Gopi Kottoor ( Gopikrishnan Kottoor) b.1956, Trivandrum, Kerala, India. First published in ' The Illustrated weekly Of India', at 17, at about the time he began to write poems. He has several distinguished prizes for his poetry, including, The All India Best Poetry Prize in the Special Category, The All India Second Prize, and also commendations in the All India Poetry Society Society, British Council awards (95-98). He has published in major magazines including Nth position (UK), Ariel (Canada), Orbis, (USA), Verse (USA), and in poetry anthologies, such as Bloodaxe Anthology of Contemporary Indian Verse (UK), and Post Independence Indian Poetry in English, among others. He was Resident poet, Augsburg, Germany, on an ICCR scholarship where his book of poems ' Father, Wake Us In Passing" was translated into German, and as published as a Laufscrift, Furtn edition, 2004. He enrolled in The MFA of the Texas State University, (San marcos, Texas, USA) and Kathleen Peirce showed interest in his work that gave him the enrollment. His poems on Radha-Krishna can be read online at www.gopikottoor.blogspot.com, which has by now over 3500 hits. His selected poems ' Victoria Terminus' is his tenth book of poems. A poem from his poetry collection ' A Buchenwald Diary', on Buchenwald concentration camp, East Germany was chosen as prayer by Ardours of Christ . He presently lives in Trivandrum, Kerala, India.
The Day's Passing
by Gopi kottoor
In the morning of our lives
we live with pets,
laugh with the sun's horse-feet breaking
the wild rhythms of water
upon the passing rivers;
and then after, a reminiscence of the garden, the park
of willows, of periwinkles that crowd with shopping beauty,
or the perfume of the wildflower that had the smell
of the young girl's mane turning with that look in her eyes
that could have been love; in your direction,
but you lost it, in the threshes of the fresh mown grasses.
And those fortunate to get to the wet evenings,
by the slow waves, they sit quietly under fallen trees,
as though the wide world was just a small beer garden,
thinking of the woman missed, those things unsaid,
what might have been, and what'll be,
as the liquid pours, filling every bit of ice,
while the twilight pours with a speed of night rain.
and then music you hear is suddenly
that of yesterday, yesterday, and the dead band.
About Gopi Kottoor