#187: Verses from here & there, poetry prompts & a mini hiatus update
"To enjoy life’s immensity, you do not need many things."
Dearest reader!
I took a break from the last two newsletters because I was blissfully switched off from work. The first one was meant to go out from Dubai, where I was too smitten with za’atar, ghaf trees and the sights, sounds and scents I was experiencing. The second was meant to be a birthday newsletter, a ritual I follow every year to celebrate how I have grown up alongside this newsletter. Some of you wrote in to check if I was alright since you didn’t get the weekly newsletter, and I’m grateful to you for checking in. Don’t worry, I was busy in the most beautiful ways, had a terrific birthday and didn’t feel the urge to work on this newsletter, so that’s that.
Two biggish updates:
The Alipore Post Poetry Month 2022 is on!
You’re all invited to write a poem a day on Instagram to the prompt list I’ve shared here. Unlike the past few years, this will be a quieter challenge to simply ensure I write 30 poems in 30 days, and to enjoy the return to pen and paper. The amount of screen time/engagement gets overwhelming with month-long challenges, so let’s all find inspiration by reading poems the community is writing via the #thealiporepostpoetrymonth2022 hashtag. (We’re on day 4 already, so catch up soon in case you’re joining late)
I’m taking a break from the newsletter for the rest of April
I’m feeling the opposite of a burnout, where I’m mindfully trying to make time to be with myself, read, write, make art and travel. In the spirit of being present and less tech-obsessed, you won’t be receiving the newsletter for the next 3 Mondays (Next newsletter on May 2nd). FYI, the special edition for April and Dear Jasmine #3 will go out as per schedule. I will also continue to post poetry and art on Instagram @thealiporepost, so let’s hang out there. Au revoir! :)
Poetry Corner
1. You do not need many things by Ryokan
My house is buried in the deepest recess of the forest
Every year, ivy vines grow longer than the year before.
Undisturbed by the affairs of the world I live at ease,
Woodmen’s singing rarely reaching me through the trees.
While the sun stays in the sky, I mend my torn clothes
And facing the moon, I read holy texts aloud to myself.
Let me drop a word of advice for believers of my faith.
To enjoy life’s immensity, you do not need many things.
2. To Say Nothing But Thank You by Jeanne Lohmann
All day I try to say nothing but thank you,
breathe the syllables in and out with every step I
take through the rooms of my house and outside into
a profusion of shaggy-headed dandelions in the garden
where the tulips’ black stamens shake in their crimson cups.
I am saying thank you, yes, to this burgeoning spring
and to the cold wind of its changes. Gratitude comes easy
after a hot shower, when my loosened muscles work,
when eyes and mind begin to clear and even unruly
hair combs into place.
Dialogue with the invisible can go on every minute,
and with surprising gaiety I am saying thank you as I
remember who I am, a woman learning to praise
something as small as dandelion petals floating on the
steaming surface of this bowl of vegetable soup,
my happy, savoring tongue.
3. Time to be the fine line of light by Carrie Fountain
between the blind and the sill, nothing
really. There are so many things
that destroy. To think solely of them
is as foolish and expedient as not
thinking of them at all. All I want
is to be the river though I return
again and again to the clouds.
All I want is to stop beginning sentences
with All I want. No—no really all
I want is this morning: my daughter
and my son saying “Da!” back and forth
over breakfast, cracking each other up
while eating peanut butter toast
and raspberries, making a place for
the two of them I will, eventually,
no longer be allowed to enter. Time to be
the fine line. Time to practice being
the line. And then maybe the darkness.
4. Practice by Ellen Bryant Voigt
To weep unbidden, to wake
at night in order to weep, to wait
for the whisker on the face of the clock
to twitch again, moving
the dumb day forward—
is this merely practice?
Some believe in heaven,
some in rest. We’ll float,
you said. Afterward
we’ll float between two worlds—
five bronze beetles
stacked like spoons in one
peony blossom, drugged by lust:
if I came back as a bird
I’d remember that—
until everyone we love
is safe is what you said.
5. Spring Thaw by Gordon Gilsdorf
Most things
die reluctantly,
clinging
to the life
they know,
like snow
trying to hold
the land
far beyond
the middle
of March.
How can it know
that April
will not have
violets without warm rains
and that
surrender
is the only way
to inherit
the earth?
Recommended Listening
The Alipore Post March 2022 (Thoroughly enjoying making these monthly playlists in the spirit of archiving my evolving life soundtrack)
In love with Music Lab Song Maker. Here’s a sound doodle I composed mid-newsletter.
Kaizen Flow (Favorite Pomodoro + music tool for work)
Sourya Sen - Signs Of Life EP (Films by Parizad D and Sourya Sen)
Links of the Week
Modo De Vida: A Goan Sketchbook (scenes from the lovely animated short by Rohit Karandadi which captures everyday life in Goa)
Enter Sultana’s Reality (Too cool)
Thinking In Colour (A test that maps how black and white your thinking is)
30 Affirmations (Free Phone Wallpapers) by Morgan Harper Nichols
Register for the screening of Ghost Animation’s brilliant animated film, Wade
Introducing the Substack app!
I have exciting news to share: You can now read The Alipore Post in the new Substack app for iPhone. You’ll have a dedicated Inbox for my Substack and any others you subscribe to.
Leaving you with this thought that energises me:
“The world is its own magic.”
-Shunryu Suzuki
See you on the other side,
Rohini
P.S. You can spend time going through the newsletter archive here. If you feel like supporting this labour of love, you could become a paid subscriber, buy me a coffee, leave a comment or spread the word :)
❤