It has been a long time since I wrote something heartfelt in my journal here ('heartfelt' is a deeply burdened word, but I use it still). What can I write here that would be of interest to anyone? Once upon a time I used to write long entries about how I wrote, how I felt when I was writing, how I felt about other people's writing. It always shocked me when I got a response, and for a period of about two years, I had many. It's so strange, I don't understand it.

Aeroplanes through the wide screen of the departure lounge
loll like big game on the tarmac, snouts improbably curved, nibs
surprisingly sharp, wings like boats.

Avatar (Cameron)

So my workshop at #Writers-Workshop is up: You. Do check it out if you want to exercise some poetry muscles.

If you've already come here via the link at the workshop, the poem you want to read is below. It's an accessible poem, even if some of the cultural connotations are elusive. ~tightwhitepants has offered an excellent reading of the poem in the comments section. Do read it and feel free to have a discussion.

If (if if if) you're interested in some of my own attempts at second person poetry/instruction manuals, try my gallery, though I've taken down loads of stuff. One of my more successful attempts made it to the Guardian workshop a while ago: 'How to experience the night'. (It's the fourth poem as you scroll down.)

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don't leave them together
don't allow them to talk to each other
they may form a trade union

don't at anytime leave them near
a wall clock, law books, a calendar, the national flag,
gandhi's portrait, or a newspaper
they may hear about
independence, satyagraha,
holidays, working hours, minimum wages, corruption

don't take them to your temple
they may at once know you are weak
your god is false and they may bite you

don't let them near your dining table
they may ask for food
or cast their evil eyes on your dinner

first use them only for short walks
then gradually increase the distance
they should never know the amount of work they have to do

pull their tight straps loose
let them feel happiness
they are growing bigger
smear some old oil on the rough straps
let them feel they are anointed

now they are good subdued labourers
ready to work overtime
for your fat feet

- Gopal Honnalgere

I will soon be hosting a workshop with #Writers-Workshop and I posted this poem for it. I'm not sure how easy this is to understand. It's not a difficult poem, but the context is so Indian that the humour doesn't work without understanding it a bit. He is also being quite political.

Anyway, no harm in reading poems.

Honnalgere is a more or less unknown poet. He published six books and then fell into obscurity until someone (Ranjit Hoskote? Adil Jussawalla?) pulled him out. He is one of the poets featured in The Bloodaxe Book of Contemporary Indian Poets and 60 Indian Poets (both ed. Jeet Thayil), which is how I got the poem.

I won't explain the poem, but just in case, chappals are like flip flops.

I wrote a short story!

A completely ordinary event for most of you, but for me, it's a big deal. I used to write short stories a long time ago -- well, I thought they were short stories. But like my more recent (and more sporadic) attempts, they were flash fiction or vignettes.

In fact, I don't know if this one (it's called 'The film critic') qualifies as a short story, but I'm hoping you're there to help me with it. Critique would be greatly appreciated.

It's been a long time since I wrote a journal, so it makes little sense to update you on everything's that's happened.

If you're interested, my blog has a bunch of things. I don't know if anyone's a TED fan, but I was recently at TEDIndia. And I've bought a lot of books.

Oh, and how are you?

Signs of Life (Herzog)

I think there's a lesson to be learnt here. Anonymity leads to awkwardness. Anyhow --

Who would win in a poetry-slam battle: T. S. Eliot or Rabindranath Tagore?

It'd be a weird match. Why would you pick those two poets? Because one is Indian and the other is not?

Anyway, I personally prefer Eliot. Bengali poets don't translate well to English, in my opinion.

If they were performing in their own languages, I think Tagore might win, but you'd need a bilingual audience.

2 people who dont understand each other's language----2 people who are Deaf & Mute.

Am i being mean?

No, just stupid. Most deaf and mute individuals can communicate quite effectively through sign language.

I'm not answering any more questions. This is inane.

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If you were marooned on a desolate island along with a Frenchman, an American and an Egyptian (all of them poets, btw), who would be be most succesful in courting you?

That's tough. I don't recall meeting any Egyptians ever. I've met French and American men, and one of the Americans was a poet (but I think he was gay, and terribly morose). These are very small samples and I can't draw any definite conclusions.

Um, let's see. Frenchmen are generally better looking, better turned out, but the French are also a bit snobby. The Americans I've met are unlike the stereotypes, so maybe I'm luckier with Americans than with the French?

I think I'll stick with Egyptian. Safest.

[There was also one blank question. I don't know if that was on purpose or not.]


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in chronological order

Who would you invite to your ideal imaginary dinner party?

If there's anything I've learnt from Virginia Woolf (besides the manifold uses of semicolons) is that it's very hard to plan parties. But here are, in no particular order, some people I'd love to have over for dinner:

David Cronenberg, my favourite living director
Susie Bright, feminist and erotica anthologist
HM, a mathematician/reader/critic I met recently who is easily the best conversationalist I know and altogether a very stylish man
Jee Leong Koh, one of my favourite living poets
Padma Laksmi, because she's hot

How come you're not around as much sicne you stopped being a GM? And why did you stand down from a GM when you were the best?

Um.

Well, it's natural for one to stop being active on the site when you're no longer GM. I expected that would happen, but not to this extent. I thought, for example, that I might keep posting resources -- this did not happen.

I can't pick out specific reasons, but one is that I had a lot of school work to do soon after I resigned. Another reason was that I found it difficult to return to my pre-GM-hood dA activities, like critiquing. Meanwhile I had begun critiquing actively at an online poetry workshop, where the guidelines are much stricter and my work was cut out for me. This is no good reason not to comment here, though. That's just how it turned out. And of course my oft mentioned blog meant I was posting my usual journal content elsewhere. Finally, it's much easier to be disgusted my dA's flaws when you're not such a big part of it. (Don't worry, I won't turn into a, what's the word, hater?)

My stepping down is a much clearer situation, and in fact, could have been anticipated. I'm not sure if I mentioned it earlier, but I knew very clearly when I applied for the post that it was only going to be for a year. I knew when I'd be graduating in a year and what kind of work I'd have to do, and that it would be best not to have other things on my plate. I also believed, and still do, that a volunteer position should not be permanent, that the literature community needs new people doing new things.

What the fuck?

I don't know, but I do like verbs.

Can I have some of your talent? Please?

Heh, firstly, thank you for the implied compliment. Secondly, I won't fall into the trap of answering that question, because it would require me to agree to my having talent. Thirdly, I don't know who you are, but something tells me you have talent of your own.

You often review pornography or other erotic work and it begs the question: what would you ideal sexual encounter be like?

Haha. If I hadn't read so much erotica and porn, I'd probably have a specific ideal sexual encounter in mind that was also a giant cliche. Currently it's easier for me to eliminate certain things. I'm not a very romantic person, so candles and rose petals are out. None of that whipped cream nonsense. No orgies. Reading BDSM is fun, but in real life, I don't think so. No beaches; I hate sand.

I've lately wondered what it would be like to have sex with someone who didn't know any of the languages I knew.

[For anyone who doesn't know what's going on, I let people ask me anonymous questions using this link. You can ask more, if you like, but now that my sexual fantasies have been discussed, what's left to ask?]

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I really miss those memes. They seem to have fallen into disuse. I have a thing for lists and numbering stuff, so memes are a perfect release. I've noticed a few 'ask me a question' things, which seem fun. I don't think I'd get too many questions since I'm not around much anymore and watchers have noticed and drifted away, but still, if you'd like to ask me something, you may do so here. It's completely anonymous, but you can leave your name/username at the bottom if you feel like it. Just make sure you let me know whether it's OK to mention your name or not. : )

some translation. One of the most flattering things you can do, I've discovered, is to write to a poet and say, 'May I please translate your poem?' Just some friendly advice.

I'm translating them into French, which is absurd. I should be doing it the other way round, but when you're learning, it helps to do it both ways.

I attended my first poetry slam last night. Slam poetry hasn't really caught on in India. There are a few performance poets (not very good), but the nature of a slam hasn't been fully understand. From reading about it, I understand that it's a competition with several rounds. The performers are either judged by the audience or by judges like on a reality TV show.

Anyway, an ex-classmate of mine was hosting this, so I went to show support. (Also because I was curious.) Of the twelve people who signed up, only five showed up. My friend decided to do away with the competition side of it, so they were just performing in rounds. Weird.

La Religieuse (Rivette)

A few weeks ago, it came to be known that one of the more talented and respected poets at a poetry site I belong to had been plagiarised by someone calling herself Ariana Rink. Very frightening, especially as this person refused to admit to her, well, crimes. In fact, it turns out she had been plagiarising more than one poet and had even come out with a self-published book on Lulu with several of those stolen poems. I don’t know to what extent or even if this issue was resolved, but something happened to me recently that falls in line with this sort of behaviour, but to a much lesser degree.

I found an account at allpoetry.com using the name ‘Aditi machado’ (yes, small M) and a couple of my poems published there. I couldn’t for the life of me remember if I had created that account myself. Really, who remembers what accounts one opened two years ago? One of my friends jokingly asked, “Are you certain it isn’t your inner Tyler Durden posting your stuff up?” At the time I thought it was mean, but I was a little a doubtful. So I retraced my steps. The account said ‘Aditi machado’ was online two hours ago, but two hours ago I was watching old episodes of So You Think You Can Dance. Therefore, not me and not my inner Tyler Durden.

After an hour or so of trying to retrieve my password, I discovered that I did have an allpoetry account under the name ‘aditi’ created in 2007. I then changed my name to ‘goaway’ and wrote to the moderators. But the other account with the poems didn’t lead back to any of my admittedly numerous email accounts. I certainly hadn’t created it.

What’s strange about this ‘Aditi machado’ account is that it was recently created, had a picture of me on it plus two poems that were published in Umbrella back in 2007. I have no idea why someone would do that, and why use my name? Is that plagiarism? Then there was this Russel Edson poem I had posted in the comments section of a previous blog post of mine that was reposted on the allpoetry account on the very same day!

I couldn’t make sense of all this, and neither could anyone else. Naturally it got a fair bit of attention of Facebook and Twitter, which — snigger all you want — was very helpful. Some suggested it was a creepy compliment, others that it was identity theft not plagiarism, and I also got a lot of suggestions on what to do. It was good to have people confirm some of what I already thought.

The creepy compliment might have been a bit more acceptable if the two poems hadn’t been entered into contests (small, on-site ones, but still) at allpoetry.com.

Overall, I can’t put this on the same level as actual plagiarism, and I won’t. It would’ve been far more violating to have someone actually claim my poems were theirs. But it does raise the same questions, questions that I never find answers to and that I push away after a few days because they’re so bothersome. Questions about stolen content, essentially.

Often I get asked about why I don’t post my poems on my blog — I suppose all poetry bloggers/poets-cum-bloggers get asked this at least once. The main reason is that, hard as it is to get acceptances with all of this quality work being produced today, I'd still much rather have my poem appear in a good magazine than on my blog. And editors usually don’t appreciate submitted work to have been previously exposed (you can’t really say “ published” on a blog, can you?) online. The other less articulated reason is: “what if someone steals it?” But you can’t say that without the other person thinking you’re a self-important, deluded jerk who thinks your work is so good, so important, that people would want to steal it.

Then again, all kinds of people steal writing for all kinds of reasons. In the case of Ariana Rink, it was said that she stole not only really good poems but also ones that weren’t so ready for the outside world — in the other words, she couldn’t tell what was good and what wasn’t. I suspect that most plagiarists really don’t know what they’re doing, so technically all work is unsafe. Scary thought.

Also, does it matter to you if your best or worst piece is stolen? That’s not rhetorical; I’d really like to know.

To end this rather elongated story with a “and they all walked into the glittering sunset,” the moderators at allpoetry.com were excellent at handling the situation. They were very prompt and helpful. The poems have been deleted and the account banned.

I'm thinking of doing another poetry writing month this year, starting August 1. Anyone want to join in? It's super informal, no prizes or anything, except for the obvious satisfaction of having written a whole bunch of poems.

Meanwhile I've also started a tiny little live poetry workshop here. The poets are all beginners, so it'll be interesting to see what I can do with them in the next few months.

How do you watch movies?
English as foreign language
The Secular Anti-Harry Potter Brigade
Small but intense
The Eyes, Don Paterson, 1999
June '09 in books and movies
Poets on Poetry: WS Merwin
Carver
Labels and labelmakers