February Journal Round-up
The last of the winter poems + An interview with Ian Berry + Two photo series
Hello,
I’m thrilled to finally wrap up the Winter submissions in our Journal. A big thank you to everyone who contributed with their poems, photo series and visual art. Here are all the submissions we featured in our February calendar:
// Interview: Ian Berry
For far too long, I’ve been borderline obsessed with the work of Ian Berry, who makes art out of denim jeans. Denim is his medium for seeing the world, his paint, and what a material to use in this modern world; with all its symbols and dualities, as well as being such a common item of clothing that unites many around the globe. The scissors are his paintbrush and he handles them with virtuosity. His artworks are the ultimate in upcycling and have been displayed in museums, galleries, department stores, and denim stores all over the world.
I had the pleasure of having a long conversation with Ian Berry about not being a 'denim artist', his love for blue and the evolution of his creative practice over 15+ years.
Read the full interview here.
// Photography
Uninvited Dreams of a Bitter Response by Ritam Talukdar
“Winter generally stands for the time of carnivals, holidays, get-together parties and family reunions. But for most of winter, I was away from home. The feeling of staying within a work routine often gave rise to an emotion that cannot stay hidden away from the general opines of human agony. Moving far away from the urban cultures of the cityscapes, these subtle emotions are clearly visible and the solidarity can be felt more beautifully as we embrace the gloomy presence in full glory, and the tired eyes only make an attempt to regain their consciousness with much ingratitude.”
-Ritam Talukdar
See the full photo series here.
Winter by Ishita Mehta
“For me, winter has been a season portraying time between light and dark, between ease and perseverance. I have wandered around these cities during the winter season specifically, some were work trips and some personal trips. I hope when you look at these photos, you can feel what I felt while capturing them, the warmth of one's home and how curious I felt. In their depth of distinctive features, many of these figures blend into their landscapes, becoming, as it were, almost natural phenomena.”
-Ishita Mehta
See the full photo series here.
// Poetry
A winter that’s not by Shruti Kulkarni
I’ve never known the snowy winter that’s in the poems
or the winter that makes the news
the only winter I’ve known all my life
is an absence of it
a litany of all things that make it up
rosy cheeks, breath vapour and snug sweaters
yet
I know it’s winter
when lone branches of the neem
remind me of how ajji looked –
a day after ajja’s death
the winter I know doesn’t have bonfires or stories
but I know its winter
when dad steals an hour from his morning to sleep
mom sips on an extra cup of tea
and I re-watch Manchester by the sea
winter in the south
is like the taste of an old lover in mouth
bittersweet, deprived and yet -
on most days
wistful enough
like winter itself
Catalyst by Chriselle Fernandes
I
moon
over lonely nights and
numerous afterthoughts,
lingering in reflection over
diligently cast balloons
bursting into tiny little diamonds,
wasteful, vain in the oblivious sky. I shut my eyes
and reminiscence, about yesterday,
as if it were, eons ago, with an unopened book in hand,
while winter sets in my cup of un-kissed coffee,
dry, pale, icy enough to
wake the Blake in my bones.
Hummingbird by Shiny Yadav
Read the full visual poem here.
Ordinary People by Vinitha R
In the lives of ordinary people does emptiness steal in, on regular evenings?
The food has been made, the chalk-stained children are clean,
the floor has been swabbed. Twice. The kitchen top
is gleaming, the vessels shine. What now?
Nervous fingers run over a stray strand of indivisible lint.
The skin of her fingers are like raisins. Oversoaked,
sweet, wrinkled, stained. The edge of the khameez,
rolled between fingers is the only giveaway.
Erect backs, polite smiles that barely touch
the rim of the mouth. Auto pilot mode.
You have to search hard, for they have designed their moves
to blind you from seeing the crumbling interiors of their fortress.
She talks often inside her head. The termites of revenge
slowly gnaw at love. It was there, you know, she reminds herself;
this love was there. You and I, in our ordinariness, we were there.
The winter moon is high in the sky,
not even whole, not fully half. The trees whisper,
hush now, hush.
Snow by Suchita Parikh-Mundul (Excerpt)
I watch the white slope turn pale yellow.
I watch until it melts into a thin nothing.
I stand, waiting
to be herded back,
my frozen hands burdened
with the universe.
We leave the hillside,
having lost the better part of a day
forever
but I hold time tightly in my fist
and imagine the beauty of
untouched snow.
Read the full poem here. Accompanying artwork in the journal by Winnie Chan.
Anatomy of a Graveyard on a Winter Afternoon by Pritha Jain (Excerpt)
the universe is a single
mother to more children she can send to bed, happy;
she does not have time for scraped knees
and fallen baby teeth, anymore
but in frostbitten cemeteries on winter afternoons;
the ground blooms into a paper ceiling
over a world of disappearing flesh and bone
winning a war against a dark eternity
Read the full poem here.
Thanksgiving by Nupur Parik-Pandey
Sounds hang differently in the air
on winter days.
They travel through the corridors
of homes like a cloud of cozy decibels
bunched together under a big, warm
blanket.
Even sunlight sits differently
in balconies and window sills which
feel hostile and uncomfortable in summer,
but suddenly, I find myself gravitating
towards them as the mornings get chilly;
the sweetest heat hides in
the golden rays that dance through them silently into my room.
Between this toasty feeling and
the pregnant stillness of lethargic
summer afternoons,
we still have a few months of
cheer, merriment, cakes and wine,
and if nothing else, at least that
is something to be grateful for.
Of Winter and My Heart by Bhavya Singh
The days are now shorter
The skies darker
The cycle commences
The end of a season
The start of a new one.
The sun rises
but only in a shy manner
The heat sticks
but timidly.
I feel the wind rushing,
the snow falling.
The icy blast of wind
rushes through my veins.
The sun falls now
So does the hope in my heart.
But I see the dew sticking to the leaves.
And so I decide,
to let hope stick to my heart.
For the ice does melt,
the sun rises again,
and this cold, icy world
does turn warm,
even though briefly.
My thoughts are as reluctant as me, to get out of home, this winter by Supriya Char (Excerpt)
My thoughts are as reluctant as me, to get out of home, this winter
They'd much rather huddle up under a quilt,
With wool beanies and a mug of hot chocolate for company.
They could be coaxed into talking, perhaps.
Maybe if they could sit in front of a warm, cozy fireplace in a cabin far away from it all.
With mountains peeking from square windows behind.
Maybe it's snowing.
Maybe then, they'd blow off the dust from an old dog-eared book
And turn over an old, yellowed page.
Then and only then maybe,
They'd read out loud, stories of an old love.
And just like that, these thoughts would get up and dance in their socks again.
Read the full poem here. Accompanying art in the journal by Taarini Goyal.
Gossip by Sekhar Banerjee (Excerpt)
Life starts early here,
much before the first hen picks up its voice
from the damp haystack
and looks for the sun . The young monks
in scarlet robes
pile up in monastery’s oblong courtyard
like layers of red paint dripping
from the monastery building
I sit on a boulder near Phub Tshering’s orange orchard
and watch the quiet valley down
with the monastery on top of a hill. In the middle, I search
a neutral spot
to listen to the fresh gossips among the silent monastery building ,
the road and the gong
about the castaway winter
roaming in the woods like a lost monk
Read the full poem here.
// More winter poems to read in the journal
Angry Winter (W)rap by Harshala Gupte
Winter and Fear: Two Perspectives by Gargi Shivanand
Longer Holiday Lists by Rahana K Ismail
The Dead of December by Dania Siddiq
Winter wanes by Divisha Chaudhry
Images of Punjabi Winter by Vijeta Budhiraja
the radiator by Priyadarshini Gogoi
Kindred To The Cold by Ujwalla Bhandari
Poetry Compilations
Winter x Spring poems
Five poems on the arrival of spring and shedding of winter.
Featured poets:
-Deepshikha Gangwar
-Minaz Ansari
-Lian Dousel
-Khatija Khan
-Anirudh Raghavan
Read all the Winter x Spring poems here.
Winter x Hand poems
Three poems on hands and winter by the following poets:
-Asmita Sengupta
-Asmi Kartikeya
-Sei
Read all the Winter x Hand poems here.
Bombay Winter poems
Bombay winters do exist, in poetry anyway. ☀️
Featured poets:
-Zeba Imtiaz
-Brian de Souza
-Krutika Zambre
-Eepsita Gupta
Read all the Bombay Winter poems here.
A final poem for February
February by Bhawna Jaimini
Each year, I drag through all the ridiculously
Euphoric days of January waiting eagerly
For the realism of February to rid myself of
Burdens of creating new habits and patterns
I have no intentions of following through the
Year. With February, come all the old horrid
Ways of existing, devoid of any residual guilt
That had settled with the frost of January.
It is now okay to sleep in through the mornings
Reserved for runs and walks or other tortuous
Ways of morning people. It is also okay to
Let all the tasteless greens die at the back
Of the fridge. They will not be replaced or
Missed. The promise of reading new books,
Listening to new artists and exploring more
Films from the African content will lie neglected
Amongst playlists of AR Rahman and Joan Baez
Who are in the same old company of Little Women
And Derry Girls replaying at 2 AM on the first
Tuesday of February when the world appears
Absurdly quiet. Like it dropped dead from
Exhaustion after a month of playing pretence.
Tomorrow when it wakes up, everyone will
shed the novelty of this year to settle into their
Own skin with certitude and confidence to
Leave the lure of discounted year long gym
Memberships. Because it is February, the
the month of accepting the stubborn ways
Of human existence that need a little more
Than a new revolution around the sun to change.
Thank you for reading! We aren’t accepting submissions anytime soon. But we’ve got some lovely reader submissions awaiting you in March + a prompt list for The Alipore Post Poetry Month in April.
Stay tuned at www.thealiporepost.com