Stewardess Of The New Age (& Odia Version) Poem by Denis Mair
Stewardess Of The New Age (& Odia Version)
When she first began work on the big jet liners
Ocean-hopping flights made an enviable career.
Technology crafted knife-blades to cut through the sky
So a hundred-ton craft could ride on the wind.
And the stewardess' fuselage is my own dream of flight
But my dream falls behind her takeoff velocity.
She is a believer in New Age philosophy
Trusting her fate to a great pair of hands,
Turbulence of air is unsteadiness of faith,
Should a downward plunge come, her soul will win free.
But I sit in this airplane, like a hurled stone
My broken heart is working like a radar screen
To search out where the world falls on calamity;
From outward to inward I sense the resonance,
And this is the extent of my spiritual experience.
She is well-poised, as if perched in flight
But I am always smelling aviation fuel;
The metal around her gleams brightly
As she is pushed ahead by roaring fire,
But as we penetrate the roiling atmosphere
I keep sensing embryonic typhoons.
As the wheel of time advances
Big jets are not on the cutting edge,
A jetliner trundles along like an airborne bus
And weary lines mark the stewardess' face.
But that high-and-mighty gleam is still in her eyes
Because she still trusts in heavenly equations
To transport her on wings into celestial spaces.
Thank you Denis Mair for posting my Odia translation of the poem.The comments of Daniel Brick express the essence of the poem.I will be inviting Odia poets to give their views on this poem as well as its Odia translation.
I got the chance to read your poem today & find the same to be wonderful. I would suggest you to publish this in some Odia Newspaper on Sunday Reviews. The poem qualifies for publication. Even in Kabi O Kabita/Sahityara Madhurya a FB page where many oriya poets are posting for a nice review.
Sorry Denis to greet you late. In fact you are blessed with great imagination and it 's poised to go beyond heaven's gate.Very well crafted piece displaying both today's high technology and eternal things of beauty and spirituality. I wonder and am relieved that you were not hit by the stewardess' fuselage as dream of flight....ha...ha ha.......any way great thought and great piece elevating woman to a higher state......thanks for sharing.......10
To transport her on wings into heavenly blue spaces, this poem definitely attracts attention to highlight the importance of composition shared with far vivid imagery. This guides definite imagery. Fantastic sharing.10..About translation: Poetess Bharati Nayak has wonderfully translated this poem in to Odia and this is one of her best translation I have come across.
A wonderful poem of verse to read. Nice renditions in flight mode.
Very nicely translated. At least Odias will get a chance to read such marvellous piece of poetry written by Poet Denis Mair. The translated verse is truly amazing.
I laughed out loud at this couplet: And the stewardess' fuselage is my own dream of flight But my dream falls behind her takeoff velocity. Thank you for sharing this poem, Denis. Good to see your work here and good to see how indigenous people are influencing your thinking. I refer to the line: Technology crafted knife-blades to cut through the sky Many blessings dear Poet Brother. Paul Nelson Seattle, WA
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Delivering Poems Around The World
Poems are the property of their respective owners. All information has been reproduced here for educational and informational purposes to benefit site visitors, and is provided at no charge...
5/5/2024 3:25:12 PM # 1.0.0.1119
What a conflation! To me that person so imagined comes across as a new creation - a new individual for a new age in which technology is no longer brutal machinery but partakes in refined senses and heightened awareness. She is capable of transforming what is unrealized so she pulls the future into the present. And her presence is a guarantee this is how it will be because it should be. Meanwhile I'm the stick in the mud in row 37 wondering if this magnificent woman would be willing to bring me, tiny me, a cup of coffee.
You're so right. In writing this I was calling upon myself to face the future. The role of the woman-image in Futurist poetry is not to be underestimated. Wherever grand enterprises are in hand, she may crop up.