Today
Photo: Karan Madhok
A poem by John Copley Alter: ‘what was indigenous / in our childhood’s garden? became / native, mother tongue—our flora— / blossoming…’
1.
Today, it’s the prayer flags waving
their benediction—a rocky
knoll at sunrise—a cup of tea
the mountains share with you—your mind
clears—you can see on the far ridge
a village rousing itself—you
wave and the mountains—deodar—
wave—the wild rhododendron—wave—
it is good in the early light—
this world—its steep valleys—its heights—
it is good—your mind goes hiking—
with a pack on our back…
2.
Today, we will talk about rain.
Do you remember ‘lullaby
rain’? It leaves the mountains behind
and finds you drifting into sleep
beneath an umbrella of tin,
beneath a quilt, and lingers, sings
you a reprise of what you heard
once in the womb—the rain raga.
Do you remember deafening
hail? Do you remember thunder?
What did it say to you? Datta:
what have we given? And the climb
up rain’s steep mountain…
3.
Today we serenade flowers—
cosmos—hydrangea—tiger
lily—rhododendron—lovely
the names, the naming—their escape—
how they climbed over garden walls—
escaped empire—nostalgia—
and became—marginalia
to our text—illuminating
as the stars did—the mountains—our
otherwise at times uninspired
kahaani. Not metaphors they
nevertheless furnished garlands
and the crown of the May Queen, Queen
Anne’s lace—what was indigenous
in our childhood’s garden? became
native, mother tongue—our flora—
blossoming…
4.
What should we call it?
vista—the way your eyes
open—your head literally lifts—
when—after the long climb
you—your eyes have been
downcast—fixated by rocks, roots—
look for the first time
after the monsoon season, let’s
say—up—and see mountains—
their intimate horizontal embrace—blue—
as Krishna is blue—violet—
across from—just beyond—you—
beyond where the long climb has brought
you—vista—darshaan—how your eyes
soar…
5.
The simple pleasure—chai—a cup
on the verandah—the over
look of the calligraphy moss
writes on a stone wall—seasonal
flowers—deodar—and—soaring—
your eye lifts—tea cozy—Bandar
Poonch—and back—to the China cup—
to the simple pleasure—chai—talk
or silence—you rustle—a prayer
flag—and words between you—spider’s
web—flying squirrel glides from branch
to branch—and there is a music
your mind hears…
***
John Copley Alter was born in Landour in August 1947 and studied and taught at the Woodstock School. Currently, he is retired and lives with his wife in Shanghai.
