My First Love Letter – Poetry by Madathil Rajendran Nair. Read by Dan Cristofori

Watch My First Love Letter:

Get to know poet Madathil Rajendran Nair:

What is the theme of your poem?

CHILDHOOD INFATUATION

How would you like people to respond when they read or watch your poetry reading?

I WOULD LIKE THEM TO DISSOLVE IN SWEET NOSTALGIA AND RELIVE THERE OWN CHILDHOOD MISADVENTURES.

How long have you been writing poetry?

I BELIEVE I HAD A POETIC BEND RIGHT FROM CHILDHOOD. BUT I AM VERY VERY LAZY AND USED TO KEEP POETRY IN MIND AND DAY-DREAM. IT WAS ONLY VERY LATE IN LATE, THAT IS AT ABOUT THE AGE OF 60, I BEGAN POURING POESY ON TO PAPER MAINLY BECAUSE MY BOSS AT WORK THOUGHT AND CONVINCED ME THAT I WAS GOOD AT IT.

Do you have a favorite poet?

I SEE WORDSWORTH AND SHELLEY COMPETING HERE WITH BROWNING CLOSE BY. BUT I WOULD NAME SHELLEY.

What influenced you to submit to WILDsound and have your poetry performed by a professional actor ?

I HAVE A FEELING OF GRIEVANCE THAT MY POETRY HASN’T MET WITH THE ACCEPTANCE IT SHOULD HAVE RECEIVED AT THE SITES WHERE I HAVE PUBLISHED IT. A FRIEND RECOMMENDED TRYING POETRYFESTIVAL AND I SENT IN MY POEM IN THE HOPE OF GETTING THE MUCH-NEEDED RECOGNITION. VERY SELFISH INDEED!

Do you write other works? scripts? Short Stories? Etc..?

I AM PASSIONATE ABOUT THE INDIAN PHILOSOPHY OF VEDANTA. I HAVE SOME PHILOSOPHICAL ESSAYS PUBLISHED IN THE WEB. I HAVE ALSO BEEN A PROLIFIC CONTRIBUTOR TO DISCUSSIONS ON VEDANTA AT SEVERAL WEBSITES. I AM SERIOUSLY INTERESTED IN INDIAN ASTROLOGY TOO, INTO WHICH I HAVE DONE SOME RESEARCHES. A ENGLISH NOVEL IS ON THE ANVIL. BUT IT IS MOVING VERY SLOW. ALSO PLANNED IS A SHORT BOOK ON VEDANTA THAT THE COMMON MAN CAN EASILY UNDERSTAND.

I WRITE POETRY IN MY NATIVE MALAYALAM TOO. MY MALAYALAM POEMS HAVE BEEN APPRECIATED.

MOST OF MY POETRY IN ENGLISH AND MALAYALAM TOTALLING ABOUT 138 CAN BE READ HERE:
http://www.poemhunter.com/madathil-rajendran-nair/poems/?a=a&search=&l=2&y=1

What is your passion in life?

TOTAL ENLIGHTENMENT WHICH ECKHART TOLLE HAS EXTOLED.

Immense thanks for asking me these questions. Hope my answers are helpful.

Tucson The Ma Nonpareil, Poetry by Madathil Rajendran Nair

Betwixt a crimson west of sunset
Rainbow-crowned thunder cloud on the east
Swept by ferocious gales
Lay Tucson waiting
Her locks scattered
Her feet on the north
On the Catalina mounts
Head pillowed on Santa Rita
Voluptuous, for her mate, the sky to descend

Genre: Nature

Tucson The Ma Nonpareil
by Madathil Rajendran Nair

Betwixt a crimson west of sunset
Rainbow-crowned thunder cloud on the east
Swept by ferocious gales
Lay Tucson waiting
Her locks scattered
Her feet on the north
On the Catalina mounts
Head pillowed on Santa Rita
Voluptuous, for her mate, the sky to descend

As mesquites, palo verdes, oaks, figs, acacia
Waved their heads in demoniac dance
Lighted by an unearthly shine
As though possessed by the elements
An evening was about to gasp its last

And then it came in a clatter
The sky with fingers of rain
Stoked her insanity as she giggled
In puddles and streams
As the Rillito swelled in orgasmic passion
Oh, what a beautiful night it was to begin!

And what happened then
To the luminescent fig beetles
Delicate dragon flies
Arizona sister butterflies
That throng the sunny days
Of Tucson’s breeze and glitter?

Don’t ask stupid mind
She is a mother, she knows
She had them hidden safe
Under her locks
As the sky stoked and stoked
And as she giggled without end
That beautiful rainy night
Tucson, the ma nonpareil!

 

 

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Deadline: FREE POETRY Festival – Get your poem made into a MOVIE and seen by 1000s. Three options to submit:
http://www.wildsound.ca/poetrycontest.html

Watch Poetry performance readings:

Watch Poetry made into Movies:

Shoddy Bar, Poetry by Madathil Rajendran Nair

Genre: Addiction

Shoddy Bar
by Madathil Rajendran Nair

They sat facing one another
Inside the shoddy bar
Swarthy figures
Like in American cartoons
Their visages waxen
Looks distant
Cadaverous blank

The figures of Jesus On The Cross
His pain lighted
By a low watt crimson bulb
Smiling Lord Ganesh
Granting boons
With burnt-out incense sticks
Before him
Presided over the scene

Each had a burden
Perhaps the dejection
Due to cruel rejection
Of the past to bury
Or a long-lost love
A broken wedlock
Death of a sweet-heart
A broken heart of some sort

They sat
Puffing at their fags
Or beedis
Or whatever they had
The glow at the tip
Of what they smoked
Said it all
The burn that rued their hearts

Aches of the like
The winds of the plains
Could hardly hope to soothe
Angst, the wisdom
Of the silent mounts around
Could ever undo

They sat puffing and drinking
In silence at the cacophonous bar
Shoddy, dilapidated
Infested with flies
Flying insects and mice

Dreaming they could once again
Sit with their kids
Under hurricane lamps
Late into the night
Helping them with their lessons
As the clouds rumbled
On distant mountain tops

As their wives garnished
Some favourite dish
In smoky kitchens unlit
Wiping burning eyes
With greying sari tips

Later to return
To their late night beds
To grant midnight warmth
Of sweat and love
That made the nights
More odoriferous
Than the incense burnt
Before indifferent Gods

They longed and longed
As every drink sank
Into their burning core
To return to the shores of love afar
As the world outside brimmed
Calling them drunkards

Refusing to grant
There are addictions of sorts
Religion, power and fads
Women, avarice, greed
That ruined humankind
More than the drinks
The entire humanity drank

With their glasses emptied
They would now decamp
Like moths fleeing a dying lamp
Into the night’s waiting arms
To the big bar under the shimmering stars
Where the cups are full again
With tears frothing in grief and pain

Where they would lie wide awake
After a fitful nap past midnight
On their unkempt beds like dried-up twigs
To roll and roll alone in pain
Sob and cry again in vain
And sing to far off receding plains
Where their solace hidden, remains

 

 

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Deadline: FREE POETRY Festival – Get your poem made into a MOVIE and seen by 1000s. Three options to submit:
http://www.wildsound.ca/poetrycontest.html

Watch Poetry performance readings:

Watch Poetry made into Movies:

Endless Tragedy, Poetry by Madathil Rajendran Nair

There was a grand-father tamarind tree
In front of my ancestral home
Pointing a bare finger into the sky

In the grey of monsoon drizzle
Early in the morning
A brooding crow which had a hole in one of its wings
Used to perch on it

Genre:  Life

Endless Tragedy
by Madathil Rajendran Nair

There was a grand-father tamarind tree
In front of my ancestral home
Pointing a bare finger into the sky

In the grey of monsoon drizzle
Early in the morning
A brooding crow which had a hole in one of its wings
Used to perch on it

That was my pre-teen childhood
When I had two aunts
With two cows – one white and the other grey
Whose calves were my constant companions
As I wandered in surrounding woods
Watching birds laboring at their nests

We had kerosene lamps then
Under which I used to mug up lessons
When I looked askance at the sky
The orange Arcturus
Winked at me from Bootes
Leaves giggled in the wind

My dad took his pompous strolls
In the sprawling courtyard
Watching if I misbehaved
As mom garnished
Chutney for breakfast
Spreading dosas on the pan

Those were beautiful days
Which I took for granted
Would ever remain
Unchanged through to endless time

But, alas, as time sped
As I witnessed my body change
Through teenage to adulthood
Each of the things I loved
Vanished one after another

Mom and dad were washed away
In the tides of time
So were the aunts
Someone axed the tamarind tree
The crow made homeless perished
The cows and calves too disappeared
Into the hungry bowels of abattoirs

The house was sold
New ones displaced the woods
As I fled to distant lands
A wandering nestless bird
Ever on restless wings

Aging all the time
Into an insipid mass
Of failing musculature
Through pain and fatigue
Into the grey and wrinkles
Of a geriatric mess

When the wick of knowing fades
In slumber’s chamber every night
The mess does wonder
What is it that has remained
Unchanged watching the river of time
Displace the known with unknown things
Wash a body into bones and skin

Yet, the mess languishes in mess
Never ever able to accept
That it really is the witness
The changeless awareness
That remains ever untouched
Lo, my tragedy is thus abetted

 

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Deadline: FREE POETRY Festival – Get your poem made into a MOVIE and seen by 1000s. Three options to submit:
http://www.wildsound.ca/poetrycontest.html

Watch Poetry performance readings:

Watch Poetry made into Movies:

My First Love Letter, Poetry by Madathil Rajendran Nair

I don’t know, I can’t tell

But there was she

My classmate

With jasmine teeth

A dance perched on her feet

Bothering my budding masculinity

Genre: Love

My First Love Letter
by Madathil Rajendran Nair

 

It was when I was just in class three

Hovering around the tenth year of age

Something bothered me in the hours wee

A sweetness, an aroma, sweat

Or was it the morning dew on grass

That kept me awake

Rolling on my smelly bed

With a sweetness that blazed my glands

 

I don’t know, I can’t tell

But there was she

My classmate

With jasmine teeth

A dance perched on her feet

Bothering my budding masculinity

 

I knew I wanted her

I couldn’t make out what for

In a frenzy that engulfed me

Like a forest fire then I wrote

On the inside of a discarded cigarette pack

Slit open like a bleeding heart

What I felt, the first love letter

In words that moved like ants

All over me and my heart

 

I handed it to her brother

Two years younger

In secret, behind the school toilet yonder

Hoping it would reach and vanquish her

 

But, there was the maths teacher

Fondling his scorpion tail moustache

Watching the goings-on

Who intercepted the missive

From the hands of the shivering brother

 

I thought I was in for hell

Punishment, beatings, no one can tell

But nothing happened to my surprise

Till at last I noticed

The school headmistress at my fence

In a rare bosom chat with my mom, her friend

 

I was playing behind my house

Rolling stones in the setting sun

Like a forlorn Ulysses adorned in sweat

Yet I knew I was their subject

 

Days passed and Diwali came

The Indian festival of lights

It was time for the early morning bath

Under the glistening stars

My mom poured warm water over me from a tub

And I misbehaved in a gleeful jump

She cautioned and slapped me on my thigh

With a fire unknown in her eyes

“Idiot, have you begun

Writing love letters at this age? ”

 

That was the first and last time

She ever beat me

A lovely mother was she

And, often I wonder what happened

To that passionate missive of mine

 

Perhaps, it was blown over by the winds

Over fences and thorns and profusely bled

And withered in the sun and rain

Decayed down the channels of time

 

And I met her of late one of these days

At a temple festival when I braved

To tell her about my missive missed

That perhaps could have changed our fate

 

She laughed out in a guffaw

An aging grandma of three

And I could see at sixty-eight

Her jasmines were still intact

What more could a lover want

When he has only a toothless smile

In exchange, Oh, why do we age?

 

 

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Deadline: FREE POETRY Festival – Get your poem made into a MOVIE and seen by 1000s. Three options to submit:
http://www.wildsound.ca/poetrycontest.html

Watch Poetry performance readings:

Watch Poetry made into Movies: