Dhamma Darshan Nigam
- Long Live Bukowski
Do not shy away to contradict
contradictions are inevitable
no one is ever free of contradictions
it is an essential character to call a life – life lived enough
like a necessary condition – like a basic need – like whiskey
confronting men – eye to eye
justifying its need to flow in the veins of broken men
and bargaining with them – for a single sip
promising to relieve the pain, temporarily
drink contradictorily – contradict stupidly
contradict the foes, the friends, the lovers
the state, the world
the justice delivery system – the local and the international courts
there is no harm in contradicting yourself too
have many faces -like Nida Fazli said:
‘haraadmimeinhote hain das bees aadmi’
(There are ten or twenty men in every man)
contradict your previous thoughts
be vague, be unclear, be unreasonable
act, remain, write – contradictorily
let the contradiction you are having in your mind
come on the paper – as clear as possible
lucidity is a mark of simple minds
do not ever write as lucid as possible –
like leaving no opportunity for interpretations –
leave loose ends
let there be some possibility for people also
to make anything they want to make out of that
and an opportunity for your writing
to have many meanings
– stupid meanings
– eternal meanings
– contradictory meanings
– meanings, that you would never want to be interpreted as
otherwise also no matter how accurately you try to say or write it
people are not going to get exactly what you intended to
that is how, I think, it was taught during the graduation years in psychology classes
that we control neither the language, nor the meanings
maybe this was Ferdinand de Saussure
the will of the reader is always greater than of the writer
and that is me, sitting in a corner of my room
in the corner of my parents’ home
thinking of it as the corner of the earth
and bearing the burden of my poor dreams
of wanting to see the world revolving around me,
while I myself revolve around her,
but, she, walks away
leaving me lost, without the center I was revolving around
writing for the history – Poor Dreams Are The Most Sacred Dreams
or maybe The Most Innocent Dreams or maybe Dangerous
and working on this piece of writing
also, I have started to believe that
when you have to work on a poem
then that is not a poem, but a tiny thesis
like Bukowski said:
‘if it doesn’t come bursting out of you
in spite of everything,
don’t do it.’
I feel that applies to a poem firstly
Long Live Bukowski
but, you can contradict Bukowski too
you can continue working on anything endlessly
and what you started to believe can be paused conveniently
– perhaps this will remain the last working principle of this world
live contradictorily
contradict audaciously.
- So Do I Bukowski
“I’m a sometimes writer, I say,
most often I don’t do anything”
so do I Bukowski
I said in my head
what happens to you, what do you feel, how do you feel
when you feel yourself in the writings of a legend
when I say: deconstruct everything
make poetry a prose, and prose a poetry
when I say: poems or research papers, news report, articles, stories,
or any other kind of writing, I find everything same
I feel that anybody must be called a writer
even if they have written a single line in their whole life
writing precisely, in fewer words
takes a lot of efforts, a lot of reading, a lot of living
also, I remember some Hindi poet has said something like,
how will you be able to read what I have not even written
I feel Bukowski
nobody can agree on this more than you.
- Like Bukowski
What I am doing these days is
eating, sleeping, watching movies,
daydreaming, nightmares, sleepless nights
and my bed has become like the arms of a parting lover
some long walks sometimes
listening to some songs
lyrics sometimes are so relatable
thatmake even breathing difficult, thinking difficult,
digesting difficult – food sometimes, and sometimes a few facts
and I have to move to Chopin, Mozart, or Bismillah Khan
drinking alone in nights,and
listening to Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan is deadly
like, ‘Eid aayimerayaarnaaaya’
(Eid came but my beloved did not come)
and then one must listen to their doctor
try not to forget to water a banyan tree
I am growing on my roof, and
if I fail to buy a piece of land to plant it in the mountains
its aerial roots must come through cracking the roof
hold my hand to take me to the sky, and
bury me in the clouds,
while Deepti Naval in ‘Black Wind’, collection of her poems writes:
‘will you do something for me?
when I die,
will you bury the cloud with me?’
I feel like I have nothing of my own
and hope this beautiful woman owning clouds
will be able to forgive me for thieving a part of her clouds
reading The Bukowski
‘Love is Dog from Hell’
‘Screams from the Balcony’
‘The Pleasure of the Damned’
‘You get so alone at time that it just makes sense’,and some other work
his titles are crazy enough to attract a madman to read his work
his writings insist the reader to finish reading them in single sittings
trying to mark his reflection in my writing
nurturing an intense desire for her return
there is no limit to longing
there is no limit to crying
on a spree of knowing,
and not accepting my own knowing
feel like becoming, maybe half-mad
just not what it should be
and a realisation that
I have not become mature enough
to write anything I want, like Bukowski.
~~~
Dhamma Darshan Nigam is an activist and writer. He can be contacted at: ddnigam@gmail.com
