Wellversed- malaysian flavoured

Wellversed is a compilation of poems from the poets who had performed during Evening of Spoken Words or Wayang Kata organised by the British Council. It consists of both Malay and English poems. The poets are from different background, gender, and nationality.

Wellversed struck at me as a cacophony of voices - crooning, booming, feminine, masculine, reminiscing, criticising, sarcastic, melancholic, spirited, touching, caressing, reminding… The messages are close to home that sometimes my tears welled and flowed when it hits sensitive points. Even the written form had such a big impact on me that I can imagine how energetic and vigorous the Wayang Kata must be. I would like to go and watch they perform if there is any opportunity for me to do so in the future. It would be an eye-opener experience.

The poem that I like the most would be Rest Assured by Liyana Yusof. The lines within a stanza is interconnected without any fullstop to suggest a break. If there is any break between the lines the only evident sign is the existence of commas. The flow of the lines giving the impression that the life of the persona is boring, meaningless and endless. The tone of the persona is rather sceptical, as if the persona hates her life and its meaninglessness. Its bleak impression fits my gloomy mood these few weeks. Like her I also hope that I'll find satisfaction when it's over.

Malika Booker's A prayer from the dying reminds me of my own old grandfather. the poem tells about the old man who is already sick and bedridden, have to rely on others like a child, lonely since all his friends are already gone to their final resting place. He feels sorry for himself, willing and wishing his life to be taken as soon as possible since he has had enough of life wanting only to rest. My own grandfather is bedridden due to his blindness and unability to take care of himself. He was a strong kind man, but he grew weaker and weaker each day. He is slowly losing his coherence, talking to us as if we are other person, unable to differentiate the time and space where he belongs, as if he wants to go back to his prime days. It really hurts to see him deteriorate in front of our eyes. Perhaps it is better if he go to his final resting place but we just could not bear losing him. So, either way we would lose, seeing him suffer is a torture, letting him go is also a torment.

Poems are one of my interest. They are concise but deep and far reaching. Reading a poem to me is as if I'm entering the dark alleys of human thoughts and feelings, a glimpse at their psyche.