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  ‘Nothing to Fear From the Poet but the Truth’   THREE   POEMS Ted Jonas [1928-2003, American poet of Beat Generation] I poem my life to poetry . . .   ALL Dear poem . . . I write you because you are the truth and nothing but the truth dear poem pure poem our poem.   THE TRUTH If you should see  a man  walking down a crowded street  talking aloud  to himself  don’t run  in the opposite direction  but run toward him  for he is a POET!  You have NOTHING to fear  from the poet  but the TRUTH   JAZZ ANATOMY my head is a trumpet my heart is a drum both arms are pianos both legs are bass viols my stomach the trombone both lungs are flutes both ears are clarinets my penis is a violin my chest is a guitar vibes are my ribs cymbals are my eyes my mouth is the score and my soul is where the music lies   Ted Joans (1928–2003), a B...
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  Jayanti:133 Shivapoojan Sahay: Memoirs & Diaries BSM Murty   Shivapoojan Sahay began his literary career in the second decade of the 20th century which extended for over five decades in his life in which he wrote more than a hundred literary memoirs, along with numerous reminiscences and obituary articles. These were published in various journals between 1921 and 1961. Many of these memoirs and reminiscences, including several short life-sketches, written up to 1959, were collected in the first part of Rachanavali (4). In the latter part were collected his editorial articles and notes some of which also contained reminiscences. The first memoir published in Rachanavali (4) is on Shivji’s intimate friend, Kumar Devendra Prasad Jain, who was also a budding Hindi-lover and publisher and who had sadly met a sudden and untimely death. The memoir was published in Chaitanya Chandrika (1921, Patna City). It was on his bidding that Shivji, in the b...
  Hindi Translated Poems – 1 By BSM Murty                The Joohi Bud Suryakant Tripathi ‘Nirala’ Indolent, on a lonesome woodland bine Lay lapped in leafy bowers – in wedded bliss – lost in dreams of love- A snow-fresh, soft, sweet maid – the Joohi bud: Its eyelids sealed.           ‘Twas vernal night time.              Loitering in some land remote           Was the lonely Breeze, love-lorn, forlorn           - the Breeze they call the Malaya.           Memories surged up,           Of that sweet murmur in reunion,           Of the moon-laved midnight,           Of the tremulous, lovely limbs of his love. And lo, the Breeze – over lakes and groves and broo...