New project. Indian Literature in Translation. Visit, subscribe, and if you know a good translation of an Indian literary work, send me details, I will put it up.
“You and I are one,” said I. “You and I are one, forever” said she. Her bold hand Took my quivering palm I bit my lip. “Can life be this safe? This glorious?” I smile at my sudden...
See see see, I am here, right here you see. First you turned me on. Turned me like a marble, from words of garble. Round and round in your fingers, round and round in your head. Only a first draft You said, Wait till...
First cold hands, then warm you Like a front’s coming Soon sheets of macrolove Envelope me and you See, see? See how Showers of microkisses Fly up from you to me Defying gravity While, Fat raindrops falling On...
When people gather together, the first thing they do is to tell each other the purpose of why they are there. They begin by reciting their purpose, and the very reasons of being there. This exchange somehow moves the...
When night and day Separated us Our whispers came together Crawling into each other’s bed Or was it my bed, and your chair? And then… “And then?” And then your hand reached Through static and...
Got up in the morning, Still reeling from Night visions Awoke to a quiet home Empty kitchen New tigerwood floors Wistfully filled up my expectations Raising up my hopes Will she like them? Sixteen miles of Tehachapi...
Black. Let me try this one, she said “…can I do this by my own?” Pushing him away, A self-deprecating Twist on her lip said “I look …y,” Nearly taking it off White. Color of his...
Was it November? Heaps of cigarette ash in the tray. Who would believe If I tell them now, How we had internalized This song already by then. How we had the world in our fists already then, How our fingers were crazy...
“…And before I had time to look round I had adopted the views on life of the set of authors I had come among, and these views completely obliterated all my former strivings to improve. Those views furnished...
And so we Just walked in In red white and green Half-naked and bare feet I keep looking over Feeling her smile, Yielding my shoulder For her unseen hand To brush away An unseen speckle Someone said “I know you...
Once, When they tore them open A life fell out of each Now, They are driven Smiling with them Rights of their own In bright sunshine Hauling with them Buried in black One mile from the graveyard The rights of man...
“Show me your house,” said she As soon as we opened the door Now, on the eighth day The house is empty Mute, quiet, refusing to Wave goodbye It was my house She arrived at But in her departure, She left our...
I write to you pretending I wrote to no one in particular; as though we are strangers at last; Why then my heart is heavy when you replied, as though we will be strangers forever? One from the vault, scribbled heart...
So bright you are You said Too bright for me So sharp you are You said Too sharp for me So much love I have You said Too afraid to say how much Too much to speak in words Staying back You shine Like those vitreous...
Remembering mom and dad.
Two islands of memories
Kicking up the dust
Left the city
Leaving the life
Now I stand
In dirt and dust
Holding my breath
Holding my secret
One by one you left You, then you Now, on this cold early hour Of the morning memories I translate everything you were Into everything you meant I should not live in the past, they say I should move on, they say...
An excerpt from Hadji Murat, in my view the greatest story Tolstoy wrote; but I’ll probably say the same thing about each of his The Death of Ivan Ilyich, Master and Man, Alyosha Gorshok, and Father Sergius...
After much waiting, finally the Oxford Anthology, in which five of my poetry translations (Telugu to English) appear, is out. Look for these below page numbers: p14 original by Gorati Venakanna (Palle Kanneeru...
To an old friend E. Eleven years of soft smooth skin Your hungry hands, Quiet, questioning, Waiting, tired Still a friend. Now this song Makes me Quiet, questioning, Wondering Why am I rooted in you? Are you my country...
Now that the cascade of words subsided It is quiet, You are clear. Now it would’ve been nice You making coffee, I making Idle banter. We disagreeing On million little things Agreeing on One Big Thing Such as: you...
From an email exchange with Dachu (my brother), dated 6th July 2013: Here is the first negative thought: I often recall that I feel immediately better when I leave things worse than I found them at first. For example...
Thursday, April 30, 2015, 6:37pm What makes it possible that Dickens can write about city’s vagabond children and it infuses us with emotion, that Trollope can write about societies in church, novelizing them, and...
A few days after Mumbai attacks in November 2008 (26/11), still recovering from what we all saw on live TV, I kept thinking that these verses are what Kasab might be saying to himself while he and his fellow terrorists...
Black. Let me try this one, she said, “…can I do this by my own…?” Pushing him away A self-deprecating Twist on her lip, Still smiling, “I look …..y,” Nearly taking it off White...
Chaya Babu interviewed me for India Abroad magazine, appearing in February 13, 2015 issue. An excerpt: How did you develop him [Arya]? Does your personal experience inform his character? …I started to become more...
The Caravan–October 2014. Three Telugu Poets: Siva Reddy, Varavara Rao and Ismail. For most Indian readers in English, contemporary poetry in Telugu lies below the horizon, its existence sometimes reported but...
Sometime in the middle of 1978. Old city of Hyderabad burned with Hindus and Muslims killing each other, and the police killing everyone. Early May 2003. “Characters should behave unaware of the future that lay ahead of...
Going through my notes, it is clear that I am inspired significantly by literary criticism. George Steiner, Richard Blackmur (R.P. Blackmur), John Bayley, Edward Wasiolek, R.F. Christian, Richard Gustafson, Gary Saul...
July 8th, 2003 It is not a story of characters where it is clear immediately who is in the wrong, with dark evil intentions and good intentions. No. It is the story of helplessness in the face of one’s own...
I wrote down that phrase, “gradual process of enrichment,” in my notes on June 27, 2003 in quotation marks, forgetting to write down where I copied it from. Dad had passed away a few months earlier. That was...
Some essays appeal to the literary critics and some other essays appeal to the artist. Saying it is not taking anything away from the critic, but it’s a different kind of pulsation. For example, when you read War and...
Reviewed by Michelle Anne Schingler Descriptions of violence have a tactile quality and stay with the reader into following scenes; the hectic love in Arya’s family is as lastingly conveyed. The debut novel from Raj...
