bees hive of (brief) writing activity

[beeswax]

AS

Back hooves held, kukri edge honed, neck stretched – (ready, catch his head) whoosh, goat’s dead.


I don't know if this link will work. It is a brief video clip taken at the children's home I worked at in Nepal. WARNING to animal rights vegetarians you might find this distasteful. Don't go there. It inspired my AS as did Jee's poem yesterday reminding me of Bergers Ways of Seeing -- the discovery that one sensory experience influences how we receive other sensory experiences.


https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?v=10152038313043688

[5th column]

I wonder if the goats hear the whoosh? I enjoyed the way that stretched contrasted with the short sharp words that went before.

[PClem]

Amusing, appalling, touching. I like how even the god of winter, shudders. So much here to enjoy.

[kristalynn]

You got a lot across in seventeen syllables!

[JFN]

Bees, namaste, welcome back. I hope you had an inspirational time over there. You capture it so well in the first piece. It's all the little details that make this, with all the focus on the feet. I particularly like anticipation through to concrete floor.

The AS is a fairly blunt response to one of the facts of life. No ceremony, no remorse. Reminds me of when I was in Kenya and they brought in a pig's head in a bucket while we were eating breakfast. One thing, and it is probably my error, but I thought the blade was a kukri, rather than kukra. (My brother seriously contemplated taking an officer's post with the Gurkhas at one point, and I remember envying his when I was younger).

Looking forward to more recollections of your travels.

John

[beeswax]

Jee, Krista, Risa, Neil, Laurie -- thank you all for the warm welcome back.

Krista: I can't take credit for the best line -- '...the god within me, honours the god within you..'. It's the translation/explanation of the word Namaste. In Nepal, Namaste replaces hello and goodbye also, as in the context of my poem, good morning. I love how, in Nepal, religion permeates everyday life.

I am writing again after two months of desertion -- I was too overwhelmed with experience to write about experience.. The wheels feel very rusty, the gears need grease, especially in poetry, too many words. But in the spirit of 7/7, I shamelessly proceed.


The Holy Child is an Elephant

Ganesh, the beloved son, suckled
at Parvati’s breast, suffered death
and by a miracle (so it came to pass)
was gloriously resurrected.

In this story there is no stable,
star, shepherds, nor magi
but there is Christmas magic,
belief, rejoicing, dancing and drumming
and oh come let us adore
far into the night, feasting
on sel roti, coconut and jaggery.

Parvati saw Shiva’s pin-point eyes,
saw his arm blur, heard a whoosh
of air, a slicing sound, saw Ganesh,
the innocent, beheaded -- dead
as a dashain goat. His head vanished.

So it came to pass, the holy trinity
was formed: Shiva and Parvati, delicious
friction of lingam and yoni, love’s
constant recreation; and Ganesh,
reborn. Chubby, elephant-headed.

Oh come let us adore the resurrected
god of grace, restored now
to his mother’s warm embrace,
his father’s high regard.

[beeswax]

John -- we cross-posted. Thanks for picking up Kukra/kukri. You are perfectly correct. I'm going to take the liberty of correcting the spelling in my poem. It's been a shock for me coming back to the sanitized west after weeks of confrontation with the 'facts of life'. Thanks for your welcome. It's nice to be back in PFFA

[5th column]

A merry christmas and happy new reincarnation via the lingam and yoni and rather more tasty food than the turkeys we'll all be chomping on in all but a few days. A nice blend of seasonal stories highlighting how few differences there really are.

More whooshes. Dangerous place that Nepal.

[Sorella]

Anne,
aka the Bees' Knees --
oh, I am so impressed. To live that simple life and survive, not sure I could, given the rat droppings :-0
Beautiful poetry ensued. Best I have read by you, and that is saying a lot.

Thank you for the comment in my non-starter thread. I fell asleep and missed Day One, which is definitely Not Allowed. Plenty of links to be found about rhetoric. I am a novice at it all, but behind the musical and complicated Greek terms, great challenges to your poetry can be found.

Sorella

[Risa Denenberg]

I love the blending of Hindu and the Jesus birth story, the trinity, the resurrection, all the weaving. I also love Ganesh, I even have 3 sets of Ganesh earings! Now I understand why I am so enamored of him. I am following your journey with great interest. I was in Nepal 1969, these are fond memories through fresh eyes.

best, risa

[GreaterMandalaofUselessness]

Sorry, I'm a bit slow to catch up with your thread.

I'm enjoying your Nepal-inspired poems. I like the details in The Mist Hangs Like a Soiled Dhoti, and I can feel the cold in my feet. I also liked the Hindu elements, idea that N is paying a karmic debt for the West's affluence, the reference to chakras.


I was recently watching a Joseph Campbell lecture series on the the mythology of Hinduism and Buddhism. He spent a lot of time talking about significance of sacrifice. Your goat sacrifice in seventeen syllables reminded me of his description of watching one, and accompanying footage of the tethered goats (no sacrifice shown thankfully). The sacrifice is accepted by Agni the god of fire, apparently, as you may well know, and he portions it out to the rest of the gods.

I enjoyed The Holy Child is an Elephant (great title)a seasonal Christmas Ganesh story, flagging up and accentuating the parallels the parallels with the Christ story, a nice cultural mix-up.

Looking forward to the rest of your week!

-Matt

[RobynD]

Bees, it's been awhile since we've been here together- and these poems are a delight to read. I have a friend who went to Napal for work (professor of human geography) and stayed about four months, I think? He's shown pictures, explained the geography, culture, confusion and all the action that happens there. My husband has been talking about going ever since our friend got back.

It's interesting when beliefs get jumbled together- makes one see their culture and beliefs and traditions in a different way. I appreciate the different perspectives offered in the poems.

[beeswax]

John: Again, thanks for visiting and noticing my spelling mistake. It astonishes me how many people known to me in some manner have a connection with Nepal. I loved the story of your brother and your envy of his kukri.

Neil. Whoosh! I'll try and fit it in again somewhere. There was a small version kukri in the kitchen of the children's home where I worked. I used it in the kitchen sometimes, cutting thick stems off the saag. Thank you for reading and commenting.

Sorella: You are too kind (but I do like your kindness -- so never stop). One night, (before I put the rice sack in place) a rat visited me in my bed. I didn't see it. I was woke up by the pencil rattling on the cardboard carton I used as a nightstand and I could feel it on my sleeping bag. It was truly horrible. No light. I yelled at it, my arms were trapped in the sleeping bag. Next morning Bina just laughed when I told her (pigeon Nepali, pigeon English, drawings). It's a fact of life for them. Not that they encourage them in. When it gets cold they cram stuff in the gaps to discourage them from entering. In some parts of Nepal they are food.

Risa: What is it about Ganesh? I love him too. He came back in my bag in the form of bracelets for my sisters and daughters and bronze effigy for my son and son in law. One of him now sits on a mantelpiece in my house. I love too that he has a rat beside him. The rat is his messenger. Maybe that's why Bina is not repelled by rats. Thanks for reading and commenting.

Matt. I found the Joseph Campbell reference interesting. I like Campbell's work. think I'll try get hold of the series on Hinduism and Buddhism. Thank you for reading and commenting.

Robyn! Another Nepal connection! I hope you and your husband go to Nepal. I'd look forward to reading your Nepal poems. Thanks for reading and commenting

On 7/7 cheating. Some of you know I keep a travel blog, not for publicity -- it's how I share travel news with family and friends and a component of my writing discipline. The piece I'll post today is one I'd already posted on the blog and likewise, I'll probably post my 7/7 stuff on the blog. Is that cheating? What's very interesting for me, as a writer, is that I didn't keep my blog up when I was away -- I couldn't write and since I've come back family ask me to tell them what it was like. I've had trouble describing the experience in a way that satisfies me AND now I'm discovering the language of poetry works better than prose or photographs (I didn't take a camera -- I have some photos others shared with me) in this instance, to convey my experiences. Consequently I have a deeper appreciation for the craft of poetry. You distill the experience and share it a more exact and profound way. It's like whiskey (or other spirit). The ingredients are all still there but it's been reduced to an essence. It's made me reconsider my definitions of the differences between prose and poetry and how we make the decision to use one form rather than another.

[beeswax]

Photographing Pashupatinath

Their feet are laved with holy water.
They receive from mourners’ cupped hands
a last drink from the sacred river.

They lie, wrapped in white and saffron, under
Indra’s blue heaven. Gods, priests and loved ones cluster
round them. Temple roofs cascade; incense curls
upward; upward curls Ganesh’s trunk; the third eye
repeats; repeats in vermilion tikka; mala
emotes its sharp golden smell. I wish
I could take each camera and break it.

Here is the place where the dead make
their journey from this world to the other,
where mourners stoop to their work,
tend to mother, father, sister or brother.
I’d like to push those who pose for photos
into the sacred river, watch them flounder.

I hear prayers
and chanting as a body is moved
to its funeral pyre. Photographers
make pixils of the sacred rite.
Two days earlier
I dreamt
my father stood by water,
a wharf nearby. What’s it like to be dead
I asked him. It’s OK he replied, in a tone
of faint surprise, almost as though
he’d expected to feel otherwise.

I want to tell the ones who snap photos
that my father stands at the Baghmati.
They can’t see him but he is there.

On his journey from this world
to the next he stopped in Kathmandu
to stand at the sacred river,
to tell me it is OK to be dead.
Please put away your camera
I would say.

And they would put away
their cameras and pray
or go away.

[JFN]

Bees, The Holy Child... is an interesting look at crossed religious histories and origins. The final S stands out to me, full of music. I like how you show the differences between the Trinity and the Trimutri (I believe in the former, but the concept of the latter and their different roles is fascinating), but also the similarities in the stories. One absolutely pedantic niggle, can you have Christmas magic without Christ? Festive yes, Christmas is debatable. Makes a great introduction to the lore of Hindu faith though.

This last one is touching. I think N's reverence abounds here. I am often trigger happy with the camera when on holiday, but I know there are lines that should not be crossed. Respect should always be shown, no matter how beautiful the ceremony. S4 is so tender, and strong for it. I really liked this piece.

John