Poetic Madness - The Fever and Frenzy of Writing by Bijay Kant Dubey SignUp
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Theme: Poets Share This Page
Poetic Madness - The Fever and Frenzy of Writing
by Bijay Kant Dubey
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Poetic madness is a disease of some sort
As the poets are the diseased fellows,
Poetic fire, fever and frenzy gripping them
And they shaking, trembling to put down
The unputdownable,
Like the genie haunting them
And if the pen is not in their hands,
They will write with a charcoal
On the walls of the rooms
Of the house.
 
Poetic madness, what to say about
The fire and frenzy, the fever and fret
Of poetry,
The inward desire to be a great poet,
A great man,
A super man,
An intellectual,
A man creative and knowledgeable?
O man, stand you,
Here lives a great man in his villa,
You disturb him not!
 
Just like monarchs, live they, think they
As thought they about
As dreamy as Kubla Khan in Xanadu,
As ruthless as Genghis Khan,
The Mongol emperor
Or Timur,
Some Hitler or Mussolini
Think they themselves,
Seeing their self-image
In the mirror of fame,
As for a self-assessment of their own,
With which there’s nothing to compromise.   
 
The poets are the most inactive people,
I mean the theoretical fellows,
Never practical,
Never active,
I mean the neurotic fellows
Suffering from hypersensitivity and emotional disorder,
Psychoneurosis, schizophrenia and insomnia,
The highly sentimental, highly sensitive fellows,
Emotional and disturbed,
Self-conscious and prestigious enough.
Share This:
February 11, 2014
More By: Bijay Kant Dubey
Views: 857      Comments: 2

Comments on this Poem

Comment Thank you, madam, for your appreciation of it, but after having seen destroyed one thousand poems, as the white ants ate them up and the rats gnawed them, sometimes feel within to leave out poetry-writing. I have been writing poetry since 1986 and that too desperately and madly without caring for to publish though the offers came to me so often. My father, M.A. in English and History, too used to write somewhat good poems in Hindi, but never did he publish them and those pale pages turned into dust. I saw it myself. My manuscripts/ booklets of longer poems, Asthi-Kalasha, Yama, Devadasi, Kalpurusha,Patita,Pinda-Dana, Nataraja Shiva, Unknown Citizen, Ambulance, etc. still lie in unpublished. Near about forty to fifty collections of poems. God knows if I shall be able to publish them one day or these may turn into dust someday. Thank you again for your interest. This is just by the way.

Bijay Kant Dubey
02/12/2014 09:53 AM

Comment Ha, ha! So many of us can identify with this one. You have touched a raw nerve, Prof. Dubey

Padmaja Iyengar
02/11/2014 11:52 AM




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