Yuyutsu Sharma: Yuyu's Summit, An Amazon Review of Annapurna Poems by Robert Scotto

Monday, August 22, 2016

Yuyu's Summit, An Amazon Review of Annapurna Poems by Robert Scotto

yuyu's summit, December 28, 2012

By

Robert M. Scotto

This review is from: Annapurna Poems (Paperback)

The summit, if you will pardon the pun, of Yuyutsu Sharma's distinguished career, Annapurna Poems both continues and expands the territory that he has uniquely claimed as his own. Writing complex poetry about an enigmatic, even exotic, world in English, he has brought Shanga-La, in its glory and its gritty reality, to the rest of the world. Not everyone will agree on a particular favorite poem, so instead let me recommend that you read them all, slowly and carefully, and enter an unfamiliar world with an eloquent, sensitive guide.

https://www.amazon.com/review/R2LDSCQBZ7B42A/ref=cm_cr_dp_title?ie=UTF8&ASIN=8182500478&channel=detail-glance&nodeID=283155&store=books

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From Yuyutsu Sharma's "The Lake Fewa & A Horse : Poems New"

Glacier

A hope

that someday I shall sprout

like a tree

on the edge of a remote hillside.

A hope

someday a Queen-of-the-Night

shall bloom in my chest

and suck all the smoke

I have inhaled

in these malignant cities.

A hope that someday

a just born brook shall clean

and wash

bacteria of greed in me.

A hope that someday

a Buddha meditating in the niche of a cairn

by the heap of the city

garbage shall shake his limbs

and walk away towards a village of eternity

to take another birth

to save me

from the shame of becoming a glacier.

River: Morning

Cruel river

knows each time

I come to brood

over her roaring waters

each time I come

to her deafening banks

to gleam my dreams

over the plump flanks of her warm body

each time I come

to pour last of my life’s salt

in the ringing gorges

of her sonorous frame,

a bone breaks

in my smoldering chest

and a wrinkle appears

across the shriveled leaf of my life.

River at Night

Dark night

I cannot see the river.

I can only

hear it thundering rumble.

A water well explodes

enamored in the fleshy

clutch of fluffy

clouds, making a cave of this gorge.

Only fingers of the fireflies

illuminate its shape, the wild limbs,

as the river fumbles

curled around the hefty thighs of the night

to find a wink of sleep.