Poem Review: A Cup of Sunlight
As I entered the fifth decade of my life in June, I realized how blessed I am. I remembered the conversation with an old gentleman who was a part-time psychic. His words stuck with me.
‘Most of us don’t appreciate what we have. For example, do you know how fortunate we are — to be in this land of baked earth, where the sun shines bright and gives its all to us, illuminating our lives? We call this ‘Karma Bhoomi’, the land of the dutiful, that provides and allows us to perform our daily rituals and lead healthy lives.’
Sunlight, my friends, is why we exist. Yet, we don’t have the time to appreciate it. Art, spirituality, science, engineering, and technology — all rely on sunlight in some form. To appreciate sunlight, one has to slow down, pause, and spend time.
Bright light, summer — not my cup of tea. I prefer cooler climes, grey skies, and drizzle — the quintessential London weather. But I love the little sun rays, the lightful urchins that dance on the fringe of my windows and tease me with shadows.
Let us find out what our poets feel about sunlight. I present a quadruple dose of ‘Sunlight Poems’.
a) ‘Reflections’ by Chloe Douglas, where speckled sunlight inspires the artists to paint impressions;
b) ‘Komorebi’ by David Shapiro-Zysk, bringing us the enchanting mystique of sunlight through the leaves;
c) ‘I don’t need the sunlight’ by Micheal Seidu, illuminates the fact that one does not need sunlight to feel home’s warmth;
d)’ Sunlight’ by Kimberly Obayi describes a day inspired by sunlight and going through a full circle
Let us let some sunshine of verses flow.
Poem 1: Reflections
On a summer afternoon
Under limes and beech
By river rapids
In speckled sunlight
And deep shade
I set to draw
Finally I painted
Impressions
With birds singing
Bees buzzing
Children playing
Occasional cars passing.©️Chloe Douglas, 26–07–24
Commentary on Poem 1:
Thanks to her recent post, I am privy to how this artwork and poetry came into being. If one could trap sunshine into visuals and verses, it would be Chloe. The poem is so simple that the child-like sunbeams get curious and walk into the trap of her artwork.
On a summer afternoon
Under limes and beech
By river rapids
In speckled sunlight
And deep shade
I set to draw
If words can paint then here are they. Chloe knows how to compose a painting and paint with words. This July summer is no different, yet the moment of creation has arrived.
“I dream my painting and I paint my dream.”
― Vincent Willem van Gogh
The painter’s dream flows through the brush. The poet’s verses capture this dream, which in essence is real. The real dream is a perfect setting. On a Sunday afternoon soaked in silence, one can hear the ripply music of the fast flowing rapids. The lime and beech trees provide the deep shade. The teenage sun presents its feckled face through the leaves — the speckled sunlight (komorebi) falls on the canvas. The artist is ready to live her dream, and the art is about to be born. Talk of the perfect setting for birth!
“Moonlight is sculpture; sunlight is painting.”
― Nathaniel Hawthorne
The leaves brush her canvas with their shadow leaving an invisible imprint, but her brush traces the contours of their whimsical sways. The shadows become the remnants of this motion art, finally captured in color.
Finally I painted
Impressions
With birds singing
Bees buzzing
Children playing
Occasional cars passing.
If the sun is the progenitor of life on earth — bringing alive singing birds, buzzing bees, playing children and passing cars — reflecting the conscience and mobility of humans and nature, then the sunlight that falls on the canvas is the progenitor of the artwork on canvas. Like how earth responds to the magic of sunlight to create life, the artist brings alive the impressions left by the speckled sunlight.
NOTE:
Chloe’s artwork is available for sale. If you would like to buy the artwork reach her on her LinkedIn profile.
Poem 2: Komorebi
rays of sunlight
ripple, glitter, gleam
sparkle through leaves
cast shadows in dance
undulate, sway on ground
walls, ceilings, on birds
flitting their wings
like the surface of water
it glimmers above our bodies
where air cannot be seen
only shadow, shape, sheen
and enchanted by its mystique
we quiver, like the tree~D. Shapiro-Zysk: June 23, 2024
Commentary on Poem 2:
My last tryst with Japan was my book review ‘Autumn Light’ by Pico Iyer. Pico Iyer’s ancestry traces back to Chennai, India, and his writings about Japan fascinate me, and his books are on my to-be-read list. ( that is a trivia for you).
Komorebi means “sunlight filtering through the leaves of trees”. The title of this poem put me back on the fascinating discovery of layered Japanese mononyms. The good part about Komorebi is that our poet has prepared a poetic juice from the leaking sunlight through the leaves for us to savor.
Even though the poem is a single stanza, we will enjoy it in two parts.
rays of sunlight
ripple, glitter, gleam
sparkle through leaves
cast shadows in dance
undulate, sway on ground
walls, ceilings, on birds
flitting their wings
I read this twice and formed a view that might interest you. Imagine a dance stage — anywhere with a thicket of leaves above your head. The leaves are the dancers, which sway and undulate to the silent music of the breeze. Here the sunrays begin their magic.
First, they tease the leaves by caressing them with their warm beams, and between the gaps, let in a sharp momentary shower of sunlight that ripples, glitters, gleams, and sparkles, and the leaves, as if noticing the leak, plug them swiftly through a suitable sway. It is like the sun is trying to touch us and the leaves hold the beams back through their titillating dance.
Second, the imprint of the leaves’ action, cast as shadows on the walls, and ceiling, and birds flitting their wings, artful yet transient. There is no print left for us to savor later — much like dance itself, artful in motion, alive in the moment and passing into the past forever, as another such moment arrives.
like the surface of water
it glimmers above our bodies
where air cannot be seen
only shadow, shape, sheen
and enchanted by its mystique
we quiver, like the tree
As we look above, we get the same feeling when we stare at a shimmering layer of water, except it is above us. This ethereal dalliance of teasing doses of light can be seen only through shadow, shape, and sheen — and we lose ourselves in this child-like play (probably, peekaboo) with us. We quiver in this enchanting mystique.
“I am alive, and drunk on sunlight.”
― George R.R. Martin, A Storm of Swords
Slow down, let the sunbeams tease and caress your retina with some magic, and play with your soul.
Poem 3: I don’t need the Sunlight
I see some places in the day
I see others at night
I only recognize them by sun rays
I never get them without their lightMy map would spin on its north
And land in the south
It’d go from “here” to (chuckles) “Not!!!”
It will spin all aboutBut every single time
Even if it got blown by a bomb
And got covered in filth and grime
I’ll recognize it without delay, home.~Michael Seidu, August 2023.
Commentary on Poem 3:
Home, they say, is where your heart is. The heart resides in a place of love and belonging. It does not matter how ravaged or ravished the home is. The poet can find his way to his home even without sunlight.
I see some places in the day
I see others at night
I only recognize them by sun rays
I never get them without their light
The poet is widely traveled, indicating that he meets people during his nights and days. Meeting strangers in new places across the town and the country is a tough job — every meeting involves figuring out their intent and purpose. He can read them only when sunlight ( read spotlight) falls on them — in a sense, he cannot place blind trust in them.
The poet portrays sunlight as his ally in figuring things out about people and places as it cleans the mind of ambiguity. Without sunlight, these places might appear strange or unrecognizable, emphasizing the transformative power of light. Sunlight also metaphorically represents knowledge, understanding, or the presence of positive experiences that bring out the true nature of these places.
My map would spin on its north
And land in the south
It’d go from “here” to (chuckles) “Not!!!”
It will spin all about
The search for familiarity and stability is a constant endeavor of humans. While sunlight brings familiarity amid strangers, maps bring familiarity in uncharted waters. Hence they use maps to figure out their position and directions for their journey.
Distant lands where one’s identity, position, and orientation are lost are when the expected guidance (north) spins away and lands in another direction (south), leading to chaos and unpredictability.
But every single time
Even if it got blown by a bomb
And got covered in filth and grime
I’ll recognize it without delay, home.
The idea of being with strange people, guided by light or strange places, guided by maps, instigates the poet to find someplace familiar, with people he is familiar (in love) with (his homies) — where neither he requires the sunlight nor the maps.
The poet insists that even if the place is blown to bits by a bomb, or filled with filth and grime — indicating possible conflict and poverty — he would still find his home without a delay.
The poem spreads warmth ( where sunlight is trapped) and comfort (where there is a pin on the map — his pin) in us.
Poem 4: Sunlight
Sunlight reflecting through my window,
A gaze to behold, true and melo,
birds chirping as a wake-up call,
To begin a day of what is installed.Admiring the view in awe,
Words pathing on my lips filled
with words to bestow.
Wind blowing from side to side,
Cars driving from left to right.A new break of dawn,
A wake-up call to all,
Getting up from bed, as the day comes to an end,
Of a story of another day to comprehend.The sun has returned to dusk
The moonlight shines all around us,
Accompany by the stars, in the moon skies
A beautiful consolation that lingers.My day is finally complete,
A brand new day begins,
To watch another sunlight,
Reflect into my eyes.@Wings of word — Kimberly Obayi
Commentary on Poem 4:
What is so magical about sunlight that the poet wants to see it again? I would say it is life itself. Imagine waking up to the most beautiful thing in the morning — the sun's golden rays.
Sunlight reflecting through my window,
A gaze to behold, true and melo,
birds chirping as a wake-up call,
To begin a day of what is installed.
The early morning magic begins. First is what beholds our sight — the sunlight sparkling at the edges of the glass, yet penetrating our poet’s room, thereby providing both a visual and tactile experience (one can feel the warmth while seeing the floor lit with the rays).
The yellow caress of the sunray of the window is a gaze to cherish — especially the soft, subtle, and mellowed touch, much like a mother’s hand. While the visual is warm, the aural stimulus for the morning wake-up call is enthusiastic, as the birds chirp sweetly into the poet’s ears.
Admiring the view in awe,
Words pathing on my lips filled
with words to bestow.
Wind blowing from side to side,
Cars driving from left to right.
As the poet peeks out of her window, admiring the view outside. The wind blows across caressing her hair and tells her that Nature is up and about. She sees the human movement as well, as the cars driving across, from left to right. Inspired by the hectic morning, the poet forms words of wisdom in her mind and lines her lips with these magical verses.
A new break of dawn,
A wake-up call to all,
Getting up from bed, as the day comes to an end,
Of a story of another day to comprehend.
The poet’s portrayal of sunlight as the visual invitation to start life again is a magnificent beginning. The best possible walk-up call, a combination of visual, aural, and tactile stimuli from Nature enables the poet to get out of bed.
“Every morning was a cheerful invitation to make my life of equal simplicity, and I may say innocence, with Nature herself.”
― Henry David Thoreau, Walden
The beauty of such a wakeup call is to begin life all over, and a new story to write, inspired by a fresh mindset. This is particularly important to those who struggle and seek inspiration in the simplest terms.
The day goes past riding on the innocent inspiration of the morning. She has completed another day, writing another piece of her story.
The sun has returned to dusk
The moonlight shines all around us,
Accompany by the stars, in the moon skies
A beautiful consolation that lingers.
After the busy day, much like the sun, the poet settles down in her room. The sun gives way to the moon which washes this world with its white glow. The moon is accompanied by the stars, twinkling and cheering the poet as she reminisces the day gone by. The soft and cool whiteness of the moon brings peace and consolation that hangs in the poet’s mind as she slips into slumber.
My day is finally complete,
A brand new day begins,
To watch another sunlight,
Reflect into my eyes.
A hard reset at the end of the day. Nature, mind, and body slip into sleep. Across the skies, the night grows and fades into a brand new day, young and fresh, innocent and inspiring, the same way how this poem begins.
A Cup of Sunlight:
“Ô, Sunlight! The most precious gold to be found on Earth.”
― Roman Payne
I’m not too fond of summers. But I love the magic of sunlight.
I imagine my glass cup filled with green tea traps the sunlight inside, preserving the gold inside, translating its warmth down the throat. As the warmth spreads within me, I realize that I must share this wonderful feeling through something I do often and perhaps, reasonably well — ponder my way through poems.
“Any patch of sunlight in a wood will show you something about the sun which you could never get from reading books on astronomy. These pure and spontaneous pleasures are ‘patches of Godlight’ in the woods of our experience.”
― C.S. Lewis
Sunlight and poetry about sunlight are to be experienced firsthand. Let them float on our skin and then let the warmth spread within. A warmth that goes all the way to our hearts.
~Ashok Subramanian © 2024
PS: Poetry, artwork republished with poet’s consent. Copyright belong to respective artists and poets.
