I was torn between my study, interest and pursuit of literature as a student, and a life-altering desire to live an environmentally low-impact life. The bigger project is/was of course to mitigate the ecological harm of our times in its complex social, political and economic strongholds. Over time, in a fit of alignment, I penned three poems. They are about a journey of climate anxiety and ecological grief and dilemmas, sitting close to actions and thoughts for ecological and emotional care. The paradigms are socio-political as well as personal.
The first two poems are about the sad air and water, charged by the low-hanging fruit of coal and oil, leaving them a mosaic of what we inadequately call pollution and vigorously term as climate change. The poet in me subsumes within it even the consciousness of a vast undefined etheric space.
Oil, pervasive in everything – from plastic to pesticide – leads to a retching even at the thought of an occasional sip from a plastic straw. The straw, as most probably, will find its way to piercing some aquatic life or depleting our soils. Not holier than thou, I am twinged with both guilt and cynicism at the status quo, as vast and irresponsible waste finds its ways to the waters, to the rivers and seas, and finally back to the arteries of humans in all its architecture.
The last poem is inspired while in residence and time away in 2019-20 during a sustainability-centred Holistic Education fellowship at Bhoomi College Bangalore. From hands-on work in gardens/farms and quaint sit-down circles (as opposed to rows) while studying, I was prematurely thrown into technology-mediated classes from a far-distance from my home in Punjab. This was mid-fellowship and there is a sense of solidarity with my compatriots who felt a similar incongruence. The quagmire that was Covid-19 seemed not to end during the thick of it and doubly-suppressed those of us who had found a new gasping for air, one that would fruit from our efforts.
I strongly believe that environmental toxicity and climate change are not enough talked about (election) issues. Solar-washing electricity is not enough and even EV cars are not the ultimate solution. You can add cobalt, lithium and silicone to the list, as they may be our next plastic in this over-mined, extractive world.
The poems
Clime: written before
the summer is laden with the heat
the fruit of cinders hang low
the water, thin as air wafer
trembles in a torso
a canal cut from the cosmic ether
in simmer in a boil
***
Miscellaneous Energy
grease your cogs
you wheeling hogs
that time was well-spent in digging
that oil is cheap
and water costly
you got your wars
you got your drugs
you go rig-ging
the bees are dead
mosquitoes bite
the sun is hot
but out of sight
we are in our rooms
the rivers’ line
to plumbing pipes
and from my sippy-sippy straw
I take a bite
I guess you’re right
?my fruit needs your spray?
it needs your oil
it needs to stay
but without my tree
without my moon
how do I sing
how do I swoon
I need no jetties
i need no boats
if you let me be
we have the sky
we have the sea
***
Harvest
Breathless
In the sunken somewhere
Of soil
How did we become seeds catching air?
To bear more
Before we are
Like fresh crops in a silo
The wing of air calls soft
It is time to prepare.
Harvest
***
Tanveer Kaur studied English Literature and Comparative Indian Literature at Delhi University, and has been a Bhoomi Fellow.
