The difference of touch: in D minor KV 466 and Variations on a theme of Paganini

     the robin hops from the tips of the rose bush
                                                                              spilling snow dust
sprinkling skeins of early dew
                                                                                                             dusting with its uppity tail fan
                                                               a caterpillar
                                                      softly dousing concertina
                 then it trips up the clothesline
                                                      stops and grips it in its claws
sways and balances with its tail fanning out
          chirps clucks tweets
                                     and repeats itself
all the way down again
                                     and up the scale                 
   comes back once more to skip a note or two
                  and tumbles
      sweeps past the old toy bicycle leaning against the wire fence
the claw marks hardly visible on the spray of frost-like snow on the balustrade
  light  ephemeral  peripatetic
  the dulcet flexions rising and falling on the tympana without breath of motion
                                             or vibration
crisp  colliding notes  rising and falling
as the first tentative drops of drizzle before the rain
                  the robin gone to sing full throttle on wing     
© T. Wignesan, Paris, 1997; from the collection: “Poems Omega-Plus”, Paris, 2005.
T. Wignesan

If I might be allowed to say so, I think my "first" love was poetry. Unfortunately for me, the British curricula at school did not put me in touch with the Metaphysical Poets, nor with the post-Georgian school. Almost all the school texts after World War II contained invariably Victorian narrative poems and some popular examples of Romantic poetry. I chanced upon a selection of T. S. Eliot's and Fitzgerald's Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam, and a little later on Pope's An Essay on Man and Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales. That did the trick. Yet, I regret not having taken to prose in earnest earlier than the publication of my first collection: Tracks of a Tramp (1961). There's nothing like trying your hand at all kinds of prose exercises to come to grips with poetry. Or rather to see how poetry makes for the essence of speech/Speech and makes you realise how it can communicate what prose cannot easily convey. I have managed to put together several collections of poems, but never actually sought to find homes for them in magazines, periodicals or anthologies. Apart from the one published book, some of my sporadic efforts may be sampled at of Poems.htm

Last updated July 05, 2016