CALL TO POETS Original poetry wi

CALL TO POETS
Original poetry with strong imagery; poems of cultural flux and interactions; personal translation of favorite works from the world's verse---these can be submitted at alyguy@hotmail.com. As can commentary on poem eating. So folks, send it on in.

With yoga practices, physical/mental/exotic burgeoning across the American 21st century landscape, the cooly sleekened and supple stay often unaware of older sincerities, aspects and spiritual considerations. "Speaking of Siva", by A.K. Ramanujan and first published by Penguin Classics in 1973 speaks of this in seriously charming translation of vacana poetry from south India. He presents the lyrics of four poet/saints speaking from the 10th to 12th centuries: Dasimayya,Basavanna, Allama and Mahadeviyaka. These medieval Virasaiva saints all speak to and of Siva. Originally written in Kannada, one of the four major south Indian languages second only to Tamil in length of history and depth of literature, it is still spoken by many millions in Karnataka state, home to the call centers and computer whizkids of Bangalore and the princely state of Mysore.

Alan Young

This is a slight selection from a slim volume. "Speaking of Siva" can be found in the Hawaii State Library system or purchased on line for very little at Amazon.com or half.com. For quiet perusing at pensive times and places, a good resource.
Om namah sivaya.


		Basavanna 99, pg. 72 Does it matter how long a rock soaks in the water: will it ever grow soft? Does it matter how long I've spent in worship, when the heart is fickle? Futile as a ghost I stand guard over hidden gold, O lord of the meeting rivers. 70, pg. 71 As a mother runs close behind her child with his hand on a cobra or a fire, the lord of the meeting river stays with me every step of the way and looks after me. 820, pg. 88 The rich will make temples for Siva. What shall I, a poor man, do? My legs are pillars, the body the shrine, the head a cupola of gold. Listen, O lord of the meeting rivers, things standing shall fall, but the moving ever shall stay.


		Devara Dasimayya 44, pg. 100 For what shall I handle a dagger O lord? What can I pull it out of, or stab it in, When You are all the world, O Ramanatha 80, pg. 103 The earth is your gift, the growing grain your gift, the blowing wind your gift. What shall I call these curs who eat out of your hand and praise everyone else? 87, pg. 103 Whatever It was that made this earth the base, the wolrd its life, the wind its pillar, arranged the lotus and the moon, and covered it all with folds of sky with Itself inside, to that Mystery indifferent to differences, to It I pray, O Ramanatha.


		Mahadeviyakka 11, pg. 115 You're like milk in water: I cannot tell what comes before, what after; which is the master, which the slave; what's big, what's small. O lord white as jasmine if an ant should love you and praise you, will he not grow to demon powers? 17, pg. 116 Like a silkworm weaving her house with love from her marrow, and dying in her body's threads winding tight, round and round, I burn desiring what the heart desires. Cut through, O lord, my heart's greed, and show me your way out, O lord white as jasmine. 117, pg. 127 Who cares who strips a tree of leaf once the fruit is plucked? Who cares who lies with the woman you have left? Who cares who ploughs the land you have abandoned? After this body has known my lord who cares if it feeds a dog or soaks up water?


		Allama Prabhu 213, pg. 153 With a whole temple in this body where's the need for another? No one asked for two. O Lord of Caves if you are stone, what am I? 277, pg. 154 When the toad swallowed the sky, look, Rahu the serpent mounted and wonder of wonders! the blind man caught the snake. Thus, O Lord, I learned without telling the world. 972, pg. 168 Looking for your light, I went out: it was like the sudden dawn of a million million suns, a ganglion of lightnings for my wonder. O Lord of Caves, if you are light there can be no metaphor.