SUNEPTULA S JAMIR, MID-TERM ASSIGNMENT.

Ways of Reading.

Suneptula S Jamir

S173A0039

MA Development Studies.

Write two poems, each in the voice of any historical or mythological character of your choice. You may want to choose a particular moment in that character's life and attempt to explore how they would respond to that moment.

1)  Frida Kahlo ,the painter found an outlet for pain in her art especially her miscarriage. This poem is about how she might have defined being ‘woman’ given the miscarriage and the bus accident which had injured her horrifically when she was a teen.

Does a womb make a woman

Or does the woman make the womb?

When that iron handrail crushed my framework,

I knew,

I knew.

I would never become a mother.

Years later, when I lay in  bed at the Henry Ford hospital,

Bleeding out from the flower,

My flower.

I knew,

I knew.

I lost the child.

Our child.

What makes of me

when my own fails me,

What makes me?

Am I less woman if those that supposedly defines me no longer functions

Am I less woman because I can bleed but cannot breed

Tell me

What makes a woman?

I knew,

I knew.

If not for a woman,

But I knew what made me.

I am Frida.

Indomitable, Eccentric, Fabulous.

2)  The subject of the poem is Jacqueline Onassis, the wife of former US President John F Kennedy, who was assassinated in front of Jacqueline and many others while riding in  a presidential motorcade on 22 November, 1963 . The poem attempts to see Jacqueline’s state of mind and how she might have viewed the tragedy surrounding her family after John’s brother Robert F Kennedy, who she was close to, was also assassinated.

The Kennedy Curse.

I saw two of my own die right before my eyes,

Not long before Jack did the same.

Pink. Brains. Blood.

Bobby was shot dead too.

What will happen to Ethel and their lovely children.

Bobby deserved better.

He loved his wife. He loved his family.

What are the Kennedys coming to.

Can I dare ask why

or will the Gods unleash its wrath again?

This is so tricky.

Joseph, Kathleen, Jack, Bobby….

It is a curse,

I tell you.

My Children, Caroline and John Jr.,

How do I protect you?

Bobby was the only one in the family I could trust,

Where does this leave me..again.

Power, Fame, Glory.

Jack and I have seen it.

This family has seen it.

It’s time we withdraw from the political circles.

Call it a woman’s instinct,

But power will kill us.

It already has.

This family cannot sacrifice one of its own for the country anymore.

I cannot allow my children to be burdened by this name.

I need to go away. We need to go away.

People ask me what I want.

They do not ask me what I need.

I need security.

I need peace.

I need to know my children will be safe.

Even if it means this family name will be nothing but a shadow,

So be it.

Read Mark Doty's 'The Tremendous Fish' about the art of description in poetry - http://poems.com/special_features/prose/essay_doty.php. Choose any two objects in your field of vision. A window, a person, an animal, a tree, a knife, a vehicle etc.. Write two poems that rely primarily on describing these two objects respectively. 

1) The Door.

Enter 311.

As you walk in through the regularly designed door,

My bed would be the first thing you would see.

Or so I am guessing.

(I cannot guarantee for your peripheral vision)

As for me, the door is the first thing I see from my bed.

How symbiotic.

It is the first door to the right when you enter the hallway.

What makes it infamous in hostel is that it is besides the spot,

Where the didis usually sit and chatter.

Talk about prepaid mobile plans!

Good Jio talktime plan endorsers are right outside the door to my room.

Oh, the door.

Right.

The door is as usual as it gets.

The curtains that frame it..

They are hand-me-downs from the last occupants of the room.

Hung efficiently with threads binded ten times over, maybe.

Before you judge me,

Can you blame a girl for trying?

The door is wood and frames,

Painted over with a typical double-coat of a predictable yet hard to name color.

Color is a pale Ecru meets Vanilla,

That kind of color which reminds me of government quarters back in my hometown.

The kind of ecru-vanilla color you only see in houses, not in clothes.

There is one peculiar thing you will see about the door, our door.

The right side of the door as you enter, is locked shut.

The left side as a result has to be kept open.

The right side is towards my roommate,

The left towards me.

Doors are an extension of our personalities or so I feel.

I prefer mine shut for as much as I want it to be.

And I can never sleep with the door open.

However, after my roommate’s arrival,

I can somehow sleep with an open door.

It’s easier. It’s comfortable.

Doors are also an excellent way to get annoyed by human existence.

(And to think it was invented to shut them out)

If they don’t knock, tsk tsk.

Where art thou manners?

If they pass by the hallway and happen to peek, tsk tsk.

Where art thee privacy?

If they shriek as they pass by the door, why?

Where is thine sense?

If there are no posters or signs outside the door,

And all you see is a plain door that has never seen a lock and key,

Hello.

Welcome to 311.

We don’t care much for that.

Heck, we have 10x binded threads for curtain strings!

                   So, the right side of the door is always shut this days.

I guess it will remain so.

I have no problem,

It makes shutting the door easier.

2) The Mood Board.

Laid out horizontally,

Black chart paper over the thermocol,

My mood board stands in stark contrast to the pale wall.

It hovers static over the study table.

It leads  a quiet life of its own,

Much like its owner.

Against the board,

Yellow sticky notes are meticulously plastered,

Notes that speak of quotes, reminders, schedules.

A particular one on the top right corner spells a word:

G R A T E F U L.

Something that I want my state of mind to be in…

Then there’s this spatter of orangey glitter foam cut-outs of alphabets

which spells  ‘Mood’ and ‘Blessed’.

I realise all these is making me sound like a zen character,

All optimistic and sunshine;

let me tell you that is a Far call.

Right below the word ‘Mood’,

there is this square cardboard which I have kept pinned.

Hoping I would find something worthwhile to put on it.

Maybe a picture describing my mood per month/ week?

I haven’t found one so far.

Is that answer enough?

Ha ha.

There are also these random ‘Mean Girls’ stickers designed by a freelance artist,

Whom my elder sister chanced upon on a social media site.

These stickers are randomly placed all over the board.

I am hardly aesthetic or blessed in the artsy section.

The closest thing to a DIY that one may see on this board is an attempt at a cloud cut-out from light blue chart paper,

on which a bible verse has been written in the best, legible form of my handwriting .

Psalms 30:12.

The board also has a black and white digital art of Amrita Shergill,

And may I say that she looks stunning.

There is also this picture quote of Frida Kahlo,

which inspires me to wear a flower crown once and for all.

The pink background of that picture provides a subtlety to the board.

Okay. There is a pastel war going on with the board!

Blue, yellow and pink against black.

Turn of unexpected events.

I could never plan for such a synchronous color scheme.

The only white paper on that board is there for nostalgia’s sake.

Something of a keepsake.

Faith, Hope and Love.

12: 35 a.m.

I do not think I can ever bring that note down.

Anyhow, there is a small space on the left,

reserved for sticking the class routine and the monthly calendar.

Hardly customised .

Marked by crossed out days, circled days, crazy days,

Scribbled notes on the side.

Practically my  go-to section of the mood board.

I still have spaces to fill on the board.

I can hardly think what to put up,

Unless assignment schedules decide to bomb the whole board.

I take a look over at the board

And as if to calm my chaotic mind,

The Kahlo quote on the board bounces right off:

“Nothing is absolute.

Everything changes”.

Write two poems that are triggered by news events within the last six months.  

1) This is in event of the Supreme Court's  decriminalization of homosexuality under Section 377 on September 6,2018. The poem is a reconsideration on the definitions of 'Love', particularly same sex love.

No Shakespeare.

Love is love.

This is the rationale or rather, the understanding that I have gleaned from others,

And said so myself when questioned about my views on homosexuality.

It makes me wonder..

Could I possibly give another understanding?

One I could rightfully call my own.

What is love indeed.

What is freedom.

What is choice.

So many parallels drawn here and there,

Including those by my near and dear.

Wait a minute,

Am I really going to rhyme scheme here?

No. Damn that.

You know,

I have more often than not relied on my faith to help me understand what this life has to encompass.

But, not for this.

My faith condemns homosexuality as a sin.

It also says Love is the greatest of them all.

Do you now see the debacle I am in?

So, I decided to let rationale take this one out for me.

Oh yes. Could it not be more paradoxical?

Rationale. Faith. Love.

Two out of which makes no sense for most at all.

Love means a lot of different things to different people.

But it does not mean having to live a life of fear.

It does not mean having to live undignified.

It surely does not mean having to justify your personal choices about love and why you love somebody,

To friends,I can understand to an extent.

Hey. We are all just watching out for each other!

To the Court of Law?

Shut the front door, please.

I am back to square one.

And happily so.

This is where my stand is.

This is what I understand.

Love is Love.

  2) This is in event of the US Open controversy where Serena Williams was penalized for receiving coaching from her coach mid-event, for breaking her racket and for verbally abusing the tennis umpire by calling him a "thief".

The personal is political.

Chances of events, chances of events.

What are the odds?

Was it bad that the coach made gestures of “coaching” during the match

Or is it bad luck that Serena did not even see it as she claims.

Was it sad that she threw her racket in a fit of rage,

Or is it sad realisation that she was human for once and forgot the game spirit.

Was it tad sexism that the umpire’s indifference displayed for Serena’s outburst on the court

Or is it a tad wrong that she chose to take it personally and stood up for what she believed was right despite her obvious faults.

Was she justified in calling him a "thief" for doing his job and penalising her for code violations?

Was he justified in awarding her a third code violation over this name calling?

The personal is political.

But, chances of events, chances of events,

What are the odds?