Dilip Chitre, the grand old man of Indian Poetry, is bringing out a big fat collection of poems in English on Friday. The collection is awesome and superbly brought out by Poetrywala. After Arun Kolatkar's mind blowing Kala Ghoda Poems and Sarpa Satra, Chitre's 'As Is, Where Is' is a landmark work in Indian Poetry in English. Chitre has brought out three collections of his 'collected works' running into more than seven hundred pages, he has also translated hundreds of pages from Marathi and has translated some seminal poets from all over the world into Marathi. I wonder if our generation will ever be able to reach this quantity and quality. It not only requires total dedication to art, but also immense passion and fire in the soul. This fire and passion and this dedication is missing in our generation. We also lack wide ranging scholarship that these people possess. Most of my contemporaries are myopic and their understanding of literature is very crude and gross. Their scholarship is zero. These War Veterans and their works are Himalayan obstacles and it will be an Herculean ordeal for our poetic strength to cross these ranges. I am going to Mumbai, the day after tomorrow for the book release function and hoping to meet my dear friends. Do I have enough RDX in my soul to better and on a bigger scale then these people? Time alone will tell. The small bulk of poetry I have written is a product of extremely intense, dark and passionate moments of my life. It is, I believe, like those moments which produced it. What is the place of my poetry in Marathi literary tradition? What is its place in the International arena of poetry? I wish I knew. Till then, dig dig deeper into my soul, my grave digger, and talk to the skull of Yorick you find......
All hail Virus, my beloved Virus, my ateethi, my Devo and My Bhavah! My friend, my philosopher and my Text-cum-Guide! Omniscient, Omnipotent and Omnipresent! I have offered thee my flesh, I am your host, you are my dear parasite. You have been a real real pain in my ass, not to mention my neck and other significant parts of my body. When will I be able to get rid of thee?
Viral infection has laid me low from fortnight and it is a hellish thing. I cant sleep or keep awake or read as my body aches and drowsy numbness gets hold of me as if a glass of hemlock have I drunk and I feel as if I am headed Lethewards.
Couldn't go for FY comp English lectures which were to begin from today. I think it is every year that I have to sacrifice weeks or fortnights to viral infection.
Met Joglekar's family doctor, Dr. Potbhare, one who eats to his full, and he gave me enough medication to keep my belly full of tablets and bullets and bombs.
When will this bloody thing leave me? I feel as if I am punished by God who resembles the Deadly villain of Hindi Movies- Ajit, the Daan. As if he has immersed me in Likweed Aksigen; the likweed does not allow me to live and Aaksigen doesn't allow me to die.
Reading the Satanic Verses these days and feel that Rushdie is one of the most badmash writers in the world and his place should be in hell along with Balzac, Sterne and Cervantes. I can feel him howling with laughter when angrez log scamper for their dictionaries to find out the meaning of 'Chootia', I can also imagine him bellowing with boisterous belly laughter as they would inquire about its meaning with some Hindi knowing Gentlemen and Gentlewomen.
The references to the Prophet are really mean and I do suspect 'malicious intentions' of the author. No wonder they are gunning for him.
