Paul Klee and I

A book on Paul Klee and his paintings was one of the most thoughtful gifts I received on my birthday from my son Dhani. The gift came accompanied by a comment which catapulted me into the realm of unfounded egotistical bliss, "something of his work reminds me of you", he said as I pulled the book out off the gift-wrap. "Really?" disbelief and exhilaration ran simultaneously in my veins. Of course, I had admired Paul Klee for several reasons, but mainly it was the spontaneity and  joy permeating his paintings which had appealed to me the most. Needless to say I felt terribly flattered. Yet, honestly speaking, the similarity between Paul Klee and I began and ended with both Klee and I willingly disregarding our own passions to homeschool the child we had brought forth into this world. Yes, believe it or not, while Klee's wife enjoyed a full-fledged musical career, the painter decided to be a stay-at-home dad to bring up their son Felix. He donned on the role of a homemaker in an era where men were  treated like lord-and-master and would not even lift a finger when it came to raising a family. It was only much later in life, did he become a full-time artist.

Following are a few of his paintings accompanied by the verses they inspired me to write:

Painting: Red Balloon by Paul Klee


riding on a 
balloon, it 
soars above 
the din of
town: yet 
another day
escaping from
the grasp of 
night


Villa R


today the full moon 
has flung its flaming
tongue lapping up the
path that curves past
the old castle: Villa 
R they call it. haunted
by whispers which
descend upon it
ever so often from 
the mountains yonder, 
it stands on the edge
cocooned within 
the cracks of time



A Day in the Forest 

a shallow pool
a solemn trance of 
stone-bound ripples;
the long whistle of
a night thrush pierces
it all, beading the 
scattered fragments
of this and that
into coiled up silence



P.s. December 18th marked the 145th birth anniversary of Paul Klee

Comments

Vishwajyoti said…
What a thoughtful and beautiful gift. And of course the compliment was the rummyfied chocolate icing on the cake. But yes, I too don't see similarities between his and your works.
December 28, 2024 at 9:39 AM
Anonymous said…
Your poetry makes me lightheaded & ponderous all at once. Love the simplicity of Klee captured in poetic stance by you, my friend 💗How beautifully you share Seema! Love that Dhani gifted you something to be treasured forever more. Keep writing!
December 28, 2024 at 10:50 AM
nima said…
Beautiful. You always stun me with your poems.
December 28, 2024 at 8:17 PM
Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

C'est La Vie...Really?

Seven peacocks sit on the parapet of our terrace fronting the bay. A murder of crows spearing into the morning silence flies past chasing a hungry Brahminy kite who desires absolutely nothing but a clutch of eggs for breakfast.  The jails in the country are packed with sloganeering opposition leaders, journalists, activists, and to use everyone's favorite term, 'pseudo-intellectuals'. As elections draw near, the dire need to quash all competition has arisen  within the alpha party.  More than six months on, the war wages on in  the Holy Land. Yet, the country responsible for it, stands fifth on the World happiness index! According to the United Nations, more than a million people are likely to suffer from starvation in the war-torn region since aid is not being able  to reach the affected populace because of innumerable road blocks.  It rained last night. An out of season shower, which brought the peacocks out of the coconut grove. The cashew tree now laden...
Read more

Beyond dreams and awakenings

How to sift reality from non-reality? Pry dreams from fiction?  Our daily constitutional. In an inadvertent raising of the eyes, rust orange of a crow-pheasant in flight caught and released by the irises...scales of a snake dangling from its beak wring the air silver, merciless.   Further up, on a path crisscrossed by the trembling shadows of coconut trees, an explosion. Anvil hammers away on frail eardrums. Something bounces off the ground, grazes past the right foot: a humongous coconut. Mumsy is unperturbed. "They never fall on people," she reassures me, adding sweetly, "for they have eyes". She points them out to me. I pick up the deadly fruit and shake it: the sound of ambrosial water splashes therein. There is a triumphant smile on mumsy's face, "It is a good one," she exclaims. I am still fazed by this close encounter.  "How many people die from coconut falling on their head" I google. According to a British Travel Insurance Company, c...
Read more

Summer Blues

Image
the cashew carrier It is difficult to respond to a long spell of tropical summer with anticipation or with memorable fondness. Clammy, humid, clinging and breathlessly hot, it ushers in an oppressive lusciousness and fructification. Neem, mango, cashew, rose apple, kumquat, all flowering and fruiting trees conspire to blossom, bear, and mature at once. A life of ontogeny and everything it encompasses such as fruit-flies, caterpillars, termite over-rush, and scorpion ants is not something we romanticize; we deal with it. As we do with the incessant two-note song of the koïl, sweet yet monotonous in its execution. Through the endless summers  dappled with our prayers for rains, for respite from heat and dust, peacocks strut down the winding path trumpeting, sounding and beckoning the clouds...I sense their yearnings.  Every few hours I haul myself to the yard to pick up the fallen cashew fruits, soft and swollen with juice. Sometimes only a spatter of overripe fleshiness is foun...
Read more