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How We Measured Time
Poems by Sivakami Velliangiri.
82 pages, Paperback
Published January 1, 2019
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Displaying 1 - 5 of 5 reviews
December 23, 2022
How We Measured Time is a beautiful collection of poems by Sivakami Velliangiri. The poems are full of the flavours of South India. Velliangiri tends to embody her poems with a lot of narrative and storytelling that leaves the reader pondering after. I particularly liked the poem The Turning Point, but welcome anyone to take the time to read Velliangiri's work, and to savour the rasam of her voice.
March 28, 2023
After hearing the poetry of Sivakami Velliangiri in a recording of the 2022 Pondicherry Poetry Festival I was keen to discover more of her work. “How We Measured Time” is more than a collection of poems. It is an album of memories of a rural childhood in southern India which comes to life before the reader’s eyes.
Domestic life unfolds at a lazy pace in the shade of thatched roofs and verandahs, against a backdrop of paddy fields, orchards and vines. The language is economical yet vibrant, and descriptions often take on a mesmeric inscrutability where reality and imagination merge.
“I would peep in through the squares of the mesh, see mermaids, oil rainbows, the mace of pumpkins.”
—The Manjalikulam House
Sivakami writes with unapologetic honesty, refreshing simplicity and wry humour. Whether heart-warming moments or grim realities, there is no pathos to be found amongst these recollections. The poet’s voice remains impassive, but it is the unvoiced sentiments which leave the deepest impression in the reader’s mind.
“to me all ropes were snakes, to you all men
were creatures on legs with steel buckles
for fingers.”
—Mother
Domestic life unfolds at a lazy pace in the shade of thatched roofs and verandahs, against a backdrop of paddy fields, orchards and vines. The language is economical yet vibrant, and descriptions often take on a mesmeric inscrutability where reality and imagination merge.
“I would peep in through the squares of the mesh, see mermaids, oil rainbows, the mace of pumpkins.”
—The Manjalikulam House
Sivakami writes with unapologetic honesty, refreshing simplicity and wry humour. Whether heart-warming moments or grim realities, there is no pathos to be found amongst these recollections. The poet’s voice remains impassive, but it is the unvoiced sentiments which leave the deepest impression in the reader’s mind.
“to me all ropes were snakes, to you all men
were creatures on legs with steel buckles
for fingers.”
—Mother
Read
May 17, 2019Memories of a rural childhood in India unfolded in a spare, unsentimental style. The language is fresh, often surprising.
The author is a member of my online poetry group, and I’ve been reading her work for years. She has a unique way of capturing a world of experience through the vivid rendering of everyday events, often involving family members.
Lovely cover art by Shloka Shankar.
Excerpts:
The dilapidated building
is the coloured glass Maalagai.
They do not know I lived here once.
Everything is in colour, bright and focused.
My mind scans for nooks and corners.
The houses sit the way they were—concubines.
The trees have grown; crowned brown giants.
I search for the doorsteps where we sat
shoes left carelessly outside.
— From “Visiting”
There was so much beauty
you knew something would come flying into the room
and shatter its blood on the writing table,
like that parrot— a disarray of green feathers.
— From “The Two Windows of My Room”
The author is a member of my online poetry group, and I’ve been reading her work for years. She has a unique way of capturing a world of experience through the vivid rendering of everyday events, often involving family members.
Lovely cover art by Shloka Shankar.
Excerpts:
The dilapidated building
is the coloured glass Maalagai.
They do not know I lived here once.
Everything is in colour, bright and focused.
My mind scans for nooks and corners.
The houses sit the way they were—concubines.
The trees have grown; crowned brown giants.
I search for the doorsteps where we sat
shoes left carelessly outside.
— From “Visiting”
There was so much beauty
you knew something would come flying into the room
and shatter its blood on the writing table,
like that parrot— a disarray of green feathers.
— From “The Two Windows of My Room”
December 30, 2022
Full of mischievous humour - what a voice, completely natural, unselfconscious. Each poem is a vignette from a childhood - hard to tell if autobiographical or fictional - who cares - it was like reading a delightful novella. I'll be waiting for the next book
December 12, 2019
Brilliant.
Displaying 1 - 5 of 5 reviews