I sit with someone; full of noises and steps
The class starts: an anonymous beginning.
I muse, "What is Relativity, what are FETs?"
Two minutes pass by, the instructor is seen entering.
Our instructor is a large man
with a comely face, and a graceful languor.
He is wearing a kurta, a fine gentleman
The eyes behind the glasses, ever brighter.
He clips the collar-mic; still I try to dethrone
the ascendancy of "choice".
He speaks, "Good Morning Everyone"
echoes a deep and soothing voice.
He puts up a slide on the projector -
I see (the white screen glowing gold) a poem, short,
called "When I heard the learn'd Astronomer"
writ by an American, Whitman Walt.
I read the piece of literature
And it sinks deep down into me.
Struck, what phrases, what structure !
I, wholly, forget Dirac and Fermi.
I find myself faraway
My teacher reads the poem aloud for me.
A muted sound comes from far away.
I, attentive at all times, let his oratory haunt me.
I wonder at the constructs, the metaphors,
"mystical moist night-air", "how soon unaccountable".
The meaning and them, to me, not matters,
But, the poet's poetry touch my soul, now fathomable.
The class comes to an end,
Time and Tide wait for none
But in my mind, Enchantment, Realization, happiness and beauty blend
The Poetry class will never be forgotten.
-----
10 Jan, 2003
Dedicated to lit/poetry Prof. Malshe
The class starts: an anonymous beginning.
I muse, "What is Relativity, what are FETs?"
Two minutes pass by, the instructor is seen entering.
Our instructor is a large man
with a comely face, and a graceful languor.
He is wearing a kurta, a fine gentleman
The eyes behind the glasses, ever brighter.
He clips the collar-mic; still I try to dethrone
the ascendancy of "choice".
He speaks, "Good Morning Everyone"
echoes a deep and soothing voice.
He puts up a slide on the projector -
I see (the white screen glowing gold) a poem, short,
called "When I heard the learn'd Astronomer"
writ by an American, Whitman Walt.
I read the piece of literature
And it sinks deep down into me.
Struck, what phrases, what structure !
I, wholly, forget Dirac and Fermi.
I find myself faraway
My teacher reads the poem aloud for me.
A muted sound comes from far away.
I, attentive at all times, let his oratory haunt me.
I wonder at the constructs, the metaphors,
"mystical moist night-air", "how soon unaccountable".
The meaning and them, to me, not matters,
But, the poet's poetry touch my soul, now fathomable.
The class comes to an end,
Time and Tide wait for none
But in my mind, Enchantment, Realization, happiness and beauty blend
The Poetry class will never be forgotten.
-----
10 Jan, 2003
Dedicated to lit/poetry Prof. Malshe
