DESPERATE LEAR
against all winds that blow
and all the rains that pour,
Old Lear still sought home
as we all do sooner or later—
home is where the heart is—
cardiac surgeons locate hearts
but the homes seem elusive
lost perhaps among the veins
and the pulse beats which sound
okay to all intents.
thus to be without home
ported lustlessness;
perhaps for some despair
too close for comfort
too close to acknowledge,
And so I roam without a home.
return to the heart,
the heart of all things,
and I realise and learn,
my heart is here with me.
inside and pretty safe,
despite some odd beats
hardening who knows what,
home is where the heart
returns after all the wandering
finally settling all debts
owed by the stomach
in desperate circumstances,
Old Lear challenged the gods
but the duel was one-sided
no one wanted him
as he wrestled Nature
desperately needing Cordelia,
sometimes our Cordelias die
before they’re properly born-
I know for my Cordelia died
before she could be born--
she still struggles to learn
knowing its totally futile.
after all only in rare miracles
do we resurrect from the dead,
farewell, my sometime girl,
perhaps we shall meet
somewhere in our dreams
and realise all was a nightmare!
POOR HAMLET
Poor Hamlet
forgot poor Cordelia
in another realm
also where deceit,
cunning and corruption
ruined innocence, purity
and brought hell to bear.
these poor players
whose destinies pry
and fathom deep sores,
some known only alone,
challenge our premises,
contentment, pride, joy
and much else besides—
but who are we to probe
and pry and wonder?
think and cry and ponder
when it's the same
yonder and everywhere?
in my stillness, my friend
you who smile all the time
and beguile love
will never know anguish
nor the Joy of being
humanly correspondent
despite all hints and
references, nor in the
byways of escape
and neither in the grasp
of knowing and suffering
will you understand, know
and appreciate
value and truncated joy.
in the end, nothing much
matters more than smug
satisfactions of owning
even in this simple way,
forgiveness can be all!
Kirpal Singh is a poet and a literary critic from Singapore. An internationally recognised scholar, Singh has won research awards and grants from local and foreign universities. He was one of the founding members of the Centre for Research in New Literatures, Flinders University, Australia in 1977; the first Asian director for the Commonwealth Writers’ Prize in 1993 and 1994, and chairman of the Singapore Writers’ Festival in the 1990s. He retired the Director of the Wee Kim Wee Centre.
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