Poetic fumes and anaesthesia
There is poetry in all of us. There is music in every soul. But only a few pick up
the pen to let it flow out. I am one such person. Poetry was my first love, and
anaesthesia was a later choice in life.
There was something about rhyme and rhythm that captured
me at a very early stage in my life. I read the same poems
several times, and often learnt them by heart and would recite
them aloud when alone. This passion progressed; I had the
good fortune at school of learning great poetry in English, the
first language, as well as Hindi my chosen second language.
I still remember the poems I learnt at school after nearly five
decades, and go back and read them over again to revisit my
childhood memories.
When I was about 12, I wrote my first poem called Boyhood
– all about growing up and my worries about the uncertainty
that change brings. This soon progressed to poetry that was
romantic or about nature. My thoughts were influenced by
Wordsworth, Frost, Shelley, Keats, Tennyson, Rossetti, Browning
and Tagore. I was quick to discover that in a world dominated
by prose and fast-paced novels, poetry still held its own. While
I could write prose, poetry would spring out of me from time
to time and I could write as many as three poems in a day.
Themes ranged from romance and humour to spirituality.
My years in medical school and the next two decades froze
the poet in me. I continued to read poetry, and made a
regular habit of visiting the homes of famous poets. The Lake
District, where William Wordsworth wrote his famous Daffodils,
and Stoke Poges where Thomas Grey wrote his Elegy, were
pilgrimages for me. I chose a house about 20 miles from
Stratford-upon-Avon; I am member of the Royal Shakespeare
Company and watch his plays twice a year. In my school days
I memorised many of his works, and still can do a few acts
from the plays. Taking up a consultant post in the NHS, poetry
looked a difficult distant art overwhelmed by the stress and
strain of work. On a visit to a friend’s house in 2018, inspiration
suddenly came. We spent an evening with wine and good
food, and poetry began to flow. I recited poetry for the group’s
entertainment, and they wondered If I should have chosen
a career as a poet instead of an anaesthetist. The trigger
was so strong that I started writing poetry like I had never
done before. It was as if a canister under pressure had been
released. I joined a poetry site, and wrote for contests without
any hope of making an impression. Then the winning started.
I realised that I could write on various topics, and often quickly.
I wrote a variety, from rhyme to free verse and from ballads to
haikus. In a matter of four years I have written 550 poems, and
the number is steadily growing.
I have attached one of my poems as sample of my work that
may appeal to doctors and golfers. I hope it will inspire more
among you to write. As I said before, poetry is in all of us. We
just need to let it out.
Krish Radhakrishna
Consultant Anaesthetist
University Hospitals of Coventry and Warwickshire, Coventry
Twitter: @dr_yesarek
References
- Arczis, PoetrySoup, eds. PS: it’s poetry. Amazon
ISBN 979-8571117760, 2020.
- Roper E, ed. Nursery rhymes & stories from poets around
the world. Amazon ISBN 979-8518461093, 2021.
PS it’s poetry, published in 2020 by a webbased group called PoetrySoup, contains three of my poems [1], with a second volume available for purchase very soon. Their website has 38,000 members around the world and I am ranked amongst the top 50 contest-winning poets; twice I was rated ‘Poet of the day’.
A book of nursery rhymes by Eve Roper, a Texas-based school teacher, includes six of my pieces [2], and I will be publishing my own anthology of poems in the next few years in four successive volumes.
Golf and peace
In the middle of the grassy Temple green,
with my pretty wife a game of golf serene,
an early morning weekend to spend in peace
said she “what a waste”!
I hid my disappointment with a bright smile,
measured my response carefully for a while,
asked “is there anything I can do to please”
said she “romancing!”
I was leading her at hole number sixteen,
I knew why she was suddenly not so keen,
if I won my weekend would not pass with ease,
social distancing!
I hit the next one straight in to the thick bush,
and three after that in to a water rush,
lost the golf morning to win the evening peace,
said she “what a game!”
This is an example of sapphic stanza where the
last line has only six syllables while the other
three have 12 syllables. While lines one and two
rhyme, the third line rhymes with the third line of
the next stanza. The last lines do not rhyme.