Reviews for Men and women, and other poems

The average rating for Men and women, and other poems based on 2 reviews is 5 stars.

Review # 1 was written on 2013-10-06 00:00:00 Melissa Gorby Dear Mr Seth, How shall I review This set of poems written by you? While some of them talk of the ways, You took (and so did I!) in the Oxford days, There are others that talk of how you felt, When you saw how people in Indian slums dwelt With an empty stomach filled with empty hopes, With their lives tied down by Poverty's ropes. You talk of life in India after Inglistan Of mangoes, marigolds, Panipat and paan, Of experiences I eventually shared, The feeling on staying away from all those who really cared! And then there were some that talked of Falling deeply, and irrevocably in love, Sometimes with a person, at times with a place, And at other times being caught somewhere between Straights and Gays, Mr dear Mr Seth, please do allow me, To tell you that it isn't your orientation but your poetry, You words that carry such enormous weight Truly define you as both Stray and Great! Stray because your poems show how far you've travelled, How many places you've been to, how many mysteries you've unravelled Through the things you've seen, the people you've met. You've written about the sights you have seen and things you have said. Yes, these stray wanderings, unmapped or mapped, Have created so many poems that have trapped Me on and off and on again While sunshine, thunder, wind and rain Lit my windows and darkened them While people around me muttered, "Ahem! Don't you have work to do, missy? Why does that little book keep you so busy, When you're moving out and we need a hand To safely transport your stuff across the land?" And despite their chidings, I sat coiled like a cat Oblivious to the bare walls of my empty new flat, With your book in my hand, my dear Mr Seth, Reading the words of a man who is truly Great!

Review # 2 was written on 2013-10-06 00:00:00 Mark Chamberlin Seth's rhyming poems are hit and miss. At this point, reading rhyming poetry feels anachronistic... Especially when that poetry was written post-1970. That said, I was able to overcome my bias and enjoy a few of Seth's rhyming poems... I had forgotten the time Of year. Your rakhi came Showing how things have changed And are the same. It was a contract of trust With more than you. I know I left my home too many Year ago. I place the golden thread Across my wrist; that done Struggle with my left hand To tie it on. You should have done that; I Too have lost half the rite. I promise you your gift In '78. Those future numerals Look curious; and your brother Too will be strange when next We meet each other. How we must both have changed Only the custom stays, Educing from the past The undying days. - Rakhi, for Aradhana Wake up! The smudge of dawn Low on the hills has shot The bay with light. Don't miss These minutes. This is not Pure altruism, though. I grant I want to see Your face against the dawn. Wake up, therefore, for me. - Aubade Yes, yes, thank you, thank you, yes, it has been A very pleasant forty . . . fifty years. Quite so, sir; how time does fly. I have seen So many changes that the world appears Peculiar now. But this place, not much change. Well, yes, sir, that's correct, the lighting's new. And now we're particular about checking; strange, Recently, though, we have lost quite a few. Marx? . . . Marx? . . . well, there was someone of that name; Old gentleman he was. Sat at 10A, Writing, writing, writing, always the same, And foreign languages too, day after day, Year after year. One say he left, and since then No-one has ever heard of him again. - Party for the Retirement of the Oldest-Serving British Museum Reading Room Book Attendant Not surprisingly, my favourite poems are those with little or no rhyming... Cold cold friend, Frost - Night comes, and I Am dispossessed. Most cold, cold, Is this night; And my youth old, My spirit lost. I cannot rest. I walk alone. Frost, burn upon My every bone. - A Winter Word I especially like Seth's translations, included in this volume. Here is a translation of a poem by Faize Ahmed Faize... Last night your faded memory came to me As in the wilderness spring comes quietly, As, slowly, in the desert, moves the breeze, As, to a sick man, without cause, comes peace. - Last Night Here is a translation of a poem by Heinrich Heine... How similar they are, these two Beautiful young figures, though one is far Paler, sterner than the other; one might Almost say, far more distinguished than him Who held me in his arms - how gentle was His smile, how blessed his gaze. It might have been The poppies wreathing his brow touched my brow too And strangely fragrant drove all pain from my soul. But such reprieve is brief. I will be cured Only when he, the other brother, so Serious and pale, lowers his torch. Sleep Is good, Death better; of course the best would be ever to have been born. - Sleep and Death