Guest poem sent in by Vidur
(Poem #843) Love in a Bathtub Years later we'll remember the bathtub the position of the taps the water, slippery as if a bucketful of eels had joined us ... we'll be old, our children grown up but we'll remember the water sloshing out the useless soap, the mountain of wet towels. 'Remember the bathtub in Belfast?' we'll prod each other - |
alright, so you never ran my submission of that wonderful wonderful kamala das poem 'the looking glass'. [we did, actually - poem #804 -m.] but i do feel indian women poets besides eunice (whose work i've enjoyed ever since i studied under her) deserve better representation on this list. so here's a delightful little poem by sujata bhatt. ok, so sujata bhatt doesn't really belong to this genre: but she is of indian origin and a lot of her work is influenced thus. there's little comment i have to offer for this poem. i just love the way in which it captures the essence of growing old together. two people who've shared their lives, know each other so well and who can enjoy one another through intimate moments like this from their past. private moments that are theirs and theirs alone to treasure: 'remember the bathtub in belfast?' -vidur Links: A biography and an interview with Bhatt: [broken link] http://www.carcanet.co.uk/authors/b/bhatt.html
8 comments: ( or Leave a comment )
Hi,
I am a great admirer of Sujata Bhatt's works. Can you mail me her 'My mother's way of wearing a saree'. I have misplaced the book. If there is an online link, can you provide the link to the same please?
AR
hi,
cn i submit any poems for your anthology?? Or do you publish only well known
and great poets?
I have a few poems on poetry.com
Thanks
'The only thing to fear is fear itself'
I love the poems, I have been reading book of some poets such as Sujata Bhatt and Braja Mohan Panda,I think that it is really good, I would like to have some of the books!!22dd
This is a a very good poem because it's like the pass of the life over us, actually I think life is a group of experiences and that's what the poem tries to tell us.m10m
She loves me-loves me not.
My hands I pick
and having broken my fingers
fling away.
So the first daisy-heads
one happens to flick
are plucked,
and guessing,
scattered into May.
Let a cut and shave
reveal my grey hairs.
Let the silver of the years
ring out endlessly !
Shameful common sense -
I hope, I swear -
Will never come
to me.
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