

and suede boots.

(Note- *invoking a sense of surprise and speed, **feet can be a symbol of motion but here they represent stagnation (surprise))

(3) Repetition

i) 

I have built four walls, calling it home.

No roof.

A sterile version of most dreams

Wanting a place to come back to

Wanting to grow sunflowers on my porch,

in pots.

I have no land to cultivate my life

My flowers will die

Don’t you dare bring fertilizers,

Don’t become it either.

Love does not come easy to me

Nor does land.

So don’t bother for now

Come again next year

When the rain wets the soil in my bones

And maybe then

I will build a roof

if I don’t drown in homelessness.

Maybe you can sow seeds of sunflowers then,

In pots.

My eyes will sprout with buds

Maybe if they become flowers

We can call this home

With no land to cultivate our souls,

Just pots and pans

And pajamas with torn ends

Nails with green edges

No rings on our fingers

No fertilizers.

Come again tomorrow

And ask me my name

And tell me where you come from.

Where do you come from?

Do you have a roof in your home?

How much land do you have?

Is there a sunflower in your field?

How much rain can you spare?

How long can you stay?

How long… till the harvest?

 ii) Dragonflies

             (For all the times we had to grow up)

I clearly remember small feet,

My shoe size was available

In local shops

Or pavements.

It was easy

To shop for shoes.

I believe my feet grew

Untamed into a size 8

Too big

For my own

balance.

I was not ready to give up on fantasy.

I clearly remember wet eyes

With small emotions of perceivable size

In moments of tragedy

Or breakdowns.

It was easy

To cry for no reason.

I believe my eyes dried

Reasoning with the lies

Too liquid

For my own

emotions.

I was not ready to give up on faith.

I clearly remember tanned arms

And scratched elbows with little bandages

In sync with no time

or world.

It was easy

To call Dragonflies warriors.

I believe I was too fantastical

Soaring in skies

Too high

For my own

lungs to catch air.

I am not ready to give up on love.

I clearly remember dying

In small caskets of stale air

Moment by moment

Year by year.

Dragon flies are in the air.

Tanned arms are crying with fear.

The shoes are too small for my feet.

Dragonflies are wrapped in defeat.

We are not warriors or wet eyes.

We have

No bridges to build for the other side.

No Dragonflies.