Archive: Four Poems
From the Archive - Four Poems by Daljit Nagra, first published in ALR14, Winter 2009. Read Aubade from Nagra's new collection, British Museum (Faber, 2017)
Phallacy
How oft do mates bang on at length about
how well they’re hung, they grab their crotch then slash
the air, then chuck an arm at will around
a chum while necking Stella till they’re lashed.
To tell the truth, I’m really not well hung
and thus I hide from mates my prince’s state,
this conk is king of my poor frame, no trunks
would lunchbox find to bank a lady’s gaze.
And yet I hope the guys won’t feel too down
when I recount I praise my lover’s reserved
mind that rises over the corrrrr! from louts
who check her out too long like sonnet pervs.
She says: I die each night your subtle touch
expands the case for serving our true love.
Our Daughter, The Bible Flasher!
… but you must our daughter cure Dr Jekly!
At party for full moon, wid girls whooping
on broomstick dance and wise-hair ladies
gassing voodoo-powders in corner, I leav
di Bacardi Bernand-Manning-to-Edingborough-Duke
joke-cracking boys who show we haha, ah!
can make;
her nose, could it be…? O Dr Jekly, our Rapinder,
her sari – tutt-tutt-tuttering to lino! Underneath
she hav white collar and black cotton costume!
Wid eyes to ceiling artex, wid bible she march
for party marquee screeching like dis (I sing):
All tings briiight and beauuutipel, di God-lord
changing all …
Such jumble Dr Jekly she mumbo,
so quick up I roll her to play wid Black Magic masks
in attic. I ask, Vut is rong vid Rub? Always again
in British on me: Does he too do Christmas
making money for charities with Cliff Richard?
The Punjab
Not ‘The’ – just ‘Púnjab’! Was there once upon
before partition a Púnjab whole? A Pan-jab
of Hindu, Sikh, Muslim – anything? Are Punjabis
all partitioned? How many times a putsch my Babel sank –
that bank after river-bank got flagged by clan?
To play the pipes of a Punjamental –
must I pin a badge – must I drop my pants –
must I join a junta and jab-jab-jab for my Púnjab?
Do di Indi Punjabs luv Khalistan? Do di Paki Punjabs luv Talibans?
You say ‘Pún-jab’ – we say Punjaaab – it’s our land
of five wide rivers! Well it’s five for the ‘punj’
and for ‘jaab’ it’s a river so you’ll never step on my –
Ekjaab – Dohjaab – Tenjaab – Charjaab – Punjaaaaab!
What a jape! – Not a jape just each jaab is my King of Roll
through the blue suede seam of cloud and sea
that rocks me back for the count!
Do di Punjabs go punting from jaab to jaab to Bhalti the W-W-W-World!!!
I’m a Paki-Púnjab or an Indi-Púnjab –
I’m a bow-bells knees-up-mother-brown type
who’s an Ali Alias & Chapatti Charlie – I’m a popped-up
Poppadum Pete cum Jullunder Johnny! Ah honey
they think I’m Niagra on the fall – but I’m your jabby gobby
toyboy – your beached up beluga-bhaji
when all you wanted was a pie and mash Monday.
Ek-jaab – A row row your boat gently down the…swanny from Thames-jaab!
The jameen – the ghee – the jaggery or gor –
all those jagirs of gold – in your name – going down…
Young Punglanders – I declare you are the map of your maa-baap!
Take a pan & a man jump aboard for your jut-land unplucked –
your unclaimed land – your bee-glade Indusfree!
Look at you jump! You golly well jump
my old Huckleberry friend – Look at you jumping and
jabbing your song down the jaabs – going merrily –
Ekjaab-Dohjaab-Tenjaab-Charjaab-Punjaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaab!!!!!
Ek-Doh-Ten-Char-Punj – one-two-three-four-five; maa – mother; baap – father; jameen – land; jaggery – palm sugar; gor – cane sugar; jagirs – estates; jut – landowner caste
Have I Got Old News For You
You’ve been mapping the best mortgage
for our first house in these skint times,
recalling the latest tracker rate
you hint we play it safe
with a five-year fixed.
You’re by the telly when Dubya flashes up
twitching a smirk in his cowboy gear,
now safely in the past, yet verged
on a mind-blowing
thought.
I’m sorry Love, in the head to head,
my head had gone astray so you were
second best, it’s just that I banked
on a dead cert gaffe to raise
us a laugh.
You don’t hand me another Bud, but quiz
my smiles at this sniggery ad-lib game
of gags (that won your broken
laughter back then).
I’m thrown
to our courtship years glued to the smoke of Guan-
tanamoww, Eyraaq, and of course Affghanestaan
freed by John Simpson for the Crusades,
way before our daughter
trod the earth.
Please Register or Login
Register now for full access to News and Events, Web Exclusives, Blogs and Comments.
If you've already registered, please login.