Monday, March 7, 2011

Yaddo Poem: Flora Mater

 You can contact me at guyind@rcn.com

This is a poem I wrote when I was at Yaddo in 1996. Yaddo, one of the most beautiful  and divine places of the world, has given me a new life as a writer, taking me out of anonymity and hopelessness and put me on a path where I can go forward. I have won the Vera Rubin Residency at Yaddo, and I am forever grateful for this. From here I have achieved many things, becoming a better writer. In my stay at Yaddo, I have written a collection of poems titled Presence. The poem below is one of them.
YADDO POEM: FLORA-MATER

(by Churaumanie Bissundyal)

Why are you staring at me,
O Trees,
as if I am intruding
            on the leafy pathways of your silence?

Why do you let your branches
            drip your tears into my face
as if my feet
            trample on some darling
of your seedlings?

I have come, O Trees,
to learn the theorem
of your stillness and patience,
to study the craft
            of your quiet waiting
over the millenniums
            of pain and laughter.

I come not to break the twigs
            of your silent watching,
to scare the squirrels
            of your omniscience
in this ceaseless flow
            of time and matter.

Then,
            why do you shrink
when my shadow kisses
            the breasts of your luxuriance?
Am I a lecherous stranger
            wrapping my sensual imperfection
around the virgin purity
            of your boughs and leaves?

O Trees!
            I have lived a million times
in this hushed sanctuary
            of your boughs, brushes and pathways;
yet, you do not know me.
            So many times
I wrote my heart’s feelings
            from your insects’ noises
and birds’ calling.
            Yet, you think I am a stranger
trespassing
            this green manse of your existence.

It was in this sanctum
            I sat at the feet of your silence
and took my first learning of life.
It was here in this knowledge
of shapes, sounds and colours
I read the vowels
of the wind rustling your leaves
and the consonants of the rain
drenching your solitude with life.

Yet,
you let the dark clouds
leer at me
through your branches
as if I am a tramp in these woods,
crying for love
in the green vastness
of your presence.

Yet,
you won’t remember
when I climbed your limbs
and scolded the cattle
grazing the pastures.
Nor would you remember
when I picked your fruits and bearings
and lavished my dreams
with your profusion.

Sometimes,
            I sat in the luxury of your shade
and watched the farmers
reaping their crops in the sun.
And, then,
I would take your leaves
and string necklaces
for the village women,
dreaming dreams
of my deepest passion.

Yet, I know
you know me not,
O Trees!
If you do,
why your trunks loom
into the sullen vault of the sky
and your branches
hide their eyes in the frost of rain?

But I will not dip my eyes in repulsion,
            less I see
the benediction of your leaves,
            for, whilst you are the benefactress
of this benign earth,
you are the lungs of my soul.
(August 1996)

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