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M.T. Karthik

~ midcareer archive, 1977 – 2017 plus 2022

M.T. Karthik

Category Archives: poetry

last seconds

30 Friday Dec 2022

Posted by mtk in 2022, poetry

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Karthik, last, mtk, poem, seconds

It’s near midnight here
soon to be the last day of the year
I’m killing time
my only perpetration of murder

unless you count the smashed roaches and other bugs

that my Dad and the Jains count
but I don’t

they sweep the ground in front of themselves
to avoid stepping on ants

Dad would say a prayer for bugs that hit his windshield
as he gripped the wheel two-handed on our doomed summer vacations

fools
accidents happen
they always will
and maybe

to you

tomorrow

and you won’t experience
one second
of the new year

or any of the ten
in the countdown to it

and when they sing
Auld Lang Syne

it’s you
they’ll be thinking of

murderer

– M.T. Karthik, Pondicherry, 12/30/2022

A Parallel History, poem by M.T. Karthik © 2019

24 Monday Oct 2022

Posted by mtk in beliefs, Commentary, conceptual art, performance, poetry, politics

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#mtkforever, 2019, history, Karthik, m.t., m.t. karthik, mtk, parallel

Washing My Brain

26 Friday May 2017

Posted by mtk in maturation, midlife, poetry, thoughts

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Brain, Karthik, mtk, my, poem, Washing

nothing it’s never nothing how long ago’d that start?

I love you and the way we dared

nobody I mean nobody wanted us to

and when the baby came

about then

since then

it’s never nothing

but maybe earlier than that even

when I came to you that December and said it

straight eyes open to your face

let’s have the baby now

by then for sure

that summer when you loaded up the Ryder

with S. and left

it wasn’t nothing

so at least that long ago to me

it wasn’t til recently

like ten years ago

I accepted it was

for you

 

for me it hasn’t been nothing

in a long time

maybe it will never be nothing again

 

everyone should have nothing

at least for a little while

 

before we die

 

 

 

 

 

 

plunge

02 Monday Nov 2015

Posted by mtk in poetry, TX

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

Karthik, m.t., mtk, poem, poesy, poet, poetics, poetry

I have lost my way

It lies somewhere behind me

but none of us can go back again

Will I find my way once more or

will time run out?

I ask, paused

astride the path

watching the maddened crowd.

Run to the current

rate of flow

plunge

into seething humanity

Lester Young, Author of US Culture

28 Saturday Apr 2012

Posted by mtk in jazz, poetry, social media

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artist, author, bread, coin, coined, composer, genius, hip, hipster, Lester, money, Pres, Prez, repeater pencil, saxophonist, Young

The great musician and composer Lester Young

(nicknamed Prez by Billie Holiday)

who lived a lush life and died at 49, too his-last-name

was one of the hippest human beings of the 20th century.

Prez was smooth of tone and tongue,

and coined the use of the word ‘bread’ for money

and the phrase “repeater pencil”

to describe the act of repeating one’s own past ideas.

I’ve been a repeater pencil for weeks now as I fill these social media with back-dated content.

Prez always said he didn’t want to be a repeater pencil.

a salutation

24 Tuesday Apr 2012

Posted by mtk in poetry

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Karthik, m.t. karthik, mtk, poem

To those about to light a toothpick,

the reverse end of an incense stick or

deliberating whether to forcibly divorce

a pair of chopsticks,

by lighting one on the gas stove,

in order to light a smoke

because you’ve no matches or lighter …

I salute you.

mtk 2012 Oakland

Iran is a Stone, poem, 2007

11 Sunday Nov 2007

Posted by mtk in Berkeley, poetry

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Tags

answer, bear, china, crow, India, Iran, islam, Karthik, m.t., mtk, not, poem, problem, Russia, stone, tree, turkken, war, yemen

Iran is a Stone

Iran is a Stone

China is a Tree

India, a Crow

Russia, Bear

From Turkmen to Yemen

the sands are shifting

Sudamérica demuestra la dirección

Africa waits

Islam is not the problem

War is not the answer

satori at 40

23 Friday Mar 2007

Posted by mtk in Asia, India, poetry, Tamil Coast

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40, 40th, birthday, forty, India, Karthik, m.t., mtk, poem, satori, satori at 40

If you keep making lefts

You go in a circle

If you keep making rights

you wind up where you began

If you just go straight ahead

you’ll wind up where your headed

but going straight ahead’s the fastest way to dead.

MTK, Pudducherri, Tamil Nadu, India March 23, 2007

untitled, 2006

24 Friday Nov 2006

Posted by mtk in India, poetry, Tamil Coast

≈ 1 Comment

they’ve littered

super-bright,
glowing, glass

franchises

all over the cities

(my precious corners)

and now towns of this planet.

can hardly see the stars anymore

-mtk November 2006

dereliction

24 Monday Oct 2005

Posted by mtk in artists books, collage, Los Angeles, NYC, poetry, politics

≈ 1 Comment

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2005, acrylic, artists, book, Borsa, bound, dereliction, gouache, Karthik, large, m.t. karthik, maps, mtk, paint, salvaged, size, Wilde

dereliction [2005]
13.5 x 21 in

an original poem by M.T. Karthik on seafarer’s maps salvaged by G. Borsa from a derelict tugboat on the Newtown Creek that separates the boroughs of Queens and Brooklyn, NY; with gouache, acrylic, ink, and collage of printed paper, printed plastic and color prints from digital media by M.T. Karthik; bound by C.K. Wilde

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Initially authored during the Republican National Convention as it was taking place in New York City, “dereliction” [2004] begins with a slap across the face of the Prince of Wales in 2001.  A reprint of the BBC World Service Internet screenshot features 19-year-old Alina striking Charles with a rose in Riga, Latvia, and is collaged into a map of the seagoing entrance to the Gulf of Riga in the Baltic.  Accompanying text reports that Alina was protesting the then recently begun bombing of Afghanistan by the United States and the United Kingdom. This is the only spread in the book which maps an actual place.

An invocation:
“O, Chorus of unknown seas, drowning the known to smithereens”
leads the viewer from the map and image of an actual place into a fantasy cartography.

As an organizing principle each folio is designed such that no spread has paper from the same original map in its recto and verso facia.  To achieve this, the maps were spread out, cut into quarters and recomposed, designed primarily with an aesthetic created from the juxtaposition of land masses and water. The land and water were then treated with media to create text that serves to obfuscate specificity further, but also to unify bodies of water and masses of land.

Each spread (including the title page and frontispiece) is composed from deconstructed maps positioned to create shorelines and seaways with no basis in earthly reality. The result is a deconstruction of the original maps that creates an atlas of a world familiar yet not accurately descriptive of any known place. The title page is companioned with a frontispiece detailing the title, as the first sets of waves of text appear in the sea: “the ship of state is derelict”.

Figures rigid in concept, but loose and flexible in media, create a striking paradox, as patterns of zeroes and ones are painted in gouache across the land masses – a reminder of digital output and a haunting count.
Swiftly, the context leaps back in time to the era of the Atomic Bombs dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, as a play on words is employed in the repeating waves of text in the sea: Truman as the “worst president,” the decision to use the bomb as the “worst precedent”. [Curatorial note: there are momentary and unique changes in the underlying text in each spread. In this case, buried in the text are two additions:  “the buck stops here” and “worst Missouri Mob” … meant to implicate unseen hands behind the Truman presidency.]

A spread follows featuring the English transliteration of the name of Hiroshima copied 1,000 times and of Nagasaki 750 times and leads to the A-bomb spread: the spread with the most text in the book, in all five layers, including the Sanskrit transliteration of Chapter 11, Verse 32, from the Bhagavad Gita, quoted by Oppenheimer upon seeing the cloud from the first successful test of his atomic bomb.

From the A-Bomb spread, “dereliction” [2005] continues to accuse the founders of the U.S. of genocide and the current leaders of the United States of militarization for centuries. A parallel is made between the figure cited by Bartholomew de las Casas as killed by Columbus’ ventures and a figure representing those killed by the USA abroad in covert and overt operations between 1945 and 2001 and digital photos of pre-columbian sculptures from Oaxaca, Mexico float in the seas.

The centerfold of “dereliction” [2005] employs a quote from James Joyce’s “Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man” to make a point about the rush to war in Iraq. In the novel, Joyce describes his class being asked by his teacher, to copy the phrase “zeal without prudence is like a ship adrift,” repeatedly. At the place marked in the maps as “Middleground” this quote is written over and over as instructed, and creates the central thesis of the text: that the USA is adrift, waging bungled wars led by men who don’t know even simple philosophical truths.

The text then moves to an admonition of those adrift without such knowledge:

“Oh, woe betide ye, adrift at sea, without even a cosmology”

and concludes by offering a cosmology in the form of a Haiku [5 syllables, 7 syllables, 5 syllables]:

a cosmology :
sun father mother ocean
the moon is a god

haiku, 2003

23 Tuesday Sep 2003

Posted by mtk in Los Angeles, NYC, poetry

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2003, cosmology, father, god, haiku, m.t. karthik, moon, mother, mtk, sun

one cosmology:
father sun, ocean mother
the moon is a god

mtk, NYC&LA, Jan-Sep 2003

Gallery

Soon, a zine, 2002

25 Saturday May 2002

Posted by mtk in artists books, collage, jazz, journalism, Los Angeles, poetry, travel

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2002, antonio, california, drawings, hindu, Karthik, m.t., media, Mingus, mixed, mtk, road, San, soon, texas, trip, trotsky

This gallery contains 19 photos.

ode, 2002

25 Thursday Apr 2002

Posted by mtk in Los Angeles, poetry

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Love a pine tree intensely,
expecting nothing
and perhaps it will, in its immensity,
rebroadcast that love
like an antenna
scattering your emotion
down the umbrella of branches and tiny needles
that fall from above
to prick the soles of pilgrim’s feet
in accurate punctures,
coursing by vein at the heel
up into the minds of tree lovers
who seek nothing in the trunk
save the root
and to die in peace

MTK, Los Angeles, 4/25/2002

99 is the Summer of Unity, (From New York to the World), 1999

10 Thursday Jun 1999

Posted by mtk in NYC, poetry

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1999, 99, brooklyn, from, is, Karthik, m.t. karthik, mtk, new, new york, of, summer, the, to, unity, world, york

From New York to the World
’99 is the summer of Unity

Indian time is measured by the moon
but this is a lyric for the month of June
“I like New York in June, how about you ?”

july and august maybe into september
if we make it last we’ll have something to remember

this is the evolution of the revolution
known as urban contribution
we’re rubbing out the borders and the edges of the thing
so we can get together and sing

99 is the summer of unity
from new york to the world
99 is the summer of unity
from new york to the world
99 is the summer of unity
from new york to the world

there ain’t no such thing as the 21st century
there’s only right now that includes everybody
from Tokyo to Paris, Frisco to Mali
we all know who the greatest is … it’s ali.
we can talk about you and all about me
but what it comes down to is we

99 is the summer of unity
from new york to the world
99 is the summer of unity
from new york to the world
99 is the summer of unity
from new york to the world

niggahs on the left side crackers on the right
everybody who knows better can separate the fight
by jumping in the middle and shouting out the chorus
but you got to shake your ass or you know you’re gonna bore us

everybody’s looking for the next big thing
Y2K ain’t shit yet, so just sing

99 is the summer of unity
from new york to the world
99 is the summer of unity
from new york to the world
99 is the summer of unity
from new york to the world

Saramago’s written a book
in which we all get blindness
while the dalai lama says
his true religion is kindness

I don’t know what the answers are but you might be forgiven
if you put away your bigotry and listen to the women!

99 is the summer of unity
from new york to the world
99 is the summer of unity
from new york to the world
99 is the summer of unity
from new york to the world

nobody knows where we’re going
nobody can say about the weather
but wherever we’re all headed
we’re in it together.

99 is the summer of unity
from new york to the world
99 is the summer of unity
from new york to the world
99 is the summer of unity
from new york to the world

M.T. Karthik, Brooklyn, 1999

Mingus Big Band

13 Friday Feb 1998

Posted by mtk in NYC, poetry

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1998, Band, Big, cafe, fez, Karthik, manhattan, mbb, Mingus, mtk, time

 

Yo, I was set up …  by Mingus

and knocked down  … by The Mingus Big Band

over gin and tonics at the Fez

snow my first night in Brooklyn, 1998

21 Wednesday Jan 1998

Posted by mtk in NYC, poetry

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

1998, brooklyn, Karthik, m.t., mtk, ny, poem, snow

I’m shivering –
can’t hold myself tightly enough and there’s no one else to hold me.
It’s cold.
It snowed last night on the spring equinox.
It only snowed once in New York this past winter –

that day, three full moons back, when I returned from Boston
to spend my first night in Brooklyn.

It fell in drifting, tiny, crisp, wispy flakes
that melted when they struck the concrete
and the earth of the city
mean

while it was snowing
in drifts up and down the east coast
shutting down whole swaths of automated New England
killing electricity for thousands
killing several who were inadequately housed.

My first night in Brooklyn was cold.
I fashioned a bed from a piece of sheetrock laid across cement cinderblocks,
and covered it in some of my warmest clothes.
My overcoat was a blanket.

I lit some candles.

there was no heat, no bath, and no electricity.
there was a toilet and a sink that gave no warm water
and I watched it snow and considered the english language

There is no snow where I am from.

Never.

There, it is either wet or dry and usually it is too hot to be outside for long.

Now, I have traveled far from where I am from
and have seen many things and kinds of things.
I have, along the way, learned new words.

I have heard english-speaking people say, in amazement:
“the Inuit have more than 30 words for snow.”

and that day in Brooklyn I wondered how
english could have snow for millennia
and yet have only one word
for the many different kinds of falling white
I’ve seen –

the cold, browzy, white haze at great heights
the soft, gentle quiet of an empty field
tiny flakes and slippery ice
hard rains of sleeting shards.

english has been arrogant.

It just feathered that day.

It was just a little feathering down.

a feathering of

Baubles V, 1998

13 Tuesday Jan 1998

Posted by mtk in poetry

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Yo baubles here’s one from the top of the telephone
Talking coast to coast – me at work in Manhattan
you in Berzerkely at yo mama’s home

You said:

“She’s a creative director … (so she says).
so I’m supposed to understand
she’s a fashion director for a magazine

“I say two words-and she says ‘SF Moda?’
And I start to say, “No, I didn’t say –”
(that’s not what I said)

“And she says, “Why yes, I do work for SF Moda … You’re a DJ? I know you from somewhere …”

“Turns out she was “winnie d’s roommate”

“but I never been to winnie’s house … dummy-”

Then baubles, you told me ‘bout how she was

And said she was and how she wasn’t and said she was and how she said and said and said

But then you set it straight with that big brown shuffle of yours.

‘cause from the tail end of that call I can still hear you sayin’:

“baby, we don’t need to talk … in fact, it’s best that you don’t –
I can give you a lyric sheet and we can make some beautiful music together.”

(phone convo with DJ Consuelo), mtk, nyc, 1998

ko'an, 1997

19 Sunday Oct 1997

Posted by mtk in poetry

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atheism, death, poem

“Thank God you’ve arrived,” said the atheist to his brother, “I’ve been surrounded by believers for weeks.”

The brother replied: “A dying man is silent and thus have I recorded his final words.”

Epilogue, poem

17 Friday Jan 1997

Posted by mtk in Coastal Cali, poetry, S.F.

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after, entry, epilogue, finishing, first, journal, Karthik, mtk, novel, poem

January 17th, 1997ce 3:45 pm
Ocean Beach, San Francisco, California

At two o’clock p.m. on 17th January, 1997ce, I ended an experiment in documentation, exactly two years and two days from the experiment’s beginning.

I put an end to two years of work during which I spent the vast majority of my time – averaging five to seven hours a day – doing nothing but writing. The conclusion of the experiment occurred as a result of the act of putting the only existing copy of the novel I had written over the two year period into a black cardboard box and delivering it to Chronicle Books, a publisher of some size in San Francisco, at exactly two o’clock on that sunny Friday.

Then I went to the beach.

I consider the experiment in chronicling and documentation to have ended at that time.  I do not intend to revisit or change one word of the texts of the resulting documents which include the novel, many stories, poetry and a number of other notations and entries.

The following is the first entry in my journal which I wrote on Ocean Beach after ending the experiment:

You are a novelist and you have just ended your first novel.  The process in which you participate has borne a fruit.  And now, it is time to take the fruits of your labor to market.

What will the market bear?
How does your fruit compare.
to other fruits available.

Is it sweet?  Is it bitter?
Does it slake the thirst?
Does it feel cold and delicious
going down like a plum?
Is it dry and grounding, requiring
delicate effort like a banana?
or more delicate still
unseeding a pomegranate

What is the going rate for
fresh, ripe, delicious fruits
on the market which compare
to yours

Shall you ask more or less?

This is your position and
you feel you may be definitive
and yet you are afraid because
you have never sown & harvested
these seeds (brought them
to ripen) before.

Your fruit sits next to you
like a prize tomato and
just picked, plucked, fallen
and all you can think of is

how to better farm the seeds next time.
How to hoe the rows.
How to plant the seeds.
When?

And you realize there is no time.  You are beat.  The last harvest cost you everything and you are tired and hopeful for success @ the marketplace and you do not know what to do except to try to maybe relax … and take a break.

But even resting is duro … hard … difficult

This is an alone time.  And you notice your surroundings.  Sounds are amplified. The women talking at the table next to yours, the ocean, birds, music, poetry, … ART

painting

ALL     MADE

BIG!

mantra

31 Tuesday Dec 1996

Posted by mtk in poetry, S.F.

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1996, eve, Karthik, m.t., mantra, mtk, new, poem, year, years

In the new year … shit’s gonna be different in the new year
(repeat once every 365 days)

mtk, SF, 1996

Label

10 Tuesday Dec 1996

Posted by mtk in poetry, S.F.

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1996, goo, gunk, Karthik, label, m.t., mtk, muck, ooze, retail, sale, slop, stuff, unit

 

This Unit Not Labeled For Individual Retail Sale
Ingredients:  stuff, gunk, goo, slop, muck, ooze, FD&C Brown No.9, FD&C Black No.23

 

mtk, SF, 1996

science, language and diversity proof

27 Wednesday Nov 1996

Posted by mtk in poetry, S.F.

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1996, diversity, Karthik, language, m.t., mtk, poem, proof, science

LANGUAGE NAMES DIVERSITY.

SCIENCE IS LANGUAGE.

SCIENCE NAMES DIVERSITY.

 

mtk, SF, 1996

watching and watched

10 Sunday Nov 1996

Posted by mtk in poetry, S.F.

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1996, Karthik, m.t., mtk, poem, watched, watching

 

There is a feeling of being watched.
Because of course, the watcher is watching.

But the watcher is the watched.

And yet the feeling persists.
Now the watching …

 

mtk, SF, 1996

come, It's Fall

01 Friday Nov 1996

Posted by mtk in poetry, S.F.

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1996, autumn, come, it's fall, Karthik, mtk, poem

I’ve come

many times

mindlessly

in the fall

when autumn has fallen

into its “n”

and october

breathed its last “errrrr”

into the lush warmth

of my woman’s insides

and it often

arrives

with

a rusty leaf

a golden crispy crackle of yellowing green

that burns well in winterous weather

in my minds stoven pipes

coming into the world

melancholic

as

november

The Storytelling is the Important Part

31 Thursday Oct 1996

Posted by mtk in poetry, S.F.

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being, important, Karthik, m.t., mtk, poem, story, storytelling, telling

 

The story telling is the important part
The story is the being is the telling.  The telling is the being is the story.  The story is the telling is the being.  The being is the story is the telling. The telling is the story is the being …

the being is the telling is the story.

Not The End.

 

mtk, SF, 1996

my lie(f)

23 Wednesday Oct 1996

Posted by mtk in poetry, S.F.

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1996, Karthik, lie(f), life, m.t., mtk, poem

imagine if I were to collect every single word I wrote and saved over the last fifteen years and bound them into one very fat, long book.

I have dozens of stories, poems, journal entries, drawings, notations, thoughts,

words.

Suppose I were to collect all of this and then Bind it.

I could see an ordering using language (words are lies)

of my life.

of my lie(f).

Surviving the U.$.A.

20 Sunday Oct 1996

Posted by mtk in poetry, S.F.

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1996, capitalism, counter, Karthik, mtk, sf, States, surviving, U$A, United, usa

In the US, temperance of desire is necessary more than anywhere else because here, laxity of this temperance is observed as a vulnerability and an opportunity for commercial intervention.

This subsequently leads to the inflation of false desires and the inflation of the value of insignificant temporal things.

mtk, SF, 1996

Can it?

17 Thursday Oct 1996

Posted by mtk in poetry, S.F.

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1996, can, it, Karthik, m.t., mtk, order, poem, word, words

 

Can it be some other words? In some other order?

No. It has to be exactly these words.  In exactly this order.

No.  It could be any order.

mtk, SF, 1996

me, fucked

16 Wednesday Oct 1996

Posted by mtk in poetry, S.F.

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1996, fucked, Karthik, m.t., me, mtk, poem

If computers are a fad, I’m fucked.
(me)
If computers aren’t a fad, I’m fucked.

If the Internet’s a fad, I’m fucked.
(me)
If the Internet isn’t a fad, I’m fucked.

mtk, SF, 1996

what am I doing here?

12 Saturday Oct 1996

Posted by mtk in poetry, S.F.

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1995, doing, here, Karthik, m.t., mtk, poem, sf, what

 

What on earth am I doing here?
seeking control of the wrong things.
… just seeking control

lost

in a stupid place
in a stupid, stupid place,
lost.

 

mtk, SF, 1996

← Older posts

M.T. Karthik

This blog archives early work of M.T. Karthik, who took every photograph and shot all the video here unless otherwise credited.

Performances and installations are posted by date of execution.

Writing appears in whatever form it was originally or, as in the case of poems or journal entries, retyped faithfully from print.

all of it is © M.T. Karthik

a minute of rain

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