Nocturne
Ranjit Hoskote
Many moons ago, when I was a student of literature at St. Xavier’s College, I remember being assigned to ‘welcome’ a poet at the gate. I had asked for the assignment, of course. I was very nervous, having read only two poems by the poet (both “love poems”)1. Anyway, when I met this poet for the first time (it was something of a nervous fanboy moment), I blurted out some awkward praise about the poem I remembered better - Nocturne. This morning, almost 17 years to the day (this might have been the monsoons of 2007 or 2008), as I was reading his words about another collection of poetry, I remembered that day, and the poem. I remembered sharing the poem on Poetly - in its early days, when it was still a website - but I could not find it on my substack newsletter, when I did a search.
This must be rectified. It is a crime that this beautiful poem is not easily available on the internet.
Note: I had first shared Ranjit Hoskote’s Nocturne on the now-dead website www.poetly.in on Dec. 11, 2019. I think I met the poem in his collection Vanishing Acts. I have shared the commentary, and the “slide” below - exactly as I had composed it then (forgive the inelegance of the writing, I was younger, and perhaps, more naive, too). There is a reference in the commentary to the same “college” (Xavier’s) in which the above story took place.
“I think it was Van Gogh who observed that the night is infinitely more colourful, than it's paramour, day. He also talked about the layers of melancholy as an emotion - the complexity and beauty - as compared to the flat, sometimes, unidimensional effervescence of joy.
No theory can be built on these deeply felt, but lightly held aesthetics of compassion; but Hoskote's Nocturne disinters the abstractions in both these impulses. Lovers sighs are the oldest threads that poets use to emerge from the labyrinths of their nostalgia. This is why I treasure every new piece of magic that manages to bring the visceral, immediate, passionate presence of the beloved- the "flaming chorus of swords". The attention to detail, the evocative visuality, the economy of language in teasing out desire and the bittersweet pungency of sensation - mashallah! I read this poem when I was in college (pause for jokes and banter about adolescence and young love), but even today, when I read this poem, I find myself biting my upper lip, nose wrinkling at the faint trace of cherries in the air.”
At that age, I used to read far too much romance, and always, of the idealised, immortal, “star-crossed” variety. perhaps that has tinted my lenses forever, but then that is the subject of some other commentary.
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