‘I never edit my poems’

By Sajitha Prematunge

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At the launch of his The Land of Serendipity, it was said that the meaning of some of his poems are difficult to grasp. Although I shared the same sentiments, as I skimmed through the pages of the book I realized that some of the poems had a tendency of growing on you.

The Battaliya Girl is one such example. It invariably reminded me of the Salalihini Sandeshaya. His works are distinctly Sri Lankan, with a deep meaning to the poems peppered with Sinhala similes, metaphors and images.

Asoka Weerasinghe, a dual-citizen who is domiciled in Canada and an old Nalandian, studied at the University of London, University of Swansea, Wales, and the Memorial University in Newfoundland. He further studied under Katherine Valmai Richardson of the Poetry Society of London, at the City Literary Institute at Drury Lane, London.

His poetry has been published in over 100 literary magazines poetry supplements and anthologies in London, Wales, US, Canada, Sri Lanka, India, Germany and Sweden.

He has also read his poetry at several venues in London, Wales, US and Canada.

The poet who had won many awards for his display of talents in the field of poetry - such as, the Welsh University Eisteddfod Award, Sri Lanka State Literary Award, Newfoundland, Labrador Arts and Letters Gold Medal, Manifold Award, City of Gloucester Millennium Award and the City of Ottawa Appreciation Award for Arts and Culture in 2003 - talked about his humble beginnings.

“I started writing by contributing to the school souvenir. Then when I moved to London and found a lot of time to myself I picked it up again. Some of my British friends saw my poems and convinced me to publish them in a local magazine and to my surprise the submissions were accepted. I thought that they were good since they must be of a sufficient standard to be published, so I kept at it. Of course some of the poems I submitted were rejected but some were ultimately published.”

A geologist, paleontologist and museologist, Asoka Weerasinghe explained how his profession complements his pastime of writing poetry. “As a scientist poetry came in handy and paleontology disciplines my poetry.”

For most Sri Lankan writers the main obstacle for writing is the lack of time. But Weerasinghe being a scientist had found the time to publish 15 collections of poems, including Exile, Hot tea and Cinnamon buns, Home again Lanka and Tears for My Roots.

“In 1962 I wrote three short stories.” says he, although he admits that he failed to write any poems that year. He explained that poetry is a craft of the language, written in a telescopic form.

“Poetry is very economical. I take half an hour to write a poem and that’s it. Consequently poetry suits my schedule extremely well.” When inquired why he had not tried his hand at a novel, he said “What I read is what I write. I read mostly poetry and read a novel only once in a blue moon.”

Even in his latest collection - The Land of Serendipity - it is evident that he is very fond of long poems. “I don’t intend for my poems to be as long initially, because then it becomes a narrative.” But explained that when he intended to relate a story, it invariably becomes long.

“Once I finish with a poem I never edit it.” Speaking of long poems his long poem, The Trail of Mankind was adopted as the storyline for the National Museum of Man’s Orientation Hall in Ottawa in 1972 and to this day is sold for one dollar for all who pass through Man’s Orientation Hall.

He has had a lot of influence on amateur writers. He was the founder of The Campus Poetry Workshop at Memorial University in New Foundland and the Co-founder of Gloucester Spoken Art, Poetry and Storytelling Series in Ottawa, Canada.

Speaking from experience of being a judge of many poetry competitions he said that he mostly goes for poetry with structure. He said that although his favourite poet is Dylon Thomas, every once in a while he goes back to British poets like Yeats to discipline himself, and recommended that young poets do the same.

“They should study poetry of professionals.” He reiterated. “They should read it aloud. The metre and syllables have to be perfect. If you read it out loud, then you know when something is amiss.” He attributes his interest in English poetry to his 4th grade teacher, at Nalanda, Mrs. Y.C. Perera.

“It was Mrs. Perera who instilled in me the love for poetry during the English class and it had been an inspiration ever since I was eight. It helped me to understand rhymes, couplets and syllabics in poetry which were important for the appreciation of this creative art form of the spoken word. I had a good foundation.”

He won the Sri Lanka State Literary Award for his Tears for My Roots in 1995. “I, as a Sri Lankan poet felt that - whoever the judges were - had the same sentiments I had for my country.”

Although he has been abroad for many years, he returns to Sri Lanka almost every year. “Sri Lanka gives me a hell of a lot of inspiration to write poetry. That’s why I return time and again. I use the power of my pen to write what goes on in my country. We as poets have a duty to speak for our country.”

Pix by Chinthaka Kumarasinghe
 

Isaac Asimov - First book out at 18

Isaac Asimov was born in Petrovichi, Russia, as the son of Judah Asimov and Anna Rachel Berman Asimov. In 1923 the family moved to New York.

Isaac Asimov is one of the most famous, widely read, honoured and beloved science fiction authors of all times. In his five decades as an author, he wrote more than four hundred books, won every award his readers could contrive to give him, providing pleasure and insight to millions.

Asimov could read before he entered the first grade. He started to write at the age of eleven. When he worked at his father’s store, he developed an interest for pulp magazines, language of which was imitated in his early works. He sold his first story, “Marooned Off Vesta”, at the age of 18.

After leaving Boys High School in Brooklyn, Asimov studied chemistry at Columbia University, New York, where he graduated in 1939 and received his M.A. in 1941. In 1948 he received his Ph.d in biochemistry from Columbia University.

Asimov’s pseudo-dissertation, ‘The Endochronic Properties of Resublimated Thiotimoline’ , was published in 1948 in Astounding Science Fiction. Asimov’s first novel, Pebble In the Sky, was published by Doubleday and his first nonfiction for the general public, The Chemicals of Life, was published by Abelard-Schuman.

But among his most popular works are the Foundation novels - based very loosely on Edward Gibbon’s History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire - and Robot novels.

Asimov’s breakthrough Nightfall, is acclaimed as the best science fiction story ever written. An overstatement of course, the poetic story depicts a world which has six suns, at least one of which is always shining. The world has experienced a universal eclipse every two millennia, and lost its social organisation as a result. When darkness falls the reason for this cyclical development is revealed.

Most of Asimov’s books are pure adventure and a source of entertainment. However he did not publish science fiction novels during 1960s. He claimed that it had passed beyond hi.

The “New Wave” was more experimental and radical compared to the Golden Age, but Asimov’s works still sold well. He returned to novels in 1980s and started the ambitious project of amalgamating the ‘Robot’ and ‘Foundation’ sequences into one huge tale.

Asimov was an extraordinarily prolific writer of a prodigious number of works including science fiction, science fact, mystery, historical fiction, short stories, guides to the Bible and Shakespeare and discussions on myth, humour, poems, limericks as well as annotations of literary works.

Compiled by Ishara Mudugamuwa

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The modern hippocrates

Standing in front of his unshop-like-shop,
Lying in line with many a numerous shop,
He seems awaiting someone to turn up,
Who’ll keep his day’s earnings a little bit up.

An immaculate signboard overhead reads,
Qualified physician brackets embibee-ess!
He must be wishing while so keenly awaiting,
May more and more wordly beings be ailing!

Bandara Samarakoon

*************

Charming lotus

Lotus, lotus, charming lotus,
Always growing in saltless waters,
Pure white and pink in colours,
Supposed to be the most valuable of flowers.

Growing in mud in ponds and lakes,
And emerging above water and swimming drakes,
Scenting the environment around the place,
Lotus shines with full grace and glaze.

They are plucked to be offered to the saints,
And found even in Sigiri and Ajantha paints,
In order to beautify and deck,
Maidens wear them on the head and neck.

Although lotus is the king of flowers,
It lasts only for a very few hours,
Everything in the world changes very fast,
And are destined to perish at last.

We too are the creations of nature,
Whether human or any other creature,
Even if we have beauty, fame and wealth,
All will have to face the destined death.

D. Goonetilleke,

************

The Flight

She flew inside...to the cloth peg,
Adorned with plastic flowers.
First step into the wild world.
In the courtyard outside,
Her parents were hysterical,
Finding their kid in first flight missing,
In the intricacies of the wrong world...

Heart beat racing wildly,
The little one jumped from chair to ground,
Ground to window sill,
Bulging heart visible through the flamed plumes...
The two humming birds outside,
Were trying their best to guide her out,
To where she should really be...the right world.

We pushed her out

They started flying from flower to flower...
“Learn dearest!” “Use your wings!”
Her mama said. I held my breath...

The little one flew to a height,
Tired of all the combustion,
She had to rest to catch her breath...
Mum and Dad were now a step ahead...
Calling to spread out her wings and fly,
Joy in their shrill voices.
She plunged...

All this in a minute or two...
Another second, they were all gone...
Flying into the great space ahead...
New horizons, new breadth, the right world.

Krishanthi Anandawansa

***************

Poet, through a Poet’s eyes

Composers of melody,
Painters of the soul-
Sitting on a rock with a pen
Be it dusk or dawn.
Gazing towards the far horizon,
Writing praise for the Sun and Moon;
Soaring away with the howling wind,
May the time be night or noon.
Basking in the rays of sorrow,
Drowning in the waters of grief,
Leaping with a jubilant heart,
Weeping with joy; with relief.
A tender child at heart he is,
A philosopher by routine,
The richest man in novel thoughts,
Among the poorest, in earthly things.
A wise advisor in times of trouble,
A faithful friend - when in need,
A humble companion to walk along,
A sentimental lover- indeed!
Single man, torn by thoughts,
Ideas early for time;
And yet, deep down, just like you,
Searching for rhythm and rhyme.

Minoli Wijetunga