September Songs, 2005

Harper,

My fondest spirit guide
I often sense you at my side
though distance does....(as distance should)
disappear at times, for it's own good....

Winter slipped
And summer came
then heat vaporized
to promise rain
I waded deep
in summer sweat
but promises
aren't always met
it's been sultry
it's been long
clouds have not burst
into their song
Today was temporary relief
with kinder winds
but it was brief.

That's the picture here my friend
while you wait for autumn
round the bend.

For your birthday I do wish
to cook a vegetarian dish
I made dinner here last night
I think i got it close to right
if you decide to gently drift
towards this land at anytime
Then as your birthday gift
I will invite you to dine
in my newborn kitchen
that's just begun
to have some kind of
beginner's fun.

Life's been busy
and trifle stressed
I realize
I have digressed
from paths that I would
like to trod.
Sometimes,
in the land of nod.
I dream of what my
life should be
when I wake up
the truth is far
in reality
I'm another me.

It's time I started
trying to do
what I feel for
And what is true
but till such a worthy time
I do resort
to earn my dime
so I can one day
have saved enough
to pay for my way
do my own stuff.

I wonder if
I'm wrong to wait
will it be
a bit too late
when I decide
my life is mine
And I begin to
draw the line
between a life for rent
And a life for real
between what I know
and what I feel.

Harper I think
you're really brave
to have lived that life
and still have saved
so much more for
for what you believe
you played both sides
then took your leave
from that life
which cuts you dry
you chose instead
to learn to fly
and take to wing
your dreams anew
you've stuck by what
you know is true.

I need to learn
I need to see
what I can
or cannot be.

there is no point
to play a role
that does not account
for my heart and soul.

Tell me Harper
am I wrong
to question what I do
is it escapism
from reality
I need to know
from you.

Myopically,
Madeleine

p.s.
As you delve into
your inner vaults
and practise
cosmic somersaults
magic mysteries
will unfold
for your memories
to hold.

Madeleine,
High priestess of the East
These doubts and fears will soon cease
to be a part of your daily realm
For questions are at threshold's helm
to be stepped across and laid to rest
in the yesteryears of a memory chest.

To describe to you these enchanting days
without a trace of twilight haze
would be to delicately trace
the finest line in solemn grace
across life's intricate web
And understand the dance of thread
from spool to warp and weft and loom
And weave the pattern of life's great room.

These days bring happiness and joy,
with love and light, part of the ploy.
To distinguish between the moments when
Sorrow trickles in now and then.
But such transgressions quickly reveal
an adequate time to rest and heal.

It's perfectly fine to question dear
Do what you do, hear what you hear
The time is right for all that you do,
The perfect moment comes from you.

Love,
Harper

from an old sketchbook (of course)

September 2003

To Madeleine,

I question not the sound I write
Feeling forever in my eyes
But amidst it all I'm free inspite
Of heavenly bonds and earthly ties.

Hints and clues come in my dreams
And clarity dawns upon my wake
For who I am might not seem
To be the me my body takes.

I question not the who I am
The what, the where, the why maybe
And oftentimes I think I can
Be the man who's really me.

In distant quarters of my soul
Where pieces fall and wounds have healed
Divinities unwind and stories unfold
Where my truest feelings are revealed.

From Harper

A fragment from an old correspondence dated 24 March 2000..

"i wonder what it is, but it is simply impossible and one of a kind, a THING that transpires
between us, between deitrich and cabot, harper and madeleine, it breathes across magic and
madness, faith and inspiration..."

M

Muddled Madeleine, 26 October 2000

There must be a reason why its impossible to organize these correspondences chronologically. Perhaps they are meant to be read like a stichomancy. Even muddled up they somehow, don't not make sense.

No apologies for the non linearity of our lives...

x

harper so distant
if i were persistent
which i am not
your shirts
you'd have got.
but i'll put that to rest
with my awfullest best
to post it again
to you most tolerant of men.
i'm a sorry excuse
for a girl of no use
the parcel needs packing
thats where
it is lacking
so they sent it back
for me to pack.

its diwali today
and the city's all gay
i've got a cold
and i growing old
is it true that your coming?
or are you just bumming?
banares twice
should be quite nice
but i have to plan
a cameraman
and be on my toes
in video pose

my intrinsic laze
and sleepy gaze
need to be shaken
or my life will be taken
before my eyes
by the next sunrise
its a wonderful job
i should not be lazy
and if that be the case
i'm certainly crazy.

we partied last night
with music and drink
there's much happening around me
but i seldom think
which is more important
to think
or to act?
i cannot do both
and that is a fact.
what is the cure
to being usnsure?
where doth hide strength
along which length?
where do dreams hide?
when you want them by your side?
i'm looking for something
to take me by the hand
looking for a clue
as to where i stand.
my drifting nature
is loosely wandering
and its no surprise
the time it is squandering.

my profession is tough
and it can be rough
my mismanaged brain
a constant strain.
i always wonder
if i can live up
to my idealism
in a small tea cup.
i function by default
with no definite will
all my desires
are fairly still.
they don't initiate
any purpose or meaning
and a lack of passion
is the general feeling
its not even depressing
its just as though
i'm all dressed up
but don't want to go.

if i could be quiet
and reserve all space
for understanding,
absorbing grace
then life might be less
of a mystery
and maybe my confusion
would be history.

such endless rambling
is my favourite way
to escape meaning
with the things i say.

in such irresolution
and sinking state
i'm looking for
a sort of gate
that lets me through
this maze of non-thought
and guides me out
of this hazy plot.

and you i trust are
enlightened somewhat
with acidic visions
that you had got.
write to me longer
on growing stronger
and other debates
of chance and fate.

love
madeleine

Stretched-out Hexepede

An old pome form a sketch book 10 years ago.

To Harp of Hashishalom Ave.

Pome 1. Abridged Carefully

Crashed out in a crowded room
Hashed out for the night
The lull of unfamiliar song
Plays mercilessly on.

Blurred beyond belief
with mixed up confusion
Have gotten used to this
Searching for solution.

Philanthropic breath of cigarettes
Packed in with argument
Should we sell this song*
To a military regiment
For a loss of sentiment?

Stretched out hexepede
On institutional bed
Alphabetical souffle
Swimming in my head

And there you scribble in your haste
But we've got a lot a time to waste.

*Then again perhaps I'm wrong
There's no way we can sell this song
Look at what it's come to be
Inspired pulp of parody

9 dead blitzes
in the bowl
collective dust
of secret souls.

Tada
Madeleine

 

Seasonal Arrivals, 10 December 2003

Harper Winterleaf

your pleasant circumstances
are prodding me to ask
if you are in possession
of a siver whisky flask

your festive nights seem jolly
and your winter sounds like fun
but tell me sir when will you
lift your heels to run

towards warmer climes that bristle
in the southern hemisphere
where the golden sea breeze whistles
into tanned and shapely ears

I refer to god's own country
with the laid back green lagoons
and am drifting southward gently
accompanied by the moon

would you care to join us harper?
from the 9th of january
Do tell me you can make it
snap your chains be free

there will be twosome weddings
of which we will catch one
if you make it even earlier
then you could double up the fun.

i'm working till the 9th
and I haven't got a clue
how i am going to wind up work
but that I have to do
in an unplanned frenzy
I follow my instinct
perhaps I'll see you soon somewhere
Did I just see you wink?

madeliene mysterymaid

Seasonal departures, 10 December 2003

February is when I'm planning
to make my swift departure
from the earthly ties that bind me
to the winter that is here.

For a house and room downtown
beckon to be paid
to dwell in safe and sound
while I might gently wade
in glorious southern waters
with my chin against the sun
and prance with summer's daughters
and whistle while i run.

So it might be trifle hard
to make it for the weddings
and consequently retard
the events that are unfolding.

But please keep the months henceforth
open for some mirth
some good old doodling time
for old Portuguese Goan shrines

I'm determined to have a show
in the majestic Chowgule haven
Of watercolours galore
on the day that I've been saving.

Who knows what might happen
between now and then
a pleasant winter's companion
a clucking of a hen
A spider's silky cobweb
a rustle of a leaf
the happenings until Feb
are left to the Cosmic Chief.

How strange of you to ask
about my silver whisky flask
But the winter almanac
has me drinking cognac.

I do enjoy a glass of scotch
As I smoke my pipe and watch
the smoke rings blow away
into the light of day.

So farewell my sweet maid
(An expensive maid I reckon!)
while I try my best to trade
my winter,for the Deccan.

Deep rooted,
Harper Leafless

(Sent on an email to M.)

11 December 2003

The cosmic chief is idle
and wasting all my time
look only at what I'm holding
its a gin tonic and lime

if your thinking february
i have to rethink my life
and i need to earn some money
so i can be your wife

meanwhile i'm taking it easy
and thinking if perchance
if our wayward wanderous minds
might find themselves in france

or do goan climes await me
with portuguese wine and song
if you come this february
will you be staying long?
we should time our footsteps
to cross each others path
if not we'll wail in sorrow
in the lonely aftermath
somehow i don't see that happen
since our loyalites are clear
there is no alternative
to holidays and beer

do keep me very posted
on the pattern of your time
and sing to me your queries
in the form of classic rhyme

love
marmadeliene and toast

Lost Green July Umbrella, 27 June 2001

what's your secret Marmaladeine
to write such lengthy letters?
it's not often have I seen
'the lengthier the better'

Of profound wit and consequence
of life and work you speak
but then it's better hence
forth to ride the peak.

I had a silent freak out at work
which ended in a twitch
and then it dawned on me to shirk
that merry monstrous witch.

The monstrous witch I talk about
is one that's in my head
once in awhile he/she jumps out
and weaves a silky thread.

this twine unravels like a cloud
and pours in every stream
before you know....it's much too loud
can only hear the scream.

And then it dawned on me at last
'A haircut  is what I need'
to soothe and to console the blast
of monstrous witch's deeds.

it worked quite well madeleine
i worked till 9 at night
and pushed that horrid old mean
witch way out of sight

My hair is still long you know
it's my strength and saving grace
the locks in even numbers grow
and curl up on my face

So here ends my days adventure
of monotone and vice
and now the bed I must sensor
to dream a dream that's nice.

monocled,
harper

From Harper -16th August , 2005

Madeleine,

You wild woman from the east
It's to you I pen these words aleast
from under this ancient oak
who in this city's smog and smoke,
transforms this twilight as it seems
into a pleasant evening dream.

I write to you after solemn absense
From Harper's solitude I reveal my presence
I've lived and loved and laughed this summer
And now I sense an oncoming murmur,
of shorter days and longer nights
And thoughts to reckon and quests to fight.

I'm moving now at even pace
headlong into my inner space
And delving deep into my self
The soul I seek is on my shelf.

I'm ready now for a new adventure
Of heavenly sights and cosmic pleasure
Magic happens at every moment
To me this bliss is heaven sent.

Onward,
Harper

Birthday bliss

Madeleine of birthday bliss
To thee I send a solemn kiss
that shall land upon thy brow
betwixt thine eyes, I know not how
in dainty fashion through land and sea
Past lunar lightyears quietly.

And in the opening of that cosmic eye
May your pasts unravel and futures fly
May your dusty crevasses be swept ashore
May your wanted dreams be dreams no more
May all your realities be fulfilled
May your life's adventures seek their thrill
May you wander freely coast to coast
with people whom you love the most
And may the beauty of your actions reach
the lives of many with love to teach.

Love,
Harper

May 2006

Edit blues

December 13, 2003.

Harper.

i know not
harper
I do not know
what i know
and what i know not

Between edit panic
is not good for my hair
If a single hair whitens
its ironically not fair

help me with telepathy
help me through a dream
help me in any way you want
or I will simply scream

howl,
mad l.eine

found as a printout tucked away in a sketchbook.

Winter muse

Birthday Raja, 12 Sept. 2000.

watercolour of us 7 years later.
This letter was sent to me in an email.

Harper of the wistful years
I wish you many things at once
and here are some examples
I could think up several more
but these are only samples.

May your carefully chosen date of birth
be filled with ample joy and mirth
may all things exuberant
and all feelings exultant
cling to your manic knees
may all the answers you seek
unravel like a breeze.

May all the seasons in the sun
be at your disposal
so you could choose the sky's colour
without writing a proposal.

All the perfect piano's in the world
would walk up to your door
you could take your keenest pick
and still sort out some more.

I'd sanction you a private moon
to hang atop your roof
where you could go and perch at nights
in serenity aloof
and write inane banterings
for your dreamer's eyes
scratching the midnight canvas
with your lunar lies.

May your art communicate
like the nocturne in E flat
may your ideas reverberate
(gently illuminate)
the surrounding time and space.
Touching everyone who sees them
with your beauty and grace.

I wish you a sketchbook
that's made up of light
that glows a little
with images bright
it moves at the speed of 24 frames
and plays with sight it's optical games.
May you fill it with the life
of your restless mind
its one sketchbook
that does not bind.

I wish you many clothes
and material things
at the very least a block print shirt
that a courier will bring.

I wish you a water pistol
of your experienced choice
and a musical audience
that goes with your voice.

I wish you sex and sabbath
on alternate days
and wish you exploration
of nature and her ways,
be connoisseur of food
and be exposed to many wines
and when your sufficiently above the ground
then write me random line.

I wish you miscellaneous desires
but most of all I wish you could hire
a speedboat to cross the tranquil seas
and to ride the atlantic breeze
so you could be here for a little while
and we could count the stolen miles.

Love,
Madeleine

Ladybug planet. 2002

Madeleine
you seem distressed
or is it just your winter quest?
In summertime it's spring for me
are you waiting constantly
to fill each day with things to do,
to take on adventures, face something new?
Well I am sprouting out my shoots
peeping out of my winter roots
it feels so good to see the light
hibernation is out of sight
Now I must leave my ladybug hotel
pack up my things and wander well
into the night and day
I have places to go and games to play
And leave behind my winter muse
until it finds some excuse
to catch up with me 3 seasons later
(By then I'd be ready to face another winter)
So fair thee well my queenly queen
The tannest of the tanned Madeleines
your kingdom reaches wide and far
The furthest of the furthest star
It's good sometimes to get off that throne
To visit the workers and the drones
So take off on a bicycle ride
To the closest planet on your side
And write to me of things you see
Oh Madeleine you queenly bee.

Harper

Magic book, 2001

Harper Leaf

I'm sending you this magic book
that began in feb last year
It's been a captive witness
to all my paper tears.
Fossilized in scribble dust
and splashed with Ganges spray
this book has been with me through
all the most uncertain days.
It has lain beside in on my bed
and fluttered in my hands
snoozed on coffee tables
but missed the goan sands.
It coughed up merry ink
that ran in careful patterns
as if it could think.
I'm sending you these pages
For lack of better ways
to communicate the aura
of some interesting days.
I'm still using the magic book
and there's some more to go
before it hits the dusty shelf
where all magic books go.

ciao
Madeleine Weathers

winter 2001

Madeleine to my dismay
winter has come at last to stay
And I with utmost fortitude
Am left with my lingering solitude
My mind still carries on
in monotone and steadfast song
it's full of worrisome insecure thoughts
of what might be and what might not
And so I juggle in my head
Dreams of what could be instead
Some months must pass with this disease
Until spring and then I'll be at ease.

Harper

How when where and why. 2000

Hail Harper,

I
Hast thou been
fairly occupied?
Hast thou had
dreams that
multiply?
Hast thou been
drinking alcohol?
Has thou been
generally
Having a ball?
Of ugly pomes
This sure is one
And now I'm
glad
That it is done.

II
1. What keeps you so
miraculously far yet near
But not close enough
To buy me a beer
How have your countrymen
progressed?
In entertaining Indian
guests?
2. Today I strangely submit
To the letter writing fit
Going for a wordly walk
In this manner
I shall talk.
3. It's cold and wintry
But how would you know
With your barbaric
thermometer
I feel quite fine in this
empty room
with a smiling boy
and a heater.

4. As it happens I'm at work
Yet I let the danger lurk
The danger of distraction
And that is not a fraction
Of all that makes me wrong
To compose a song
for this educational pit
I must compose a hit
I'm a racehorse, so he said
If I don't win I'm dead
How can you live with such pressure
I'm no M.C Escher
Can you grant me a light
That will ensure my sight
There must be a way
To brighten up this day
So I thought I'd write
And scribble on the white
And along the way I might find
Some precious peace of mind.

Adieu,
Madeleine

III 17-2-2000

I continue to compose
Though not with virtue of prose
As you can see, my pen
Has changed the font by ten
A different writing altogether
Though I can't decide whether
It all makes any sense.

Today I shall complain
Of new agonies and pain
Of running several laps
on the face of this map
To try to get things moving
Its not unto my doing
The horror of redtape
Often makes me gape
the bureaucratic ladder
Is getting worse to badder
At every step I take
For diplomatic sake
I'm thwarted by people
who should walk off a steeple
Instead they only mumble
And continue to grumble
For God's sake I want to shoot
And I don't care 2 hoots
For your smelly tales
Of how to make things fail.

All I've done this morn
Is walk up and down
Substitute for a phone
and their lazy bones.
They smile with assurance
That's beyond my endurance.
They frown and crib in tones
Inbetween farts and groans
A rotting pack of lizards
And retired wizards.

My creativity crawls
Amidst these walls
Why else is it so hard
To write ballads
Like a bard.
I shut myself in 323
My only manner to be free
And sit here to pluck
The pansies from the muck
Occassionally I strum
the acoustic drums
And bolero resounds
In here and around
They must think I'm strange
To live within their range.
And arrogantly stride
with aesthetic pride
what thoughts that they might stew
Into a spicy brew
I cannot be certain
For their eyes look dead
And pinned into their heads
Leaving no clues or trace
Of an honest face.

Wonder how it will go
How will the future flow
I cannot wait to see
What will become of me
In the coming weeks
Some powers I will seek
To over come this place
And discover my own space.
To which I can belong
And sing it like a song.

Letter to Harper. 30 May, 1999

Downright scary solitude
This hour of the time is lewd
As you recognize your sheet
I'm telling you for once I'm beat

There is not a soul around
And I'nm so scared to make a sound
For every breath and every squeak
My tension sours into a peak.

This is me
I'm all alone
Ain't got no life
Ain't got no home.
Empty hostel in the night
Can you imagine my plight
With all the merry extra souls
All the ghosts and all the ghouls.

108 Little empty rooms,
Except for me in one of doom
I did not think I'd ever be
So scared in all eternity.

Enough
Enough
I beg thee please
Do hasten to grant release!
This is indeed a horrid time
To contemplate this beastly rhyme.

What will I do
if lizards creep
into my bed
when I'm asleep?
What will I do
if spider's tread
on my godforsaken head?
I have ten boxes in the corner
If they're alive then I'm a goner.

Guess what
I don't even have a clock
I'll have to flee
around the block
And give myself a mighty shock
In advance for there might be
Someone waiting for me
with bad make up.

Bye bye. This is the absolute end.

And so ends this letter to me from the National Institute of Design, girls hostel. (I think). Sent to me in Canada.