Ananta Madhavan Quotes

'The music of the spheres Is not for human ears.'
A remark that occurred to me in May,2013, reading of some space travel.
On certain days, you can feel life flowing from your finger-tips, like a spell, and the whole day is liquid and the corpuscles float in and out of your body, which is itself but a limb of the universe.
This thought came to me one day in London, 9 July,1971. I was 38, fairly secure in mid-career then.
PUN POEM, EXCUSE INDIFFERENCE The elephant carries its trunk, The snail its home, The tortoise its citadel, The oyster its pearly self; The orphan her homelessness.
A.M.
In fiction and drama, the narrator may be unaware or unsure what the protagonist was thinking or planning. The author and the reader or audience are equal in their 'cognitive ignorance'.
This thought came to me during a talk with a writer in March 2013. I am reminded of it when picking up 'Macbeth' to re-read.
'There are two modes of experience: direct knowledge and indirect knowledge. Neither is possible without imagination. There are two directions of enquiry: inward into the self and outward into the other. Both are halted by one obtuseness - lack of integrity. There are two styles of living: struggle and surrender.
Myself, forty years ago.
In trusting, there is no half-way house. Trust is white and permits no shading, no qualification. Two Either-Or qualities: Faith and Trust.
Myself
The rapids of history leave us breathless as they happen. If we are long-lived, they will rush by again in future.
A. Madhavan, 'Four Small Poems', posted in PoemHunter, 17 January,2015.
Patience is a virtue enforced on a person who has No other way. We end up by tolerating what we cannot Prevent or overcome.
A. Madhavan, posted in PoemHunter in 'Four Small Poems' on 17 January,2015
Temporal Guilt Here are the 'tempicides', killing time, Sad, solemn, grave, whipping their disasters In self-assaulting loneliness to break Their lend-lease of life.
Last stanza of my poem, 'Private View', about a cocktail party, posted in PH.
Torpor In the high tower the chains crumble And bind no more. The prisoners Are free, but make no move. I know this torpor. It is the will Turned stone, making limbs inert, Even when the gate is wide open.
My poem, 'Torpor in Lethargia', was posted in PH on 29 March,2015.