The lush green outdoors of a quaint little cafe, and to add to its serenity, a creek flowing by nonchalantly, mirroring the grey overcast skies above, provided the perfect setting for the much awaited meet of Kochi Poetry Circle. There assembled a group of pensive poetry ponderers on the last Sunday evening of June.
We started off by introducing ourselves, giving a peek into our daily lives and talking a little about our professions. It was indeed gratifying to learn that despite our diverse professional milieu, we are all equally into poetry, and resort to it every chance we get.
Next, we delved into some engaging string of discussions spurred by an interesting set of questionnaires. Below are some of the noteworthy points that weaved the course of our discussion.
What is Home?
When asked to throw light on a poem that feels home to Ankush, he very rightly pointed out the ambiguity we often encounter while defining home - “is it a place we escape from or one we escape to?”. This led to everyone expressing their individual feeling or interpretation of home. He then went on to name the poem he recounts as “home” - The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T. S. Eliot.
Discovering Self
Nivil spoke about a poem that he has held very close since his childhood, that explores the idea of finding all powers within oneself. It also talks about how, if well introspected, we can uncover all the answers to the puzzles of life.
Poetic Image
Anderson described the image of The Brook, which has remained with him since his school days, and how he still remembers the essence of the poem with the help of the mental image of a brook that was drawn adjacent to that very poem in his textbook.
Conversation with a poet
According to Abhinav, the poet that he aspires to have a conversation with, is Guy Wetmore Carryl for his poem, The Singular Sangfroid Of Baby Bunting. It is because of the sudden twists and turns of events he has humorously placed in it with a very apt usage of alliterations and metaphors making it a witty and rich poem at the same time.
Poetry as a Season
While elaborating on which season symbolizes his relationship with poetry, Rejoy goes with the Monsoon, as it brings about a lot of changes in our life, making us realign our lives to the weather’s whims and fancies. Also, he pointed out how he finds the same solace in poetry, as in the monsoon drizzles.
Shadow the Poet
It brought us to a very interesting point when Joel mentally composed a poem on behalf of his shadow, the subject being himself, which was as follows:
Joel, we’re in a race
While you try to save face
I’m right behind you,
Dear one, I’ll always be here
Ahead of you at night
And alongside you to see
Where you lead me in the daytime
Poetry Ensemble
The most exciting activity we all partook in, was composing one poem jointly, one line per person, by passing a paper around the table. It was the perfect blending of minds and well coordinated team work where we explored the premise of the poem as well as controlled its direction, as a group, to converge to its closure. And it brings us great delight to share the same below:
Am I enough?
Am I enough?
Am I enough?
Maybe I’m not, maybe I am
Sometimes pampered, sometimes caged,
I wonder-
Does all this end as we age?
I step forward, my horizon, mirky
I look back, my judgement, clouded
But there’s a way, another, and many more.
Outside, I see a deer chewing daffodils
I see larks flying home
I feel so light, what joy is this bringing?
Lying bare in a meadow of mares
I say, “I know you're there”
Am I enough?
Is this enough?
What is enough?
Impromptu Poems
Next, we got into teams of two, to later regroup with a poem following the prompts each team got. Below are the poems we wrote during the meet.
Before & After: Choose a single event. One writes "before," the other writes "after." (Ankush & Rahul)
Evenings, when the sun is a shadow
of its morning self, and the home is
an empty shell, a cavern full of things
I briefly recognise, I enter into a silence
found in the stillness of a stiller heart.
Hinge was never good enough - she ghosted me,
said I should go to the gym, she even
Criticised my music, and
my favourite tandoori Chicken. Inspiration comes
In all shapes and sizes. The
neighbourhood sprinter aunty reads Marx,
lives with 4 cats. I buy Das Capital
Only to use it as a dumbbell. So I decide to get a cat!
Evenings, when the sun is a shadow
of its morning self, and the home carries
A whiff of cat urine,
a cavern full of things bearing scars
Scratches, war wounds, I enter into a mewing
found in the laughter of a full heart.
Weather Letters: One is the monsoon writing to the dry earth. The other replies. (Nivil & Anderson)
ഞാൻ വേരിട്ട നാൾ മുതൽ നീ എനിക്കായി നനക്കുന്നു ഈ മണ്ണ് ഇടക്ക് വന്നു പോകും എൻ മാരനായി.
എനിക്കായി മാത്രമല്ലെകിലും നിൻ നറുതുള്ളി എൻ ചുണ്ടിൽ തട്ടുമ്പോൾ അറിയാതെ ഞെരുകുന്നു എൻ വേരുകൾ.
കാലമേറയായെങ്കിലും ഇന്നും ഞാൻ നിനക്കായി എന്റെ പൂവുകൾ നനക്കുവാൻ കാത്തുവെച്ചിരിക്കുന്നു.
(Translated to English by Nivil)
From the day I took root,
you rained on me.
Not always for me,
but enough that I stayed alive.
Sometimes you left.
But when your last drop
touched my petal,
my roots cramped.
Quiet, sudden,
like a tremor I didn’t expect —
but couldn’t stop.
Time has moved.
But I still wait
to bloom again
Under you.
The Love Poem & The Undoing: One writes a love poem. The other writes its unraveling. (Samjoth & Abhinav)
Here I sat, coffee in hand, waiting and wondering
Here I stand, numb and mad, thinking, pondering
Sat side by side, the world going by, as the stars lay witness
Now it's been many moons, and all I feel is a seething emptiness
In this gathering of our loved ones, my hand found yours
Now in moments of need, I'm left cold and hoarse
From a moment where I wasn't just me, but also you
The shock of color, now a murky hue
Cast a glance upon me, and you'll sight a withered shell
This feeling I can't escape, this version that I'd rather fell
But when I think back to those moments past
A smile creeps in, happiness, but undercast.
Lost & Found: One writes about something lost. The other writes what was found instead. (Rejoy & Rohit)
The idea was living
Not surviving
Didn’t know what was missed
There I saw what I believed I missed
That mattered more
Then losing myself
And let it absorb
Instead I found in those dust ridden chimneys of faith..
A reason to care and keep moving on..
A reason to stay and find me again..
The Pandora's box that holds in it still..
The last embers of hope..
That keeps burning away..
The Object Speaks: One is a forgotten object (sock, spoon, bookmark). The other is the person who lost it. (Joel & Manaf)
Why am I not swirled around a finger?
Because now you are an eternal concept
I look good, you know, someone may find me
They will not see you the way I still see you
I have a secret, you know
Your secret is for you to keep, for me you are constant
In that I am content
I close my eyes and darkness envelopes me
If a ring cannot be around a finger
Then let it be around a heart
It already is, unheard, but still real.
Opposite Moods: One writes in joy, the other in grief - both about the same moment or place. (Shivani & Sweekriti)
We’ve been in this space before
The beginning - the joy before the ride,
The thrill, the muse, the tingle,
And now that we are on the other side,
What changed? We ran to each other once,
Today, we sit close yet feel apart.
Did we just travel a path,
Thinking it were leading forwards,
But the tread led to its start
For it was a spiral all along
The patterns never seemed to fade,
And I’m afraid,
Over and over again,
We mistook the lows for highs,
He woes for joys
Only to converge to a point,
Where all of this
Was all the same.
Fin
After what was a mesmerizing couple of hours, we had to wind up our beautiful session on a content note, looking forward to another such evening of poetry and reflection.
