Makarand R. Paranjape is an Indian poet and professor at the Jawaharlal Nehru University (JNU) in New Delhi, India.
Early Life and Education
Makarand Paranjape was born in 1960 in Ahmedabad, Gujarat. He was educated at the Bishop Cotton Boys' School, Bangalore, followed by B.A. (Hons.) in English from St. Stephen's College, University of Delhi in 1980. Thereafter he joined the University of Illinois at Urbana–Champaign, from where he first did M.A. in English in 1983, and subsequently his Ph.D in English in 1985 on the topic "Mysticism in Indian English Poetry".
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Makarand Paranjape Poems
Getting Outside Patriarchy
Our distances are intimate, We grow vast in our silences. In freedom we have blossomed, Not having thwarted one another.
In the grilled window overhead Before ringing the bell I see your face. It is only love, nothing else.
Duryodhana's Last Word
He lies near the stinking pond filled with guts and blood; all around him-devastation and death.
Untouched by the words it sings The voice retains its pristine quality. Even when the lyrics signify messy happenings- Heart-break, perfidy, crass sensuality:
In Lieu Of The Missing Poem
Dear Reader, A poem at the centre of the collection, Is missing, as you can gather. To speak truly, its absence, equally
All the cliches in love poetry, it turns out, are true. Eyes have sex organs and sex organs have eyes.
Approach The path is six hundred years old. On the way you will see peacocks And, if you are lucky, some deer.
Homage to Shiva-Shakti The first and greatest of lovers, Whose love bears the burden of cosmic mysteries; Then obeisance to Ganesha, Lord of the masses,
...And to New Ones
To have designs on another Degrades oneself; The old Greek was right, Platonic love is the best.
In Love (At Thirty)
To make even one single person happy, To love her completely, to give her without restraint
Epilogue (As an Old-Fashioned Homily)
At the end of my labour A familiar voice consoles me in intimate whispers: Don't worry, honey, you haven't erred In this public celebration of our love.
The see-saw of our relationship tires me. But neither of us seems to be able to get off. We have nothing in common And that's what keeps us together.
Food for Thought
The sky has darkened before its time: a swarm of locusts, not a thunder-storm.
My Buried Youth
Each vacation, we measured our years by the progress of the new tar road.
Comments about Makarand Paranjape
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Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
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(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
Getting Outside Patriarchy
Our distances are intimate,
We grow vast in our silences.
In freedom we have blossomed,
Not having thwarted one another.
How unrestricted are our movements:
We have never tried to trim each other to size.
You come back, asynchronious,
Twisted by your concourse with others.
I react to your divergences.
How we have fought,
With no holds barred
Tearing at each other fiercely,
Until our brains nearly exploded.
Then, all anger spent,
Not one word or hit, left unstruck,
We gaze at each other mutely-
Astonished at the devastation ...