Michael Rothenberg – A Tribute

Michael’s workshop has begun

Every word a reflection, reminiscence

Travelling to my memories

where a Mr Prasad taught poetry

In an accent that killed it for me

They were teaching me structure

In my head I was already breaking rules

Syntax and syllable

Whatever they were took effort to understand

The wind blew those words away

Scattering and swirling a waltz with autumn leaves

The shrubs were golden, rusty red

It was nicer outside the classroom

Even when the view was through window panes

That had been ignored, unclean

Like a woman on mensuration and nobody wanted to touch

There was still the blur of a painting

Chinar leaves that called out

The shatoot crushed and staining pathways

Footsteps of countless who walked

Left, or remained suspended in time.

They knew even before I did

I would leave

There wasn’t even a doubt

And I did

The pieces of my heart

And life

Now sworn in orange white and green

The blue wheels turning

Sometimes spinning

Between the goosebumps of the unknown

And stabs of breakups, heart breaks

That came looking for me

A classroom re-visited

Him falling in love

As I sang

I sound terrible I’m told

But poetry, that is the beloved that sticks to me

Chewing gum of growing bubbles that burst

Stuck to the lips, kisses that refuses to end

Strawberry and saliva

Memories of stolen time

Rebellion and protest

Chasing the uniforms and being broken

This time with regrets

Of what could have been…and a part of me

Whispers and dares

…this could have been different

nooooooo!

The soul is in conflict no more

No regrets

Just a poetry workshop

Dragging the times to this group of beings

Never met, deeply understood

And misunderstood

Thus I dance, play with words

Being in the now

Voices skip and dance through the corridors of hearing

Sounds and the words

They beg to be  used

Words that are always with me

Words words words words

Everywhere everywhere

…this too shall pass

but tonight…I bleed words to paper

because kindred spirits sit in repose

listening.

© Sandhya Suri

This piece was written by me on April 24, 2021in a poetic journal workshop conducted by late poet Michael Rothenberg at the Rio Grande Valley Poetry Festival. This is an unedited piece written while the workshop was going on and Michael was speaking.