Stitch your eyelids shut...

Blank verse and occasional try

By Ranga CHANDRARATHNE

Vivimarie Vander Poorten in her latest anthology of poetry entitled “Stitch your eyelids shut” covers themes and subjects such as love, memory, conflict, personal memories and various social encounters and is rich and diverse in terms of the content. However, the anthology is noted for its serious shortcomings, mainly the lack of poetic diction to represent the chosen themes on many occasions. The extracted title of the anthology from Pablo Neruda’s famous poem ‘Ode to Sadness’ is dubious and its meaning may be best known to the author. Perhaps, Vivimarie may find time to explain the readers what she exactly meant by the four word title of the anthology.

Cadaver

The very first poem of the anthology “Cadaver” is about the poet’s memory of a person who was apparently much closer to the her. The poet attempts to communicate a simple message suggesting such memories of loved ones are like ‘tying a corpse to your back’:

‘They say the holding on to the past

is like tying a corpse

to your back and taking it along with you

……

people around you hold their noses

and avoid you like

the proverbial plague “

The poet concludes the poem with burying her memories with kisses.

“ I should untie you

from the back of my heart

dig a hole in the dark deep

night of my past

and bury you,

kisses and all”

Lack of poetic diction

Except for a couple of lines with a touch of poetic diction such as ‘dig a hole in the dark deep night of my past’, the entire poem sounds like an ordinary diary extract wrapped in an elegant packaging material with a free verse structure. That structure often doesn’t belong to what we known as ‘blank verse’. What exactly ‘blank’ here is the verse. The exact form of the ‘poem’ is revealed when the lines are put into a paragraph.

The proposed paragraph reads: “I should untie you from the back of my heart and dig a hole in the dark deep night of my past and bury you, kisses and all”.

This is a common characteristic of most of the poems in the anthology. What the poet has accomplished in most of the instances is to report an incident, chores of a person as in the case of “Paying Homage” or in “Vadani in our Hostel”.

At a glance one would be enticed by some of the titles such as Meeting a VIP, Grandmother Died, Big Girl and Departure Lounge. However, at a closer look, for instance, the poem

‘Meeting a VIP’ sounds a passage neatly broken down into lines so as it to look like a poem. Though the poem is intended to be a blank verse, in fact, it turned out to be a verse with blank due to lack of poetic diction. It can be analysed by juxtaposing the poem with the tentative passage that it would make a good report or a diary note.

Meeting a VIP

London, summer, 2008

His Excellency asked me

how it was that I could be

Sinhalese

was it 50%?

if my mother was Sinhalese

and in that case

whether I was 50% burgher

or whether I had one quarter Belgian

blood in my veins

It was a bit tiresome

to explain

to say I think 1/8th means

12 and half percent

Belgian

and then another 1/ 4th is Dutch

and two 25 percent on either side

probably make 50% Sinhalese

(but I cannot be sure, I could be 25% Tamil with my Kandyan blood )

And I couldn’t do the

math in my head

because I was just lagged

and sleep deprived

and I was tempted to say

last time I got sick

they did a FBC sir,

I think there were the normal

percentages

of plasma

and white cells

but I was a bit low on the red cells

you see I don’t eat red meat sir

and I was always bit anaemic

Sir

A proposed paragraph of the same poem may be presented as a diary extract as follows:

“Meeting a VIP

London, summer, 2008

His Excellency asked me how it was that I could be Sinhalese, was it 50%? If my mother was Sinhalese and in that case whether I was 50% burgher or whether I had one quarter Belgian blood in my veins. It was a bit tiresome to explain to say I think 1/8th means 12 and half percent Belgian and then another 1/ 4th is Dutch and two 25 percent on either side probably make 50% Sinhalese (but I cannot be sure, I could be 25% Tamil with my Kandyan blood)

And I couldn’t do the math in my head because I was just lagged and sleep deprived

and I was tempted to say last time I got sick they did a FBC sir, I think there were the normal

percentages of plasma and white cells but I was a bit low on the red cells, you see I don’t eat red meat sir and I was always bit anaemic Sir.”

Though the intention of presenting a case for a genetically hybrid person, the question need to ask here is where are the metaphors and images other than the idea?

However, through the poems such as “ The Day after tomorrow”, “ Einstein was a Refugee”, “ Independence Day”, “ Equal Wor(l)d”, “ Changing your name” , “ Election Night”,

“Overhead, On the Ground”, the poet tries to narrate the reality around her touching on turbulent atmosphere.

Even in those poems which are extremely rich in context, what is lacking are the poets insights into the incidents albeit, the poet is able to convey strong emotions associated with the incidents but once again the missing poetic diction.

For instance, the poem “Overhead, On the ground” is one such poem.

Overhead, On the ground

Colombo, June 2006

Overhead

helicopters circle

cut through the melodies of the birdsong

on the ground

ambulance screech

rush the bleeding and the dying to the hospital

On television screens

displaced people

look back at their burning homes

over shoulders bearing

new burdens

and pack their lives

into polythene bags.

Though elegant at a superficial level, the poem is nothing but a report of series of incidents concurrently happened at a bleak moment of the contemporary history of Sri Lanka. What apparently lacks in the poem is a voice of a person associated with the series of horrendous incidents. The poet also has failed to provide any poetic insights into the incidents.

“Hibiscus on Galle Road “is a poem rich in terms of experience. However, poet has once again relapsed into reporting mode, this time listing out the debris following the explosion of a powerful bomb, killing many on the spot. The poem would have been a symbol of the blood period of the conflict if it had been insightfully crafted.

Hibiscus on Galle Road

May, 2007

Hibiscus in full bloom

strangled roadside fences

On either side

Of galle road

where the green truck exploded

Minutes ago

Leaving assorted wine-hued debris:

(a dozen camouflaged uniforms and caps

one container driver newly employed,

a pair of lovers not married to each other,

random office workers, three

nameless ladies of the night,

one annoying

private-bus conductor

in a grey check check shirt)

They sway redly to the rhythm

Of the gentle breeze

from the ocean- not –far-way

Danger flags waving

to warn of a tragedy

already past.

Instead of reporting that “Hibiscus on Galle Road” are “Danger flags waving”, the poet, perhaps would have make them potent symbols of “Danger flags.” In my view, had the poet had embraced and developed the symbol “Danger flags” then it would have added value to the poem.

One of the principle characteristics of an experienced poet is the ability to make insignificant object such a fallen green cap or in this case ‘Hibiscus on Galle Road” not only a symbol of a single incident but also one which represents a defining moment of contemporary history.

The following poem or song on the Vietnam War bears testimony for poet’s ability to make insignificant object as a potent symbol belong to a specific era of history.

Where Have All The Flowers Gone?

Pete Seeger

Where have all the flowers gone?

Long time passing.

Where have all the flowers gone?

Long time ago.

Where have all the flowers gone?

The girls have picked them ev’ry one.

Oh, when will you ever learn?

Oh, when will you ever learn?

Where have all the young girls gone?

Long time passing.

Where have all the young girls gone?

Long time ago.

Where have all the young girls gone?

They’ve taken husbands, every one.

Oh, when will you ever learn?

Oh, when will you ever learn?

Where have all the young men gone?

Long time passing.

Where have all the young men gone?

Long time ago.

Where have all the young men gone?

They’re all in uniform.

Oh, when will you ever learn?

Oh, when will you ever learn?

Where have all the soldiers gone?

Long time passing.

Where have all the soldiers gone?

Long time ago.

Where have all the soldiers gone?

They’ve gone to graveyards, every one.

Oh, when will they ever learn?

Oh, when will they ever learn?

Where have all the flowers gone?

Long time passing?

Where have all the flowers gone?

Long time ago.

Where have all the flowers gone?

Young girls picked them, every one.

Oh, when will they ever learn?

Oh, when will they ever learn? “

The poem “Diplomat” is a passage broken down into lines so as to look it like a poem. The poem is about a question posed by Ambassador’s wife. The question was “you write in English?” The poet’s reaction to the incident is to narrate the incident in a poem.

“Diplomatic

At a diplomatic gathering

an ambassador’s wife

smiles sweetly

as I ‘m introduced as a poet

(a term I always wear

like a size 14 dress

on my size 8 frame)

I smile back

embarrassed

hoping I can talk about weather

the cricket world cup final

which we might win

or the war

which no one will

but the next question’s one of

mild surprise

“you write in English”

and my smile turns

apologetic

for a reason that can’t find its voice

in poetry or prose

So I nod a diplomatic yes

and grab a drink from

a passing tray”

Instead of narrating the event as a mere incident report, the poet should have portrayed the attitude of the diplomat’s wife. It is highly doubtful whether we could describe above lines as a poem or an incident report!

In “Four Lies and a Truth”, the poet describes love as “a driver-less bus on a broken rail track, travelling nowhere”. The statement on love seems to be the fifth lie in the poem and the statement on life that “life is a series of Monday mornings and Friday evenings” is rather naïve statement.

Four lies and a truth

Four lies I‘ve been told:

the dead are only sleeping

life is worthwhile

love is beautiful

I will never forget you

four things I’ve learnt:

the dead aren’t sleeping

no one gets to cop out that easy

life is a series of Monday mornings

and Friday evenings

love is a driver-less bus on a broken rail track, travelling nowhere

and

when someone says I will never forget you

what they really mean is

I am leaving

One thing I‘ve been told and found to be true:

hangovers feel like hell

Some of Vivimarie’s “poems” convey the impression that a series of statements when broken into lines would make a poem and a poem can be made out of a passage when broken down into lines. The poem “Gecko” is an interesting poem where the poet skilfully recreates chemistry of love, in my opinion, using common metaphors.

Gecko

when love releases you

from its warm embrace

your first impulse is to hug yourself

to keep away the chill

Odd, that need for self preservation

even in the moment

you are tottering at the edge

of the world.

the body goes on

even when the soul has

been torn out

the limbs move, the eyes blink, the nails grow

stubborn in their slow routine

and the heart keeps running

it’s a steady and futile race

like the tails

that wriggles

long after the gecko has gone.

What really the poet wants to say is about the powerful emotional state of a lover at their separation. Once again, the poet has failed to get out of her reporting mode and craft her emotion into a ‘poem’ rich with metaphors. The disturbed emotional state of a lover at the separation has not been exploited and comparing it to a gecko’s tail is a superficial description of it.

The embodied self

The lack and absence of poetic diction in poems such as ‘Gecko’ reminds me of ‘A valediction forbidding mourning ‘by metaphysical poet, John Donne.

It was said that Donne wrote this valediction or parting poem to his wife on the eve of one of his overseas travels to France and Germany.

In order to carry the heavy weight of an emotional crises that torment such emotions from without and within, the self or the voice of personal lyric needs to be more than a lamenting voice.

In my view, Vivimarie has not been fully successful in communicating her inner emotions through well-crafted poetic language.

In summary, Vivimarie Vander Poorten’s latest anthology of poetry “Stitch your eyelids shut” is an epitome of the predicament that blighted the Sri Lankan contemporary literature in English which is among other things, may be noted perhaps for lack of insights, experience and poetic diction.