From the day of my birth till today,
I have spent my life saying
I don’t have the ability to do the things I want to do in life!
Tomorrow however,
I will say
I WAS WRONG:
From the day of my birth till yesterday!
Poem: Things as they are
poems
Poem: Time To Come
I have been in these woods for years now
as I have watched you graze and grow.
Thousand nights, I have spent
creating this spear so vicious…
It’s potency higher than death!
No, I will not to kill and prey you
I will to make you crawl towards me, so I can smell and embrace you
Yes. I have watched you mate and grow,
but that doesn’t concerns me at all
for…in front of my desires,
those events are too small!
You will come to me…by your own will
and lay down in front of me as I feel better than God!
Your smell intoxicates me,
My music is intoxicating you
It’s time to crawl to me now
this is where you belong
My presence is metamorphosing you!
(Edited)
From my book Paranoia.
Poem: Stareway to Heaven
A drizzle,
Under a metallic roof.
Surrounded by,
leaves dancing to an unadulterated tune
Real ones!
Cool breeze…literally
Not contaminated by globules of global fetish
bulbs…too far away.
What else does one need?
While you’re there
Just while you stare
you are not,
A desiring clockwork.
From my book Paranoia
Poem: Me and Them
It’s evening and you sit here with your laptop in your room
while the world rushes home closing their desktops at work.
You’ve always been this way. You realize.
You and the world have always been this way.
When you were a kid,
while they learnt real politics outside with their imaginary guns
You learnt imagination inside because you couldn’t understand the politics of the world!
When you grew up,
while they played kings and slaves in streets, classrooms and playgrounds
You played god and designed and destroyed sportsgrounds and movie-sets inside your head.
But you were not as strong or stylish as you present yourself here
You were weak, bleak and you were scared of their breath
Not because they spat fire. But because they stank!
But you couldn’t ignore them because your horizon was still a virgin
And so you sat with them and even tried to impress them!
Even their bad breath you thought was a norm
So you stopped brushing too…
You were not at all as strong or stylish as you present yourself here.
It’s always been this way.
And then when you reached an age where boys made girls cry
You yourself cried in a classroom.
And then you were stared-at, kicked, teased, yelled-at:
By insecure blokes who saw nothing when they looked at themselves in the mirror.
You didn’t understand then that their expression towards you
was their expression towards themselves
You couldn’t understand that because you didn’t play with them outside.
And now they look at their watches at work, nervously waiting for the time they get to go back home
while you get to sit here calmly in your room writing magical words like these that turns them into whatever pleases your mood.
You’ve always been this way the world and you
First, the world throws shit at you and then you throw the world into shit.
And now the world plays king-king down there at Troy
While you play god-god up here at Mount Olympus!
Poem: I am You
They walk, they talk, they strife
Their own glory is their drive
They bounce about the earth shitting the next meal
Like gnats around my table sniffing the leftover deal
They’ve got no plan they merely want to survive
That’s in fact their only drive!
I walk, I talk, I strife
My own glory is my drive
I bounce about the earth observing the deal
Like gnats I see around my leftover meal
I’ve got a plan and that’s to thrive
I am one of them
and that’s all I can drive!
Poem: Tiger and a Mouse
He has two forms:
Inner and Outer
Alone and with other.
While alone, he is vicious
Like a hungry tiger!
Someone comes and he transforms
Into a mouse!
Poem: Me and my sky
Oh!
How many nights have I spent
In my roof staring at the sky above
Listening to Steve Roach
Living little beauties alone.
Oh!
How many mornings have I walked
Trying to spot that red guy
and that yellow guy and so many guys
Relatable to me and my life.
Oh!
How sad I get today
Knowing someone
Is trying to conquer my guys…
Wish he dies
Before he
His greed realize
And my guys,
Become for him and his likes
mere toys!
Poem: Beer and Poetry
You drink beer
and while it lasts:
The whole world seems manageable
It’s same with poetry
You write or read one
and while it lasts:
The whole world seems perceivable
and manageable!
When you mix both:
well,
the whole world gets malleable!!!
What else need I say?
What else need you do?
Drink and poem.
Poem: What Is Poetry?
You grab a creature with an ability to word
and place it in a planet far-far off.
The first thing it will do
to make sense of its reality beautiful and true:
Is Poetry
and the last thing too!
Laxmi Prasad Devkota
What was Devkota all about?
In Nepal, it is difficult to find an intellectual unstained by Hindu/Buddhist or some sort of political ideology. This tendency might be a global phenomenon, yet, in Nepal, it stretches to a nauseating degree, so much so that you can correctly guess an intellectual’s entire idea-set by merely knowing his/hers religious/political inclination. The person I am writing about today is Laxmi Prasad Devkota.
He struggled with both those elements and yet managed to live and create in a way that included and transcended them.
You can’t predict him, you can’t guess him and you get both annoyed and exalted by his spontaneity and randomness: in other words, by his poetic genius.
There’s a lot of myth surrounding the man.
Stories of him giving away his coat to the poor; writing lengthy poems in cigarette packs; struggling immensely with money; being sent to Ranchi (a city in India known for mental treatment) — are abound. It was in this context that he was called a geographical mistake by a Brit whose name I cannot recall.
Yet some had enough sense to recognize him and call him a Nepali Mahakavi (Great Poet). But apart from that, his works and ideas aren’t popular in a folk sense and his presence is mostly limited within dull school-books.
Yes, such is the society of Nepal and such was the man born here: ahead of his time, inappropriately in space!
He mostly wrote poems (epic, short, metered, unmetered) spanning from Nepali Shakuntala to Prometheus. His seminal work Munamadan is still considered to be the greatest work of Nepali Literature. It is a tragedy about a man who leaves his wife and mother to go to Lhasa for a better financial life.
He wrote songs. He also wrote a lot of short stories and a novel.
His essays are brilliant and it is in this context that I would like to introduce his ideas to people who aren’t familiar with him.
A few years ago I published a collection of poetry in English named PARANOIA:
When I reached to the final stages the work — set to publish — I had the idea of using my work as a medium to interpret a couple of Nepali writers — in English. I translated certain lines I liked from Devkota’s essay collection and placed it in.
The translations include his thoughts on a wide array of things: creativity, art, science, philosophy, spirituality, education, life, god, etc.
I now want to quit this rambling of mine and insert those translations/interpretations so that you can judge and hopefully enjoy his ideas on your own.
Heart
Truth shines through feelings…
In the heart lies the luminosity of God.
Feelings or emotions are primary
Desiring and thinking come later.
Beast
Eyes identify
Brain understands
Ears listen
Heart feels.
To be devoid of these four is the sign of being a beast.
Depth
Difficulty doesn’t imply depth.
Difficulty doesn’t mean Art,
Incomprehensibility doesn’t have any value.
Schools are:
Industries
To manufacture machines.
Education system
And the soul desires a thing,
education provides something else.
All I’ve learned till B.A
in three years
I believe,
I can put into little children’s minds better,
reciting stories…
Folly
That we usually call Education
is making man stupid.
Creation Love Art
And love is the chief element of creation
Whilst Art is the chief action of love
Curiosity
I yearn to see:
What lies there in the heart!
Natural curiosity!
Sinner
I want to bow my head
As if the all pervading God is scolding me.
I know that I am a sinner.
Art
The beautifully illustrated Truth is Art
Which springeth from the creative imagination.
The truth lies in our life
and unless it comes from the formlessness to the form:
we do not realize it.
Civilization
Civilization hasn’t yet started.
We haven’t learned to respect life.
Real progress will start
The day our sentiment of brotherhood gets firm
Vairagya
As long as we aspire to become great in this world
or hold feelings to do things
and show our pride,
Vairagya is impossible.
Doubt
To doubt is better,
as it helps understand,
assists searching.
Question is everything, answer is maturity.
Dare
It is cowardice to not move forward in opportunity.
We cannot live in a life devoid of danger.
What Science does not
Science cannot satisfy man’s curiosity
and he searches for glimpses
beyond the Sciences
through the magic of emotional and imaginative world,
where man feels self-satisfied as if he is near the truth.
What Art not
The works done by mathematical formulas,
even though are the works of brain,
do not deserve to be called Art.
Painting is Art, Photography is not.
Where Art springs
When the creative imagination sees new dreams
Rising from imitation
And maneuvers its works in its own manner,
Art springs.
Let’s get small
There is fun in being small
We can see others’ significance dance around.
There is pleasure in the peacefulness of ego;
We can see others’ pretense.
Subtle Conscience
The energy to manufacture Art
Doesn’t come from the mere superficial darshan of objects
nor does it comes from mere intellect and knowledge;
It comes from those subtle consciences,
Which find emotional caressing from divine experience
rising above bestial eyes.
The beast merely looks and remains satisfied,
but man tries to touch the heart of everything.
Teacher and teaching
Science cannot locate everything
and our psychological studies end
within the darkness of the intellect.
This is why no teacher can teach.
Creativity
In the divine talent of the Creator
The word was born
And we,
studying this creation
attain clear messages of
Divine Conscience,
Divine Truth,
Divine Beauty and
Divine knowledge.
In the creative imagination of God,
Totality works and provides beautiful
lines and colors and forms
to the Truth of God.
We realize the ‘beautiful’ through the sensing of Truth
and where there is no Truth there isn’t beauty.
This Self-Illustrating form of God
manifests in artistic creativity such that
truth becoming beautiful descends to the outer forms of the senses.
Imaginative Truth
For me,
practicality is limited and
philosophy, intellect is blind.
I enjoy imaginative truth the most
and through it find the glimpses of God
Gambling
I enjoy gambling,
As I find ample opportunities there
To engage my mind and study.
Why is God silent?
It is the consequence of the
Western Civilization that,
God doesn’t speak in
Wind and Water.
Shadows
I speak with the shadows
For me,
The optical world is merely
The manifestation of the inside
And all solid objects are liquid.
The Poet
In the heart of the poet
The rocks speak
And the leaves have tongue.
Cadavers
Those who say,
The world doesn’t speak
Are Deaf
Those who say,
There isn’t life in the hills and the trees and the stars
Are cadavers.
Human Beings
If anything
Elucidates the affinity
Between man and God
It is Human-Heart and Imagination
In Art
Man seeks to
Show
His identification with the unknown
And in the world of the known
Seeks for the kingdom of the unknown
True Study
For studying the life of any culture
There’s nothing more enlightening
Then the Arts of that culture.
Near
We feel we’ve reached near to the Creator
When that eye in our inner world opens
Which
Can bring to form the unavailable and the irregular
And fill it with colours.
Imagination
A small spark of
The fundamental creative dream energy of God
In humans:
Is Imagination.
Man
He tries to create
Embrace nature
Runs after fresh magic to improve the world
Listens to the call of the unknown,
Ascending beyond sights and sounds
Seeks for the inner sparks and sounds
He turns forms into sounds and words into pictures
He dislikes boundaries
He wants to fly and pluck
Peek from darkness and
Steal the fire from heaven.
Work and Art
In a simple table,
The work of carpentry is done
Not Art.
But,
If a carpenter
Creates a table as if a beautiful dream
Art it becomes.
Dreams
We call those creations Art
Which are within the boundaries of truth and beauty
If they’ve got the natural affect
For the heart of life.
Empty dreams aren’t Art
As long as they don’t get published.
Truth and Beauty
Beauty arises from the prodigious consciousness of truth
As if truth,
Melting into life
Descends to the forms alive.
The END
Poem: Where’s Your Hand?
Sound of the electric woodsaw fills the southern air
as cars, buses and motorbikes rule the street out there.
To rhyme and be poetic – why do I care?
Lick your self fabricated spicy desire
and seek a cure for the tongue on fire!
God had a fall, her arm dropped down below
Man, being man used it to wipe his rear hole.
Now I am transcending, now I am willing
To design a mask to withstand the stink
and a thing to check the pulse of those machines,
I am using this quintessential style of thinking!
