Tuesday, October 11, 2016

P C K Prem, and, lovely Wang Ping!

discussion between assistant editors Frosty and Tama. . .

Frosty:  "often, we receive poems we aren't sure how to approach, yet they have an intrinsic something that speaks to us". . .

Tama:  "and it seems this something, even if it isn't where we might go with our own creative endeavors, is from someone(s) who have obviously accessed and owned the creative impulse within the essence of being"

together:  "and! we've discovered a poem, Syntax, by poetess Wang Ping, that speaks directly to our 'needed' discussion":

She walks to a table                                                
She walks to table

She is walking to a table
She walk to table now

What difference does it make
What difference it make

In Nature, no completeness
No sentence really complete thought

Language, like woman,
Looks best when free, undressed.
Since my birth, silence has been my only weapon.
Now it no longer suffices
The need to speak
leaves me restless like a hunger.
My words may not say what I mean,
but they're my only words.

the poem that finally, thankfully, initiated this discussion and
our discovery of lovely Wang Ping is by P C K Prem,
from Kangra, Himachal Pradesh, INDIA. . .

I wanted to write a poem                                                 
on bed gasping and sighing,
waiting to be put on dialysis 
anytime in gentle diagnose
in efforts to hasten mercy death 
in a dark room.

Old, sad, tired and unwanted 
I would turn out in old age
a truth is so cutting I fear.

I was a hungry young man once
ate everything,
a journey from rocks to flesh
a desperate hunger existed within,
drank like a fish 
as passions boiled like animals 
and I was dumb…

I lived like a lord 
and a king beyond history 
without a crown, 
for I was people’s man
happy, jaunty, intrepid 
not candid but appeared so
 with negative attributes
and in irregular hysterics, 
I talked in unqualified words.

Only I detested interpreting death
as craving for flesh and drinks 
and carnage infused verve,
and on the big chair I chewed gum 
liquor chocolates, 
and murdered petitions of tears 
in vacant eyes.
As I resolved 
and slaughtered living words 
and voices in joy embryonic.

Last, a haiku from Wang Ping. . .


      I really think I have nothing to do with humans

      though I occasionally drown a few

      to remind them of their origin.

'of flesh and spirit  poems by Wang Ping' Coffee House Press
ISBN  9 781566 890687
also! this fascinating interview 'Prayer Flags and Kinship Rivers  
A Conversation with Wang Ping'
p. 75, World Literature Today, May-August 2016.

beloved assistant editors, my deepest thanks for this post
Frosty: "time for treats?!?"

yes, treats for everyone!

see you in a moment

ayaz daryl nielsen

                darylayaz@gmail.com (and/or) darylayaz@me.com

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