Collected Poems in English -- Arun Kolatkar

Okay, here's the first notable thing about this book.

Its a Bloodaxe.

I know that may not ring a bell in a lot of heads (and not necessarily in the heads of those who don't read poetry -- considering that a lot of people who read poetry, just read it online), so let me clarify.

Bloodaxe is probably the world's most premier publisher of poetry books and if they publish someone's poetry, that someone could consider that he / she has arrived.

I don't know if I am being irreverent here, or if I am being mock irreverent -- in a way what I said above is a fact.

Then again, Bloodaxe probably commissioned this book around the time that they came to know that Arun Kolatkar is leaving (as opposed to having arrived) when he was diagnosed with cancer and counting his days.

Then again, I am not blaming Bloodaxe for this either, Arun being Arun and legendarily famous for not signing contracts, wanting total control on his books, wanting to design them, choose the paper, etc, etc.

All of which is neither here nor there, all of us are mortal and poets are more so -- since they die a thousand deaths even when they live -- what matters is that this book is probably the only such collection of Arun Kolatkar's oeuvre and yes, it has Jejuri in it (try buying it), it has Kala Ghoda Poems in it (try buying it), it has Sarpa Satra in it (TRY buying it) and it has many a poem that you never heard of (even if you are a dyed in wool Arun Kolatkar acolyte) like the poems presented under "Translations" and those presented under "Words for Music", poems that seem totally alien to Arun Kolatkar's laconic and very pithy voice.

But then, this is a collection of all his life's writings and while many a poet struggles to find one voice, someone like Arun could probably manage a lot more :-)

All of which is neither here nor there; I am not reviewing this book here, nor am I asking you to buy it. Or whatever.

As people say on FB, "Arun Kolatkar in the house".

And to think that I have been denying myself this pleasure for more than three years -- years during which I have gifted his books to some "special" others and also introduced some close friends and all and sundry to him.

Yes, to think that I was indulging in social service all this while, instead of enjoying his poetry again and again.

But then, I had promises to keep.

And bring out my own three books of poetry.

Somehow I have the feeling that up there, asking for another Chhai and Bun Maska in the cafe where dead poets sit and while away their time, Arun Kolatkar would chuckle to know that I have his life's work with me. And that I am nonplussed -- unable to decide if a book that weighs half a kg is all that someone as prolific as him leaves behind, unable to decide if that is less or more, for a poet that is.

All of which is neither here nor there...