#136: An evening of poetry
Dear reader,
This newsletter was meant to be sent out on Monday but alas, it arrives on a Thursday evening. These past few days of shifting homes and settling in has left me rather disoriented. In my attempt to realign, I’ve been trying to do a better job of structuring my days. I have come to realise that rather than being a morning person or a night owl, I’m an evening person.
For quite a while now, I have noticed that much of my inspiration arrives after sunset, closer to moonrise. I make myself a cup of hot chamomile tea, walk around the house switching on all the warm lights around the house, and then jump right into whatever work / pleasure awaits.
On this particular evening, I feel like sharing my favorite poems about evenings with you:
1. Evening by Dorianne Laux
Moonlight pours down
without mercy, no matter
how many have perished
beneath the trees.
The river rolls on.
There will always be
silence, no matter
how long someone
has wept against
the side of a house,
bare forearms pressed
to the shingles.
Everything ends.
Even pain, even sorrow.
2. A Prison Evening by Faiz Ahmed Faiz
Each star a rung,
night comes down the spiral
staircase of the evening.
The breeze passes by so very close
as if someone just happened to speak of love.
In the courtyard,
the trees are absorbed refugees
embroidering maps of return on the sky.
On the roof,
the moon–lovingly, generously–
is turning the stars
into a dust of sheen.
From every corner, dark-green shadows,
in ripples, come towards me.
At any moment they may break over me,
like the waves of pain each time I remember
this separation from my lover.
This thought keeps consoling me:
though tyrants may command that lamps be smashed
in rooms where lovers are destined to meet,
they cannot snuff out the moon, so today,
nor tomorrow, no tyranny will succeed,
no poison of torture make me bitter,
if just one evening in prison
can be so strangely sweet,
if just one moment anywhere on this earth.
The swans drift on.
Reeds bear the weight
of their feathery heads.
Pebbles grow smaller,
smoother beneath night’s
rough currents. We walk
long distances, carting
our bags, our packages.
Burdens or gifts.
We know the land
is disappearing beneath
the sea, islands swallowed
like prehistoric fish.
We know we are doomed,
done for, damned, and still
the light reaches us, falls
on our shoulders even now,
even here where the moon is
hidden from us, even though
the stars are so far away.
3. No Such Thing As Other by Julia Fehrenbacher
It is a perfect evening for a walk. You
and the river by my side—trees,
birds, breath, sky
filling us with color and song.
As we walk by the old homeless
couple, sitting on the riverside
bench, the woman points to my sandals. With words
I almost can’t hear, she says—I like your shoes.
Her smile reveals only a handful
of teeth, tiny rotting apples just about
to fall. The old man doesn’t speak with words
but with a grin that splashes everything
warmer, lighter.
I want to know their story, want to know
how, even without beds or roofs or bank accounts
or titles or stylish new sandals,
they show us that come as you are
is the truest meaning of beautiful.
After we chat about the upcoming
weekend weather, she says,
Happy Mother’s Day. Words that feel
more like thank you and—
we’re in this together.
We walk away with bigger
hearts—doors swung open
to let the other in. Four people sharing
the same breath and sky, filled full
with something that feels like
the truest meaning of home.
I am still floating in their warmth, bowing
to every mile walked in their old,
tired shoes, thanking them for inviting us
to sit for a while by their fire—for reminding
us that there is no such thing
as other.
4. I Know Not How It Falls on Me by Emily Brontë
I know not how it falls on me,
This summer evening, hushed and lone;
Yet the faint wind comes soothingly
With something of an olden tone.
Forgive me if I’ve shunned so long
Your gentle greeting, earth and air!
But sorrow withers even the strong,
And who can fight against despair?
5. Evening by Emily Dickinson
The cricket sang,
And set the sun,
And workmen finished, one by one,
Their seam the day upon.
The low grass loaded with the dew,
The twilight stood as strangers do
With hat in hand, polite and new,
To stay as if, or go.
A vastness, as a neighbor, came, ?
A wisdom without face or name,
A peace, as hemispheres at home, ?
And so the night became.
6. Let Evening Come by Jane Kenyon
Let the light of late afternoon
shine through chinks in the barn, moving
up the bales as the sun moves down.
Let the cricket take up chafing
as a woman takes up her needles
and her yarn. Let evening come.
Let dew collect on the hoe abandoned
in long grass. Let the stars appear
and the moon disclose her silver horn.
Let the fox go back to its sandy den.
Let the wind die down. Let the shed
go black inside. Let evening come.
To the bottle in the ditch, to the scoop
in the oats, to air in the lung
let evening come.
Let it come, as it will, and don’t
be afraid. God does not leave us
comfortless, so let evening come.
Links of the Week:
2. Print.PM - Inspiration for print lovers
3. 3:45PM - A girl sinks into contemplation during a picnic at the park.
4. Moonlight Etchings of the Forgotten Artist who Taught Edward Hopper
5. "Avoiding touching altogether may make some social situations easier, but if we don’t allow ourselves some of the discomfort of closeness, then we also can’t experience its rewards. We forget the importance of small pats on the back and hand squeezes. It isn’t until we go without them for a long time and someone touches us again that we even notice what we’re missing."
-Sushma Subramanian on the Paradoxes of Solitude and Intimacy
6. Against Predatory Listening
7. 7 ways to make your neighbourhood feel like home
9. How to nail your creative identity
The Alipore Post x Vivel
Vivel #AbSamjhautaNahin is proud to present #VoiceOfArt -a campaign that aims to bring to life the numerous glass ceilings and gender stereotypes people have to shatter to be truly comfortable in their own skin through art. The Alipore Post collaborated with Vivel and invited 10 artists to create artworks about being comfortable with oneself and celebrate the individuality of every person.
Featured artists: Artisan's Arbor | Shikhar Gaur | Gokul G Prasad | Hoopables | The Smritsonian | Sahana Subramanian | Freddie’s Baking Studio | The Plain Papers | Amar Chaurasia | Disha Chauhan
See the full feature and read more about each artwork here.
New on the Website:
1. A fairytale of some naive birds by Protiti Rasnaha Kamal
Today, I regret staring at some birds for too long.
They said, " Come, come close.Dissect each chirp, find a meaning or two.Clap your hands first, then let them ease back.Find a superstition, do two birds mean joy?Or find a destination, as with time we disperse.We are just some birds with weary feathers that lay flat.Our wings are a strong gust of wind, that panics every now and then.Our bloods are all warm, if you like - we can spill.Are the sparrows your friend?Is the shalik yours too?Do you think it appropriate to shut windows when it rains,When you should call upon us, as your friends, we're the sameBreed, the same blood, the same gene the same face?"
The birds spoke too much, so I closed the shutters,And went back into my cage, as my window fought against some silly birds and their non-stop monologues.
Read the second poem by Protiti here.
2. In The City of Life by Taylor Gray Moore (excerpt)
"...But death is yet to find this place. Life lives. Huddled around a bonfire, starved,
it looks up and sees ships with steely eyes,
it stands to lope towards a grotesque shore
and receive its visitors and let
them find their
ruined chambers and palaces while flesh
melts from skull and bone, drips to the ground
to be lapped up
by these foreign hounds and handmaidens,
perhaps to be reincarnated in another bloom."
Read the full poem + the poem Beginning and Ending here.
3. Let’s talk about pain by Mandrita Bose (excerpt)
Let's talk about pain.Uncombed memories, souvenir of untamed miseries, tucked away in the dusty cabinets Like how you only hear the sound of waves inside the subconscious of conch shells.And look at how it lets go through a forbidden roarPuffed away with pursed lips.Let a sky full of sadness ferment on the clouds and let the clouds hatch into rains.Let us give it some space to cry. While the planet breaks out in prescription of stone-edged pills Before the earth haemorrhages into kohled blackness.
Read the full hard-hitting poem here.
4. In death’s living room by Ruby Singha (excerpt)
My ailing chest resting on brioche knit sweater of last winter, maffles words from the yellow back;
I have learnt how the four walls choke you
and that taught me patience of dying,
dying to know, see: unfettered grudge of curiosity. Olive green leaves, purple florets shed their color on my diary Chapped ochre on blank white, also ambered,
I have waited for humans in wilting hope
Read the full poem here.
I’m going to stop now and send this out while it’s still technically ‘evening’ by definition. Also, I’m considering making the newsletter a fortnightly one, so I can spend more screen-free time creating, writing and reading. Let me know what you think about that? I’d love to read any feedback/comments you might have about the newsletter itself, or your thoughts on the weekly versus fortnightly decision.
I’ll end with yet another relatable Grant Snider comic I’ve been returning to recently:
If you’re reading this in your inbox, you can find a shareable version online here. You can follow the community on Instagram here and can reach me at thealiporepost@gmail.com.
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Thank you!
Rohini