3 books of poetry

Dont know whether a 70 year old arm chair can be a friend of a 18 year old hot bun going by Kartik Iyer in 2015. A cautious reply: maybe. Confess: Surely enjoy a chat with the fellow. Have not asked Kartik. Await his Grandmother, Aji, Diaries and poetry bits. Trying to be a poet has been a flop desire; you cant be a poet; you are one or you are not. That's me view and all views never deeply thought out. After quitting being a daily journalist in 2007, scribbled something near to poetry beside the shadows of Arun Kolatkar. Have most, if not all, his English writings, bought at Strand Book Stall. Tried to be moody as poets they say are; alphabets came in driblets; collected them in an unlined, white notebook. One day posted them to an international publisher: We have stopped taking poetry came a reply when the publisher is still into poetry. Then, relayed them to Prof. P. Lal of Writers' Workshop based in Kolkata. On an evening walk at LIC Colony, the mobile tinkled; the professor was on the line, 'Cant you send me a clean copy for publishing,' he queried, trifle fiery. 'Yes Sir,' me bumbled. He was my English professor at St. Xavier's College, 30, Park Street, Calcutta in the 1960s; taught us English poetry; in white pyjamas, knee-length jibbas and chappals, he would stroll and teach. ' In my class I alone speak; those who dont like the lectures are free to walk out; they will get their attendance,' he said firmly. A fair, open offer. Me did not; lapped up Keats, Shelley and Yeats with Prof. Lal; they are still with me. Of course, did not remind Lal of a past. In about a month's time, the proofs came without any editing; me paid the cost; the first volume, Some Poems 2009 arrived a Monday; me had a couple of rums alone as there was none around; followed  two more volumes: Living in Borivili and Walking the Road; no takers or readers; P.Lal was not when the third volume came off the presses. Writers Workshop sent many free copies; for years they lived their lives unpoetically in the loft. A few months ago, a hardup Madhavi sold them as raddi; turned to blogging verse; not even a faint sign of a reader; blogging prose, not any takers. There sure is an Error somewhere; not sure where. But cant strain ties with alphabets; they are me sure friends; they are something of a must like blood pressure pills to keep me unblown and morning walks. Blather is over. Maybe its time to go back to Kolatkar. The other day, Kartik said he read two pages of Jejuri every day, spent the rest of the hours pondering;  poetry and good writing do that to me; a fresh bath without soap and towels; or as Kolatkar writes ..' with the result, that/the more you clean Bombay/the more Bombay there is to clean.'