Dom Moraes

Rating: 4.33
Rating: 4.33

Dom Moraes Poems

Smear out the last star.
No lights from the islands
Or hills. In the great square


Tonight I see your blue protuberant eyes
Following your angry wife, who sweeps away,
With their perpetual look of mild surprise.

Altermann, sipping wine, reads with a look
Of infinite patience and slight suffering.
When I approach him, he puts down his book,
Waves t the chair beside him like a king,

I -wake and find myself in love:
And this one time I do not doubt.
I only fear, and wander out
To hold long parley with a dove.


Ground in the Victorian lock, stiff,
With difficulty screwed open,
To admit me to the seven mossed stairs
And the badly kept garden.

The architecture of an aunt
Made the child dream of cupolas,
Domes, other smoothly rounded shapes.
Geometries troubled his sleep.

Dom Moraes Biography

Dominic Francis Moraes, popularly known as Dom Moraes, was a Goan writer, poet and columnist. He published nearly 30 books. Early Life Moraes was born in Bombay (now Mumbai) to Beryl and Frank Moraes, former editor of the Times of India. He attended St. Mary's School (ISC), Mazagoan, Bombay, and Jesus College, Oxford University. Moraes spent eight years in Britain, in London and Oxford, New York city, Hong Kong, Delhi and Mumbai. Career He edited magazines in London, Hong Kong and New York. He became the editor of The Asia Magazine in 1971. He scripted and partially directed over 20 television documentaries for the BBC and ITV. He was a war correspondent in Algeria, Israel and Vietnam. In 1976 he joined the United Nations. Moraes conducted one of the first interviews of the Dalai Lama after the Tibetan spiritual leader fled to India in 1959. The Dalai Lama was then 23 and Moraes was 20. Moraes ended his writing career, writing books in collaboration with Sarayu Srivatsa. Later Life He had a lifelong battle with alcoholism. Moraes suffered from cancer, but refused treatment and died from a heart attack in Bandra, Mumbai. He was buried in the Sewri Cemetery in Mumbai and as per his last wishes Sarayu Srivatsa buried the soil from his grave in Odcombe, Somerset, on 19 July 2002 (his birthdate). Many of Dom's old friends and publishers attended the memorial service in Odcombe. A headstone in yellow Jaisalmer stone lies embedded in the front lawn of the church to mark the service. When the Gujarat riots erupted in 2002, with their heavy toll of Muslim dead, Moraes left for Ahmedabad the minute the news came through, claiming that since he was a Catholic, Muslims would not see him as an enemy. Even though he was physically in considerable pain by then, he was one of the first on the scene. Personal Life In 1956, aged 18, he was courted by Henrietta Moraes. They married in 1961. He left her, according to his close friends in London, but did not divorce her.[citation needed] He had a son, Heff Moraes, with his second wife Judith. He later married celebrated Indian actress and beauty Leela Naidu and they were a star couple, known across several continents, for over two decades. They separated in the mid-1990s. Awards and Recognitions Hawthornden Prize for the best work of the imagination, 1958, for the book of poems A Beginning Autumn Choice of the Poetry Book Society for Poems (1960))

The Best Poem Of Dom Moraes


Smear out the last star.
No lights from the islands
Or hills. In the great square
The prolonged vowel of silence
Makes itself plainly heard
Round the ghost of a headland
Clouds, leaves, shreds of bird
Eddy, hindering the wind.

No vigils left to keep.
No enemies left to slaughter.
The rough roofs of the slopes,
Loosely thatched with splayed water,
Only shelter microliths and fossils.
Unwatched, the rainbows build
On the architraves of hills.
No wounds left to be healed.

Nobody left to be beautiful.
No polyp admiral to sip
Blood and whiskey from a skull
While fingering his warships.
Terrible relics, by tiderace
Untouched, the stromalites breathe.
Bubbles plop on the surface,
Disturbing the balance of death.

No sound would be heard if
So much silence was not heard.
Clouds scuff like sheep on the cliff.
The echoes of stones are restored.
No longer any foreshore
Or any abyss, this
World only held together
By its variety of absences.

Dom Moraes Comments

Bijay Kant Dubey 14 January 2020

They call him a British poet, But he is not An Indian poet, A Goan Christian Of Portuguese descent And a Catholic, He was not a romantic But an alcoholic And a womanizer, A poet abandoning poetry For journalism And name and fame.

4 6 Reply
franko 04 September 2018

wow nice poem how should i get summary if it possible send me link

1 0 Reply
Vasana 19 June 2018

A letter and sinbad of dom morace with their analysis

3 1 Reply
David Taylor 17 January 2018

A great poet, with all that the word implies. Gifted with the ability to evoke powerful and dramatic images in all his poems, where the rhyme and the sense meet in a perfect blend of meaning. Read Dracula, the poem works on two levels. I feel privileged to have spent a couple of enjoyable evenings in his company and that of Leela Moraes his mercurial wife.

3 0 Reply
Reena modak 21 December 2017

What is the name of Dom moraes

3 0 Reply

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