Poetry—Platforms Transformed, Rendezvous, Bookworms, April Blues—Sanjukta Dasgupta
Dr.Sanjukta Dasgupta, Professor and Former Head, Dept of English and Former Dean, Faculty of Arts, Calcutta University, is a poet, short story writer, critic and translator. She is a member of the General Council of Sahitya Akademi New Delhi and Convenor, English Advisory Board, Sahitya Akademi, New Delhi. She is the President of the Intercultural Poetry and Performance Library, Kolkata. She received the WEI Kamala Das Poetry Award in 2020.
Dasgupta has 24 published books. Her published books of poetry are Snapshots (1997), Dilemma (2002), First Language (2005), More Light (2009), Lakshmi Unbound ( 2017) Sita’s Sisters (2019) Unbound : New and Selected Poems edited by Jaydeep Sarangi and Sanghita Sanyal) 2021. Her poems have been translated in German, Serbian, Bengali, Hindi, Rajasthani and Tamil.
PLATFORMS TRANSFORMED
This is indeed semantic jugglery
Platforms were always at railway stations
Standing sadly on platforms as loved ones chugged away
Craning necks at platforms for delayed trains
Running on platforms for a last touch of the outstretched arm
The air-conditioned trains spoilt it all!
No more standing and waiting on platforms
Platforms are now performance theatres
Virtual platforms in our own homes
Crowds crow and jostle, smile and jabber
Platforms in living rooms
An audio-visual invasive invention
Global and local performance platforms
Even fake platforms with liars lying like truth
Untouchable, dust-free, stench-free OTT platforms
No need to cling to handbags as if they are dissected hearts
No pickpockets, no food-stalls, no bookstalls
Few legs, mostly faces and voices on video platforms
Platforms created by the Narcissus Corporate
Streaming of Selfie fantasies more potent than cocaine snorts
Platforms on tables and palms dictate, debate, disseminate
Alas, virtual platforms just transform methods not minds!
Sanjukta Dasgupta
July 19, 2020
RENDEZVOUS
Every midnight I live a little
As you appear out of the horizon
To hold me in a dream
Every night sleep seems
To be an entry ticket
To the boudoir of fantasies
As we hold each other
The grip sways
Between a clutch and a touch
The embrace of the vibrant Unreal
Enlivens the comatose Real
Every midnight I die a little
I stretch my arms
And hold each dream
Breathless in ecstasy
Drunk with the elixir
That only dreams can stir
Happiness jerks me out of sleep
Dreams disturbed
Lie like glass shards underfoot
The dreamless daze of day
Living death everyday
Waiting to wake up
In your arms again my love
When midnight strikes
And dreams of you
Dispel living death.
Sanjukta Dasgupta
February 22, 2022
BOOKWORMS
Where have all the bookworms gone
Lamented the libraries
Library reading rooms
Lie vacant as churches on weekdays
Will they ever return
Those young and elderly bibliophiles
Caressing and clutching every book
Like lovers discovering every pore
Of their enticing beloveds
The armies of bandit worms
Terrorist termites that tunnel
Through the hearts
Of hardcovers and paperbacks
Burrowing through book-spines
Suddenly find there are no
Buffets of books on library shelves
Traumatised, they turn suicidal.
Like the single screen movie halls
The libraries and reading rooms have
Metamorphosed into shops and cafes
No space for redundant books
Renamed hardcopies, hardheartedly
“Rs 200 for a kilo of books”
Shouted the tantalizing hoardings
As well as the advertisements online
‘Lock the box, all books must go
As did the cassettes and discs’
The unbound PDFs
Smile smugly, safe and secure
Shunned by silverfish and mildew
The Portable Document Format
Paper clipped image, unglued
The game-changer unparalleled.
The cheeky PDFS in folders chuckle
As the millennials hug their tablets
The bibliophile dinosaurs mourn
Alas, a clutch of books nestling
In eager proud arms is now
A sepia-tinted retro fantasy
Etched on crumbling
Old walls in old houses.
Sanjukta Dasgupta
March 26, 2022
This poem was born on reading
APRIL BLUES
From dust to dust
Ashes to ashes
Death is deadlier in April
Young Jesus dies on the cross
April wars kill the young and old
Yet tender green grass shoots
Pierce through the earthy blanket
Like defiant green flags of promise
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust
And then the resurrection
The rekindling of snuffed candle wicks
The rejuvenescence of hope and promise
Resilience steadfast, victorious, smiling
At ruthless annihilation as an aberration
The guitar strings strum the soul songs
April blues mourn, weep, smile
As benediction like gentle rain from the heavens
Awaken the slumbering grass roots
As forgiveness warms the guilty heart
As the victim emerges victorious
In resurrected divine glory
Sanjukta Dasgupta
April 2, 2022
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