Meena Alexander

Meena Alexander Biography

Meena Alexander (born 1951) is an internationally acclaimed poet, scholar, and writer. Born in Allahabad, India, and raised in India and Sudan, Alexander lives and works in New York City, where she is Distinguished Professor of English at Hunter College and at the CUNY Graduate Center in the PhD program in English. She is the author of numerous col ...

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shaffiulla 15 March 2018

i need critical appriciation of the poem i root my name

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Yuga S 17 May 2018

I need detail summary of I Root My Name

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V.HEMALATHA 15 December 2017


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Arun prasath 14 February 2018

I need meena Alexander I root my name full poem

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V.Arun prasath 26 January 2018

I root my name by meena Alexander poetic lines

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HARIHARAN 05 March 2020

I need the summary of i root my name by meena Alexander

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Shanavas 23 November 2019

I need summary of the poem meena alaxander blue lotus

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Rashik 05 April 2019

I need meena alexander's poems of 'sita' and 'the storm's

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yuktha 01 March 2019

In need of summary of poem for my father karachi 1947

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siddesh 24 June 2018

I need a summary of poem cadenza

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The Best Poem Of Meena Alexander


I was young when you came to me.
Each thing rings its turn,
you sang in my ear, a slip of a thing
dressed like a convent girl--
white socks, shoes,
dark blue pinafore, white blouse.

A pencil box in hand: girl, book, tree--
those were the words you gave me.
Girl was penne, hair drawn back,
gleaming on the scalp,
the self in a mirror in a rosewood room
the sky at monsoon time, pearl slits

In cloud cover, a jagged music pours:
gash of sense, raw covenant
clasped still in a gold bound book,
pusthakam pages parted,
ink rubbed with mist,
a bird might have dreamt its shadow there

spreading fire in a tree maram.
You murmured the word, sliding it on your tongue,
trying to get how a girl could turn
into a molten thing and not burn.
Centuries later worn out from travel
I rest under a tree.

You come to me
a bird shedding gold feathers,
each one a quill scraping my tympanum.
You set a book to my ribs.
Night after night I unclasp it
at the mirror's edge

alphabets flicker and soar.
Write in the light
of all the languages
you know the earth contains,
you murmur in my ear.
This is pure transport.

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