An Elegy To What Came Before
Writing
Dechen Wangmo Tamang
I.
Last night, Teesta remained
Silent, stagnant, still; the waters un-
Moving. No moonlight
Skimmed over its surface, silver gleaming
Off skittering kisses,
Promising safety to the people / lands /
Homes upon its banks.
This morning, just as dawn pushed itself
Upon the seams of the night, the river rose
Waves swiftly / swelling / surging against the darkening mask of
The night, she rose
There, thundering, drumming, groaning
Against the walls that trapped her; the heaviness
Pushing inwards and spilling over and heaving and then the
Droplet turned into a trickle turned into a rivulet
Into a
Gunshot ricocheting off the hills,
Resounding / reverberating /
Pressing a silent hand against the closed mouths
Of sleeping people (now drowned corpses (now souls returning to the mother))
The waves cry against the howling wind,
An alarm blares on land and
The sky splits open
It is like a geode.
The sky splits open and like calls to like and
The river aches for its mother, reaches towards the heavens
And the dead open their mouths
Into the river beds, choking /
Gasping / asphyxiating on the mud in their
Lungs swollen blue and black
Today, the sky is dark.
Teesta sobs to herself, her waves rise and fall
And rise and fall and rise and fall,
Shivering softly, she whispers:
“These were homes once.
This was a
Home.”
II.
This morning, just as dawn pushed itself
Upon the seams of the night, she rose
Waves swiftly / swelling / surging against the darkening mask of
Night, she rose
There, thundering, drumming, groaning
Against the walls that trapped her; the heaviness
Pushing inwards and spilling over and heaving and then the
Droplet turned into a trickle turned into a rivulet
Into a
Gunshot ricocheting off the hills,
Resounding / reverberating /
Pressing a silent hand against the closed mouths
Of sleeping people (now drowned corpses (now souls returning to the mother))
The waves cry against the howling wind,
An alarm blares on land and
The sky splits open
It is like a geode.
The sky splits open and like calls to like and
The river aches for its mother, reaches towards the heavens
And the dead open their mouths
Into the river beds, choking /
Gasping / asphyxiating on the mud in their
Lungs swollen blue and black
Today, the sky is dark.
Teesta sobs to herself, her waves rise and fall
And rise and fall and rise and fall,
Shivering softly, she whispers:
“This was a home once.
This was a
Home.”
III.
The silence is a rain
drop
falling into the river, its surface trembling;
The silence is the echo
that screams this morning.
Concept Note
Playing with form and structure and diction has always been the most fun part of writing poetry. With “October 5, 2023,” I wanted to combine visual poetry and blackout poetry in order to amplify the sense of sadness (no matter how subtle it may be) in an elegy as well as synthesize with the aural components of the task.
For context, the poem alludes to the GLOF event in Sikkim in 2023, that led to a sudden swelling of the Teesta river, killing several and injuring even more who lived along the banks in the process. Now, these same banks are submerged under the silt and sand that had been collecting under the river beds. This season's monsoon floods have led to a further increase in the flooding, leading to mass devastation of the highway connecting Sikkim to the rest of India.
Having been present in Gangtok at the time of the devastation, I clearly remember the thunder, the late night storm and then the heavy weighted-ness of the silence that persisted following the news on the morning of the fifth. I wanted to elucidate the sense of grief and fear as well as the silent courage of the survivors and the activists throughout the piece.
The sounds of the river have always called out to me- whether it be the roar of the waterfall, the plink of a stone creating a ripple, the terrifying cry of oblivion from somewhere within the blue. Language-wise, I’ve attempted to play with sibilance and consonance as well as syndeton and anaphora. I’ve attempted to convey the sounds of the water body through the juxtaposition of its silence before the flood arrives, and in order to experiment a bit further, I’ve also tried not to use onomatopoeia at all. Rather, the language features alongside contrast, pathetic fallacy and the structure should work to convey it.
Structurally, I’ve tried to mimic the shape of the poem to the water body in question (i.e- similar lengths when the water is still and then longer, choppier lengths during the flood). Additionally, the blackout poetry works well with the structure to facilitate the effects of the water body and the increasing amount of blacked out lines towards the end of the poem allude to the voices that have drowned out.
The lack of sound or aural quality is just as loud as the presence of it, and I have attempted to experiment with it in order to evoke the most of the elegy while still conveying all of the sounds of this night to the reader.
Artist Bio
Living in a tiny town in the lap of the Himalayas, appreciating beauty in the small things in life has found itself into Dechen's heart. She enjoys writing and can often be found lost in thought when she isn't indulging one of her many hobbies. She's excited about the moon and tea and writing that makes her chest feel like it is caving in.