Poem : 'Lots of handkerchiefs' ; 3 April, 2023.

3 May, 2023
Uploaded to ChatGPT for analysis 
Poem : “Lots of handkerchiefs”

Soman Ragavan : Hello. Can I post a poem of mine for analysis, please ?

ChatGPT
Hello Soman Ragavan, of course! I'd be happy to help you analyze your poem. Please go ahead and post it, and I'll do my best to provide feedback and insights.
 
Soman Ragavan : My poem : "Lots of handkerchiefs." Please analyse by each stanza, then give overall comments. Mention similar poems from other authors, where possible. "LOTS OF HANDKERCHIEFS." This poem refers to the outbreak of plague at Surat, Gujarat, India, in September 1994. On this poem, please see : https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1994_plague_in_India (Internet, 28 May, 2019) LOTS OF HANDKERCHIEFS

ChatGPT
Sure, let me analyze your poem "Lots of handkerchiefs" by each stanza and provide overall comments.

Stanza 1: In this stanza, the speaker addresses India as "Mother India" and depicts the outbreak of the plague as a cruel and devastating illness that is taking the lives of its citizens. The speaker uses the imagery of death riding roughshod over India, mowing down its people, and leaving behind a trail of tears.

Stanza 2: In this stanza, the speaker highlights the struggle of those affected by the plague and their desperate cries for help and compassion. The speaker also acknowledges that nature is relentless in its assault on India, and despite their efforts, their plea for help falls on deaf ears.

Stanza 3: In this stanza, the speaker describes the aftermath of the plague and the efforts made to contain it. The speaker portrays the grim reality of mass cremations and the need for protective measures, such as using handkerchiefs. Despite the devastation wrought by the plague, the speaker offers a glimmer of hope in the beauty of a new dawn.

Overall, your poem "Lots of handkerchiefs" portrays the devastating impact of the 1994 plague outbreak in India. The poem's language is poignant and emotive, capturing the desperation and suffering of those affected by the illness. The use of "Mother India" adds a layer of emotional depth to the poem, emphasizing the sense of loss and tragedy. The repetition of the phrase "lots of handkerchiefs" serves as a reminder of the need for protection and the widespread impact of the outbreak.

In terms of similar poems from other authors, the themes of loss, tragedy, and suffering in the face of illness can be found in many poems throughout history. One example is the poem "Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night" by Dylan Thomas, which deals with the inevitability of death and the struggle to hold onto life in the face of it. Another example is "The Waste Land" by T.S. Eliot, which portrays a post-war landscape of devastation and despair.
 
Soman Ragavan : Thank you. Goodbye for now.

ChatGPT
You're welcome! Feel free to come back anytime if you have more questions or want to discuss something. Goodbye for now!

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"LOTS  OF  HANDKERCHIEFS."  This poem refers to the outbreak of plague at Surat, Gujarat, India, in September 1994. On this poem, please see :

M. R. Narayan Swamy : “La peste maitrisée à Surat.” "Le MAURICIEN" newspaper, Mauritius, 26 September, 1994, (page 9). 

Check out the Internet :

--Wikipedia 1994 plague in Surat  India
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                          LOTS  OF  HANDKERCHIEFS

Mother India !  Thou bleed'st again, Mother !
Somewhere in thy plains and countryside,
Cruelly on thee death doth roughshod ride :
Many of thy children fall, one after another.

Mow'd down by the marauding, crippling illness,
They cry and struggle, but there is no redress;
There is no compassion in this fate so cruel,
As they fight out this devastating, deadly duel.

God, what a sheer misery for one and all !
Our folks cough and weep, and finally fall :
Rivers of flowing tears daily they shed
From these frail bodies so little fed.

Nature doth strive to assail thee pitilessly,
And to fell thee, Mother, again and again;
Counter-attacks we put up, in dust and in rain,
But, our tragic plea on deaf ears falls uselessly.

In yon streets, heaps of infect’d rubbish
From where the scourge repeat'dly doth spring
To grapple with yon helpless, tender offspring :
Here and there, the damn malady doth flourish.

Go, please, go seek some help outside,
Get help to stem, to halt this cruel tide,
For, our brothers and sisters are exhaust'd.
Help them now : or, watch their bodies cremat'd !

WHAT ? No more of that medicine ? None available ?
They won't sell ? They're keeping it for themselves ?
Let it be ! Bravely will we then fend for ourselves !
Load up all those bodies ! And set fire to yon stable !

Light up the fires ! Watch yon flame, yon smoke,
Rising up, snaking up, leaping up into yon blue sky !
Hark, hark ! In yon forlorn house, yet another cry !
An entire family cruelly fell'd in one foul stroke !

Here's a handkerchief ! Here's some protection !
All around nature hath unleash'd devastation,
But, raging  funeral pyres have we set alight :
Against the malady ceaselessly do we fight.

                                    * * *

These forlorn villages, these desert'd streets !
Here and there sheer desolation one meets,
For, plain natural selection is at work again,
And the sick can keep on struggling in vain.

To pinch our harvests, our meagre foods,
They were not content enough, the rodents;
They had to force 'pon us these hoods,
And unleash more heart-rending laments.

Mother India ! For how long more this tragedy,
This murderous scourge, should drag on and on ?
In yon house will there be left one last son ?
Will nature now stop it, out of sheer pity ?

Thou bleed'st again, Mother ! Thou weep'st !
Calamity after calamity doth strike thee,
And our very lives are we forc'd to pay as fee :
Mother, unbound'd Mother, yet thou cry'st !

                                              * * *

But, how graceful, how exquisite yon sunrise !
Yon dawn : what a sheer joy to surmise !
What a captivating beauty in yon dawn,
In this belov'd country of ours, our very own !

The damn malady will go; it will peter out.
Cheer up ! It could only be a passing bout.
Nothing can subdue this, our cherish'd land,
That shalt remain immortal, like yon sand.

Belov'd land of geniuses, cradle of our music,
Even these death laments are symphonic,
'Cause, without them, Mother, thou liv'st not :
And, dammit, the afflict'd area is just a dot.

Mother India !  Jai Hind ! (*) Immortal life-giver…..
As is its wont, it will come and go, this life-taker,
But, though today we fall afore this cruel barrier,
Every one of us remains a fearless warrior.

( * : Long live India !)
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