#Selfie in #literature is not a new phenomenon.
Actually, this is going beyond autobiographies. As autobiographies have yet another battle to fight n win and that's about it being called "real" literature. But, quite interestingly, writers have used "words" as now people use "camera" to take selfie of what they do, eat, drink, travel . . . and what not!
Actually, this is going beyond autobiographies. As autobiographies have yet another battle to fight n win and that's about it being called "real" literature. But, quite interestingly, writers have used "words" as now people use "camera" to take selfie of what they do, eat, drink, travel . . . and what not!
The only difference is that this new form is just done with camera phones rather than with words. There are great many #narcissists in literary world.
Walt Whitman with his '*Song of Myself* which begins with this line
"I celebrate myself, and sing myself"
is an example enough to prove it.
*Kamala Das*/ *Madavikutty's '* *An Introduction* ' is yet another interesting example of selfie in poem:
Walt Whitman with his '*Song of Myself* which begins with this line
"I celebrate myself, and sing myself"
is an example enough to prove it.
*Kamala Das*/ *Madavikutty's '* *An Introduction* ' is yet another interesting example of selfie in poem:
"I am Indian, very brown, born in Malabar,
I speak three languages, write in
Two, dream in one.
...
It is I who drink lonely
Drinks at twelve, midnight, in hotels of strange towns,
It is I who laugh, it is I who make love
And then, feel shame, it is I who lie dying
With a rattle in my throat. I am sinner,
I am saint. I am the beloved and the
Betrayed. I have no joys that are not yours, no
Aches which are not yours.
I too call myself I*."
I speak three languages, write in
Two, dream in one.
...
It is I who drink lonely
Drinks at twelve, midnight, in hotels of strange towns,
It is I who laugh, it is I who make love
And then, feel shame, it is I who lie dying
With a rattle in my throat. I am sinner,
I am saint. I am the beloved and the
Betrayed. I have no joys that are not yours, no
Aches which are not yours.
I too call myself I*."
(The image is gujarati poem (?) by Chandrakant Bakshi. Shared by Jay Metra in comment on fb post.
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