tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20121175.post1715796608839760141..comments2024-03-19T02:25:07.069-07:00Comments on Back to Bangladesh: Do IT People Make Lousy Poets?ulysseshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09700270233759256479noreply@blogger.comBlogger4125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20121175.post-39378015202680377022007-06-15T13:55:00.000-07:002007-06-15T13:55:00.000-07:00I know someone in IT and he's a brilliant poet, so...I know someone in IT and he's a brilliant poet, so don't worry, IT'ers do become poets too! :)<BR/><BR/>BTW, my review (I prefer to call it impressions or observations) of Tahmima Anam's "A Golden Age" is now up on my blog.Lotus Readshttps://www.blogger.com/profile/02081192215823615529noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20121175.post-11016811799102007152007-06-15T13:52:00.000-07:002007-06-15T13:52:00.000-07:00This comment has been removed by the author.Lotus Readshttps://www.blogger.com/profile/02081192215823615529noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20121175.post-49907281172059635582007-06-15T10:04:00.000-07:002007-06-15T10:04:00.000-07:00Hi Farhad,How appropriate! Thanks for posting it.I...Hi Farhad,<BR/><BR/>How appropriate! Thanks for posting it.<BR/><BR/>Ihtishamulysseshttps://www.blogger.com/profile/09700270233759256479noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20121175.post-88692864561344896562007-06-15T06:52:00.000-07:002007-06-15T06:52:00.000-07:00Poetry And it was at that age ... Poetry arrive...Poetry <BR/> <BR/>And it was at that age ... Poetry arrived<BR/>in search of me. I don't know, I don't know where<BR/>it came from, from winter or a river.<BR/>I don't know how or when,<BR/>no they were not voices, they were not<BR/>words, nor silence,<BR/>but from a street I was summoned,<BR/>from the branches of night,<BR/>abruptly from the others,<BR/>among violent fires<BR/>or returning alone,<BR/>there I was without a face<BR/>and it touched me.<BR/><BR/>I did not know what to say, my mouth<BR/>had no way<BR/>with names,<BR/>my eyes were blind,<BR/>and something started in my soul,<BR/>fever or forgotten wings,<BR/>and I made my own way,<BR/>deciphering<BR/>that fire,<BR/>and I wrote the first faint line,<BR/>faint, without substance, pure<BR/>nonsense,<BR/>pure wisdom<BR/>of someone who knows nothing,<BR/>and suddenly I saw<BR/>the heavens<BR/>unfastened<BR/>and open,<BR/>planets,<BR/>palpitating plantations,<BR/>shadow perforated,<BR/>riddled<BR/>with arrows, fire and flowers,<BR/>the winding night, the universe.<BR/><BR/>And I, infinitesimal being,<BR/>drunk with the great starry<BR/>void,<BR/>likeness, image of<BR/>mystery,<BR/>felt myself a pure part<BR/>of the abyss,<BR/>I wheeled with the stars,<BR/>my heart broke loose on the wind. <BR/><BR/>Pablo NerudaAnonymousnoreply@blogger.com