I am tempted to really gush and pour forth all my excitement about this book. But I'll try to still my beating heart and make myself heard above the thud thud.
The book collects together some previously unpublished poems, among them a love poem which I cannot resist quoting in full:
Love 10 : A. K. Ramanujan
Love poems, he says, are not easy to write
because they've all been written before.
Words play dead. The seasons are trite.
Love poems are not easy to write
for anyone present: their lips are sore,
hearts elsewhere, or just full of spite.
And love poems are not easy to write
for absent ones: can't remember any more
the colour of their eyes, try as one might.
Love poems are not easy to write
for the dead: after the sting of sorrow,
ironies of relief, one's stricken with blight.
Turning over and over tomorrow
and yesterday, day is already night.
Love, unwritten, cataracts his sight.
Other than the poems there are a couple of interviews, an essay on memory as a literary trope in Indian classical literature and an elegy to Barbara Stoler Miller. All beautifully done.
At 100 odd pages it packs quite a punch. There is not a page that I didn't enjoy. I suspect that I have become enamored by his personality. I am dazzled. Worth returning to multiple times.