Sunday 23 March 2014

Send Me a Poem


Enter the following in the Comments section:
  • Name of the Poem
  • Name of the Poet
  • Text of the Poem
Save the comment.

And I'll try and help you understand it! :-)

 - Rakesh

Sunday 6 May 2012

The Soul's Prayer

The Poem first, as usual:

In childhood’s pride I said to Thee:
‘O Thou, who mad’st me of Thy breath,
Speak, Master, and reveal to me
Thine inmost laws of life and death.

‘Give me to drink each joy and pain
Which Thine eternal hand can mete,
For my insatiate soul would drain
Earth’s utmost bitter, utmost sweet.

‘Spare me no bliss, no pang of strife,
Withhold no gift or grief I crave,
The intricate lore of love and life
And mystic knowledge of the grave.’

Lord, Thou didst answer stern and low:
‘Child, I will hearken to thy prayer,
And thy unconquered soul shall know
All passionate rapture and despair.

‘Thou shalt drink deep of joy and fame,
And love shall burn thee like a fire,
And pain shall cleanse thee like a flame,
To purge the dross from thy desire.

‘So shall thy chastened spirit yearn
To seek from its blind prayer release,
And spent and pardoned, sue to learn
The simple secret of My peace.

‘I, bending from my sevenfold height,
Will teach thee of My quickening grace,
Life is a prism of My light,
And Death the shadow of My face.’

What's This?

This is a poem by Sarojini Naidu. In this poem, the poet tells us of the insignificance of man and advises us to cultivate humility in all we do.

The key plot of the poem (if poems have plots) is as follows: The protagonist of the poem is proud of who she is and feels she is capable of taking on all that the Lord can offer. She asks the Lord to let her have all the experiences that the Lord is capable of offering. God listens to her and tells her that I can and will grant you your wish, but know that such knowledge and swings of emotional extremes can bend your soul, break it, and leave you a mere shadow of whatever you think you are today. And then, your soul shall plead for freedom from the curse you yourself got on your head. And I shall grant you that redemption too, and you shall learn of my life-giving grace, and understand how, in the midst of all I am and create, I can retain my composure and remain peaceful.

The Poem, Line by Line

In childhood’s pride I said to Thee:
‘O Thou, who mad’st me of Thy breath,
Speak, Master, and reveal to me
Thine inmost laws of life and death.

The protagonist of the poem is drunk with pride, the pride of childhood. But is the protagonist a child? May be, may be not. The point is not how old the protagonist is biologically; the point is that she is like a child when it comes to knowing the truth of things. Note also that this poem is written in retrospect; in the past tense. All of this has already happened, and the protagonist is relating to us the story of this remarkable dialogue. Now that she has had the wisdom that the Lord gave her, she can see that her question was bred of the pride of a child. A child thinks she knows all there is to know. Like the kid said in Asterix In  Spain, "My daddy is the strongest daddy in the world and silly old Julius Caesar is frightened of my daddy and silly old Julius Caesar had me brought to Gaul to frighten my daddy but that won't stop my daddy from bashing silly old Julius Caesar."

Notice also, that because the protagonist has the pride of a child, her language is rather pompous. If one were talking to the Lord, one would not use phrases like "speak, Master," and would perhaps ask for a little less than "Thine inmost laws of life and death."

Inmost laws of life and death? What is she talking about? How proud is that? The inmost laws of life and death, if there were such laws, would be the laws that govern who is born; how is one born; how one lives; how one dies; and, if you were a believer of the circle of life, after-life, and death (which Sarojini Naidu was!) how one is treated after death before (if one hasn't attained Nirvana) rebirth. The protagonist is asking for the ultimate knowledge of the Ultimate Being, and is being pompous about is too! Please also note that the request she makes of the Lord is actually a demand, a command, to be precise. It is an imperative sentence: a command given to God! In childish pride.

‘Give me to drink each joy and pain
Which Thine eternal hand can mete,
For my insatiate soul would drain
Earth’s utmost bitter, utmost sweet.

‘Spare me no bliss, no pang of strife,
Withhold no gift or grief I crave,
The intricate lore of love and life
And mystic knowledge of the grave.’

She asks for every single joy and pain that the Maker can create. Note: Can, not has. She isn't just asking for what has already been created and made available; she is also asking for all the joys and pains that the Lord can create. Now that IS humble!!

She claims her "insatiate" (endlessly thirsty) soul would (like to + want to + and eventually actually) drain everything that the Earth can offer. I think it sounds more presumptuous than proud, but well ....

She wants to be spared nothing: all the bliss, all the pain of struggle, all gifts and grief. She really wants the Lord to reveal to her all that there is to know really.

Lord, Thou didst answer stern and low:
‘Child, I will hearken to thy prayer,
And thy unconquered soul shall know
All passionate rapture and despair.

‘Thou shalt drink deep of joy and fame,
And love shall burn thee like a fire,
And pain shall cleanse thee like a flame,
To purge the dross from thy desire.

And the Lord, who knows that behind the apparently pompous over-proud demand lies the pride of a little child who knows not what it asks, replies sternly in a low voice. "I shall hear your prayer and grant you your wish," he says, and your unconquered (unbeaten: connect with insatiate, still thirsty, above) soul shall know all joy and grief. But. Such knowledge shall leave you burnt and cleansed. You shall truly know; but you shall also suffer immensely.

‘So shall thy chastened spirit yearn
To seek from its blind prayer release,
And spent and pardoned, sue to learn
The simple secret of My peace.

So much shall you suffer, that your "chastened" spirit shall yearn to seek release from its prayer. Chastened twice over, actually. Chastened, as in purified, thanks to the divine knowledge the spirit has received; and chastened, as in punished and subdued, because of the pain and suffering through which such knowledge can be gained. Spent of its pride, and pardoned by me, your spirit shall sue (beg) to learn the secret of peace in the midst of the emotional storm it desired. Here the poet moves to the next level of knowledge. The desire for knowledge, of worldly joy and pain, can only bring infliction. If the soul is to evolve, it must "sue" for peace: peace in the midst of the emotional whirlpool of worldly mirages.

Another interesting phrase here is "the simple secret of my peace." God knows all, feels all, is all. Ergo, He is in the eye of every storm that ravages the soul. And yet, He is peaceful. He is always calm -- no, serene. The soul of the protagonist, which would be burnt and cleansed as if passed through a fire, will need to understand how the Force that unleashes it all and suffers it all maintains Its peace. Its simple peace.

‘I, bending from my sevenfold height,
Will teach thee of My quickening grace,
Life is a prism of My light,
And Death the shadow of My face.’

The protagonist does not know the secret; her Maker doesn't tell it to her. She has to pass through the fires of her desire (of: her desires are like fire, and what she desires is fiery!) and, chastened, beg for redemption. And then, says the Lord, "I, bending from my sevenfold height, will teach thee of my quickening grace." I do not really know why Naidu uses the word "sevenfold", but I can think of two explanations. One, Christianity has a conception of "the sevenfold spirit of God," referring to the seven churches in Asia. (Source) Two, in the Hindu Pantheon, Indra governs His domains through seven vice-kings. (Source) I think the second explanation makes more sense given Naidu's religious background. Actually, I'm not very convinced by either. If sevenfold means either of these, what's height doing after that? Will keep looking.

Anyways, the Lord promises to then teach her of his "quickening" (life-giving) grace. Life, He says, is but a refracted colored version of My light (seven again,) and death is only a version of my Truth. Both life and death spring from me, exist because of me. I give life, and everything in it, and I take it away and restore order. The poet doesn't say it out loud, but by implication, the Lord says that because I know the truth about life, and the "imposters" of joy, sorrow, pain, and pleasure, and because I know that in death, there is no end but a new beginning, I know that all pain and all bliss is as transient as life itself, and do not allow any of these to cloud my brow.

In Sum


The poem doesn't tell us whether the protagonist finally got what she wanted, but it does tell us that the Lord gave her her ultimate answer even before she actually asked the question. Basically, he tells her that while He understands what she wants, He doesn't think it's a good idea to go frittering one's life going through more emotional trauma than one is designed for. Ultimately, the goal should be peace, and that can only come by understanding; and, until one is ready for such understanding, by faith. And STOP making dumb requests already!! You will only get hurt and come crying.

Sunday 9 December 2007

How to Kill a Tree

by Gieve Patel
The text first:

=================================================

It takes much time to kill a tree,
Not a simple jab of the knife
Will do it. It has grown
Slowly consuming the earth,
Rising out of it, feeding
Upon its crust, absorbing
Years of sunlight, air, water,
And out of its leprous hide
Sprouting leaves.

So hack and chop
But this alone won't do it.
Not so much pain will do it.
The bleeding bark will heal
And from close to the ground
Will rise curled green twigs,
Miniature boughs
Which if unchecked will expand again
To former size.

No,
The root is to be pulled out-
Out of the anchoring earth;
It is to be roped, tied,
And pulled out-snapped out
Or pulled out entirely,
Out from the earth-cave,
And the strength of the tree exposed,
The source, white and wet,
The most sensitive, hidden
For years inside the earth.

Then the matter
Of scorching and choking
In sun and air,
Browning, hardening,
Twisting, withering,

And then it is done.
=============================================

What's This?

This poem describes what it takes to kill a tree. The point, of course, is that usually, trees are felled or cut, but here we are killing it. The question, then, is why, and the answer, as usual, lies in the word itself. Rocks and mud can't be killed because they are non-living things. Only living things can be killed. By using the word 'kill', Gieve is telling us that a tree is also a living being, and that when we fell a tree, we are actually killing a living creature.

But why is he telling us this? The point is that all living beings form part of a larger ecological system, and killing any living being without restraint can lead to genocide in the true sense of the term (Genocide = gene + cide = life form + kill). When we decimate entire forests on a daily basis, it's as much our loss as it's theirs. But this loss is definitely not what the poem is about, is it? Not directly at least.

What is the poet trying to do here?

The poem tells us how to kill a tree, and it reads almost like a recipe. Step-by-step instructions are provided, and by the time the poem is done, we know precisely what we need to do to ensure that the tree we are trying to kill never sees the light of day again.

But why all this cut and dry business? Simply to make us realise that killing a tree is as much a blood-ridden business as killing any other animal is. The poet does a lot of other fun stuff to drive his point home. Let us look at these carefully.

Going line by line, then

It takes much time to kill a tree,
Not a simple jab of the knife
Will do it. It has grown
Slowly consuming the earth,
Rising out of it, feeding
Upon its crust, absorbing
Years of sunlight, air, water,
And out of its leprous hide
Sprouting leaves.


It is not easy to kill a tree. Simply cuts and bruises will not kill it. The tree has grown into the huge thing it is by "consuming the earth" (consuming: eating up, drawing life from.) The key thing to note here is that when one consumes something, the thing being consumed either dies out completely, or is at least rendered weak. the tree suddenly turns into a monster that is eating up the earth. Why is the poet doing this? he is saying that the scale at which we go about killing trees, one would assume it is some sort of war to save our poor planet from these monsters who are eating her up.

To further this "monster" point, Patel uses other active verbs, like grow, consume, rise, feed, etc, making the tree seems more like a wicked monster that must be killed. He is getting sarcastic here, of course.

And then there is the usage of the word leprous: "And out of its leprous hide /
Sprouting leaves." Leprous: like a leper's. A tree's bark is patchy and has different colors, or rather shades, of brown and green, just like a leper's skin is patchy and has various shades of color in it. Why is this word used? So that the tree can look more like an evil creature, huge and pernicious (evil and parasitic) and rotting.

An evil and ugly creature like that definitely deserves to be killed, says Patel, sarcastically.

So hack and chop
But this alone won't do it.
Not so much pain will do it.
The bleeding bark will heal
And from close to the ground
Will rise curled green twigs,
Miniature boughs
Which if unchecked will expand again
To former size.


So poking and cutting won't help. You need to hack at it; hack: cut into two, and chop: cut further into smaller pieces. But even that won't kill the tree. From its stumps will rise new branches (like curled monster children!) which, if not cut again, will grow into another fresh monster. So even hacking and chopping won't help. So what now?

No,
The root is to be pulled out-
Out of the anchoring earth;
It is to be roped, tied,
And pulled out-snapped out
Or pulled out entirely,
Out from the earth-cave,
And the strength of the tree exposed,
The source, white and wet,
The most sensitive, hidden
For years inside the earth.


Pretty simple really; only more violent, showing how insensitive mankind has been to trees, who are the reason we are actually alive on this little planet.

You need to pull the root out of the earth into which the tree has spread its roots. There lies the strength of the tree. In telling us this, the poet is using the old saying that the source of a monster's strength lies typically in something small and vulnerable like a bird or something. Very similar to the monster of the saying, the tree-monster's strength lies in its roots, sensitive and white and hidden.

And once the root is pulled out and exposed:

Then the matter
Of scorching and choking
In sun and air,
Browning, hardening,
Twisting, withering,

And then it is done.


You need to kill the root after you have killed its branches and trunk, and have pulled the root out completely! (Just look at the violence the poet is bringing out; that is the kind of violence mankind engages in each time it kills a tree!

So, to resume. Once the root is pulled out and exposed, you need to scorch and choke it, hardening the poor soft core of the tree, until it withers and dies.

And then it is done!

Conclusion

A tree is killed, and the average human being doesn't even care. But once we know how much violence, how much pain and cruelty we engage in when we kill a tree for purely selfish reasons, we may feel bad about it, and choose to kill fewer trees. This is the hope that drives Gieve Patel to write a poem like this. The better the violence and the perversity is demonstrated, the more convincing and deterring it can be. Which is why the poem is as graphic in its depiction of violence.

Pretty straightforward, really, once you get the point.

All the Best!

Thursday 6 September 2007

After Apple Picking

The text first, just in case ...

=========================================

After Apple-picking

MY long two-pointed ladder’s sticking through a tree
Toward heaven still,
And there’s a barrel that I didn’t fill
Beside it, and there may be two or three
Apples I didn’t pick upon some bough. 5
But I am done with apple-picking now.

Essence of winter sleep is on the night,
The scent of apples: I am drowsing off.
I cannot rub the strangeness from my sight
I got from looking through a pane of glass 10
I skimmed this morning from the drinking trough
And held against the world of hoary grass.
It melted, and I let it fall and break.

But I was well
Upon my way to sleep before it fell, 15
And I could tell
What form my dreaming was about to take.
Magnified apples appear and disappear,
Stem end and blossom end,
And every fleck of russet showing clear. 20

My instep arch not only keeps the ache,
It keeps the pressure of a ladder-round.
I feel the ladder sway as the boughs bend.
And I keep hearing from the cellar bin
The rumbling sound 25
Of load on load of apples coming in.

For I have had too much
Of apple-picking: I am overtired
Of the great harvest I myself desired.
There were ten thousand thousand fruit to touch, 30
Cherish in hand, lift down, and not let fall.

For all
That struck the earth,
No matter if not bruised or spiked with stubble,
Went surely to the cider-apple heap 35
As of no worth.
One can see what will trouble
This sleep of mine, whatever sleep it is.
Were he not gone,
The woodchuck could say whether it’s like his 40
Long sleep, as I describe its coming on,
Or just some human sleep.

=====================================
And now some talk ...

About the Poem


I am not very fond of biography and stuff like that, so i shall not get into the relation between Frost's life and the poem. Let us focus squarely on the text:

Overview


After Apple Picking is a poem about apples, obviously, and about picking them. The poem uses apples as a metaphor for dreams, and suddenly, the entire enterprise of apple picking transforms into a fable of life.

Each apple in the orchard is a dream one has -- an ambition. Something one wants to achieve before one dies. Of all the apples that the tree of life offers us, some get picked; some others fall off the tree or slip from the apple picker's hands and fall on the ground to be thrown into the cider heap, and some apples just don't get picked. Similarly, some dreams we are able to fulfill; many we are unable to bring to fruition, and many others we are simply unable to even consider for fulfillment.

And then one grows old, and one knows that death lurks close at hand. There are dreams that still need to be fulfilled, and there is the pain that one feels while thinking of dreams that went straight to "the cider heap" of things that could have been. And one knows that one is too old to try fulfilling any more dreams: But I am done with apple-picking now. But dreams don't die all that easily! Swaying and nodding in the lullness that precedes sleep, the old man knows what will trouble his sleep. Dreams of all those apples he didn't pick -- dreams he was unable to fulfill -- will fill his sleep, making him uncomfortable until the Big Sleep envelopes him. This poem thus is also about one of the biggest fears the human soul has at the end of life: finding out the end the of it all that all that is left is a life wasted. There was a poet called Ezra Pound who put it most beautifully when he said, "I have only one thing to regret: a botched up life."

A Deeper Look

Let us now look a little more closely at the text of the poem, going line by line:

MY long two-pointed ladder’s sticking through a tree
Toward heaven still,


In a poem called "Playthings," Rabindranath Tagore writes:

"In my frail canoe i struggle to cross the sea of desire,
And forget that I too am playing a game."

Just as the canoe was Tagore's vehicle of choice in the sea of desire, the ladder is Frost's vehicle to get at his dreams in the tree of life. The ladder goes rises from the base of the tree, goes through it, and rises beyond it, pointing straight to heaven. This gels very strongly with Frost's central theme of human choice and action. For example, you could always look at poems like The Road Not Taken, Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening, Come In, etc. Frost's point is that the choices we make and the action we take on our choices determines our life on Earth and our fate in heaven.

And there’s a barrel that I didn’t fill
Beside it, and there may be two or three
Apples I didn’t pick upon some bough.


It is nearing winter, and apple picking is nearly done for the year. But there still are some barrels that remain to be filled with apples, and there still are some apples on some boughs (branches) that need to be picked. There is a parallel, of course, between the evening of the day, the end of the apple picking season, the winter of the year, and the end of our apple picker's life. But there still are a few days to be lived, a few barrels to be filled; and there still are some apples to be picked and put into the barrels as there are dreams that remain to be fulfilled.

But I am done with apple-picking now.

Rather evident. The apple picker is tired of apple picking, of work, of chasing his dreams throughout his life. He knows there are some more left to pick / fulfill, but he is done and tired. "Essence," as he says, "of winter sleep is on the night," and he is "drowsing off," while the air around is charged with the scent of apples, with resonations of dreams jostling around in his mind for fulfillment.

"But I am done with apple-picking now." I am ready for my sleep, my rest, my hibernation, my death.

I cannot rub the strangeness from my sight
I got from looking through a pane of glass
I skimmed this morning from the drinking trough
And held against the world of hoary grass.
It melted, and I let it fall and break.


And in the temporary mirror he makes of a scoop of clear water, the apple picker can see that everything around him is suddenly different, suddenly, "strange." And that strangeness will just not get rubbed away. It is almost as if he were walking in his dreams, picking his last apples in the drowsy sleepiness that has waited a long time coming. In the green orchard full of apple trees, winter is setting in. The grass has gone hoary: old, may be gray. But all around him is old and nodding off to sleep, or hibernating, or quite simply dying. And his temporary mirror melted through the gaps between his palms, "and I let it fall and break." That was the last nirvana: that final giving up of illusions and stepping into the strangeness of dawning truth.

But I was well
Upon my way to sleep before it fell,
And I could tell
What form my dreaming was about to take.
Magnified apples appear and disappear,
Stem end and blossom end,
And every fleck of russet showing clear.


Rather clear, this part, especially if you have read the explanations that have preceded it. Even as the new strangeness hits him, the apple picker is about to fall of to sleep. But he already knows what will haunt his dreams: apples floating and turning end to end; dreams of things that could have been.

In a poem called Burnt Norton, T.S. Eliot says:

"Footfalls echo in the memory
Down the passage which we did not take
Towards the door we never opened"

Not very unlike the apple picker's dream, eh?

My instep arch not only keeps the ache,
It keeps the pressure of a ladder-round.
I feel the ladder sway as the boughs bend.


Back on Earth, in the meantime, the apple picker can feel his instep (Part of the foot covered by the shoelaces) maintain pressure on the lader, keeping him aloft among the appl-laden boughs. And as the boughs sway in the breeze, the ladder follows suit.

And I keep hearing from the cellar bin
The rumbling sound
Of load on load of apples coming in.


And even as apple picking gets done, and winter is in the air, the apple picker can hear the rumbling sound of more loads of apples rolling in. More dreams, more desires. Some fulfilled, some not. And the sound of the rumbling loads of apples is tempting, luring the apple picker back to his dreams, back to ambition. And thus does life hold us captive within our own selves.

For I have had too much
Of apple-picking: I am overtired
Of the great harvest I myself desired.


Once again, this is self-evident. Looking back at life, the apple picker thinks that he is done apple picking. Not for the evening, not for the season, but for life. "I am overtired of the great harvest I myself desired," he says.

For all
That struck the earth,
No matter if not bruised or spiked with stubble,
Went surely to the cider-apple heap
As of no worth.

One can see what will trouble
This sleep of mine, whatever sleep it is.


Apples that could not be saved from falling will edfinitely find their way to the cider heap, worthless in the eyes of all. But were they actually worthless? Fond memories of dreams dreamt, bitter-sweet memories of the fight for fruition, and the pain of watching the dream fail. "One can see what will trouble this sleep of mine, whatever sleep it is," says the apple picker.

Were he not gone,
The woodchuck could say whether it’s like his
Long sleep, as I describe its coming on,
Or just some human sleep.


But we do not know what kind of sleep it is: is there a waking up the next day, like normal sleep? Or is there a waking up come spring? Or is there, perhaps, a waking up come the next life? One knows not. But for this day, this season, this year, and this life, the apple picker is done. The dreams shall not go away, neither shall the pain of broken dreams -- fallen apples. But it is now time for rest, for sleep. The dreams can wait.

========================================

Epilogue


I know I haven't covered everything that the poem has to offer. Partly because I don't have the time to do all that, and partly because I quite simply don't know enough. But that there is more there I am sure. What I have written above is merely one interpretation of what I have read. Do feel free to read the poem again and again and again, and as an when newer insights come your way, do let me know too.

For I have had enough of explanations ... I am outa here!