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The Temple Car Festival In My Husband's Hometown

Posted: 29 May 2014, 21:34
by SivaRamanathan
When my mother-in-law wanted to see the deity
come down from the monolithic mountain
to the chariot pulled by the townspeople
around the four streets of the city, for the temple
car festival, a carnival for the eight townships nearby
for those who cannot climb up the high rocky mountain
her sons carried her like a baby to the wooden car garage.

There was faith and gaiety, long after the season ended
the residue of joy lingered,
the feeling of togetherness, socializing.

I, newly married gazed at the sculptures of the chariot.
Some were so erotic, I questioned, how come
in a place of worship, but our elders found a natural way
of teaching the Kama Sutra to the public.

My husband made it a point to tug at those gigantic ropes
and so also my son. My daughter admired the
architecture and they made it a point to go every year.

But I was not maudlin about it and would feign my periods,
to stay away from the heat.

Re: The Temple Car Festival In My Husband's Hometown

Posted: 30 May 2014, 03:15
by ryan
The last lines are worth exploring, I think. I hope you plumb, just a bit more, into the type of person that uses her sexual organs to restrain herself in a landscape of sexual worship. Elders Kama sutra carrying grandmama some manly rope tugging etc etc etc. The poem is immature to me because it's telling a story. At least the narrator's entire family makes a cameo appearance.

Re: The Temple Car Festival In My Husband's Hometown

Posted: 30 May 2014, 06:02
by SivaRamanathan
Androgynous deity brought down
from the monolithic mountain
pulled by the townspeople
around the four streets of the city,
for the temple car festival, a carnival
for the eight townships nearby
for those who cannot climb up the high rocky;
My mother-in-law's sons carried her to the Chariot
like a baby.

Forty years ago, I, newly married
gazed at the sculptures on the chariot;
some were so erotic, I questioned, how come
in a place of worship, but I was told
our elders found a natural way of teaching
the Kama Sutra to the illiterate.

My husband made it a point to tug
at those gigantic ropes, so also my son.
My daughter admired the wooden architecture
we made it a point to visit every year.

There was faith and gaiety,
long after the season ended; the residue of joy
lingered, the feeling of togetherness, socializing.

But I was not maudlin about it
would feign my periods,
to stay away from the heat.

Re: The Temple Car Festival In My Husband's Hometown

Posted: 30 May 2014, 13:34
by FranklyDire
Critique
Siva, I hope you recognise me, I am related to FRankDire and DyerFrank. I mess up my passwords sometime and so here I am FranklyDire.

You poem is developing. I agree with Ryan enough not said of the last two lines, they need developing. I disagree with Ryan about it being a story, I love stories.

I had a thought that pulling a car should be more accurately described as carriage.

You are attempting to describe:
1. and event from your childhood/former life
2. your culture and religion
3. the warmth and spirit of social interaction
4. the continued blessing of that even, the residual goodwill spreading into the community
5. your uncomfortableness with certain aspects of the Hindu religion

In you poem we get insights into a life that we know very little. Your personal reminiscences bring to us a picture and pleasure. I believe you will polish this poem and it may well be come one mor eof your gems.

Take care about telling and overly explaining. Develop the last two lines, happy in the memory but you have move don , even at that time you had reservations-develop.

Frankly

Re: The Temple Car Festival In My Husband's Hometown

Posted: 30 May 2014, 19:25
by SivaRamanathan
Frankdyer
I wrote this poem because we had to use four words.
Maudlin,chariot,carnival,joy.
Siva

Re: The Temple Car Festival In My Husband's Hometown

Posted: 30 May 2014, 21:12
by FranklyDire
Well that's a poor excuse for a poem, if you can't use mauldin properly it ruins the poem. Better to let the poem stand on its own.