My poems (English)

Foreword to the book by

From a philosophical point of view, thoughts require no language and a spoken or a written language is a poor mode of communication i.e., words cannot effectively communicate the depth of an intelligent man’s thoughts especially when it is emotion packed and in verse.

It was Robert Frost who said, “poetry begins in delight and ends in wisdom.” I understood the concept behind Frost’s statement when I read the manuscript of Marx’s poetry, once, twice and many times. Every reading gave me a new insight. As I understand, Marx doesn’t want to entertain his readers through has poetry. He responds to the contemporary milieu as a sensitive and young thinker. What is more interesting is he is able to present his response aesthetically to give a permanent structure to his immediate emotional outburst.

       

I am happy that he does so because now the world is richer by one more book-Anger is Divine-a collection of poems by Dr.T.Marx.

His poems reveal his emotional bent of mind as well as his minute observation. For instance, even the flowers burnt by the temple lamps appear to be gruesome murders for him: “Gruesome murders/within temples/Flowers burnt alive”. Even this simple poem has pluralistic dimensions. As an atheist, my first reading gave me the idea that Marx is against temple worship whereas my second reading gave me the idea that Marx is worried about the flower than about the temple situated for ritualistic worship.

Similarly, in the poem entitled “America” one is puzzled whether he is sorry for Iraq or for democracy or for both. Of course, the poem about a man cooking is in a lighter vein but a serious feminist may easily identify the reversal of roles in the poem. His satire becomes Swiftian in the poem entitled CPI(M)-M denoting as the poet says Monstrous. The end of the poem is stunning: “The Duty is twin-fold/ To liberate the lands/from the Tata to the tillers/ To rescue communism/from camouflaged corporate agents.”

As a poet of compassion for the underdog, Diwali has a very strange connotation for him: “Only once in a year/you burn crackers./For that, everyday/ My blood drains in/ the cracker units./Yet my struggle/ for a square meal continues.” Marx’s riotous anger leads him to an atheistic ideology when he curses gods: “We won’t curse the nation/ or the persons for our condition/ we would curse the mother fucking gods/ who created differences among their wards.”

Even such a short collection of poems, which the poet might have written in a short span of one year, reveals the fact that he is a sensitive and a sensible young man. He writes poetry not as an escapist but as a rebel thinker. His poetry is an expression of his crusade against oppression, suppression and social injustices. Such young people are the only consolation for the senior people like us. The battle is not yet over.  The rebels may be destroyed but they may not be defeated. My only wish is that writers like Marx do not stop with writing alone.       

   

Dr.S.Ravindranthan

UGC-Emeritus Fellow in English

Manonmaniam Sundaranar University

Tirunelveli-627012

Tamilnadu, India.

A few poems for your reading…

Cravings of a female foetus

I am a shapeless

nine month foetus…

After a month

I should shift my

abode..

to the ‘second world’.

Indeed, this is my

Mother land!..

I don’t know her face..

Neither she..

Yet I am in her.

And she is for me-

My first bond!

I don’t know

who will be inviting me

to the whole new world.

Scorching Sun.. Unblemished moon..

Naked sky.. Or sky

dressed with dark clouds..

Who will be there?

Trees bedecked with flowers..

or branches without leaves..

Please leave some oxygen

at least for my first breath.

I don’t know who lived

here before me…

Or am I the first?

Many expectations

within me..and

Many expectations

about me..

My mother’s face!

I want to see it!

Time has come for

my exit from my world

to the world of many.

My mother waits fretfully.

Along with her wait many

to welcome this “female baby”

with a cup of “hatred”.   

It’s nice to meet you

Am I born out of sheer prayers

of my mother? Often I think.

One who lugged me

for ten months

went to meet her maker.

Untold wishes;

Myriad dreams

Have I lost all?

No, No, I have to live a life.

Nobody is there to

train me to toddle.

No lullabies sung

for me to snooze.

Still I doze with dreams.

Nobody is there to

embrace me with love.

Nobody is there to

share my sorrows; 

not even my joys!

Still I welcome everyday

with radiance.

My mother never

knows my face.

Still I love my mom

whose face I don’t know.

Movies, ritzy dinners, outings…

I don’t want anything

I need the presence

of someone with love.

I was born without anybody;

But I won’t die without anybody.

For full text contact drtmarx@gmail.com