Poem
Daljit Nagra
THIS BE THE PUKKA VERSE
THIS BE THE PUKKA VERSE
THIS BE THE PUKKA VERSE
Ah the Raj! Our mother-incarnateVictoria Imperatrix rules the sceptred
sphere – she oversees legions of maiden
‘fishing fleets’ breaking the waves
for the love of a ‘heaven-born’ Etonian!
Smoke from cheroots, fetes on lawns,
dances by moonlight at Alice in Wonderland –
no the Viceroy – the Viceroy’s ball!
Lock, stock and bobbing along on
palanquins to gothic verandahs where dawn
Himalayas through Poobong-mist,
the twelve-bore or swagger stick topi-and-khaki
bobbery shikar, Tally ho! for the boars
in a dead-leaf hush and by Amritsar
what a bang!bang! bagging the flamiest tiger!
Jackals, panthers, leopards, blackbucks
and swanny bustards, pig-sticking, Kipling,
Tatler, Tollygunge, High Jinks and howdahs
for mansion whacking banks, and the basso
profundo of evensong, frog song, poppy-pods,
housey-housey and hammocks under the Milky Way . . .
Tromping home trumps – here come the cummerbund
sahibs tipsy with stiff upper lips
for burra pegs of brandy pawnee,
pink gin and the Jaldi punkawallaaahhhh!
on six-meal days with tiffin and peacocks
and humps and tongue and the croquet and polo
and snooker at Ooty and yaboos, and sabre-
curved mustachios twirling for octoroons
panting in gunna-green fields, and ayahs
akimbo and breathless zenanas behind
bazaars where the nautch and the sun never sets
when mango’s the bride-bed of lingam-light,
in a jolly good land overflowing with silk and
spice and all the gems of the earth! Er
darling, it’s not quiiite the koh-i-noor
but would you . . . (on a train that’s steaming
and hooting on time through a tunnel) Ooo darling
a diamond! You make me feel so alive.
© 2009, Daljit Nagra
From: London Review of Books
Publisher: London Review of Books - Vol. 31 No. 23:3, London
From: London Review of Books
Publisher: London Review of Books - Vol. 31 No. 23:3, London
![Daljit Nagra](/media/3/_resized/17981_bgr_daljitnagra_w336.jpg)
Daljit Nagra
(United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, 1966)
Born in 1966, to Indian immigrant parents, Daljit Nagra was raised in London, and currently works in a secondary school. Nagra’s award-winning debut Look We Have Coming to Dover! earned immediate and universal applause. The Guardian praised “the ebullience of his word play, which stirs English, Punjabi and Punjabi-accented English into a series of funny and poignant poems that defy easy ca...
Poems
Poems of Daljit Nagra
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THIS BE THE PUKKA VERSE
Ah the Raj! Our mother-incarnateVictoria Imperatrix rules the sceptred
sphere – she oversees legions of maiden
‘fishing fleets’ breaking the waves
for the love of a ‘heaven-born’ Etonian!
Smoke from cheroots, fetes on lawns,
dances by moonlight at Alice in Wonderland –
no the Viceroy – the Viceroy’s ball!
Lock, stock and bobbing along on
palanquins to gothic verandahs where dawn
Himalayas through Poobong-mist,
the twelve-bore or swagger stick topi-and-khaki
bobbery shikar, Tally ho! for the boars
in a dead-leaf hush and by Amritsar
what a bang!bang! bagging the flamiest tiger!
Jackals, panthers, leopards, blackbucks
and swanny bustards, pig-sticking, Kipling,
Tatler, Tollygunge, High Jinks and howdahs
for mansion whacking banks, and the basso
profundo of evensong, frog song, poppy-pods,
housey-housey and hammocks under the Milky Way . . .
Tromping home trumps – here come the cummerbund
sahibs tipsy with stiff upper lips
for burra pegs of brandy pawnee,
pink gin and the Jaldi punkawallaaahhhh!
on six-meal days with tiffin and peacocks
and humps and tongue and the croquet and polo
and snooker at Ooty and yaboos, and sabre-
curved mustachios twirling for octoroons
panting in gunna-green fields, and ayahs
akimbo and breathless zenanas behind
bazaars where the nautch and the sun never sets
when mango’s the bride-bed of lingam-light,
in a jolly good land overflowing with silk and
spice and all the gems of the earth! Er
darling, it’s not quiiite the koh-i-noor
but would you . . . (on a train that’s steaming
and hooting on time through a tunnel) Ooo darling
a diamond! You make me feel so alive.
From: London Review of Books
THIS BE THE PUKKA VERSE
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