We Imagine Angels: Two Poems by John Copley Alter
Photo: Karan Madhok
‘In the proximity / of other gods—other sutras— / we muttered our creed—you // pecking / away at your manual typewriter— / carbon copies of personal letters / home—to the diaspora—we // noodling on the keyboard of happiness’
I grew up with clergymen
& professors.
Was it toxic?
My mother taught me some measure of
devotion.
They sat in their office smoking a pipe
& avoiding the matter of Mary,
her gospel,
mariolatry a dissertation topic.
My mother taught me some measure of
devotion.
They sat in their office smoking a pipe
pecking
their typewriter,
mariolatry a dissertation topic.
You grow
up that
way, with
clergymen undoing
their collar
and my mother’s
devotion.
I grew up with clergymen
~
gathered on their travels—or napping
I grew up with clergymen—
devotion my mother’s domain—we
eavesdropped on Krishna’s flute—nowhere
than here—now—today
I grew up with clergymen
~
pecking
at their typewriter, pipe smoke wreathing
writing up the
minutes of some synod
I grew up with clergymen
the ghost of one
shows up asking
what happened anyhow
than here—now—today
there is no other
revelation. Late afternoon
sunlight—leaves lapping it
all
up
~
pecking
at their typewriter, pipe smoke wreathing
the shelves of liberation theology they
gathered on their travels—or napping
I grew up with clergymen
up—the direction you aspired to
up the steps to the pulpit—
up yours buddy! His typewriter chattering.
I grew up with clergymen
who gathered in smoky halls to
hammer out the liturgy for their
new church—all night sessions of
post/pentecostal deliberation—I listened to them
beyond
my mother’s lullaby. We settled down
~
up the steps to the pulpit—
up yours buddy! His typewriter chattering—
heavy mother manual. We ascend
the steps of Jacob’s Ladder, absorbing
my mother’s lullaby. We settled down
at last. In the proximity
of other gods—other sutras—
we muttered our creed—you
pecking
away at your manual typewriter—
carbon copies of personal letters
home—to the diaspora—we
noodling on the keyboard of happiness—
improvised hymns to a god other
than here—now—today
*
the banyan tree/oak
—for jhaffur khan azad darakth,
an echo
and crawling below, amidst rootage
and organic litter
we seek the flow and ebb, we grow
and falter.
In the compost of languages—
tides carry us—say then
Earth, earthy now more than
earthen day
Rumi’s flute—a shard of
Kabir’s pottery—look—over here!—footprints
of the dancer dancing
even as we pull apart, earth’s clay
grounds us.
your ghazal comes here—it
is welcome where once what
was indigenous—danced—where music
will save us
poor infidels
~
Rumi’s flute—a shard of
Kabir’s pottery—look—footprints—
bright-ankled Ganges—Gambia—
Housatonic—Sutlej—Beas
poor infidels
we come to the shore of
this land—& know it only
a little (words crawl through white
wash unless there is music)
and crawling below, amidst rootage
a compost of languages—the flute-
player summoning out of the bashful
archives—the troubadors—whose
mycelia manage
to speak with the deodar—the
baobab—red maple—the banyan tree
oak
~
poor infidels
we come to the shore of
a promised land—in our minds only
perhaps—& find wilderness—
maples singing
hallelujah
swing low—dazzled by sunlight—by
clover—by the full moon in an
empty sky—we imagine angels—then
and crawling below, amidst rootage
where star dust has been—in
a compost of languages—the troubador
the dervish—Rumi and Kabir—are
singing
the hallelujah chorus—songbirds
migrating
here—it is spring again—blossom
time
~
wash unless there is music
the elephant will not—rock music—
the bright-ankled Ganges—a duet—out
of the bashful archives—the great
oak.
Cacophony. How the troubadors’ mycelia have
found you out. You know—the
jamboree of trees. You pick up
Rumi’s flute—a shard of
the pottery Kabir brooded over—a
leaf from the great oak—and
make such music the gazelle joins
the elephant again—such a meadow
of music—bees deliriously buzzing—
hallelujah
***
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.
