On 'Gandu Bagicha'

[billy]

see you're getting lots of feedback on this radetof.
after a couple of reads i think i almost love it. am i right in presuming dead steel is a used syringe? if so, it's a fantastically brilliant image. i love how the poem anthropomorphizes the park. we start off straight away with empty or broken vials which for me can only means drug ampules. and follow up with a great image of the ravaged and dangerous place the park is. that you can make the park the addict without cliche is excellent. i'm struggling to give workable feedback; i like it so bad. works better without caps. thanks for the read

// Gandu Bagicha, or Arsefuckers' Park, is a poem by Marathi Dalit poet, Namdeo Dhasal. His poems were translated from Marathi to English by Dilip Chitre. An excerpt (link to the English translation): http://marathidalitpoetry.blogspot.in/20...hasal.html

What I wrote below is old, and I'd like to work on it. //

On 'Gandu Bagicha' (Revision #1)

The broken glass vials
breed in the rabid soil
Junk courses through you
Watch the giants
Lift the boulder
Out of his way
Lie in the floating dusk
Cease your chatter

The promiscuous soil
does not mind
loves the dog,
the seal, the lion,
the drunk rickshawallah
Unceasing in her devotion
to blind consumption
The junk takes hold of you
Ancient beasts
claw at your innards
This boat holds too many
The river claims us lustily
Watch the vials levitate
The dark inside
is a shining nothingness.
My head is a wicker basket
full of old leaves
and green clippings

The vials now burn
and melt. the leaves
burn. the clippings smoke
The liquid drips and turns
into marrow
My feet taste the soil
the damp afterbirth
The junk passes
It smells of
dead steel
stale bodies
warm mulch
raw sewage
The soil tickles my neck
My throat is one
with larks, worms,
long-dead agriculturists
My head is a clay pot
back in the cradle