This is the latest collection of poems by Gopal ji, excellent poems all, and such a beautiful cover. It is a blend of delicacy and brightness, so apt, as the flower anemone signifies resting and rejuvenation, awakening. The poems here are lyrical and mellifluous, subtle and gentle like a walk in the meadows. The very first poem, the title poem sets the tone for a meditative mood, and the burst of stanzas in the poem “Recreate” takes it further, in the words, “I miss the need to be warm, to be resisted”, and in “Saplings” he says,

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“I see a swirling calligraphy,

Pinks, pastel yellows, and oranges,

They are clouds in riotous plenty

I start the day in happiness”

 

Gopal Lahiri ji’s poems here create spaces between plants, between flowers, petals, between the breeze, sea waves and froth, such that you actually feel them along with the bird, the birdsong and the green. The poet is contemplative in the poem “Incomplete Prayers”, while the lovely poem “Peace” depicts the maturity of the fulfilled.

This volume has so much nature, so many colours of nature that the reading is a visual delight, the subtle blending of shades, vivid imagery and the soft phrases, tickles you with the feel of the motion and tender whispers of the grass and the mosses.

I quote,

 

“a branch swings, a stem quivers

A song is born, a pink feather ruffles,

On the green moss, the tiny notes

Of orange sky, fills up the morning sky”

 

There is a Triptych offering varied moods and scenes, it talks of life sustaining life and existence, starting with á songbird singing all day long’, wades through ‘the language of the season of silence’, till the ‘the cloud diffuses into hope from frail memories, I watch you leave me’.

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There are poems about strife due to urbanization, and the decaying and dying ecological systems, and poems that rue the violence and cruelty in today’s times, sharing concerns over the contemporary social evils, the mob mentality and general apathy. There is a thread of spirituality and philosophical ponderings throughout, in fact this collection is strikingly meditative, reflective and pensive.

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Gopal ji dips his pen in deep nostalgia with “Grandma’s Piano”, clinging to the notes on the treble, and memories and flames from the past, concluding with,

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“I imagine your absence is like presence here daily,

While the stars scrape their skins on the open windows”

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The absence repeating again in “The smell of absence is wafting from the moon dial”.

 

The symbol of falling leaves is used repeatedly in this book, and I feel it is significant to the particular mood and the deep connect with nature.

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1“A sparrow disturbs a fallen leaf, the leaf another,

Till they are blown away by the wind”

 

2“dry leaves reel down in torrents”

 

3“I am preparing for your arrival.

A fallen leaf now becomes a murmur”

 

4“It’s so dark and dry under the tree,

The leaves are falling in the doorway”

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It makes one ponder.

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There are poems on enduring love, oneness, godliness, and they are all lovely. Also his narrative poems like “Hunger” and “Water” are heart rending as are the comments on violence in “Frontier” and “Armchair Puzzle”.

 

 Gopal ji has written some delicate Haikus too like

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Moonlight

The night strums

A few chords

 

And powerful ones like

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Summer

The sun burns

Into a yellow ash

 

He also has written some poems in the ‘Gogyoshi’ form, and it is a learning to see him pack a narrative in five short lines as in “Soul”

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“I sit around nature

Everything has a soul

Roots, leaves, branches

All that we used to know

I have no words for them”

 

As in his last book, Gopal Lahiri ji signs off with a collection of Haibun, and they are so rich in narration, so vividly descriptive, and full of local flavour, while reading “Lattice of Silence”, I felt I was drifting over the tall silent wet and deep marshes of Alaska.

“Lattice of Silence”

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It is cold here. A steep slope is ahead. Indifferent weather, indifferent nature, indifferent earth-these have no facial expressions. Frazer fir and red spruce stand tall, lick clouds and wait to converge in the languages of leaves. Around us, the lattice of silence recedes in occasional laughter. The rain soaked roots and branches underneath the charcoal sky sleep alike and grow in wet air and soil. American Robin, hummingbird and the dark eyed Juncos carry light without any ceremony from the womb of the Appalachian rockfaces. The silence surges forward. It hushes, leaps, seeps. All the shadows are now buried near Clingman’s Dome.

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The tail winds

Weaving                                               

The afternoon narrative