Sometimes 'blogging' can be so bogging down! I often mis-type my password several times (I get bored after a couple of times and I guess, sloppy!) then this time I was told that I needed to allow 'cookies'. I went into my security tab to see how it had been set and it was fine, so I don't know what it was going on about as I was able to get in to the blog. I find it very frustrating sometimes. I have also asked it to remember my password, but it won't! Arrrh!
Recently finished reading Baumgartner's Bombay by Anita Desai. It wasn't the easiest book and at times I wondered whether if I gave up reading it whether I'd notice! But I don't like giving up on a book and it did get better. Basically Hugo Baumgartner was born in Germany and is Jewish. When WWII came things got very difficult for the family and their business and eventually a business associate of Hugo's father arranges for Hugo to go to India where he would be safe. He has an introductory letter to a business man in Culcutta and for a while things go well but the war does change things and eventually he ends up as a POW. Coming back afterwards he is caught up in the conflict of Partition and has to move on to Bombay where he meets again an old friend from Germany. But life is far from good and the story is really about how Hugo doesn't really belong anywhere, not in his native country and not in India. It is sad and at about three quarters of the way through I knew how it was going to end - no happy ever after. Not the best book to read if you are feeling low, but good in that it shows you what life was like during the war and Partition in India.
I have had a poem published in Reach Poetry No. 131 and here it is:
Mr Fix-It
There was nothing he could not fix
with a plank of wood, hammer and screws,
but he couldn’t fix this.
A toolbox a-jumble of spanners and nails,
rawlplugs and pliers opened the doors
to many homes where he
unblocked sinks, drained radiators and
fixed shelves,
but he couldn’t fix this.
His smile and friendly chat had
flattered many a lady but he didn’t possess
the key to unlock her door.
This he couldn’t fix.
He’d sawn off more than he should, chewed
too many nails but the wound would not be plugged.
He resorted to sticking plaster for the cuts
and salve for the bruises, but the pain
wouldn’t go away.
His tools lay useless in his hands,
the problem unfixable.
Recently finished reading Baumgartner's Bombay by Anita Desai. It wasn't the easiest book and at times I wondered whether if I gave up reading it whether I'd notice! But I don't like giving up on a book and it did get better. Basically Hugo Baumgartner was born in Germany and is Jewish. When WWII came things got very difficult for the family and their business and eventually a business associate of Hugo's father arranges for Hugo to go to India where he would be safe. He has an introductory letter to a business man in Culcutta and for a while things go well but the war does change things and eventually he ends up as a POW. Coming back afterwards he is caught up in the conflict of Partition and has to move on to Bombay where he meets again an old friend from Germany. But life is far from good and the story is really about how Hugo doesn't really belong anywhere, not in his native country and not in India. It is sad and at about three quarters of the way through I knew how it was going to end - no happy ever after. Not the best book to read if you are feeling low, but good in that it shows you what life was like during the war and Partition in India.
I have had a poem published in Reach Poetry No. 131 and here it is:
Mr Fix-It
There was nothing he could not fix
with a plank of wood, hammer and screws,
but he couldn’t fix this.
A toolbox a-jumble of spanners and nails,
rawlplugs and pliers opened the doors
to many homes where he
unblocked sinks, drained radiators and
fixed shelves,
but he couldn’t fix this.
His smile and friendly chat had
flattered many a lady but he didn’t possess
the key to unlock her door.
This he couldn’t fix.
He’d sawn off more than he should, chewed
too many nails but the wound would not be plugged.
He resorted to sticking plaster for the cuts
and salve for the bruises, but the pain
wouldn’t go away.
His tools lay useless in his hands,
the problem unfixable.
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