Category Archives: About

On reading the youthful memoirs of Yevgeney Yevtushenko

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I came across this piece I’d written almost forty years ago and was quite prepared to relegate it to my personal slush pile or trash it. But, I do believe, we’re all rather attached to our own creations so I didn’t. Then at one of our poetry meetings David Hollywood asked us to write a poem about justice and present it at the following meeting. Since this was my own creation albeit many years before, I decided to read it to the group. And now I offer it to you. I’m curious, does it in any way give away the difference in age?

What is truth?” said jesting Pilate

As he mocked the Prince of Peace

The saddest fact that now remains

The scorner’s sentiment’s increased

And ‘truth’ having gone through much change

Now goes around in guises strange

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Writing exercise

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For a while at the Bahrain Writers Circle we used to have Creative Writing exercises that were started by Ana Paula Corradini, then continued by Shauna Nearing Loej and Anita Menon. The exercises began with a prompt and we were given about five minutes to take these forward wherever our wild imaginations took them.

Some, like the one below began with a prompt – as indicated by the opening lines – and then the coordinator would throw in random words, also in bold. The challenge was to incorporate these words and still tell a continuous, coherent story.

See what you would do with the following. Send in your stories and if I like them I’ll publish them here!

Wisps of hair quickly fell to the floor while words spilled from her mouth. She loved sitting in that chair pouring her soul out to a total stranger. Such therapy! She was harbouring thoughts of her evil deed and the words came out in code. The danger of speaking about this out loud wasn’t lost on her. She knew she shouldn’t say so much but she felt no shame as the hairdresser’s scissors snipped away her long locks changing her look completely. She was bewildered by the face that was emerging in the mirror. Did that look like a sinner? No. She was done. Changed. And then she rose, picked up her torch and walked into the night, knowing that the deaf hairdresser hadn’t heard a word. The soft velvet of the night embraced her.

Panchatantra – The Jackal & The Drum

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Continuing the Panchatantra tales in verse…

(So king Ping-a-laka settled down to hear

Dama-nak-a’s story, all about fear

And an unknown fear, as we all know

Must be faced in order for it to go)

And this dear friends is the tale we’ll hear

About the jackal and the drum he feared

 

The Jackal and the Drum

A hungry jackal went in search of food

And came to a deserted battlefield

But loud strange sounds made him feel not so good

And he thought to run from the battlefield.

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Panchatantra in verse

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As Wikipedia will inform you The Panchatantra (Five Principles’) is an ancient Indian inter-related collection of animal fables in verse and prose, in a frame story format. What I am attempting to do is to treat these in a modern verse format while, hopefully, retaining the original spirit of the stories. I realise this is a daunting exercise, but it is an interesting challenge for me!

The Prologue

Once upon a time, a long time ago

There was a kingdom in south Indi-a

King Amar-a-sakti ruled it, you know

Mahi-la-ro-pyam of South Indi-a.

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Conversion of our Ancestors

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Written by Mrs. Pritilata Singha in 1995 on a visit to Halifax, NS, Canada

This was an article written by my mother for the St. Peter’s Church Birch Cove newsletter. This is our church in Halifax. Most of our congregation found this very interesting and fascinating. I’m placing it here for my family – immediate and extended as a story about their background and inheritance.

To understand conversion in India, I feel one must have a basic knowledge of the social, economic and religious structure of our great country.

The East has always been religious and most or almost all religions have sprung up from Asia and the Middle East. Some have been born in India. Man has dominated Man by superiority of intellect, economic power or sheer physical strength.

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Mystery Lady’s Poems in an old Bible

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I had in my possession an old family Bible, given to me for safekeeping almost twenty years ago. On the flyleaf is an inscription in almost fading black ink, its flowing cursive lines are testimony to an age when penmanship was considered of great importance. It is a simple dedication made out to my maternal grandmother from her aunt and dated June 26th 1913.

To be honest I had never really looked at the Bible much – I have one of my own of more recent vintage – and what’s more it was tied in an old handkerchief that has grown a pale yellow although it has retained its resilience. I thought it was time to pass it on to a family member who still carries my mother’s family name.

However, before I sent the Bible on to the next generation, I decided to look inside and within its secret pages I found some sheets from an old exercise book on which were written nine – I CORRECT MYSELF THERE WERE TEN – perfect little poems. Two of the pages have been eaten by time and so some of the words are lost. The handwriting is not familiar, it doesn’t belong to my mother and nor do I believe the pages are old enough to belong to my grandmother. Inside the Bible was also an Easter card addressed to my mother from my paternal grandaunt, who had never married. However, the handwriting in the poems doesn’t look as though it’s my grandaunt’s either.

So who wrote these poems? Are they verses written by some other poets and merely copied by the writer onto the exercise book sheets? Or were they written by some unsung unheard of poet in my family’s past, on either my mother’s or my father’s side.

I plan to list some of these poems here, so if anyone in the world – who visits this site and recognises the lines as belonging to another poet – do please leave a comment. If not, I think it’s time the Anonymous Poet of the 1913 Bible gets some appreciation.

 The Poems found in an old family Bible

The little things

Be careful of the little things you do

For often times they echo back to you

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The Pen & The Sword

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A conceit 

In an electronic world is one permitted to muse upon the future of expressions such as ‘the pen is mightier than the sword’? Today, can we say, ‘the (computer) key is mightier than the sword? Or, more appropriately, the ‘chip is mightier than the missile’? Then too, with the integration of computers/electronics and warheads/missiles does a comparison exist? After all neither one can be mightier than the other when they are, in fact, the same. Or, should we, in musing, revert to what the expression originally meant, ‘that an idea expressed in words can effect more change faster and sooner and with further reaching implications than a single, short, swift death’?

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Halifax Streets

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From a place called Leeds Street

You can see the ocean

Behind an institute of technology

That spawned engineers and builders

The kind that mauled the hillsides with roads

And marshalled the trees

Into soldierly rows

Gouging out in a mere two centuries

What Nature had husbanded

Soil on rock, soil on soil, layer upon layer

Too thin a soil belt to hold a redwood tree

It bravely sustained pines and hemlock,

Birch, maple, elm and cedar

Too few to people the hills with now

They have become mere street names.

Memories of Nova Scotia – Cape Bretonese

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Cape Bretonese! The article below has been recovered from an old copy circa 2002 of The Chronicle-Herald, the renowned daily newspaper that has delivered news of the world, Canada and Nova Scotia to the people of the province since 1875.  I am proud to say that I worked there as an advertising copywriter from 1994 to 2003.

It is now several years since I left the Herald – as I moved to the Kingdom of Bahrain – but I still feel that I belong to that great community known affectionately as the Herald Family.  In addition, as any Bluenose Nova Scotian will tell you, once you become a Nova Scotian you’ll always be a Nova Scotian no matter where you go… or as they like to say “you can take the Nova Scotian out of Nova Scotia, but you can’t … (take Nova Scotia out of the Nova Scotian)”.

I dedicate this section of the blog to the memory of that most beautiful part of the world where the friendly warmth of the people can dispel even the coldest winter day.

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A Nova Scotia summer in the country

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A bunch of lupines, bending in the sun

Holding their sides and laughing just for fun

Too hysterical from giggling at Life and Lunacy

To stop and share their little joke with me.

A crowd of lupines, gathered in a field

Gossiping in knots of purple, pink and green

Smiling at the clouds, chatting on their knees

Unmindful of the weather and the sudden chilling breeze.

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