Calcutta City Blues – Spring Sonata

By Pradip Choudhuri



A hurricane penetrated her body
and died in a flash
her eyes quivered
she was petrified
she knew the trick

A real love story defies authenticity
it falls a little short of pornography

Most people cannot handle love properly

The story must unfold like never before

An illegitimate child eschews his mother’s love-life

A poet is the eternal husband

Most fathers are cannibals

She took her first flight
just after her wings were clipped

An electrified cord in hand
she did not reply
If I would telephone tomorrow

Such huge breasts without a soul,
my god

The society that never existed is garbage

The woman rode away at dusk

Ignorance sometimes defeats the great will

She’s destined to set history glow
follow her, fool!

Sensitivity makes and unmakes poets

She’ll be a living legend 7 days after my death

While burning,
charcoal darkens the area with smoke

Wagner met Basho at Sanjo-Shi

After the consummation of a long screw
she said she never meant it
and demanded a little peck

I have no idea
if the wooden bridge still links
route #5 with eternity
is there a hyacinth that still blooms?

They say my friend who was in love
died from cirrhosis of the liver

An open rice field in autumn
at the northern edge of town
she told me later

she knew she loved me as
I vanished to the horizon
making a 7-km stretch

When I last met her
I did not see her canine teeth and pink gums
she must have eaten plenty of animal flesh
including porcupine

I had written the de’nouement
long before the drama was conceived

Sheer chance that she should
play this bloody role at the altar of the muse

She’ll know how she’s been devastated
long after the completion of the trauma

The doctor maintained
it was infectious
but not malignant till now
he gave me two xray-slides
to have them rechecked with Duncan& Apollo

If she comes
I’m not sure to say “no”
definitely

I still love Stravinsky’s “Le sacre’ du printemps”
--this bloody spring

I heard people say
she was beautiful
so I wrote beautiful poems

I never felt like reviewing her form
nor question what beauty was

Love framed with words is called poetry
poetry begins by breaking the frame

My dear, don’t disturb your mother
when she is seated beside me
dispelling the darkness, else
it will spell disaster for the planet


Pradip Choudhuri : The Hungry Generation Movement included among its membership the young Pradip Choudhuri.He is a poet and has several poetry books and has edited several poetry journals since 1975 -- most recently, the long-running ppHOO.