Ammangi Venugopal - Poetry

Sri Venugopal is a passionate person.
He takes up any work with all the zeal and zest.
He is a friend of mine long time.
I am not writimgabout him because he is a friend.
He is a crusader of sorts when he takes a thing to his heart.

We all feel strongly about many things.
When it comes to action usually we slog!

I remember his writing to AIR about use of Telangana dialect for unintelligent roles only in thier dramas.
This trend was rampant at that time.
Telangana dialect was being ridiculed without let up.
There was a serious discussion about the matter at AIR and the trend almost stopped.
Unfortunately it continued in films for long.
It went to nauseating proportions at some point of time.
I am sure now, media takes care not to touch the sentiments of people.
There was and still is a trend in films, of showing Telangana people as villains.

We will leave it at that and come back to Venugopal who took it on him to talk about the matter when none did.

Later he wrote some good radio plays.
It shows that radio people took his point in the right spirit.
Sri Venugopal participated in the National Symposium of Poets conducted every year by the AIR.
His poem was well received at that time.
I remember it was about a tree.

Venugopal in fact researched about novel.
His doctoral thesis is about Gopichand as a novelist.

I really don't know if Venugopal wrote any novels.
He wrote some good poetry.
There is an environmentalist and a villager in him.
Venugopal's collection of poems is titled "Paccha bottu - Patancheru"

There are some poems about environment and villagers in it.
Though it is a small collection, the contents are forceful.

Here is one poem from the book.

The first few lines of the poem in English!

(Translation is mine)

The blood sharpened crescent moon

While showering red light in the old city

Dust raised by the wheels of the chariot

When burning the hues of dusk in the eyes

Even without having a last look at their buring houses
Burying the dead bodies of the dear ones in the cemetry called memories

Cursing the God, wailing every moment

They are going away crossing the bridge

Let us enjoy good works and words!!

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