Archive for poem

A Fish Bone Shaped Life

Posted in The Oldest Living City in the World with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on November 23, 2009 by designldg

A Fish Bone Shaped Life

“Je veux une vie en forme d’arête (I want a fish bone shaped life)
Sur une assiette bleue (Lying on a blue plate)
Je veux une vie en forme de chose (I want a thingamajig shaped life)
Au fond d’un machin tout seul (In the deep bottom of a contraption)
Je veux une vie en forme de sable dans des mains (A hands-filled-with-sand shaped life)
En forme de pain vert ou de cruche (In form of green loaf or jug)
En forme de savate molle (In form of slabby slipper)
En forme de faridondaine (In form of faridondaine)
De ramoneur ou de lilas (Of chimney sweep or lilac)
De terre pleine de cailloux (Of ground filled with stones)
De coiffeur sauvage ou d’édredon fou (Of wild hairdresser Or besotted eiderdown)
Je veux une vie en forme de toi (I want a life in form of you)
Et je l’ai, mais ça ne me suffit pas encore (And I’ve got it, but it is still not enough)
Je ne suis jamais content (I’m never happy.)”
(“Je veux une vie en forme d’arrête” by Boris Vian, French writer, poet and musician,1920–1959)

Last afternoon I was walking along the Ganges in Varanasi (Benaras) as I wanted to cross the city.
On the way I took a few pictures, I can’t really explain why this poem by Boris Vian came to my mind, I guess I made an analogy with all those lines and colors or maybe there was something which unconsciously connected me to the surrealistic process by which the poet reformed existing patterns…

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Into my Own Heart

Posted in Hinduism with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on November 16, 2009 by designldg

Into my Own Heart

“I searched for God among the Christians and on the Cross and therein I found Him not.
I went into the ancient temples of idolatry; no trace of Him was there.
I entered the mountain cave of Hira and then went as far as Qandhar but God I found not.
With set purpose I fared to the summit of Mount Caucasus and found there only ‘anqa’s habitation.
Then I directed my search to the Kaaba, the resort of old and young; God was not there even.
Turning to philosophy I inquired about him from ibn Sina but found Him not within his range.
I fared then to the scene of the Prophet’s experience of a great divine manifestation only a “two bow-lengths’ distance from him” but God was not there even in that exalted court.
Finally, I looked into my own heart and there I saw Him; He was nowhere else.”
(Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Balkhi, known as Jelaluddin Rumi – Persian poet, jurist, theologian, and mystic, 1207–1273)

This picture was shot along the holy waters of the Ganges in Varanasi (Benaras) where so many things reflect the divine consciousness of human life.

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© All photographs are copyrighted and all rights reserved.
Please do not use any photographs without permission (even for private use).
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The Wings of my Song

Posted in The Oldest Living City in the World with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on September 24, 2009 by designldg

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“There is nothing to stop me,
from getting lost,
anywhere at all,
if only I make a wish in my mind.
So I open the wings of my song,
I go beyond the stony wilderness of fairy tales,
I lose my way and reach some far away place,
where silence reigns.
I get to know the “Champa” flower in “Parul” grove
all in my own mind.
There is nothing to stop me,
from getting lost,
anywhere at all,
when the wings of my songs are afloat.
As the sun sets in the horizon,
when masses of clouds look like flowers in the sky,
I float away somewhere far off.
And in my mind,
I burst open the closed door, of a fairy tale home.“
(by Rabindranath Tagore)

This is another glimpse of Varanasi (Benaras), the Eternal city, shot at dusk from Scindia ghat along the holy waters of the Ganges.
A few years ago I was reading those words by Tagore, I kept the first sentence in my note book without obvious reason.
Today as time has passed swiftly, I know that there is nothing to stop me from getting lost in Benaras…

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© All photographs are copyrighted and all rights reserved.
Please do not use any photographs without permission (even for private use).
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The Moods

Posted in Banarsi (Portraits) with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on September 21, 2009 by designldg

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“Time drops in decay,
Like a candle burnt out,
And the mountains and the woods
Have their day, have their day;
What one in the rout
Of the fire-born moods
Has fallen away?”
(“The Moods” from The Wind Among the Reeds (1899)” by W. B. Yeats, 1865-1939)

This is one more portrait of that man who I often meet between Scindia ghat and Manikarnika ghat when I walk along the Ganges in Varanasi (Benaras).
That evening I stopped him and we took several pictures just before sunset.
He knew how to catch the light in an amazing way, it was instinctive like those moods he gave to my lense.
With the kind of turban he is wearing he is reminding several paintings by Delacroix about Orientalism.

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© All photographs are copyrighted and all rights reserved.
Please do not use any photographs without permission (even for private use).
The use of any work without consent of the artist is PROHIBITED and will lead automatically to consequences.

“There’s a moon in my body”

Posted in Indian Numpheas with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on March 3, 2009 by designldg

"There's a moon in my body"

 

” There’s a moon in my body…
There’s a moon in my body, but I can’t see it!
A moon and a sun.
A drum never touched by hands, beating, and I can’t hear it! ”

This is a poem from Kabīr (Hindi: कबीर, Punjabi(Gurmukhi): ਕਬੀਰ, Urdu: /Punjabi (Shahmukhi)کبير‎) (1398—1448) who was a mystic poet from Varanasi (Benaras), the social and practical manifestation of his philosophy represented a synthesis of Hindu, and Muslim concepts. 
According to Kabir, all life is an interplay of two spiritual principles, one is the personal soul (Jivatma) and the other is God (Paramatma) and salvation is the process of bringing into union these two divine principles.

Kabir is a very important figure in Indian history. 
He is unusual in that he is spiritually significant to Hindus, Sikhs, and Muslims alike. 
Kabir touches the soul, the conscience, the sense of awareness and the vitality of existence in a manner that is unequalled in both simplicity and style. 
Another beauty of Kabir’s poetry is that he picks up situations that surround our daily lives. 
Thus, even today, Kabir’s poetry is relevant and helpful in both social and spiritual context. 
Following Kabir means understanding one’s inner self, realizing oneself, accepting oneself as is, and becoming harmonious with one’s surroundings.

Kabir has written much poetry and song, all verses are recorded in Hindi. 
His lyrics are characterised by a free use of the vernacular, and is unfettered by the grammatical bonds of his day and it is this quality which has made his philosophy accessible to generations of Indians.

Monsoon season is the lotus season and last June I saw this lotus pond on a road from Khajuraho to the jungle which inspired Rudyard Kipling’s “Jungle book” in the Indian state of Madhya Pradesh.
Lotus always remind me French Impressionist Claude Monet’s Water Lilies (or Nympheas).

“Inexpressible is the story of Love”

Posted in Indian Numpheas with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on March 3, 2009 by designldg

"Inexpressible is the story of Love"

 

This is a poem from Kabīr (Hindi: कबीर, Punjabi(Gurmukhi): ਕਬੀਰ, Urdu: /Punjabi (Shahmukhi)کبير‎) (1398—1448) who was a mystic poet from Varanasi (Benaras) whose literature has greatly influenced the Bhakti as well as Sufi movements of India.

“Akath Kahani Prem Ki, Kutch Kahi Na Jaye
Goonge Keri Sarkara, Baithe Muskae”

“Inexpressible is the story of Love
It cannot be revealed by words
Like the dumb eating sweet-meat
Only smiles, the sweetness he cannot tell”

The hall mark of Kabir’s poetry is that he conveys in his two line poems (Doha), what others may not be able to do in many pages.

The rainy season is the time for lotus flowers and a few days ago I saw this lotus pond on the road from Khajuraho to the jungle which inspired Rudyard Kipling’s “Jungle book” in the Indian state of Madhya Pradesh.
It was fun to work this image in the spirit of the French Impressionist Claude Monet’s Water Lilies (or Nympheas).

“Do not go to the garden of flowers!”

Posted in Indian Numpheas with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on March 3, 2009 by designldg

"Do not go to the garden of flowers!"

 

“bâgo nâ jâ re nâ jâ”

“Do not go to the garden of flowers!
O Friend! go not there;
In your body is the garden of flowers.
Take your seat on the thousand petals of the lotus, and there gaze on the Infinite Beauty.”

This is a poem from Kabīr (Hindi: कबीर, Punjabi(Gurmukhi): ਕਬੀਰ, Urdu: /Punjabi (Shahmukhi)کبير‎) (1398—1448) who was a mystic poet from Varanasi (Benaras) whose literature has greatly influenced the Bhakti as well as Sufi movements of India.
The hall mark of Kabir’s poetry is that he conveys in his two line poems (Doha), what others may not be able to do in many pages.

I am fascinated by lotus flowers that I like to connect to French Impressionist Claude Monet’s Water Lilies (or Nympheas).
Monsoon is the season for lotus and last June I took this picture at some relatives’ garden in Katni located in the state of Madhya Pradesh in central India.