A POETIC VISIT TO A COUNTRY CHURCHYARD

 A POETIC VISIT TO A COUNTRY CHURCHYARD

– Hem Bishwakarma

I feel like a sapling when it comes to talking about poetry. I am growing and learning about poetry. I think I need to work hard to understand, internalize, compose and interpret poetry as a genre. Many a time my dustbin has been filled up with so many torn and crushed paper sheets. Because after finishing up my poems over many re-writings, they seem so ludicrous and childish. I strongly believe that a poem is something more than what I write. It should be the most beautifully carved pictorial art in melodious words.

The ‘SAARC Youth Poet’ awarded poet Manu Manjil, who is also my mentor, had once said that words should tremble in a poet’s hand. But with me, the reverse happens. The hands first tremble before I pick up words.

And I have seen a few poets in whose hands the words quiver into the best tune, the tune of heart; the melody of enigmatic pictures of their imagination and something beyond the fine art. Sometimes I feel like art has something more than what we see. It surely has its expansion. This is proven by the very endowed and wonderful poet Gopi Sapkota. His poem left me flabbergasted.

Gopi Sapkota is a recognizable name in Nepali literature. He mainly writes poems and plays. He has eight books of poetry and plays to his credit. ‘A Suicide Note’ is his anthology of English poems.

Gopi Sapkota

‘Visiting a Country Churchyard’ is one of the masterpieces of his deeds. I encountered this poem when I was flipping through the pages of my textbook, ‘Critical Reading Texts’. I was stunned at my first read. I don’t know which pen he used to write such a poetic work, but I know he surely fills the ink up of his heart while writing poems. In this instance, his poem is something beyond my imagination.

‘Visiting a Country Churchyard’ is an elegy taken from his anthology of poems, ‘A Suicide Note’, which reveals that human life is short in duration, and it is worthless to cry and quarrel about worldly stuff. Once I read the poem, I felt that we have something in common and that is a ‘Churchyard’.

The poem speaks loudly about death. The poet says he often talks about death and loves death as the subject of his writing, though the word ‘death’ itself is panic. The people once living in their life, die and disappear from this world; and rest somewhere down in the soil.

The voyage of life ends at the Churchyard and this is merely an ultimate reality. Death quivers its best pursuit of music under the tombstone of its own name, where everything decays and disappears. The poet writes – 

“After a hundred years, I will

Also, be a tomb in a Churchyard…”

Whatever we chase in our life gets ultimate rest: be it family, friends, fame, name, pride, prejudice, wealth, power and everything that appears connected to us. We will be unknown. We won’t be able to know where would be our tomb. We don’t know, who would be lying next to us, as the world is so vast and diverse. We will be forgotten, as after all, everything will vanish because this is a process; this is the law of nature.

Many changes occur outside the tomb, which will be unknown. Trees may get taller, leaves shed, the wind blows, and similar kinds of things keep going on. We won’t behold how beautiful things have appeared around us, or how many beautiful poems are written and recited since we will be beautifully kept in the unknown world. The poet writes:

“…Outside the tomb,

Grasses will grow tall and green

Birds will come and go

Brown leaves will fall on the tomb

Before wind sweeps them away,

A tiny butterfly will fly around

Before resting on a delicate rose…”

How powerfully he writes about what happens after death! Life sets in its west, however, the ‘beauty’ keeps on swarming around us.

“…Eggs will crack; chicks will grow

They will fly high in the sky…”

We will have nothing to do after we are buried. Time and again the new spring may come, new things may arise, and a new generation will appear like sprouts. 

After we sleep forever, nothing concerns us much; whether it rains or snows or the sun emerges gigantic with the ‘spikes’ of hot rays; no concern whether it is day or night; warm or cold. Even, be that is the best day, won’t make any sense because death is senseless and soundless. Death is a flawless reality.

Gopi Sapkota is undoubtedly a wonderful poet. His poems have great taste, they reach to higher altitudes and make Nepali literature flourish internationally. Though death is a ferocious thing to remember, we become panicked to see somebody dead, he wonderfully decorates death with beautiful words when he writes poetry.

Hem Bishwakarma

First published in https://glli-us.org/2019/11/07/a-poetic-visit-to-a-country-churchyard/