Tag Archives: daily life

Isabella Hsu, ‘Villanelle of Quiet Desperation’

Frustration’s edge is finer than you thought:
life sinks its teeth in you in little ways.
No, nothing ever works the way it ought.
 
There is no coffee in the coffee pot.
The milk’s gone bad; you suffer more delays.
Frustration’s edge is finer than you thought.
 
You want a break. This wasn’t what they taught
in school. Your life is one unending maze
where nothing ever works the way it ought.
 
The tie you wear to work’s a gordian knot
you can’t untie until you get a raise.
Frustration’s edge is finer than you thought.
 
You held out hope (which never gave you squat).
Your father died without a word of praise.
No, nothing ever works the way it ought.
 
Your kids don’t look like you; your nerves are shot.
You’re not a person but a paraphrase.
Frustration is the only thing you’ve got.
Things never work the way you think they ought.

*****

Isabella Hsu writes: “The process of writing formal poetry is always fascinating. It is a seemingly cooperative act: the form makes its demands, I acquiesce as far as I am able, it responds. In the case of a repeating form, I’m always looking for ways to ensure the repetend carries more and more weight every time it is repeated. What better choice than the villanelle for expressing the minor falls and failures of everyday life?”

‘Villanelle of Quiet Desperation’ was originally published in Poems for Persons of Interest

Isabella Hsu is a poet from Southern California. Her poems and essays have appeared in Poems for Persons of Interest, New Verse Review, and The San Diego Reader among others. Her poem “The Young Man at Nain” was included in The Colosseum Book of Contemporary Narrative Verse.
https://isabellahsu.substack.com/

Aargh” by Peanuts Reloaded is licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 2.0.

Shamik Banerjee, ‘The Auto Drivers of K.G. Street’

They know well when I clock out. Sharp
At five, on K.G. Street,
They welcome me with every tooth
And lead me to their seat.

Five friends—senescent, pyknic, bald,
In Khakis—ironed, clean,
With brand-new autorickshaws that
Are painted taupe and green.

One masticates areca nuts.
The shortest one takes khaini.
The other two smoke beedis by
A tall Mahogany.

They fall in with a mental pact
That tells them not to seek
To win me, for each one’s assigned
A fixed day of the week

To drive me home. “Today’s my turn,”
One says and bids me in.
While driving he tells stories that
Block off the traffic’s din:

The student loan he’s willing to
Take for his only daughter;
The municipal board has swelled
The price of urban water.

Arrived, I ask about the fare.
“Ah! Saab“, he shyly says.
I take a fifty rupee note—
A glow upon his face.

*****

Shamik Banerjee gives the following word meanings:
Khaki: A type of cloth.
Khaini: A type of chewable tobacco
Beedi: Indian cigarette
Saab: Sir
K.G. stands for Kasturba Gandhi, the wife of Mahatma Gandhi. Most streets/ lanes/ roads in India are named after famous personalities, especially those who fought for our freedom.” 
‘The Auto Drivers of K.G. Street’ was first published by Willow Review.

Shamik Banerjee is a poet from Assam, India, where he resides with his parents. His poems have been published by Sparks of Calliope, The Hypertexts, Snakeskin, Ink Sweat & Tears, Autumn Sky Daily, Ekstasis, among others. He secured second position in the Southern Shakespeare Company Sonnet Contest, 2024.

Photo: Auto Drivers in Guwahati, Assam.