Free Power

Free Power
from

POWER MADNESS
free power
from its fetters
no power without the people
does power arise from any other source
than through the intent to control confine confiscate con conk conjure
computerize contort compel complicate concoct compress concuss conflict
confute condemn corrupt collar convict collectivize confound
concenter communalize collogue collude collonize commandeer
compartmentalize castrate calumniate crucify combinate cutdown curtail
curryfavour curb cully cuff cuckold crush crunch cross-question curveball
conform confuse criticize croak criminate crash cramp cram crackdown
covert counterplan
countermine counterfeit counterattack corrode convert contrive
contaminate constrain consecrate
connive conquer
power is a venomous snake

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poem by T. Wignesan
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Back Door Side Door Front Door: Which Door Might A Confucian Take?

for René Etiemble (Jan.26,1909 - Jan.2002) *

Barely a few speechless moments before your first words
burned the « Coplas por la muerte de su padre »:

‘Nuestras vidas son los ríos
que van a dar en la mar,
que es el morir;
………………………………
y llegados, son iguales
los que viven por sus manos
y los ricos.'

Is the open back door which emboldens courage
No untarnished name to be remembered by
No selfless mate to lay by your honour
No issue laying about themselves for your prize

Decidedly it was a door of stealth
As if choosing it you let it be known

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poem by T. Wignesan
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Tuan Tata, Song of Uda - 1

Some dogs bark to warn men
of dangers that await them;
Others look on in wonder
at those struck by thunder.

Anjang now says my Semai blood stains
the tall Temiar strains
out of the ruwai
wherefrom my stricken gunig strays

Akob now roves in search of the stiffest bamboo pole
high on fuzzy blue mountain tops
the eight-foot blowpipe
the buloh seworr of Gunung Swettenham
four times the length of Akob's right arm
the rightful arm.

You cannot imagine
No, you cannot know

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poem by T. Wignesan
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The Urchin in Dr. Radhakrishnan Rd.

Still the din dashes about in his dreams
now louder in the spaced quiet:
an occasional auto-rickshaw backfiring revving
spluttering
too close for chancy comfort
some blaring tv hoisted above craning necks

Over the squeezed out crackling mud sidewalk
his head buried in the crook of his charred bony arm
his right elbow crusted in a masked-eye pattern
his left spindly leg knotted at the knee
jauntily splayed in a triangle on his right
the mud-soaked sole inturned at the angle
as if to cushion the prickly grains on bare scorched skin
a defensive gesture against cold dust wind noise pain
the slight lukewarm breeze lifting from Marina Beach
teasing the settled dust the strangled pores
he had for a blanket

Through the dropped jaw rosy-pink at the bled bitten lips

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poem by T. Wignesan
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Letter To... From A Classic Archetypal Dope

Now as I account for myself
I know the fight is over
You made me feel if I was worth saving
I was worth having
And I knew as the man flattered to grow
He also learned the crafts of
Clinging on to his sleazy self

When we have to account for ourselves
When we have to take stock of the unaccountable
When
When we have but ourselves to account for
When all but you and I alone are left
Standing
Amid the crowds that hover at my presence
In your eye
Amid the lashing lolling tongues
Criticising
Amid the squelching claws of distrust
And the deriding press of after thought

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poem by T. Wignesan
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Krishna's Advice to Arjuna

14: If the soul meets death when Sattva prevails,
then it goes to the pure regions of those who are seeking truth.
15: If a man meets death in a state of Rajas,
he is reborn amongst those who are bound by their restless activity;
and if he dies in Tamas, he is reborn in the wombs of the irrational.

The Bhagavad Gita, XIV, transl. Juan Mascaro.

« It is incorrect to assume that Hindu thought strained excessively after the unattainable and was guilty of indifference to the problems of the world. We cannot lose ourselves in inner piety when the poor die at our doors, naked and hungry. The Gita asks us to live in the world and save it. »

S. Radhakrishnan, The Bhagavadgita.

When Thodti was born at Nelveli in the latter half of the XXth century
his ancestors had been living out-of-right
for the past XXX centuries
hovering
on never-never land under villages with-out-back twenty-hutments
now overgrown to two one-thousand hovels in towncentre marshalling
yards

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poem by T. Wignesan
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The Parrot And The Woodpecker May Return

Kasiananthan's Poem on the Tamil Diaspora and Eelam
[Sung by TEnicayccal Cellappa] Translated by T.Wignesan

mAnkiliyum marankottiyum The parrot and the woodpecker
kUtutirumpa tatayillai their nests to regain nothing waylays
nAnkal mattum ulakattilEyE Only we in all this world
nAtutirumpa mutiyavillai our homeland to seek may not turn
nAtutirumpa mutiyavillai our homeland to seek may not turn

[Above refrain repeated twice]

cinkalavan pataivAnil From skies filled with Sinhalese planes
neruppai alli corikiratu fire tumbles down in seething showers
enkal uyir tamil Elam Our lifeblood our Tamil Eelam
cutukAtAy erikiratu a simmering graveyard on fire

tAykatarap pillaikalin While mothers rave in pain children's
nencukalaik kilikkinrAn breasts the oppressor tears apart
kAyyAkum munnE ilam Long before they might ripen tender
pincukalai alikkirAn the buds crushed from burgeoning

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poem by T. Wignesan
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Once I Was A Prince

Once i was a prince in your highbeamed palm-thatched house
timber and stone
of hardened mud and cold green shiny cement
in your village ribbed with drying splintering palmleaf fences
buttressed by ferns
palmyra jackfruit mango trees standing solitary sentinel in compound
corners

then just for a month
i was a prince in your eyes
i hazarded the Bay of Bengal on a lolling steamer
and watched in unbelief naked children dive for coins in the Nagapattinam offshore anchorage
just to be with you
still a teeny dreamy youth
and there you were
afraid that your village ways might irk me
make me want to go back before time

the day i arrived a double murder in the island
a day or two earlier another

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poem by T. Wignesan
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Master Valluvan, The Long-Misunderstood Tamil Mentor

'The Kurral owes much of its popularity to its exquisite poetic form. A kurral is a couplet containing a complete and striking idea expressed in a refined and intricate metre. No translation can convey an idea of its charming effect. […] The brevity rendered necessary by the form [composed in the Venpa metre] gives an oracular effect to the utterances of the great Tamil ‘Master of the sentences.' They are the choicest of moral epigrams. […] Tiruvalluvar is generally very simple, and his commentators very profound.'
Rev. G.U. Pope, Former Fellow of Madras University

[Pardon these futile measly words from your great Potiya height: they can hardly belittle your true worth.]

Under what leaky hutment roof by stamped-mud floors
trembling clair-oscuro straw-wick kuttuvilakku
on the stark anvil of crisp phrase and sparse syntax
by the raging nama-nir rhyming brine
at Mayilapur's S.Thomé sandy doors
while peacocks danced to your innate pulsating chimes
have you chipped away at uncut gems

Those the Yavanas brought with the monsoons
or such as your sea-daring captain friend Elela-Cinkan's
Even those the Christian missionaries preached
in daredevil enticement
after St.Thomas fell to a vel stuck in his bosom
or of
those like you who were stamped underfoot

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poem by T. Wignesan
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Who Dares To Take This Life From Me, Knows No Better

I

An important thing in living
Is to know when to go;
He who does not know this
Has not far to go,
Though death may come and go
When you do not know.

Come, give me your hand,
Together shoulder and cheek to shoulder
We'll go, sour kana in cheeks
And in the mornings cherry sticks
To gum: the infectious chilli smiles
Over touch-me-not thorns, crushing snails
From banana leaves, past
Clawing outstretched arms of the bougainvillea
To stone the salt-bite mangoes.

Tread carefully through this durian kampong

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poem by T. Wignesan
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