Words come to me out of nowhere: Eunice de Souza talks about her latest collection of poetry

Over cigarette puffs, multigrain crackers and chilled beer, 76-year-old Eunice de Souza reads one poem after another from 'Learn From the Almond Leaf' at her Vakola residence. The poems in her seventh book – to be launched at Kitab Khana on October 5 – are autobiographical or about subjects that amuse her. Family, neighbours, ex lovers, Catholicism, pets, students, nature, etc.

The poems, though of short length, simple prose and sparse punctuation, stand out for their feisty thoughts. When not writing her weekly newspaper column, this ex-professor of literature from St Xavier’s College, Mumbai, is either reading voraciously or fussing after her two dogs and 20-year-old parrot, Toto. 

How was Learn from the Almond Leaf born?
I don’t sit and think to write something. The words come to me out of nowhere. I’ll just be walking the dogs downstairs and trying not to fall down, and suddenly complete poems come to me. They feel unreal. I end up feeling, “It’s not me.” 
There are lots of little sections about me in the book but not all poems are about me. Learn From the Almond Leaf is about the almond trees at the back my building. When the sun is behind them, the leaves come on fire. Yet Another Death Poem is about my aunt who loved dressing up even in her 90s and then seeing her dead, ‘pallor on her face’, I came home and cried and cried.

For instance, Mithi River, is more than just garbage in the river.
It’s about someone trying to commit suicide. I say, ‘Come down, you’re not going to get anywhere. At the most the garbage will take you out to the sea, which is in itself is dying.’ For years I didn’t know that damn thing was a river. All those auto machine shops, all the black oil going into the river. I mean, we really don’t give a damn. 

Many poems in Leaf from... indicate that though unafraid of death, you are definitely preoccupied with it.
I was, and that’s where this is all coming from. I was terribly afraid of death till six months ago. All of a sudden I’m not. I don’t how that happened.

When did you fall in love with words?
Ever since I was a child. My father was a great reader. He died when I was three. He had 100 books and also tried to write. I’m always reading. I don’t feel alone. I have my dogs, my books and my Toto (pet parrot). 

You write for newspapers. Why didn’t you join one?
I have much more freedom as a teacher and as a writer to communicate what I want. As I do in my column now. I write about everyday happenings. I try to make it relevant to as many people as possible.

Do you miss teaching?
I miss my students terribly. I was never the ‘teacher’ with any of the students even when I was teaching. Many come to meet me at home. Lot of them write me emails saying, ‘Dahling, how are you?’ I wrote My Student when I mentioned Keki Daruwalla in class and a Parsi girl in the front row sniggered. She couldn’t believe even a Daruwalla could write poetry.

Melanie Silgardo is one student you’ve had the longest association with.
She’s the first person I showed my poems too. She put together Fix (1979). She’s in London at the moment. For These My Words (2012), we covered the Vedas to the present day. Though it took five years to research, we had fun.

What kind of poetry do you like?
I don’t like writing or reading big poems. I can’t bear anyone going on and on.

Do you like your poems?
I only like Sweet Sixteen and Ms Louise. Quite frankly, the others bore me. They are brief and sometimes funny. Not too morbid I hope?

You’ve even dabbled with theatre.
I did five shows of Tom and Viv (by British playwright Michael Hastings) with Tom Alter. I think I did one (show) well, the others were mediocre. I also did Turning Point. In school, I used to be cast into plays. I love roles into which I would cry my heart out (laughs)

What do you call good writing?
The ability to bring a person alive. To make it (the subject) appear the way it really is. How to begin, how to end, how to create a character, how to create interest... To make the reader think in a new way, otherwise the language gets stale. 

How did you get to writing your first novel Dangerlok?
Just like my poems, no reason at all. One 31st of December, I was sitting around and just started writing. It later went through revisions, several formats, etc., but initially the words just turn up. 

You’ve also written books for children.
Those were the very first books commissioned to me. Absolutely not available anymore. The usual stuff – Akbar and Birbal, Gujarati and Himalayan folktales, Indian fables.

Which poets inspire you?
Tukaram for the speaking voice. And Robert Browning for his My Last Duchess (1842) and all the things he left unsaid. I also read massive thrillers. 

Were you denounced from St Peter’s Church, Bandra?
Because I seem to be running down Catholics. One of my students told me it was told from the pulpit, when we were told not to say ‘brassieres but bracelets’. (Poet) Adil Jussawalla had then told me, ‘If you don’t watch your ways, you’ll soon be denounced in St Peter’s in Rome.’

Four poems from Learn From the Almond Leaf

Learn from the almond leaf
Learn from the almond leaf
which flames as it falls.
The ground is burning.
The earth is burning.
Flamboyance 
is all.

Western ghats
Fling my ashes in the Western Ghats
They’ve always seemed like home.
May the leopards develop 
A taste for poetry 
The crows and kites learn
To modulate their voices.
May there be mist and waterfalls
Grass and flowers
In the wrong season.

Tell Me
Tell me, Mr Death
Date, Time, Place
I have to look for my
Life-of-panties
Make an appointment 
For a pedicure.

For the love of Lout, my Dog
For the love of Lout, my dog,
A howling pup abandoned 
At my doorstep
I’ll wake at four to walk him.
He’s a friendly dog,
A sniffer of crotches.
The good ladies of the neighbourhood
Avoid him. So do the men.
He knows too many secrets.