Tongues

A week after I took this photo in Chennai last year, I was running aerials workshops for actors. It was the day before my birthday when the three classes had come to an end. We went to the restaurant outside which is this small altar. In the time between arriving at the restaurant and lunch, a birthday cake had been organised and materialised on the table. It was luscious and we all licked our lips. After a fabulous four months, I left India the following week.

In February berni janssen ran a wonderful series of talks and performances and brainstorms about tongues. It was called the Tongue-atorium. Poets, musicians, artists of all kinds came together. Everyone brought along a contribution, left a poem, an image, a sound - or several. Musician and composer, Ros Bandt and I were on the same day and it was a great remeeting since we hadn't seen one another for more than a decade. This poem was one of my contributions to the day.

what she says about tongues

these words are worn
utterable like the tongues of poems
there are no confessions
we make our own quilt of guilt
paranoia is hermetic
sealed as only a mind can be
unutterable like the tongues of poets

Published in Melbourne PEN Newsletter, April 2010

cows and myths about cows

The cow has many stories about her. The following picks up on some of these, but also incorporates stories about other animals including snakes and a tortoise. The stories in this poem come from India, Australia, Mesopotamia and greece. The photo is of a wooden tribal altar that I saw in Rajasthan.

what the mythmakers say

Queenie was afflicted with post-prandial drowsiness her four
stomachs all churning together Queenie is no fool she’s been
around for a while since the beginning of time who else spilled
the milky star road? who else set the galaxies spinning?
it’s Queenie who taught us how to make butter and ghee
the churn her very own invention take one stomach fill with milk
stir with a wooden stick until the cream separates move
to stomach number two turn churn spin and stir watch it clump
and cluster look a little longer until the buttermilk seeps out
in the third stomach knead and knuckle make it smooth and firm
the fourth stomach will heat the butter and turn it to ghee

in another time a later time when gods and demons had
forgotten how to be immortal they joined forces to create
a nectar of immortality these boys took their time they carried in
Mount Mandara turned it upside down placing it upon the back
of the tortoise demons one side gods the other each held the
world snake and twirled the mountain top for a thousand years
back forwards back forwards again and again and again
even then the best they could manage was deadly poison

in the great south land the snake laps up the cow’s spilt milk
this one swallows all the girls and women swallows the bleeding
girls the pregnant women swallows them and makes them dance
their insides begin to churn no one can hold anything down they
vomit they bleed and they are swallowed yet again by the snake
who suffers from indigestion the girls and women beat their fists
against the stomach walls when the next full moon comes round
the world snake regurgitates the tribe of women

in a garden between two great rivers a woman encounters
a snake she is impressed by the colour of its scales green
she prods it with a stick and the snake turns blue in rage
the snake is wily knows better than to broadcast its thoughts
pulling its head in the snake offers her fruit from the tree
this woman is nothing but naïve she takes it bites it with her
giant teeth scraping them along its flesh she’s not impressed
with the sour fruit tosses it over her shoulder and walks away

women tossing apples cause strife they distract contestants
in races incite discord among the in-crowd separate
the sheep from the goats and in innocent looking ways
begin wars beware women bearing ripe fruit

Mahabalipuram minotaur

Five years ago I visited Mahabalipuram and wrote about it in my long poem, India Sutra (which is in The Butterfly Effect). It's strange to revisit a place - the things you do and don't remember. I didn't recall having seen this rock, but when I asked, locals said it had always been there. I imagined that it was unearthed by the tsunami. It was just my memory failing me!



Mahabalipuram dp331

playing ocean and boat
the moon is full
behind a blanket of cloud

sea pounds the beach
waiting for the fishermen
to push off into the surf

the dogs as before
lounge on the sand
curled like coils of net

the same hotel spruced up
beach restaurants
with coloured lights

even the sari-selling woman
is here still plying her trade
five years older some new designs

not much has changed
but on the beach
an unremembered rock

a cow’s head carved
and human hands
minotaur unearthed

labyrinth caved in
no sacred string needed
to lead you out


A few days after posting this I saw a similar image in a book I've been reading called, Devi: The Mother Goddess by Devdutt Pettanaik which is captioned 'Durga attacking the buffalo demon'. This image I've called Minotaur is probably also the buffalo demon. That's not so far from the Cretan story since Theseus could not have killed the Minotaur without Ariadne's thread. Here in India thread is also sacred. It all connects!

Shadow cow

The photo by Spider Redgold was taken in Kathmandu just before Divalli. Ths poem was my response.



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a cow and her shadow
walk a street in Kathmandu

the cow is painted
the shadow is plain

both are black
as the night sky

the shadow says
how come you’re so pretty today?

because it’s good luck on cow day
so my friend painted mandalas

on my backside said the cow
and what about the garland of flowers

who gave you those?
asked the miffed shadow

the same friend said the cow
feeling sorry for her undecorated friend

tell you what said the cow
you can have the garland now

and at the end of the day
you can have the mandala too

when the sun went down
the shadow cow was happy to see

the painted cow had kept her word
there on her shadow back

were the glittering lights
of Deepavalli

Gaur

Gaur (Bos gaurus) are the biggest bovines on earth. These four live in Bandipur National Park in Karnataka where I was lucky enough to see them. It's dusk and they were far off. How fantastic is it to see such rare and huge creatures. Like the elephant they are led by the oldest female in the herd. The name I've given to her means mother of the cows.




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immoveable
ancient as diamonds
gaur are statues against green

mountains
ridge their backs

heads
a saddle between
where water gathers in the wet

the female line
zigzags
the sloped hillside

Matagavaam
mother of the gaur
stands like a giant fortress
at the base
inverting the mountain
top

early risers
greet the day
moaning low

at night
a multitude
of sickle moons
graze

long-sighted eyes
horns almost a circle
pale summer grass
coloured

rufous coats shining
under a full harvest moon

left alone
their only fight
is with time
bulls eyeline
their rivals
if out weighed
they walk away out
horns still
reaching for the sky

but be fearful of Matagavaam
who’ll whistle up her team
circle the youngsters
and gore
even one with tiger courage

temple elephants

I saw this elephant in Hampi - and as we travelled around I saw many elephants in temples always with the same fiercely mixed reaction.


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the temple elephants’ trauma
is in their rocking
the shackles at their feet
clinking their captivity

but I rejoice seeing
painted elephants
mandalas on their
foreheads and trunks

and I am in despair
picking at my conscience
like an over ripe pimple
and at my own hypocrisy