Extended Family -- A K Ramanujan

Guest poem sent in by Suresh Ramasubramanian

(Poem #434) Extended Family Yet like grandfather I bathe before the village crow the dry chlorine water my only Ganges the naked Chicago bulb a cousin of the Vedic sun slap soap on my back like father and think in proverbs like me I wipe myself dry with an unwashed Sears turkish towel like mother I hear faint morning song (though here it sounds Japanese) and three clear strings nextdoor through kitchen clatter like my little daughter I play shy hand over crotch my body not yet full of thoughts novels and children I hold my peepee like my little son play garden hose in and out the bathtub like my grandson I look up unborn at myself like my great great-grandson I am not yet may never be my future dependent on several people yet to come -- A K Ramanujan

One of my favorites - a short, staccato rhythm symbolizing hurried modern
life, and the stark contrast between old, orthodox tamil brahminical
 and modern, decadent (and somewhat innocent) vulgarity.

Profile - old A. K. Ramanujan poem at poem #382 (A River - direct
lift from Panorama), and [broken link] http://www.gallerie.net/Pages/issue2l.html

--
Suresh Ramasubramanian | sureshr at staff.juno.com
"Whatever the missing mass of the universe is, I hope it's not
cockroaches!"
                -- Mom