Copyright©Yogesh Patel & all respective copyright holders of the material published
Sex and the City
An Extraordinary Achievement of Excellence as a Poet
Siddhartha Bose is a writer, theatre-
Siddhartha’s books include the acclaimed Kalagora and Digital Monsoon (Penned in the Margins, 2010/13). His poetry has appeared internationally in various publications including Fulcrum (USA), The Literary Review (USA), Voice Recognition: 21 Poets for the 21st Century (Bloodaxe, 2009) Dear World and Everyone in It: New Poetry in the UK(Bloodaxe, 2012), The HarperCollins Book of English Poetry (HarperCollins, India, 2012). Siddhartha has been featured on BBC 4 (TV), BBC Radio 3 and was dubbed one of the ‘ten rising stars of British poetry’ by The Times. He has read and performed at festivals and venues like Latitude, Alchemy, the British Council Showcase (2012), Berlin Poetry Hearings, Turku Poetry Week (Finland), New York University, Oxford University, Royal Festival Hall, and Ronnie Scott’s. A selected readings and performance history is available here.
Siddhartha’s theatre work includes a one-
Siddhartha has written a book on the grotesque, Back and Forth (Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2015), which is based on his PhD. He has co-
Siddhartha’s ethnographic film on Bombay, Animal City, is an official selection in the competition category at short film festivals in Goa and Pune, India. He also plays with street photography in his spare time.
Siddhartha is an Associate Artist at Penned in the Margins and teaches creative writing at London Metropolitan University.
Patrons: Lord Parekh & Lord Dholakia
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Word Masala Award
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A Scottish Poetry Library Recommendation 2013
One of Sudeep Sen’s ‘11 books of poetry to read’ in 2015
‘Poems with the sprung dazzle of jazz. Siddhartha Bose makes it new.’
Jeet Thayil, author of Narcopolis (shortlisted for the Man Booker Prize)
‘This new poetry collection plunges into the scuzzy, frothy, beautiful underbelly of London. Forget odes upon Westminster Bridge, Siddhartha Bose is all about Hackney Wick, getting under its skin and the people who live there (including himself) … It’s multi-
‘Prophetic, brave and experimental [...] Monsoon seems to lift, quite literally, like water from the page’
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Publishers: Penned in the Margins
96pp, RRP: £8.99
‘Kalagora’ comprises of two independent works: a book of poetry developed over the course of eight years and a one-
“One of the most exciting first collections I’ve come across in a long time … Kalagora bestrides continents and celebrates cities as engines of creativity where dogs talk in hieroglyphs and where a man can be a moth.”
Ian McMillan, The Verb on BBC Radio 3 (Download MP3)
I work across disciplines (poetry, theatre, film etc.) and I'm currently mostly writing prose. I don't believe in false divisions between 'page poetry' and 'performance poetry', for example. I do believe in the written word. Each word that one writes must be earned. Destroy cliche. Destroy all national, linguistic, class and caste borders. Read, travel, intoxicate yourself with life and all it has to offer, be lucky enough to pull yourself back from the brink. Then, write.
She brings me striped shirts coz her father wore them, my love in the afternoon. Blue and white stripe Calcutta—enter her parlour shocked with revolving wooden chandelier darting spots of light, dust in light.
She maps me in her web, spinning limbs.
—Give give, I’ll do, she groans in that salt tone, as she grips me in skin that bubbles in sores. Some like galaxies sweat pus, not stars. Room is wet with rain that never comes. The floor heaves under us, instinctive as nitrate.
A Tom Waits razor growl chops me up.
I lie on her single bed the clay of hash in my hair. Black and wet like Kali, she plays the piston.
I am stung on a rack, flayed.
We go to a play by a temple, and as the blackyellow cab turns to Ballygunge by the kebab shop with men wrapped in loincloth, passing the day watching smoke gather on tram tracks, we see two stray dogs doing what is natural with an insistence that frightens, as we hike up our reserve in a giddy laughter.
Not in London— dogs fucking, fleas on backs, stone as my pocket of alley in the east end, which is home more or less than home. Sometimes, on a late Saturday when the gods crawl outta their holes, I see a man taking the piss by a bin, and the smell, not the trickle—a branch of veins—reminds me of where I’m from, and I glow like a lantern, holy.
Poem published with poet's permission ©Sidhhartha Bose
From Kalagora (Penned in the Margins, UK, 2010), also published in The HarperCollins Book of English Poetry (HarperCollins, 2013, India)
I met Sid Bose first at a poetry reading that our award-
I stand in awe when I look at his intriguing poetry in action. The insightful perceptions and visual imagery with lights and colour at play is pure theatre. I invite you to join me in applauding a poet of exceptional calibre in the South-