Inside Bhojeshar temple w/ sadhu getting ready to perfrom a puja

Bhojeshwar temple @ Bhojpur

An unfisihed temple from 15th Century. I think it is the biggest lingam in India, 2.5 meters. this was truly a glorious site..

Partially destroyed Buddha @ Sanchi

Sanchi

Twenty-three centries ago, horrified by the slaughter of the people of Kalinga, Mauryan emperor, Ashoka, forsook war and embraced Buddhism. As penance he built his forst stupa at Sanchi.

av thoughts

Rage against mediocre modernity
Cafe sprit
double latté background musik
Life divine on the back
of a working class
chop off
crystal bach flower pirouettes
watching a new magik
of workers
produce an empire
reach super mind
incorporated
drowning descent
and enforcing proper toiletry
for the 21st century
chant bankrupt heavenly heavens
in store-front windows
by the moon light
from new luncheonette
serving from
morning till dead of day
to rush hour
of the nearly enlightened
this is perfection pollution salvation
on the way to meditation

On the Border of Rajathan and Madhya Pradesh

this might be somewhere
some surface play
on various carbon deposits
the same everywhere
by elimination of shape
by reduction of name
the immediate intermediate
create a decent
on a rhythmic slumber
on the material dumb
though quick and varied
lumbers along
reiterating
continuously classified
bi-polar adaptive hemispheres
modulating behavior
for the magnificently impaired
depressed by talking object fairs
the wheel is lashed forwards
based on aft
stored reiterations
obscures inertia at rest
in a rather comfortable imprisonment
missing the essential utensil
situated in the incompressible
knowable and available
beyond surface glare

Harvesting small nuts / pods near Bhopal

Cave drawings way outside Bundi

Bundi

fixing to go xarzy

this is the sometime time
where somewhere
no nation can
no details
plastered in deadline
count-downs
chance unmovable
island expansive
still

we have it
the good
the harbor
opportunities replaces
position and title
so note the time
it may not last

the mud fills our lungs
the rains never stops
below clouded whereabouts
calculate payments maintained
everything is a
discount patron saint

some say
permanence attempts
global coronation
surrounds this
island sand
burning down
a bronze age
between knotted instances
and does not run
a rusting base asleep
standing still

so, washed to sea
2000 fables
and thirty thousand myths
written on the mouth
readjust
to proximity topographical
encased and invaded
by the twentieth church
trading-up
for more than more
and yes maybe
if one could talk
why not fail
properly off
the girding trail
for a stake
in the dirt
and a universal still

chance meeting in the early morning at Bundi

500 year old painting still on wall's of Bundi Palace

kingdom walls of Bundi

monsoon reigns

here dream rains
grieve isolation
drench pleasures past
while death wings
sound a feeble flash

somewhere sadness
swells murky pools
and flames begin
lights return

somewhere
emotions
lay fallen
drowning in
night’s violent track

here at never ends
destiny dawns
a feeble attempt


(the only poetry book I can find is "immotal English poetry"... or something like that... and I am only on the 16 centry.

typical images found on housing in tribal villages around Ranthambore

fort at Ranthambore

Sacred lake at Pushkar

Child in shop at Pushkar

more of the same dream

more then what is
of that less applicable
cultural surface tension
bleeding tears
for the many
few or our own
self disinterest

and as sure
as no reason
answers
an answer answers
with clever split
daylight becomes night
the old new
a new old only newer
letters of who can promote
piles of sludge to shine
and those not
not

and any where you say
never convinced
to the races
good enough for good
and not
for not
calling it
library card liberty
sacrificing the lower part
of a compound rib
for whiter right
print in black
for plunder tank distance
until one discovers no other issue
then moments
carried in prethought pleasure
emerging on wings
inside a smile
without a word
all true
and not one consonant lost
in the slow unseen deck
of natures obedience

Pushkar

Sadhu reading morning paper at Pushkar.

where is there here

where is there here
when form is the brim-born thing
already here
being is
must be now
and hereafter

and what is this born form
already here
from here
to here-after

eating red dust
from second to second
where winter is summer
always
for the uninitiated
for the unexamined
hidden secret fetishes forbidden
censored to maintain
a high court art

but what of your light?
your commerce bi-products?
measured against cost per unit
per unit
per labor
of others cleaning floors
and hauling dirt

reveal something middle
a working ideal
some gray rounded edge

I know little
how to enter
my own slack vessel
let alone
nights holding the masses at bay

which is cream
and what is milk?
What is the matter in this drink?

do you hide your AIDS
and deny death
dieing flesh at birth?

show me word doors
beyond your surface

show me your hollow hidden shelter
away from idol wars of the rich

show me work to burn
my body
where bodies
dare not go

Chittorgarh Fort tower

This tower can even be seen from the town, which is located below the fort. This exemplary piece of architecture stands on a pedestal of 47 square feet and 10 feet high, while the tower alone stands at a height of 122 feet and is 30 feet wide at the base. There are 157 steps and the stairs are circular. It is believed that the tower took 10 years to be completed. The tower was built around the 15th century AD, by Rana Kumbha, one of the most powerful Mewar kings. The tower was built to commemorate his victory over Mahmud Khilji of Malwa. The entire structure is covered with sculptures of Hindu deities and episodes from the two great Hindu epics, the Ramayana and the Mahabharata, with names given below each piece of sculpture.

Padmini's palace at Chittorgarh

CHITTORGARH FORT - LEGENDS

Legend has it that it was because of the beautiful Padmini that Chittorgarh was sacked the first time. When Sultan Ala-ud-din Khilji, the ruler of Delhi, heard of Padmini's beauty, he requested Rana Rattan Singh (her husband) for a glimpse of the queen. However, the Sultan was permitted to see only the reflection of the queen from a water tank that overlooked the palace. Ala-ud-din is said to have been so carried away by Padmini's beauty that he attacked Chittor in order to possess her. This led to the first bitter and bloody siege of the Chittorgarh fort and the subsequent mass suicide.

more @:
Chittorgarh Fort

Sentence 3 Now Available

Issue #3 is now available.


In this issue:

A special feature on The Prose Poem in Great Britain, edited and introduced by N. Santilli, with work by Andy Brown, John Burnside, Vahni Capildeo, B. Catling, Patricia Debney, Roy Fisher, Alan Halsey, Cecil Helman, Rolf Hughes, Norman Jope, Rupert M. Loydell, Rod Mengham, Christopher Middleton, David Miller, Geraldine Monk, Christopher North, Brian Louis Pearce, Peter Reading, Peter Redgrove, Peter Riley, Gavin Selerie, Andrew Shelley, Ken Smith, and Aaron Williamson.

Other S3 contributors: Joe Ahearn, Radu Andriescu, Sally Ashton, Ben Azul, Carol Bardoff, Edward Bartók-Baratta, Reva Blau, Joe Bonomo, Susan Briante, John Briggs, Christopher Buckley, Maxine Chernoff, Paul Colinet, Margarito Cuéllar, Robin Cunningham, Catherine Daly, Robin Dare, Cortney Davis, Sean Thomas Dougherty, Russell Edson, kari edwards, Elisabeth Frost, Arturo Giovannitti, Dennis Gonzalez, Noah Eli Gordon, Jeff Harrison, Michael Helsem, Bob Heman, Brooke Horvath, Theo Hummer, Tateo Imamura, George Kalamaras, Janet Kaplan, Charles Kesler, Milton Kessler, Gerry LaFemina, Juliana Leslie, Rachel Levitsky, Rebecca Lilly, Gian Lombardo, Marjorie Manwaring, Michael Martone, Jerry McGuire, Derek McKown, Chris Murray, Daniel Nester, John Olson, Papa Osmubal, Shin Yu Pai, Rochelle Ratner, Andrew Michael Roberts, Matthew W. Schmeer, Leonard Schwartz, Dale Smith, Ellen McGrath Smith, Alan Sondheim, Adam J. Sorkin, Rebecca Spears, Hugh Steinberg, Steven J. Stewart, Charles Harper Webb, and Stephanie Woolley-Larrea.

You are invited to join us for a Sentence 3 release party and reading in London on Friday, November 25, 2005 at 7:30pm. Venue: Crypt on the Green (beneath St James Church, Clerkenwell), Clerkenwell Close, London EC1R 0EA (just off Clerkenwell Green, a short walk from Farringdon station).

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Royal Cenotaphs at Udaipur

Let us go then
euthanize
certain half-deserted streets
follow muttering restlessness
asking why not
what is is
abandon talking backgrounds
to evolutionary pool’s
milky muck
in and out of cover
during monsoon season
all be it crazy making

oh, soft sided moon
even if that face
on the window pane
faces to the face
I meet daily
crumbling
In a hundred indecisions

preferring to
I say
let us go then
wiggling out of
assumptive dead-ends
away way from
one more novel reiteration
repeated endlessly
trampled in
a thousand different
furnished rooms
delirium profits

so, pick-ax
the heart of light
and wrought flames
scorched in elegant
what else is there
dieing to attempt
the impossible

Bhopal

The roads are bad, take the train, he said in Bundi...The trains are unreliable, take a car, he said in Bhopal... We took the car to Bhopal. The roads were bad, in places non-existent. Two drivers, it's a long way and they want to return without staying overnight. Road crews, men and women, in spots carrying stones, tar, bucket by bucket, repairing or creating the road as we go. We rush and creep until we run out of Rajasthan. Then a dead stop at the phone/fax place. The drivers have no permit for Madhya Pradesh. Half an hour, they tell us. Permission comes, they say. Three hours later they are right.

We are the local entertainment, trapped in a car surrounded by children and locals 3 and 4 deep. The heat in the unmoving car mounts. Ignoring them only goes so far. Hellos, waving, giggles, photos, pointing. Kari wants to buy treats for them all. The drivers come and tuck us into the phone place. No longer behind glass, but with an intangible border, protection of the telephone man... We wait, read, are brought chai (twice), bicker, and try to find out what we are waiting for. Finally we speak with the agent who booked the car for us and he tells us he is not responsible, the drivers have lied and told him they had all the paperwork that was needed. He calls the taxi company and then tells us five more minutes and we should be on our way...Yes, the fax machine finally beeps to life.

We reach Bhopal in complete darkness. After the drivers finally find our hotel we wish they hadn't. This is the best of the mid-range places, yikes! We are exhausted by our 12 hour journey and I am immobilized by intestinal distress and being in yet another huge and polluted Indian city. Kari finds a travel agent and books us into the only 5 star place in Bhopal and arranges cars and drivers for sightseeing. We choose to end our travels with a blaze of luxury; 5 days of 5 stars.

Sanchi
25 miles of bad roadstakes 2 hours...Beehive stupas with carved gateways and enormous balustrades encircling the walkways around. We circumnabulate to the left. What are these things? Temple ruins, monasteries, more stupas - an incredible hilltop, serene, green. Shariputra's relics are here, we read. Only a few hundred years after the Buddha lived, but the power is lacking. Not like Sarnath, there the remains were few, but the powere overwhelming. We roam all over the site.

Udaygiri Caves
20 retreat caves, some with carvings, says the guide book. A fabulous hike for mostly disappoinment. We start out at the Shiva temple cave, a guide unlocks the cage-like door. It stinks of rancid something. Then a steep rock step climb to the #20 cave, Jain. A stairway disappears into the mountain, it's entrance locked. Broken, he says, can't go in. Then a long winding walk across two peaks, up and down. We follow silently, have no idea where we are going. A side trip to a small park area brings an injury to my achilles tendon, caught in an iron gate. Patched up we finally reach the finale. Vishnu, a lion headed incarnation, a huge mural wall... Mercifully the driver appears with the car and we escape the crowd of boys who have spotted us at the bottom.

the border lands

held captive
behind locked
shatter proof transparency
in tribal border lands
roads disappear to rubble
rebuilt by sari wielding
haulers of stone
and pickax
slowly hand held
hot tar is sprayed to
black glistening linear
still'd
in sweltering shell
peering eyes surround us
an entire village
peers between the cracks
in awe of these strangers
with one finger
bodies are repelled
wielding only
the power of a finger
the encampment reacts
a simple gesture
unknown powers
who are these strangers?
but in time
connections are formed
a pause
to say
I see you
seeing me
simple hand games
to say
yes, I understand
one finger to five
a greeting
the games continues
silent relationships
are formed
emerges a lone female
outranked by the many
gawking males
one lone female
attempts to connect
knowing similarities
and difference
some dreamed
some never mentioned
on the border land
with only
eyes and hand
to speak

Temple at Udaipur

on the ghats of the lake at Udaipur

Bundi

Girl Power. The women run Haveli Guest House. "Miss America" she calls us. They never tire of telling about the problems they've encountered running the place. Mama needs pain pills everyday for her feet and back. She married off 2 children and is in great debt. You don't have dowries do you? Her son doesn't want to deal with her, money she says. Her husband died of a heart attack years ago. She cries when we leave early and move to another place.

The famous Bundi fort and palace. 450 year old paintings made from crushed minerals, still there on the walls; Rajput rulers and gods in colorful glory. The guide points out every detail explains how they got the elephants to fight each other to the death. He takes us to the Kipling House and around the lake. we wander in the royal cremation grounds, climb on the cenotaphs. Marble he says.

Forays to the main bazaar, trying to buy towels and mossy coils for our budget stay. Bananas, samosas, chai, peanut brittle. No books in English except a dictionary and Ibsen's "A Doll's House". I've read it.

A jeep safari out to the rock paintings reputed to be 15,000 years old. A bone jarring ride through the country side. Villages and washed out roads. Many stops to check directions and see if the roads are OK after the monsoons. Local boys lead the way, athletically jumping from rock to rock. We climb down to the river bed to see faint figures under the overhanging rocks. We walk in a wild and rock strewn landscape with the sun beating down on us. Are they real? Who knows... They are small and faint, but you would be too at 15,000 years.

arrivals

arrivals are jarring
always osculating
time and space
Fluctuating entry
lost in an ally
along open sewers
backways to dead-end
cul de sac
Nothing but
bugs biting
bug spray
and survival techniques
each plan calculated
for the next
miss amerika
for the next
this is a story
this is suffering
for some
a rupee or a pen
for others
hieroglyphic rock painting
in the middle of
who knows anymore?
images and ground minerals
street food
and morning greetings
of the physical world
verbal niceties
handshakes and stares
before the end
of the next plan
to the next
place
from small
to apprehension
to union carbon disaster

Lake Palace Udaipur

Water buffalo

we went for a walk to the lake at Ranakpur, the water buffalo took a great interest in us.

inside Jain Temple at Ranakpur

Jain Temple at Ranakpur

if

a if d
f if z
o if m
n if q

many worlds fail
Language fails
meets surface reflection
boundless supposition
as if
a copy in time
presupposes a name
with intent
license of awful answers
common tricks
world television fixing

j if k
w if y
b if k

grace beyond eyes
objects
by common perception
beyond
frame and fault
without remorse

dreaming daylight
sometimes in error
sometimes oscillation
Some times warm rapture

Two young inqusitve folks who stopped to talk with us at the lake at Jaislimer

Haveli at Jaisalmer

Fort at Jaisalmer

aspirations multiplication
collide the next
diety and snake

is is succesive states
quells nights shift red

is doubtful
is limitless
is is succesive states
attemping to speak
hoping something will
sometimes turn out to
be something sometimes
times 2
minus position and velocity

however marvelous
however common
transformation of an unweightable
into a stronger every word
representation

unseen and unnumbered
not facts but word
bases of life

Meat and Potatoes

Awakening behind curtains
of reservations
oil reserves
and animal islands
object pleasure
of the hunt
the stalking kind
pretty and plenty
for the bagging
enframe justification
mounts

if we did not . . .
we would no longer . . .

forced cages
land miles from heaven
chained marches
to death
casino hip
etoh pickle
infant mortality suicides

sold by . . .
for aphrodisiac

tour the empty . . .
visualize the recent . . .
right there . . .
never again . . .
at war over
a barrel of . . .
the last stuffed
for eternity
in faux
once upon
living color

now for privlege
voyeurism
into wild remains
from 7 a.m. to dusk
please no flash
dinner meat and potatoes

Ranthambhore

Day1- Tiger anticipation in the morning darkness. Cold, Cold winds blowing through the open canter. Bouncing over jeep terrain, 3 hours of beauty- spotted deer, antelope, peacocks, boar, birds, crocodile. Half way done and the mood is shifting, disappointment. Tracks, some paw prints, a quiet coughing in the brush, as the whole canter full of people holds its breath. No flash of orange and black no growl no peering eyes, just amazing scenery and tiger fever.

Day2 - Suddenly tigers! On the way to the fort. Canters, jeeps, cars blocking the road. Whispers, tiger. Pointing, tiger. Everyone standing, straining, leaning over the rails. It is hard to drink in enough of the sight of a lounging mother after a kill and two young ones tucked in the bush. A flicking tail or languid roll, so hard to see until there's movement. The word is spread, everyone has heard - tigers near the main gate, along the road.

Fran

Diwalli Festival-Pushkar

Diwalli explosions; startled every time. Non-stop noise, chants, fusion, rap, trance, bells, prayers. The singing sadhu sings to us at the ATM. A fierce scruffy one walks talking loudly to no one in particular. The legless sadhu with the umbrella hat scuffles along.

The children find us. Auntie, Auntie, remember me. It's high fives and requests for chapatti flour, don't forget the oil!

fran