Author Morwenna Blackwood avers she doesn’t recall ever starting to write. ‘It’s just something I have always done,’ she begins, speaking to the Literary Express in an exclusive interaction. She goes on to state matter-of-factly that the first proper story she wrote was about a frog. ‘And that was when I was six years old,’ she tells us with a smile.
Vatsarah Stavyah is the nom de plume of an Indian poet, storyteller, and former journalist. He is the founding editor-in-chief of The Literary Juggernaut and dwells as a full-time writer in Delhi, India.
It was indeed the mountains
that obscured him while he traversed the planets;
The Sun reflected by many rivers
did keep him warm while the unending sky
studded with zillions of bright, colourful stars
complemented the beauty of his soul.
They’ve fallen from the trees that now stand nude and pale,
So leaves my soul to figure what they hold;
I’m lying to myself (no falsehood in this tale),
but on my mind dwell truths about the cold.
Is the weather not presaging what will happen
to grass ploughed well in April, May, and June?
Hand in glove with you is He, nothing’ll mishappen
but the gloves you have worn may wear out soon.
Do you know the word ‘hold’ has got close to fifty meanings? Well, we aren’t kidding a bit! And to make matters worse, this commonly used word can function both as a verb and a noun! While as a noun it has roundabout ten meanings, as a verb it has around forty.
If I could time trek, straight to school I’d go
because the thoughts that to me are cherished
belong to school and wish not to be perished;
Weren’t they the days when each hoed one’s own row?
Talking about her only published book Unicorns Are Really Vampires, the thirty-seven-year-old, who holds a degree in veterinary nursing besides an MA in literature, says she decided to self-publish because she likes making all the decisions for her book on her own. She wrote Unicorns Are Really Vampires, a YA adventure/fantasy novel, so that her daughter could read and enjoy it and that it could be part of a series as well. ‘It actually started as a NANOWRIMO project in 2018 and just took off from there,’ she lets on, adding that her second novel is a YA novel too and the sequel to her first. ‘And my latest project is book three, which will be the end of the series, at least for now,’ she states with a smile.
It’s learnt she once slew gory, shameless hoods
right next to that cot where bide female cooks;
So should you encounter her sporting hoods,
stay careful lest your blood flow in these brooks.
Suggest I that you carry astounding books,
for that’ll make her forget the worldly noise;
And if you can, please find out how she cooks
because I wish to marry her, no choice.
Should I venture to say please fine
if I forget to say my thanks?
Wish I could my thoughts now define
that pop out like a lava bare.
‘The Sun shines like a jewel as the day dawns,
dispelling the darkness’ brought by night;
I watch the sky devoid of clouds,
a sky that beams with light bright.’
The words ‘ballad’ and ‘ballade’ are often used interchangeably primarily because speakers, including native English speakers and teachers of the English language, assume they mean the same – a narrative poem. The fact, nonetheless, is different. If you look up these words in a good dictionary, you will get distinct meanings, thus conveying that they are not just different from each other but poetically unique in their own way. It is worth mentioning that while ballads can fall under the free verse or fixed verse form of poetry, ballades solely belong to the fixed verse form. Furthermore, the latter has stricter rules than the former.
The writer, who is also well-versed in Hindi and Punjabi, avers that she is grateful to the fans she has as followers on Twitter. ‘I’d thought Twitter was a boring app filled with rude people, but after having discovered the writing community, I have learnt very many useful things about writing and publishing. Beyond a shadow of a doubt, rude people continue to exist, but I have now learnt how to use Twitter in a way that uplifts me,’ she says with a smile.
The leaves flicker along with Sun;
‘Words up!’ as I hear someone say.
You shall a business found well stressed.
‘Will if you need to make you gay.’
It is said that the God Himself
descended on Earth, took Ram’s form;
Was made to suffer hard we hear
by those who willed to break the norm.
Ram would soon have Ayodhya ruled
had He not been sent into exile;
He dwelt in woods for years fourteen
with his wife and brother agile.
Comes again the winter,
bringing to towns darkness
The Sun covered by clouds
tries hard to scatter light;
The light braves the dense fog
Watch I the brumous sight.
Indie author Simran Munot is on cloud nine, for her first-ever solo book entitled ‘Cordially Yours’ is now published. Not only is the book receiving rave reviews from various quarters but is also challenging the beliefs of the twenty-two-year-young Mumbai-based writer, who had initially thought that books on letters don’t do well. Speaking to the Literary Express in an exclusive interaction, Simran, who has previously co-written two poetry books, says the plan to pen down her thoughts and come up with Cordially Yours came long ago, only she wasn’t that confident enough. ‘Cordially Yours is basically a collection of heartfelt open letters. I have seen and read various poetry books, different kinds of novels, and novella but hardly one or two books on letters. A book full of letters is rare and definitely a recent concept. So, I was very sceptical about publishing it,’ she shares.
Does not the sky obscure the worlds afar,
Insuring all gods who abide in light?
Summered have we on planet Earth so far;
And we know what’s hard here is for them light.
Mothers have sure mothered billions of souls,
But who begot the first mother d’you know?
What you must understand is that poetry is not simply expressing oneself – not for me. That would seem more suited to an essay. Rather, poetry is a way of being and of seeing as if it were another sense in the way of taste or touch. And with this sense, it becomes a way of relating to life at its smallest as well as its largest. For the poet, it is every day and everywhere. It is who and how you are. Poetry is, at its fullest, a relationship. And the words are the bi-product of that relationship, that way of being. They are the conversations that you, the reader, are allowed to overhear – but they are not in and of themselves the whole thing. Birds stroke distance through the air, spiders build webs, and in the same way, poets write. The significant fact, though, is that what they write; poems are not about, they are not faint reflections, but rather, poems are, are the thing itself – as is the distance, as is the web.
Answers I have looked for,
But questions still remain;
Chasing me like a cop,
Dim they are sure and lame.