{"id":3692,"date":"2015-11-02T15:52:27","date_gmt":"2015-11-02T10:22:27","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.indiauncut.com\/?p=3916"},"modified":"2015-11-02T15:52:27","modified_gmt":"2015-11-02T10:22:27","slug":"an-old-woman-grabs-hold-of-your-sleeve","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/indiauncut.com\/an-old-woman-grabs-hold-of-your-sleeve\/","title":{"rendered":"An Old Woman Grabs Hold Of Your Sleeve"},"content":{"rendered":"

For a couple of years, every Monday I’ve been posting a poem on Facebook, with the intent of demonstrating that good poetry is something that can speak to everyone, and need not be abstruse, self-indulgent writing that only a chosen few can engage with. Starting this week, I’m shifting this tradition to India Uncut. Here’s the Monday Poem for today:<\/p>\n

THE OLD WOMAN
\nby Arun Kolatkar<\/p>\n

An old woman grabs
\nhold of your sleeve
\nand tags along.<\/p>\n

She wants a fifty paise coin.
\nShe says she will take you
\nto the horseshoe shrine.<\/p>\n

You’ve seen it already.
\nShe hobbles along anyway
\nand tightens her grip on your shirt.<\/p>\n

She won’t let you go.
\nYou know how old women are.
\nThey stick to you like a burr.<\/p>\n

You turn around and face her
\nwith an air of finality.
\nYou want to end the farce.<\/p>\n

When you hear her say,
\n‘What else can an old woman do
\non hills as wretched as these?’<\/p>\n

You look right at the sky.
\nClear through the bullet holes
\nshe has for her eyes.<\/p>\n

And as you look on
\nthe cracks that begin around her eyes
\nspread beyond her skin.<\/p>\n

And the hills crack.
\nAnd the temples crack.
\nAnd the sky falls<\/p>\n

with a plateglass clatter
\naround the shatter proof crone
\nwho stands alone.<\/p>\n

And you are reduced
\nto so much small change
\nin her hand. <\/p>\n

*<\/p>\n

This poem was from Kolatkar’s 1976 masterpiece, Jejuri<\/a><\/i>. The entire book is brilliant, I can’t recommend it highly enough.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

For a couple of years, every Monday I’ve been posting a poem on Facebook, with the intent of demonstrating that good poetry is something that can speak to everyone, and need not be abstruse, self-indulgent writing that only a chosen few can engage with. Starting this week, I’m shifting this tradition to India Uncut. Here’s the Monday Poem for today:<\/p>\n

THE OLD WOMAN
\nby Arun Kolatkar<\/p>\n

An old woman grabs
\nhold of your sleeve
\nand tags along.<\/p>\n

She wants a fifty paise coin.
\nShe says she will take you
\nto the horseshoe shrine.<\/p>\n

You’ve seen it already.
\nShe hobbles along anyway
\nand tightens her grip on your shirt.<\/p>\n

She won’t let you go.
\nYou know how old women are.
\nThey stick to you like a burr.<\/p>\n

You turn around and face her
\nwith an air of finality.
\nYou want to end the farce.<\/p>\n

When you hear her say,
\n‘What else can an old woman do
\non hills as wretched as these?’<\/p>\n

You look right at the sky.
\nClear through the bullet holes
\nshe has for her eyes.<\/p>\n

And as you look on
\nthe cracks that begin around her eyes
\nspread beyond her skin.<\/p>\n

And the hills crack.
\nAnd the temples crack.
\nAnd the sky falls<\/p>\n

with a plateglass clatter
\naround the shatter proof crone
\nwho stands alone.<\/p>\n

And you are reduced
\nto so much small change
\nin her hand.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[18,26],"tags":[],"yoast_head":"\nAn Old Woman Grabs Hold Of Your Sleeve - India Uncut<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/indiauncut.com\/an-old-woman-grabs-hold-of-your-sleeve\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_GB\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"An Old Woman Grabs Hold Of Your Sleeve - India Uncut\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"For a couple of years, every Monday I’ve been posting a poem on Facebook, with the intent of demonstrating that good poetry is something that can speak to everyone, and need not be abstruse, self-indulgent writing that only a chosen few can engage with. Starting this week, I’m shifting this tradition to India Uncut. Here’s the Monday Poem for today: THE OLD WOMAN by Arun Kolatkar An old woman grabs hold of your sleeve and tags along. She wants a fifty paise coin. She says she will take you to the horseshoe shrine. You’ve seen it already. She hobbles along anyway and tightens her grip on your shirt. She won’t let you go. You know how old women are. They stick to you like a burr. You turn around and face her with an air of finality. You want to end the farce. When you hear her say, ‘What else can an old woman do on hills as wretched as these?’ You look right at the sky. Clear through the bullet holes she has for her eyes. And as you look on the cracks that begin around her eyes spread beyond her skin. And the hills crack. And the temples crack. And the sky falls with a plateglass clatter around the shatter proof crone who stands alone. 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Starting this week, I’m shifting this tradition to India Uncut. Here’s the Monday Poem for today: THE OLD WOMAN by Arun Kolatkar An old woman grabs hold of your sleeve and tags along. She wants a fifty paise coin. She says she will take you to the horseshoe shrine. You’ve seen it already. She hobbles along anyway and tightens her grip on your shirt. She won’t let you go. You know how old women are. They stick to you like a burr. You turn around and face her with an air of finality. You want to end the farce. When you hear her say, ‘What else can an old woman do on hills as wretched as these?’ You look right at the sky. Clear through the bullet holes she has for her eyes. And as you look on the cracks that begin around her eyes spread beyond her skin. And the hills crack. And the temples crack. And the sky falls with a plateglass clatter around the shatter proof crone who stands alone. 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