Note: Find more poems on Kamala Das on my other blog:
http://arjunpuriinqatar.blogspot.com/2011/10/poems-of-kamala-das.html;
http://arjunpuriinqatar.blogspot.com/2011/10/poems-of-kamala-das-part-ii.html; http://arjunpuriinqatar.blogspot.com/2011/10/poems-of-kamala-das-part-iii.html;
http://arjunpuriinqatar.blogspot.com/2011/10/poems-of-kamala-das-part-iv.html
The first poem of Kamala Das I read was An Introduction in my degree. Kamala Das is no more and Ramamani, the teacher who taught us the poem, is also no more. She was the one who brought interest about Kamala Das during our college days. May both rest in peace.
An Introduction
I don’t know politics but I know the names
Of those in power, and can repeat them like
Days of week, or names of months, beginning with Nehru.
I amIndian, very brown, born inMalabar,
I speak three languages, write in
Two, dream in one.
Don’t write in English, they said, English is
Not your mother-tongue. Why not leave
Me alone, critics, friends, visiting cousins,
Every one of you? Why not let me speak in
Any language I like? The language I speak,
Becomes mine, its distortions, its queernesses
All mine, mine alone.
It is half English, halfIndian, funny perhaps, but it is honest,
It is as human as I am human, don’t
You see? It voices my joys, my longings, my
Hopes, and it is useful to me as cawing
Is to crows or roaring to the lions, it
Is human speech, the speech of the mind that is
Here and not there, a mind that sees and hears and
Is aware. Not the deaf, blind speech
Of trees in storm or of monsoon clouds or of rain or the
Incoherent mutterings of the blazing
Funeral pyre. I was child, and later they
Told me I grew, for I became tall, my limbs
Swelled and one or two places sprouted hair.
WhenI asked for love, not knowing what else to ask
For, he drew a youth of sixteen into the
Bedroom and closed the door, He did not beat me
But my sad woman-body felt so beaten.
The weight of my breasts and womb crushed me.
I shrank Pitifully.
Then … I wore a shirt and my
Brother’s trousers, cut my hair short and ignored
My womanliness. Dress in sarees, be girl
Be wife, they said. Be embroiderer, be cook,
Be a quarreller with servants. Fit in. Oh,
Belong, cried the categorizers. Don’t sit
On walls or peep in through our lace-draped windows.
Be Amy, or be Kamala. Or, better
Still, be Madhavikutty. It is time to
Choose a name, a role. Don’t play pretending games.
Don’t play at schizophrenia or be a
Nympho. Don’t cry embarrassingly loud when
Jilted in love … I met a man, loved him. Call
Him not by any name, he is every man
Who wants. a woman, just as I am every
Woman who seeks love. In him . . . the hungry haste
Of rivers, in me . . . the oceans’ tireless
Waiting. Who are you, I ask each and everyone,
The answer is, it is I. Anywhere and,
Everywhere, I see the one who calls himself I
In this world, he is tightly packed like the
Sword in its sheath. It is I who drink lonely
Drinks at twelve, midnight, in hotels of strange towns,
It is I who laugh, it is I who make love
And then, feel shame, it is I who lie dying
With a rattle in my throat. I am sinner,
I am saint. I am the beloved and the
Betrayed. I have no joys that are not yours, no
Aches which are not yours. I too call myself I.
The Rain
We left that old ungainly house
When my dog died there, after
The burial, after the rose
Flowered twice, pulling it by its
Roots and carting it with our books,
Clothes and chairs in a hurry.
We live in a new house now,
And, the roofs do not leak, but, when
It rains here, I see the rain drench
That empty house, I hear it fall
Where my puppy now lies,
Alone..
(From Only The Soul Knows How To Sing)
The Dance Of The Eunuchs
It was hot, so hot, before the eunuchs came
To dance, wide skirts going round and round, cymbals
Richly clashing, and anklets jingling, jingling
Jingling… Beneath the fiery gulmohur, with
Long braids flying, dark eyes flashing, they danced and
They dance, oh, they danced till they bled… There were green
Tattoos on their cheeks, jasmines in their hair, some
Were dark and some were almost fair. Their voices
Were harsh, their songs melancholy; they sang of
Lovers dying and or children left unborn….
Some beat their drums; others beat their sorry breasts
And wailed, and writhed in vacant ecstasy. They
Were thin in limbs and dry; like half-burnt logs from
Funeral pyres, a drought and a rottenness
Were in each of them. Even the crows were so
Silent on trees, and the children wide-eyed, still;
All were watching these poor creatures’ convulsions
The sky crackled then, thunder came, and lightning
And rain, a meagre rain that smelt of dust in
Attics and the urine of lizards and mice….
(From Summer in Calcutta)
Love
Until I found you,
I wrote verse, drew pictures,
And, went out with friends
For walks…
Now that I love you,
Curled like an old mongrel
My life lies, content,
In you….
(From Summer in Calcutta)
Winter
It smelt of new rains and of tender
Shoots of plants- and its warmth was the warmth
Of earth groping for roots… even my
Soul, I thought, must send its roots somewhere
And, I loved his body without shame,
On winter evenings as cold winds
Chuckled against the white window-panes.
(From Summer in Calcutta)
The Stone Age
Fond husband, ancient settler in the mind,
Old fat spider, weaving webs of bewilderment,
Be kind. You turn me into a bird of stone, a granite
Dove, you build round me a shabby room,
And stroke my pitted face absent-mindedly while
You read. With loud talk you bruise my pre-morning sleep,
You stick a finger into my dreaming eye. And
Yet, on daydreams, strong men cast their shadows, they sink
Like white suns in the swell of my Dravidian blood,
Secretly flow the drains beneath sacred cities.
When you leave, I drive my blue battered car
Along the bluer sea. I run up the forty
Noisy steps to knock at another’s door.
Though peep-holes, the neighbours watch,
they watch me come
And go like rain. Ask me, everybody, ask me
What he sees in me, ask me why he is called a lion,
A libertine, ask me why his hand sways like a hooded snake
Before it clasps my pubis. Ask me why like
A great tree, felled, he slumps against my breasts,
And sleeps. Ask me why life is short and love is
Shorter still, ask me what is bliss and what its price….
(From The Old Playhouse and Other Poems)
The Maggots
At sunset, on the river ban, Krishna
Loved her for the last time and left…
That night in her husband’s arms, Radha felt
So dead that he asked, What is wrong,
Do you mind my kisses, love? And she said,
No, not at all, but thought, What is
It to the corpse if the maggots nip?
(From The Descendants)
Krishna
Your body is my prison, Krishna,
I cannot see beyond it.
Your darkness blinds me,
Your love words shut out the wise world’s din.
(From Only The Soul Knows How To Sing)
Annette
Annette,
At the dresser.
Pale fingers over mirror-fields
Reaping
That wheat brown hair.
Beauty
Falling as chaff in old mirrors,
While calenders
In all
The cities turn….
(From Only The Soul Knows How To Sing)
I don’t know you. You don’t know me. But there’s a common thread – Kamala factor. And I’m so happy to see her poems on your blog, the accidentally stumbled upon blog. I have been in grief ever since I heard about her death. These poems put life back on me…oh how honest she is…isn’t she?
thanks don’t know you. You don’t know me. But there’s a common thread – Kamala factor. And I’m so happy to see her poems on your blog, the accidentally stumbled upon blog. I have been in grief ever since I heard about her death. These poems put life back on me…oh how honest was she—
Find more poems on Kamala Das on my other blog: http://arjunpuriinqatar.blogspot.com/2011/10/poems-of-kamala-das.html and http://arjunpuriinqatar.blogspot.com/2011/10/poems-of-kamala-das-part-ii.html
thanks for sharing poems….but i am unable to find some poems hope u can help me out
-off calcutta
– larger than the life was he
– the conflagration
No poem
“Middle age”
Its definitely there but i could not find it anywhere so plzzzz help me fastttt…..
thanks dude… thanks a lot… but can u pls help me with the poem…. a hot noon in malabar.
thanks a lot:)
I accidentally visited Newstrack India on the internet and came in contact with news about Kamala Das.
Her poems are filled with rich honesty of life. So gratifying you want to relish more…more…give me more.
look in the mirror
Currently reading her autobiography, its lovely , makes me weep , makes me want to sit across a table and talk to her..
hi u dont know me but i like ur pomes, amazing n true feeling of life,makes me weep i want to sit across a table n talk to her
Thanks a lot, U made me alive with these poems. u have done a great job.U made me find something that i had lost
I want to get the summary of the poems an introductin and the looking glass.
If anybody knows pls tel me… Help me out from this..
An Introduction, a poem included in Kamala Das’s first volume of poetry, Summer in Calcutta(1965), begins with a statement that shows her frank distaste for politics, especially in politically free India ruled by a chosen elite. The poet asserts her right to speak three languages, and defends her choice to write in two–her mother-tongue, Malayalam, and English. She doesn’t like to be advised in this matter by any guardian or relations. Her choice is her own: authentic and born of passion. The poet looks upon her decision to write in English as natural and humane.
From the issue of the politics of language the poem then passes on to the subject of sexual politics in a patriarchy-dominated society where a girl attaining puberty is told about her biological changes by some domineering parental figure. As the girl seeks fulfilment of her adolescent passion, a young lover is forced upon her to traumatize and coerce the female-body since the same is the site for patriarchy to display its power and authority. When thereafter, she opts for male clothing to hide her femininity, the guardians enforce typical female attire, with warnings to fit into the socially determined attributes of a woman, to become a wife and a mother and get cofined to the domestic routine. She is threatened to remain within the four walls of her female space lest she should make herself a psychic or a maniac.
But the poet is an individual woman trying to voice a universal womanhood and trying to share her experiences, good or bad, with all other women. Love and sexuality are a strong component in her search for female identity and the identity consists of polarities. The poem ends with repetitions of the 1st person sigular I to suggest vindication of the body and the self.
hi deepika
i m sandeep
you can have all explaination regarding kamala das poems…
mail me for any help….
sandeep
sandeepsuneja2009@gmail.com
sir
are u evn dere in facebook??if u dont mind can u plz add me dere nd send me d summary of summer in calcutta?
coz tomwr i hav got my xam nd i gues m nt prepared..nd my mails r nt openin:(
my id is-anamika.singha827@gmail
Hi..thx so much for uploading Kamala das’s poems. I discovered her late in life & boy! what a discovery. Being a poet myself i feel extremely deprived as she is no more, her thoughts are so mine & so entwined.. wish i could have met her. Reading her poems here just felt so good yet all over again.. thx a ton!
Desperate longing for real love !thats what Kamala Das is all about.Thats what she cared for and nothing else and its so been understood in each line and verse and the poem.the sad solitude so clear! yet never been quenched.It connects many of us together through her.Only her physical body collapsed ,shes all alive..as a bird (as she always wanted ).
So glad that you uploaded her poems.expecting more.
Prayers
Nice 2 read this stuff!
This woman is crazy. I cant resist reading such insane poems. I WASTED MY TIME.
dear sir
can forward me one of kamala das’spoem entitled as
“My Grand Mother’s house” I would be thankful to you.Please i need it urgent
MY GRANDMOTHER’S HOUSE
There is a house now far away where once
I received love……. That woman died,
The house withdrew into silence, snakes moved
Among books, I was then too young
To read, and my blood turned cold like the moon
How often I think of going
There, to peer through blind eyes of windows or
Just listen to the frozen air,
Or in wild despair, pick an armful of
Darkness to bring it here to lie
Behind my bedroom door like a brooding
Dog…you cannot believe, darling,
Can you, that I lived in such a house and
Was proud, and loved…. I who have lost
My way and beg now at strangers’ doors to
Receive love, at least in small change?
We will now divide the poem into three parts and read the first part once again.
– Kamala Das
Appreciable effort. Dear sir, i need “A Doll for the Child Prostitute” by Kamala Das. I am lecturer in English and this work is included in our syllabus–B.S English. I am unable to find the text.
dear sir,
I will be extremly greatful to you if u can forward me kamal Das’s poem, The sunshine cat. Thank u
I felt very sorry to learn about Kamala Das death but it is enviatbl.Her poems are representing solitary life of man Indian Wome. Her openness is appreciable I feel sorr for her decision of opting Islam which indicates She didnt understand Hindu Philosophy indeapth. Her critism of HIndu religion puts bitter taste in mouth
I felt sorry to learn Kamala Das s death. Her poems represent solittary life of Ind ian women in general.Here openness about hersexlife needs appreciation.I also feel sorr for her opting Islam.Probably She did not understand greatness of Hindu Philosophy
can you plz explain me the poem ‘punishment in kindergarten’?
Hi, The very first of her poems I ever read was ‘The looking glass’ during college and I and my friend sat reading and brooding over it’s beauty….though there would be prudish giggles from other students when this poem was referred to. It started my journey to into self introspection though I had started writing poems in English before….the introduction to kAMALA DAS opened a whole array of the unknown world to be explored by me…yet unexplored in my poems being from a conservative family. I appreciate her because I still could not achieve her type of openness…it’s as she says…I don’t bring myself to write more frankly as I feel ashamed….may it’s a universal experience of woman writers worldwide… it’s drilled in their collective unconsciousness by the patriarchal society…that’s why poets like SYLVIA PLATH saw herself as a frigid woman in most of her poems…maybe it takes a poet like DAS to celebrate her womanhood even aesthetically, whatever ‘price’ she had to pay for it later. Her death…I stumbled upon the news accidentally….and something broke inside…a silent grief…and I did not know with whom to share what lay beneath as not many appreciate her or know her where I work…Thanx dear….
would you plz give me the summary of the poem ‘punishment in kindergarten’ by Kamala Das?
Thanks for uploading the poems of Kamala Das on your blog, Mr. Puri. Could you also upload her poem “The Substitute”?
Great!! Thank you for keeping these live poems alive.
Thank you… 🙂
Hey there…..i wd realy b obliged if u wd js 4wrd me d tytals of all the poems of kamala das……i realy need it urgently….please help me out…i wd b grtful to you..thank you
Hi,
I would like to read the poem ‘Middle Age” by Kamala Das. Can anyone send me the same?
Tks
Iam very happy to get introduced to several poems of Kamala Das.Can I have the poem “The Freaks” with explanation in your blog sir?
stumbled upon this blog.. n so glad to re-read her poems after years… she is a very outspoken yet expressive poet.. her solitude is evident… thanks for the upload !
Hi
I haven’t read Kamla Das much but her poems are an honest glimpse of a woman’s longing for love, that kept transforming in the gentle flow of her style.
One should be very careful with what one chooses to read at the beginning of a new fervor. Kamala Das’ is one of the first poets I happened to stumble upon and chose not to lift myself up from her honest verses. It is so difficult for me to bring myself to enjoy poems by many other poets.
How I wish I could get glimpse of her in the flesh!!
I can’t express myself with words…… but i know the language of soul….
Aami ( kamala das ) knows that very much………………
i love her………………
Stumbled on to your blog while looking for some of Kamala’s writings. Thank you for doing this. Great stuff.
She was and will always be an inspiration. I remember reading her autobiography when I was twelve, weeping bucket loads and then writing out in my diary…’ I am not mad. I am like Kamala.’
plz…..send critical appreciation of my grand mother’s house of kamala das
i love all her peoms
hey there! by any chance do you know anything about kamala das’ first collection Sirens?
plz……….. send me critical appreciation of” the sunshine cat” and what does the title “the freaks” symbolise?
Please anybody send me kamladas’ poem
” A hot noon in malabar”
anybody send me poem a hot noon in malabar
plzzzzz
A HOT NOON IN MALABAR
This is a noon for beggars with whining
Voices, a noon for men who come from hills
with parrots in the cage and fortune cards,
all stained with time, for brown kurava girls
with old eyes,who read palms in light singsong
Voices, for bangle-sellers who spread
On the cool black floor those red and green and blue
Bangles , all covered with the dust of the roads,
For all of them , whose feet , devouring rough
Miles , grow cracks on the heels, so that when they
clambered up our porch, the noise was grating
Strange……. This is noon for strangers who part
The window-drapes and peer in, their hot eyes
Brimming with the sun , not seeing a thing in
Shadowy rooms and turn away and look
So yearningly at the brick-ledged well. This
Is a noon for strangers with mistrust in
Their eyes ,dark silent ones, their voices
Run wild, like jungle-voices. Yes this is
A noon for wild men , wild thoughts, wild love. To
Be here, far away , is torture.Wild feet
stirring up the dust, this is a hot noon, at my
home in Malabar, and I so far away
May u send me kamla das’s poems on my email, my grandmother house,the sunshine cat,
I hope u help me,
Thanks
I’ll wait 4 poems.
plz. mention your mail id…
Sarita,
Find more poems on Kamala Das on my other blog: http://arjunpuriinqatar.blogspot.com/2011/10/poems-of-kamala-das.html and http://arjunpuriinqatar.blogspot.com/2011/10/poems-of-kamala-das-part-ii.html
dear sir
can you forward me one of kamala das’spoem entitled as next to indira gandhi
i need as many poems by kamala das as possible for my thesis dissertation. i`m from argentina and there`s no material here so i´m surfing the net but up tp now i havent found so many poems for my corpus. please help me
A Relationship
Yes,
It was my desire that made him male
And beautiful, so that when at last we
Met, to believe that once I knew not his
Form, his quiet touch or the blind kindness
Of his lips was hard indeed. Betray me?
My body’s wisdom tells and tells again
And even death nowhere else but here in
My betrayer’s arms …
(Summer in Calcutta)
My Mother At Sixty-six
Driving from my parents’ home to Cochin last Friday
Morning, I saw my mother beside me,
Doze, open mouthed, her face ashen like that
Of a corpse and realized with pain
That she was as old as she looked, but soon
Put that thought away, and looked out at young
Trees sprinting, the merry children spilling
Out of their homes, but after the airport’s
Security check, standing a few yards
Away, I looked again at her, wan, pale
As a late winter’s moon and felt that old
Familiar ache, my childhood’s fear,
But all I said was, see you soon, Amma,
All I did was smile and smile and smile…
This is the one I like most !!!!
The Old Playhouse
You planned to tame a swallow, to hold her
In the long summer of your love so that she would forget
Not the raw seasons alone, and the homes left behind, but
Also her nature, the urge to fly, and the endless
Pathways of the sky. It was not to gather knowledge
Of yet another man that I came to you but to learn
What I was, and by learning, to learn to grow, but every
Lesson you gave was about yourself. You were pleased
With my body’s response, its weather, its usual shallow
Convulsions. You dribbled spittle into my mouth, you poured
Yourself into every nook and cranny, you embalmed
My poor lust with your bitter-sweet juices. You called me wife,
I was taught to break saccharine into your tea and
To offer at the right moment the vitamins. Cowering
Beneath your monstrous ego I ate the magic loaf and
Became a dwarf. I lost my will and reason, to all your
Questions I mumbled incoherent replies. The summer
Begins to pall. I remember the rudder breezes
Of the fall and the smoke from the burning leaves. Your room is
Always lit by artificial lights, your windows always
Shut. Even the air-conditioner helps so little,
All pervasive is the male scent of your breath. The cut flowers
In the vases have begun to smell of human sweat. There is
No more singing, no more dance, my mind is an old
Playhouse with all its lights put out. The strong man’s technique is
Always the same, he serves his love in lethal doses,
For, love is Narcissus at the water’s edge, haunted
By its own lonely face, and yet it must seek at last
An end, a pure, total freedom, it must will the mirrors
To shatter and the kind night to erase the water.
A Relationship
Yes,
It was my desire that made him male
And beautiful, so that when at last we
Met, to believe that once I knew not his
Form, his quiet touch or the blind kindness
Of his lips was hard indeed. Betray me?
My body’s wisdom tells and tells again
And even death nowhere else but here in
My betrayer’s arms …
i will remember her.
My Mother At Sixty-six
Driving from my parents’ home to Cochin last Friday
Morning, I saw my mother beside me,
Doze, open mouthed, her face ashen like that
Of a corpse and realized with pain
That she was as old as she looked, but soon
Put that thought away, and looked out at young
Trees sprinting, the merry children spilling
Out of their homes, but after the airport’s
Security check, standing a few yards
Away, I looked again at her, wan, pale
As a late winter’s moon and felt that old
Familiar ache, my childhood’s fear,
But all I said was, see you soon, Amma,
All I did was smile and smile and smile…
it’s pleasure to read poems of kamla Das on the net. Now I am searching poems of some other poets.
The Descendents
We have spent our youth in gentle sinning
Exchanging some insubstantial love and
Often thought we were hurt, but no pain in
Us could remain, no bruise could scar or
Even slightly mar our cold loveliness.
We have lain in every weather, nailed, no, not
To crosses, but to soft beds and against
Softer forms, while the heaving, lurching,
Tender hours passed in a half-dusk, half-dawn and
Half-dream, half-real trance. We were the yielders,
Yielding ourselves to everything. It is
Not for us to scrape the walls of wombs for
Memories, not for us even to
Question death, but as child to mother’s arms
We shall give ourselves to the fire or to
The hungry earth to be slowly eaten,
Devoured. None will step off his cross
Or show his wounds to us, no god lost in
Silence shall begin to speak, no lost love
Claim us, no, we are not going to be
Ever redeemed, or made new.
can you please send me a short summary of descendents
please I really need the poems “The Freaks”. “The Sunshine Cat”, “A Request”, “The Invitation”, “The Conflagration”, “Substitute”, “Of Calcutta”, “In Love” and “A Hot Noon in Malabar” for my thesis dissertation on her poetry. I`m from Argentina and there are no published material about Das here.
Hi, You can find more poems on Kamala Das on my other blog: http://arjunpuriinqatar.blogspot.com/2011/10/poems-of-kamala-das.html and http://arjunpuriinqatar.blogspot.com/2011/10/poems-of-kamala-das-part-ii.html
This is the poem from kamala das I like best:
The Old Playhouse
You planned to tame a swallow, to hold her
In the long summer of your love so that she would forget
Not the raw seasons alone, and the homes left behind, but
Also her nature, the urge to fly, and the endless
Pathways of the sky. It was not to gather knowledge
Of yet another man that I came to you but to learn
What I was, and by learning, to learn to grow, but every
Lesson you gave was about yourself. You were pleased
With my body’s response, its weather, its usual shallow
Convulsions. You dribbled spittle into my mouth, you poured
Yourself into every nook and cranny, you embalmed
My poor lust with your bitter-sweet juices. You called me wife,
I was taught to break saccharine into your tea and
To offer at the right moment the vitamins. Cowering
Beneath your monstrous ego I ate the magic loaf and
Became a dwarf. I lost my will and reason, to all your
Questions I mumbled incoherent replies. The summer
Begins to pall. I remember the rudder breezes
Of the fall and the smoke from the burning leaves. Your room is
Always lit by artificial lights, your windows always
Shut. Even the air-conditioner helps so little,
All pervasive is the male scent of your breath. The cut flowers
In the vases have begun to smell of human sweat. There is
No more singing, no more dance, my mind is an old
Playhouse with all its lights put out. The strong man’s technique is
Always the same, he serves his love in lethal doses,
For, love is Narcissus at the water’s edge, haunted
By its own lonely face, and yet it must seek at last
An end, a pure, total freedom, it must will the mirrors
To shatter and the kind night to erase the water.
My favorite is ‘My grandmother’s house’. Recently read Merrily Weisbord’s The Love Queen of Malabar. A must-read for all Madhavikutty fans.It is available on Amazon
A Relationship
Yes,
It was my desire that made him male
And beautiful, so that when at last we
Met, to believe that once I knew not his
Form, his quiet touch or the blind kindness
Of his lips was hard indeed. Betray me?
My body’s wisdom tells and tells again
And even death nowhere else but here in
My betrayer’s arms …
(Summer in Calcutta)
My Mother At Sixty-six
Driving from my parents’ home to C
ochin last Friday
Morning, I saw my mother beside me,
Doze, open mouthed, her face ashen like that
Of a corpse and realized with pain
That she was as old as she looked, but soon
Put that thought away, and looked out at young
Trees sprinting, the merry children spilling
Out of their homes, but after the airport’s
Security check, standing a few yards
Away, I looked again at her, wan, pale
As a late winter’s moon and felt that old
Familiar ache, my childhood’s fear,
But all I said was, see you soon, Amma,
All I did was smile and smile and smile…
thanks for this lovely post. what a woman. she was so ahead of her times and what can one say about her guts?
i m pround to b an indian with such a good writer
I can speak and write three languages, I can dream in on language. But I have no language to express pleasure of reading her poems/fiction.
I was looking for the writings of Kamala Das . No bound for the joy to see your blog. Thank you for creating this blog.
I love Kamala Das and her emotions-packed poetry…thanks for uploading her work here..
I would like to get Kamala Das’s poem starting with the line words are like birds.
Do anyone have it?pls post
Poems of Kamala Das
i would like to get the detail contributions made by Kamala Das in Indian English literature and about her poem “forest Fire”.
If you could kindly mail the above request, it will be a great help from your side.
thank you.
can anyone help me out with the summary of the poem “The Invitation” by kamala das…..
The poems of Kamala Surayya alias Kamala Das alias Madhavikutty are in fact a prick of pangs felt in the innermost receptacles of the human psyche, precipitating a gyration of all the passions, emotions and sensibilities, catapualitng the entire terrrestrial subdued potentialities into a sublime plane of esoteric vibration, elevating ourselves into ethereal and transcendental meditative and yogic trances that are quite ecstatic and exuberantly entwined labyrinths of human personality.
i love kamal das and her poem’s too…..
i love the way she writes….
i am pround to be an malayali…
Me too
hi, please give me the summary of THE MAGGOTS
i would like 2 get a poem ‘My Sons’ by Kamala Das. Plz post it
I m very impressed with kamla das poem.somebody send me the old play house and my story.plz
Maria,
Find more poems on Kamala Das on my other blog: http://arjunpuriinqatar.blogspot.com/2011/10/poems-of-kamala-das.html and http://arjunpuriinqatar.blogspot.com/2011/10/poems-of-kamala-das-part-ii.html
It would be of great help if some one can post the poem In Love by Kamala Das…Thanks.
IN LOVE-
O what does the burning mouth
Of sun, burning in today’s,
Sky, remind me….oh, yes, his
Mouth, and….his limbs like pale and
Carnivorous plants reaching
out for me, and the sad lie
of my unending lust.
Where is room, excuse or even
Need for love, for, isn’t each
Embrace a complete thing a finished
Jigsaw, when mouth on mouth, i lie,
Ignoring my poor moody mind
While pleasure, with deliberate gaeity
Trumpets harshly into the silence of
the room… At noon
I watch the sleek crows flying
Like poison on wings-and at
Night, from behind the Burdwan
Road, the corpse-bearers cry ‘Bol,
Hari Bol’ , a strange lacing
For moonless nights, while I walk
The verandah sleepless, a
Million questions awake in
Me, and all about him, and
This skin-communicated
Thing that I dare not yet in
His presence call our love.
From ‘SUMMER IN CALCUTTA’ 1965
Well………..not that i can beat!
It is nice to read Kamala Das’ poems as they reveal the inner conflicts of the poetess. On reading about her poems i was reminded of Emily Dickens’ poems they are obsessed with death and also replicates her own life. Thanks
hey i just need to know the answer to a question_”what does kamala das’ poems reflect”..
thnx. =)
Her poems are called confessional poems where in they reveal her experience.
please upload the poem ‘ The sunshine cat” by Kamala Das.
I just discovered Kamala Das… and I have been captivated ever since…
She celebrates womanhood… in its most crude form..and maybe one of the most beautiful forms….
Hey … I am DU student.. I have to make a presentation of kamla das poems.. Please suggest me some very nice poems of her along with there explanation.. Please help me as soon as possible.. Will be thankful to you…
My Mother at Sixty Six –
Summary of “My Mother at Sixty-Six”
On a gray day, the speaker leaves her mother as well as her home to win her bread,
while her mother with a long face stands and stares. The speaker easily filters her
glimpses through the plethora of unfamiliar faces. When a bouquet of cheerful
children is caught fluttering in the open with sheer alacrity, revives in her the
smarting childhood agony of a mysterious premonition, that is, losing her mother.
Reviving from the psychological flickers at once, she sees her mother is shielded
inside a pal of benumbed silence. Still the airport hums, as the passengers are
requested to filter through the custom’s care. Still a helpless mother, with
wrenching heart and swelling emotion, bids a helpless goodbye to her helpless
daughter.
Strangeness added to beauty
The readers are proud of having read such a poem built on the agony of a
wrenching heart that resides in a child for her mother. The poet looks into the gray
olden age strumming the strings of childhood life. Bringing of the sportive
children restores vivacity into the relationship. So we may without having a tinge
of hesitation say, a mother’s love is helplessly trampled under the technological
terror of airplane wheels.
Focus-
Mother stands in her life like a tree, on whose branch swings the childhood of the
daughter.
1. Relationship – Relationship is the nucleus of the poem. It seems love
creates an unfading relationship and it wields its brush over at least two
souls and assigns a meadow of agony with a river of fecundity.
2. Nostalgia – The speaker is carried away by her childhood premonition of
losing her mother.
3. Sense of isolation – A deep sense of never-happened-before isolation
creeps into the heart of the speaker.
4. A silent agony – The speaker is overtaken by a terrible numbness. An
awkward silence creeps into her being. She fears looking back at the
slinking childhood of losing her mother’s magnanimous shadow. Her
mother is presumably taken to be motionless and still – ‘dead’ to say in
brief. The destination is worthy of its name too – Cochin – signifying
‘sleep’ – clearly signifies that the speaker would soon see her mother to be
a denizen of the other world.
5. Vitality of relationship – Children spill over, and yet again spring out
vitality, vivacity and velocity of life. The moment a child is born, the
mother is also born. So losing her mother is nothing but an idiosyncratic
outlook? Her mother is not going to sink in death, since her child keeps
breathing – since other children are still there to make the earth rotate.
Reading between the lines
The daughter evinces her mother silently suffer. She finds her mother
heartbroken… she smiles away her agony though… she accepts her future
loneliness… bereft of mother… having the unluckily lucky opportunity to love her
absence, tread her shadows, and swing into the painfully happy nostalgia of a
hallowed past. At the fag end of the poem, we see the mother stay as a neverending
song in the speaker’s heart of comfort, happiness and being.
About the word “Mother”
‘Mother’ fills the topmost rank in the list of most-used words. She carries the key
of one’s soul in her bosoms. The moment a child is born, the mother is also born.
“Being a full-time mother is one of the highest salaried jobs in my field, since the
payment is pure love” (Mildred B. Vermont). A mother is something absolutely
new. A mother is priced of God.
The never-extinguished love
Love is a soothing balm over the wounds of expectation and waiting. That’s why
love makes a dare infiltration even if the security of a heart is steel-tightened.
Here, the mother’s love steals away with the booty – the soul of her child. Hence,
love is not to mean, but be.
The talking soul of the speaker – the silent monologue vanishes into the fading
half of the day, but the journey continues, as every journey of a relationship need
to be continued… “spilling over”… with optimistic enjoyment abundant.
This poem revolves around the theme of advancing age and the fear adheared to it of loss and separation.
The poet is on the way to airport in Cochin ,when she is stuck by the realization of the advancing age of her mother.It is very difficult for her to accept that her mother is creeping into the grips of old age.When she looks at her mother sitting by her side ,she notices her corpse like ashen face which reminds her of her aproaching death.She is pale and worn out.
The green trees racing past the speeding car are grim reminders of time which has passed.The joyous children playing outside give her some respite a she is lost in her thoughts of old age.The children represent old youth,energy and life.she is probably driven back to the days of her idyllic youth when the mother had been young.Now she was encircled in the fear of losing her,this made her feel insecure.She had this feeling when ever she looked at her mother as she had lost the blush of youth and middle age and now in her twiligh years had become as pale as the winter moon.
She is happy to see her mother is still breathing.But she is beset with sorrow and insecurity as she departs at the airport bidding goodbye to her mother and trying to hide her fears by smiling as she looked at her.
Hi, I want to read kamala’s poems and summary. Could you feed me?
Basappa,
Find more poems on Kamala Das on my other blog: http://arjunpuriinqatar.blogspot.com/2011/10/poems-of-kamala-das.html and http://arjunpuriinqatar.blogspot.com/2011/10/poems-of-kamala-das-part-ii.html
hi plz can u post kamala dass poem “composition” here……….i’ll be vry grateful……..she was an awesum writer………..
Can anyone please send me the summary of “My Mother at Sixty-six”?
plzzzzzzzzzzz
pliz….upload her poem”spoiling the Name”.I am desperately in need of it.thank u so much!
Hi everyone, the one common factor KamalaDas brings so many like minded people together. I am bereaved by her death which is inevitable. i am sure her feelings on relationship is something most of us feel too, but dont voice it. She is the voice of every woman.
can any one forward me the poems ‘ the wild bougainvillea’,’jaisurya’
Prasanthi,
Find more poems on Kamala Das on my other blog: http://arjunpuriinqatar.blogspot.com/2011/10/poems-of-kamala-das.html and http://arjunpuriinqatar.blogspot.com/2011/10/poems-of-kamala-das-part-ii.html
My Mother at Sixty Six –
Summary of “My Mother at Sixty-Six”
On a gray day, the speaker leaves her mother as well as her home to win her bread,
while her mother with a long face stands and stares. The speaker easily filters her
glimpses through the plethora of unfamiliar faces. When a bouquet of cheerful
children is caught fluttering in the open with sheer alacrity, revives in her the
smarting childhood agony of a mysterious premonition, that is, losing her mother.
Reviving from the psychological flickers at once, she sees her mother is shielded
inside a pal of benumbed silence. Still the airport hums, as the passengers are
requested to filter through the custom’s care. Still a helpless mother, with
wrenching heart and swelling emotion, bids a helpless goodbye to her helpless
daughter.
Strangeness added to beauty
The readers are proud of having read such a poem built on the agony of a
wrenching heart that resides in a child for her mother. The poet looks into the gray
olden age strumming the strings of childhood life. Bringing of the sportive
children restores vivacity into the relationship. So we may without having a tinge
of hesitation say, a mother’s love is helplessly trampled under the technological
terror of airplane wheels.
Focus-
Mother stands in her life like a tree, on whose branch swings the childhood of the
daughter.
1. Relationship – Relationship is the nucleus of the poem. It seems love
creates an unfading relationship and it wields its brush over at least two
souls and assigns a meadow of agony with a river of fecundity.
2. Nostalgia – The speaker is carried away by her childhood premonition of
losing her mother.
3. Sense of isolation – A deep sense of never-happened-before isolation
creeps into the heart of the speaker.
4. A silent agony – The speaker is overtaken by a terrible numbness. An
awkward silence creeps into her being. She fears looking back at the
slinking childhood of losing her mother’s magnanimous shadow. Her
mother is presumably taken to be motionless and still – ‘dead’ to say in
brief. The destination is worthy of its name too – Cochin – signifying
‘sleep’ – clearly signifies that the speaker would soon see her mother to be
a denizen of the other world.
5. Vitality of relationship – Children spill over, and yet again spring out
vitality, vivacity and velocity of life. The moment a child is born, the
mother is also born. So losing her mother is nothing but an idiosyncratic
outlook? Her mother is not going to sink in death, since her child keeps
breathing – since other children are still there to make the earth rotate.
Reading between the lines
The daughter evinces her mother silently suffer. She finds her mother
heartbroken… she smiles away her agony though… she accepts her future
loneliness… bereft of mother… having the unluckily lucky opportunity to love her
absence, tread her shadows, and swing into the painfully happy nostalgia of a
hallowed past. At the fag end of the poem, we see the mother stay as a neverending
song in the speaker’s heart of comfort, happiness and being.
About the word “Mother”
‘Mother’ fills the topmost rank in the list of most-used words. She carries the key
of one’s soul in her bosoms. The moment a child is born, the mother is also born.
“Being a full-time mother is one of the highest salaried jobs in my field, since the
payment is pure love” (Mildred B. Vermont). A mother is something absolutely
new. A mother is priced of God.
The never-extinguished love
Love is a soothing balm over the wounds of expectation and waiting. That’s why
love makes a dare infiltration even if the security of a heart is steel-tightened.
Here, the mother’s love steals away with the booty – the soul of her child. Hence,
love is not to mean, but be.
The talking soul of the speaker – the silent monologue vanishes into the fading
half of the day, but the journey continues, as every journey of a relationship need
to be continued… “spilling over”… with optimistic enjoyment abundant.
This poem revolves around the theme of advancing age and the fear adheared to it of loss and separation.
The poet is on the way to airport in Cochin ,when she is stuck by the realization of the advancing age of her mother.It is very difficult for her to accept that her mother is creeping into the grips of old age.When she looks at her mother sitting by her side ,she notices her corpse like ashen face which reminds her of her aproaching death.She is pale and worn out.
The green trees racing past the speeding car are grim reminders of time which has passed.The joyous children playing outside give her some respite a she is lost in her thoughts of old age.The children represent old youth,energy and life.she is probably driven back to the days of her idyllic youth when the mother had been young.Now she was encircled in the fear of losing her,this made her feel insecure.She had this feeling when ever she looked at her mother as she had lost the blush of youth and middle age and now in her twiligh years had become as pale as the winter moon.
She is happy to see her mother is still breathing.But she is beset with sorrow and insecurity as she departs at the airport bidding goodbye to her mother and trying to hide her fears by smiling as she looked at her.
pl send me some lovely love,and sad poems of kamaladas
Krishna,
Find more poems on Kamala Das on my other blog: http://arjunpuriinqatar.blogspot.com/2011/10/poems-of-kamala-das.html and http://arjunpuriinqatar.blogspot.com/2011/10/poems-of-kamala-das-part-ii.html
PIZ TELL ME VARIOUS THEMES IN KAMALA DAS’S POETRY.
PIZ TELL ME WHAT KIND OF HUMAN RELATIONSHIP IS PRESENTEDIN KAMALA DAS’S POETRY.
Thank you so much for putting together Kamala Das’s poetry…I can’t thank you enough.
Her poetry brings to my soul, the coolness of a rainy evening…
Thank you so much for putting together Kamala Das’s poetry..I can’t thank you enough.
Her poetry brings to my soul, the coolness of a rainy evening…
Thanks Arun,
Find more poems on Kamala Das on my other blog: http://arjunpuriinqatar.blogspot.com/2011/10/poems-of-kamala-das.html and http://arjunpuriinqatar.blogspot.com/2011/10/poems-of-kamala-das-part-ii.html
plz forward me the poems’The Inheritence’ and ‘The Corridors’
Pooja, Find more poems on Kamala Das on my other blog: http://arjunpuriinqatar.blogspot.com/2011/10/poems-of-kamala-das.html and http://arjunpuriinqatar.blogspot.com/2011/10/poems-of-kamala-das-part-ii.html
My Mother at Sixty Six –
Summary of “My Mother at Sixty-Six”
On a gray day, the speaker leaves her mother as well as her home to win her bread,
while her mother with a long face stands and stares. The speaker easily filters her
glimpses through the plethora of unfamiliar faces. When a bouquet of cheerful
children is caught fluttering in the open with sheer alacrity, revives in her the
smarting childhood agony of a mysterious premonition, that is, losing her mother.
Reviving from the psychological flickers at once, she sees her mother is shielded
inside a pal of benumbed silence. Still the airport hums, as the passengers are
requested to filter through the custom’s care. Still a helpless mother, with
wrenching heart and swelling emotion, bids a helpless goodbye to her helpless
daughter.
Strangeness added to beauty
The readers are proud of having read such a poem built on the agony of a
wrenching heart that resides in a child for her mother. The poet looks into the gray
olden age strumming the strings of childhood life. Bringing of the sportive
children restores vivacity into the relationship. So we may without having a tinge
of hesitation say, a mother’s love is helplessly trampled under the technological
terror of airplane wheels.
Hai! I am M.S.Subbulakshmi from Trichy. Kamala Das is my favourite Indian writer and I do not want to use the term women writer as I do not want to discriminate between men and women writers as creation does not have any boundaries. I am an Assistant Professor now just because of Kamala Das. When I appeared for my SLET exams in 2004 I prepared a lot on so many Indian writers but had a very deep understanding of Kamala Das’ poetries. And its my luck that I had the essay question “Discuss Kamala Das as a confessional poet” which let me clear my
Hai! I am M.S.Subbulakshmi from Trichy. Kamala Das is my favourite Indian writer and I do not want to use the term women writer as I do not want to discriminate between men and women writers as creation does not have any boundaries. I am an Assistant Professor now just because of Kamala Das. When I appeared for my SLET exams in 2004 I prepared a lot on so many Indian writers but had a very deep understanding of Kamala Das’ poetries. And its my luck that I had the essay question “Discuss Kamala Das as a confessional poet” which let me clear my SLET exams.So I am always indebted to Kamala Das
I can only comment on the Poems of Kamaladas with another poem sprouting from my own inner self.
Just as Kamala new the new sprouts of pubic hair in one or two places, I too knew fully well the sprout of not hair, but the burning ambitions of getting lost into the marshy places of the tweny first century which has already marked an absolute diabolic creature waiting to gulp the whole universe of values and morals.
Kamaldas has done justice to her inner self confessing the anticonventional styles vying with the yonder writers.
Murali Nair
I am looking for her poem WILD HONEY. can anyone help me.thanks
Kunhi, Find more poems on Kamala Das on my other blog: http://arjunpuriinqatar.blogspot.com/2011/10/poems-of-kamala-das.html and http://arjunpuriinqatar.blogspot.com/2011/10/poems-of-kamala-das-part-ii.html
IT’S NICE
THANK YOU so much,I Really love aami because she is very much honest….
I love Kamla Das for her simple and powerful confession.
Kamala das, she is an angel in Indian poetry THANK YOU SO MUCH. Upon to me aami is my friend, kamala das is my teacher, and kamala surayya is my role model, in my life. iam allways thankful to her for helping me to know who iam and my great path.
I appreciate Kamala Das as a contemporary women writer of India b’cos she always attempts to write about the injustice for women in Indian traditional society. She also emphasizes on sexuality, urban lifestyle,freedom of women,and gender discrimination.As an Indian writer she has post colonial influence in her writings. Linguistics aspect of the Indian culture is obvious as she gives priority to her own vernercular language malayalam both in her writing and speaking. Priyadarshani from Sri Lanka.
i searched too much for her poem ” a hot noon in malabar ” plz help me thanks 🙂
A HOT NOON IN MALABAR
This is a noon for beggars with whining
Voices, a noon for men who come from hills
with parrots in the cage and fortune cards,
all stained with time, for brown kurava girls
with old eyes,who read palms in light singsong
Voices, for bangle-sellers who spread
On the cool black floor those red and green and blue
Bangles , all covered with the dust of the roads,
For all of them , whose feet , devouring rough
Miles , grow cracks on the heels, so that when they
clambered up our porch, the noise was grating
Strange……. This is noon for strangers who part
The window-drapes and peer in, their hot eyes
Brimming with the sun , not seeing a thing in
Shadowy rooms and turn away and look
So yearningly at the brick-ledged well. This
Is a noon for strangers with mistrust in
Their eyes ,dark silent ones, their voices
Run wild, like jungle-voices. Yes this is
A noon for wild men , wild thoughts, wild love. To
Be here, far away , is torture.Wild feet
stirring up the dust, this is a hot noon, at my
home in Malabar, and I so far away
Prachi, Find more poems on Kamala Das on my other blog: http://arjunpuriinqatar.blogspot.com/2011/10/poems-of-kamala-das.html and http://arjunpuriinqatar.blogspot.com/2011/10/poems-of-kamala-das-part-ii.html
My Godess of Love and Letters. She was my subject for M Phil & PhD
both.People read her……….I lived her in my work for well 6-7 years. May her soul rest in peace.
I WISH TO READ A POEM –FREAK
Grishma, Find more poems on Kamala Das on my other blog: http://arjunpuriinqatar.blogspot.com/2011/10/poems-of-kamala-das.html and http://arjunpuriinqatar.blogspot.com/2011/10/poems-of-kamala-das-part-ii.html
It’s great to find so big treasure at one site. Though kamla ji is criticised, she is unique. She really lived her life beautifully.
Thanks Yashwant, Find more poems on Kamala Das on my other blog: http://arjunpuriinqatar.blogspot.com/2011/10/poems-of-kamala-das.html and http://arjunpuriinqatar.blogspot.com/2011/10/poems-of-kamala-das-part-ii.html
Being born in the same community i heard only nasty comments about’ my Kamaladas’ from my relatives and elders. But now I want to share my children of age 10 and 12, the writings of her only as it will help them to learn what honesty, truth and maturity are.I even like to measure these elements in others by their liking or disliking towards her
i deeply love kamala das for her simple and power life path
very beautiful poemssssssss
Thank u, find more poems on Kamala Das on my other blog: http://arjunpuriinqatar.blogspot.com/2011/10/poems-of-kamala-das.html and http://arjunpuriinqatar.blogspot.com/2011/10/poems-of-kamala-das-part-ii.html
Could you please upload the poem “Summer in Calcutta”?
Hi Kaustav, Find more poems on Kamala Das on my other blog: http://arjunpuriinqatar.blogspot.com/2011/10/poems-of-kamala-das.html and http://arjunpuriinqatar.blogspot.com/2011/10/poems-of-kamala-das-part-ii.html
hai friends i am a srilankan please help me to buy kamala das poetry books. even in delhi i couldnt find
i accidently reached this blog.now am the happiest person since i can read such a wonderful writer.thanx
Thank you fathima, Find more poems on Kamala Das on my other blog: http://arjunpuriinqatar.blogspot.com/2011/10/poems-of-kamala-das.html and http://arjunpuriinqatar.blogspot.com/2011/10/poems-of-kamala-das-part-ii.html
i loved all her poems.it is very hard to study kamaladas and her emotive levels from a public view.
we have to analyze and think about her themes and writings from an ordinary way which means from an emotive level of a human being.we cant see the real love and catharsis flow out from her poems by considering our poor man’s life in this conservative world enriched with hatred and poverty for love.
to understand her we have to love each one in this world
Thank you Priyesh. Find more poems on Kamala Das on my other blog: http://arjunpuriinqatar.blogspot.com/2011/10/poems-of-kamala-das.html and http://arjunpuriinqatar.blogspot.com/2011/10/poems-of-kamala-das-part-ii.html
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Hi, Thank you. Kindly give me ur blog, will go through it. Meanwhile, find more poems on Kamala Das on my other blog: http://arjunpuriinqatar.blogspot.com/2011/10/poems-of-kamala-das.html and http://arjunpuriinqatar.blogspot.com/2011/10/poems-of-kamala-das-part-ii.html
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Thank you, find more poems on Kamala Das on my other blog: http://arjunpuriinqatar.blogspot.com/2011/10/poems-of-kamala-das.html and http://arjunpuriinqatar.blogspot.com/2011/10/poems-of-kamala-das-part-ii.html
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Hi Elmo,
Thank you. Kindly give me ur blog, will go through it. Meanwhile, find more poems on Kamala Das on my other blog: http://arjunpuriinqatar.blogspot.com/2011/10/poems-of-kamala-das.html and http://arjunpuriinqatar.blogspot.com/2011/10/poems-of-kamala-das-part-ii.html
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Hi Andrew,
Thank you. Kindly give me ur blog, will go through it. Meanwhile, find more poems on Kamala Das on my other blog: http://arjunpuriinqatar.blogspot.com/2011/10/poems-of-kamala-das.html and http://arjunpuriinqatar.blogspot.com/2011/10/poems-of-kamala-das-part-ii.html
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Hi Damaris,
Find more poems on Kamala Das on my other blog: http://arjunpuriinqatar.blogspot.com/2011/10/poems-of-kamala-das.html and http://arjunpuriinqatar.blogspot.com/2011/10/poems-of-kamala-das-part-ii.html
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Hi, Find more poems on Kamala Das on my other blog: http://arjunpuriinqatar.blogspot.com/2011/10/poems-of-kamala-das.html and http://arjunpuriinqatar.blogspot.com/2011/10/poems-of-kamala-das-part-ii.html
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Hi Agence,
Find more poems on Kamala Das on my other blog: http://arjunpuriinqatar.blogspot.com/2011/10/poems-of-kamala-das.html and http://arjunpuriinqatar.blogspot.com/2011/10/poems-of-kamala-das-part-ii.html
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Hi Lisbeth, Find more poems on Kamala Das on my other blog: http://arjunpuriinqatar.blogspot.com/2011/10/poems-of-kamala-das.html and http://arjunpuriinqatar.blogspot.com/2011/10/poems-of-kamala-das-part-ii.html
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Hi Jude, find more poems on Kamala Das on my other blog: http://arjunpuriinqatar.blogspot.com/2011/10/poems-of-kamala-das.html and http://arjunpuriinqatar.blogspot.com/2011/10/poems-of-kamala-das-part-ii.html
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Find more poems on Kamala Das on my other new blog: http://arjunpuriinqatar.blogspot.com/2011/10/poems-of-kamala-das.html and http://arjunpuriinqatar.blogspot.com/2011/10/poems-of-kamala-das-part-ii.html
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My spouse and i go through your article along with found exciting information. Your Laxminarayan Temple, (also called the actual Birla Mandir), in Delhi, India, is a temple integrated honour of the Hindu goddess associated with wealth, Laxmi, and of her consort, Lord Vishnu – the Preserver inside the Trimurti. It is a brow with many shrines, fountains, and a large lawn. The temple attracts a huge number of devotees on the day time of Janmashtami, the birthday of Adept Krishna. New Delhi travel manuals. Want to write about facts about journey.
Find other poems on Kamala Das on my other blog: http://arjunpuriinqatar.blogspot.com/2011/10/poems-of-kamala-das.html and http://arjunpuriinqatar.blogspot.com/2011/10/poems-of-kamala-das-part-ii.html
But a smiling visitant here to share the adore (:, btw excellent style and style .
Nice one for taking the time to create clear the terminlogy with the first timers!
Find more poems on Kamala Das on my new blog: http://arjunpuriinqatar.blogspot.com/2011/10/poems-of-kamala-das.html and http://arjunpuriinqatar.blogspot.com/2011/10/poems-of-kamala-das-part-ii.html
will you give me the poem “the invitation ” by kamala da. i searched in many sites but i cudn’t get. if i get summary and explanation it will help me to present seminar
see http://arjunpuriinqatar.blogspot.com/
hey i need summary as well as critical appreciation of the poem WINTER very urgently as i have a poetry competition @17 jan 2012 can mail me at such shot notice??????????
Check http://arjunpuriinqatar.blogspot.com/
hey need citical analysisi as well as summary of the poem WINTER as i have poetry competition 217 jan 2012 can any1 help me with it at such a short notice plz do reply soon!!!!!!!!!!
See http://arjunpuriinqatar.blogspot.com/, u may get more info.
nice blog..but the poem ‘composition’ is missing from all your blogs…could you kindly post the full text of the poem ‘composition’..its very urgent..thank you..
thank u so much.. i once read kamla das during my school days..
an reading her now again turned my day.. kinda festive..
she is great..
hiiiiiiiiii
kamala das’s poem is different to others.
it is not simple. her poems about feelings of love.
it is emptiness of life
nice blog..but the poem ‘composition’ is missing from all your blogs…could you kindly post the full text of the poem ‘composition’..its very urgent..thank you..
hii… thanxx.. for uploading kamala das all poems…. its realy vry helpfull……. 🙂
can u plz …upload some critics views..,or quots upon kamala das… i really need them…… thanku…
have put some critics views on my other blog. kindly see http://arjunpuriinqatar.blogspot.com/
can you post “an invitation”? i have searched and searched.. but no use.. 😦
we good poems which never says any disqualify
Hey, nice to go through your blog.. could you please upload the poem ‘Nani’ too ?
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Sir,can you please tell if Kamala Das had adopted any particular style for composing her poems or were they just simple rhyme less poems?
So good..
Ella kavithakalum nallathanu.. Enik ishtappettu..
Ellavarkum eshtappettuvennu vishwasikunnu…
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kamala das the invitation poem plz give it soon
thanks bhaiiii………..i have been searchng ths for an assignmet……thnks a lot
………
i had read almost all books of kamaladas in malayalam my mother tongue,.i had read some of her poems too.one hot afternoon in malabar some compulsion made me search for her poems and i accidentely came upon this blog.thank you.it is almost uncanny that she sees and feels exactlyas you do,as if she is me.
hi frns,,,can some1 pls help me,,,i need text of the poem the corridors by kamala das,,,
can anybody kindly post her poem “middle age” . i hv searched a lot on internet but couldnt find it. your blog is very rich keep going
please give a summary of kamala das’s poem_”The mask”
thanks 4 uploading but i am unable to understand the whole poem sir, i am having a little bit of problem.
Thank you..for posting kamala das poems. she is bold and very open to the world. every writer doesnot have those guts. i just like her poetry alot…
trying to find two poems of Kamala Das… “Jaisurya” and “Wild Bougainvillea”
can u send me kamala das’s poem Too Late For Making Up and its summary in detail
hi………..can u please give me a summary ANALYSIS of kamala das’s poem TOO LATE FOR MAKING UP…..its my assignmt topic.urgently……..
Hi,can you please help me to find a review of kamala das’s poem “Too late for making up”….. A detailed line by line explanation I want….
Hope you will reply soon…….
sir please upload the poem ‘ honour’
Hi,
Thanks a ton for posting Kamala Das poems, like u I was introduced to her poems when I was in school and just fell in love with her way of writing. The simplicity, the honesty and the boldness makes her one of the best in Indian English writers. It was a huge loss for Indian Literature when she left her earthly abode. Thank you once again.
please upload ‘The Invetation’ by Kamala Das