On the future of Sinhala literature 'for no reason at all'
It is fashionable among certain circles to lament now and then the
death of this and that. We've had, for example, the nation sick, dying,
dead and duly buried. Culture is a frequently interred entity too, one
observes. Then there are political parties and ideologies. They commit
suicide, are murdered or die natural deaths and their mortal remains
duly disposed. Literature and art are also subject to this periodical
death-pronouncement followed naturally by obituaries, memorial services,
appreciations and pleas for resurrection.
I've heard people say that Sinhala literature is dead or, if not,
then dying a slow, painful death. Looking around, though, I realized
that this is far from the truth. It reminded me of the Payasi Rajagna
Sutra.
The discourse takes the form of a conversation between the Venerable
Kumara Kashyapa Thera and a merchant. The merchant, endowed with a
penchant for debate and a fascination with splitting hairs over nothing,
interrogates the bhikkhu, demanding definition of things that resist
definition, are there to be discovered and not necessarily told and
certainly not internalized by memorization. The Venerable Thera
responded by way of anecdote.
'There was once a fire-worshipping Jatila. He had an assistant to
help him with his rituals. One day, needing to make a visit outside the
village, the Jatila had instructed his assistant to take care of things
and make sure that the fire does not go out. The apprentice was
negligent. The fire died. He had then begun looking for the fire,
wondering where it had gone. He looked in the ash and split the firewood
into tiny splinters but he did not find it. The Jatila returns,
admonishes his assistant and rekindles the fire. Now, just as fire is
not obtained by those who lack the wisdom and analytical skills
necessary to discover the fate of the flame that died and to kindle
flame, the truth will elude those who look for it sans wisdom and other
necessary skills.'
We are looking in the wrong places, I believe. We are now in the 21st
Century. The times are being embraced by a generation that does not have
the hang ups of those who came before; they grapple with different
realities and play with different metaphors, but are no less or not more
creative than their predecessors. They are a confident generation,
unburdened of the ideological weights that both empowered and bogged
down the writers of a different age.
I think we are in exciting literary times as far as Sinhala
literature is concerned. I am aware that there is a lot of trash being
published and even rewarded. The best literature probably remains
unpublished, but among that which does come out, amidst the trash, there
are gems that constitute reasons for hope.
I want to write about something else though. A new phenomenon. Blogs.
Thanks to technology and a generation which, thanks to a healthy absence
of inhibition, seems to be far more adept at adopting the new, the
development of fonts and transliteration-software that side steps the
need to learn and master Sinhala keyboards, increasing and cheaper
access to computers and the internet courtesy cyber cafes and the
nena-sal (Outlets of Wisdom), we are seeing an explosion of Sinhala
bloggers. Like in the formal 'publication' scene, we get the entire
gamut of quality, from trash to exceptional, with the key difference
that the character of the genre is freeing and poverty-circumventing.
For several years I've browsed websites where Sri Lankans blog in
English. Colourful pages. Nice layouts. Nice words. Grammatical. Words.
Thousands of words. Paragraphs cut into lines to obtain poetic
appearance and believed by author and reader to actually constitute
'poetry'. Nice thought pieces. Again we have roughly the same ratio of
trash to brilliance. The 'Sinhala blogger' is a new entrant, certainly,
but has already outstripped his/her Sri Lankan English counterpart in
terms of volume and quality.
What we are seeing is an uninhibited, tech-savvy, creative creature
who doesn't have to worry about money and indeed seems hardly interested
whether or not his/her work gets into book form, clearly willing to
entertain the idea that books are on their way out (I am old fashioned
and I hope this will not happen).
I want to write therefore about a particular blogger by the name 'Sandun'.
I believe he works in advertising. I emailed him once and asked if we
could meet and he said nonchalantly 'sure'. Here's the website:
www.nikamatawage.blogspot.com.
The name itself is disarming and therefore potent. It can be
translated as 'for no reason at all'. The poetry is like that; tiny
thoughts, neatly captured in word-combination, laid out tastefully using
images culled from the internet (with or without permission, I really
don't know). Let's check some lines.
From the day I met you
until now
I go about looking
for those vile creature
who write poetry and sing
about love
divested of lust
and pure like moonlight:
to seek them out
and shoot them.
The poet signs off not as 'Sandun' but with a tag. In this case he
ends thus: 'Sandun, who is not interested in wetting just the lips with
the first kiss'. The reference in the signature line is to the song by
Sashika Nisansala, written by Ratna Sri Wijesinha, 'thol pethi vitharak
palamu haaduwen themanna...', wrongly interpreted as a physical act of
kissing (according to Wijesinghe), when in fact it is about the
flowering of the Sepalika Flower. The poem itself refers to Nanda
Malini's song 'Premaya nam...' (The definition of love), written by
Sunil Ariyaratne. The title of the poem, by the way, is 'numba nisa
mama' (I, consequent of you).
Sandun's poetry is witty, thought-provoking and lyrical. There is
economy of words, easy engagement with things familiar, a healthy
cynicism of meta narratives of being and becoming, utterly fresh and
refreshing.
There is a poem titled 'bandune loo madira' (The wine poured into the
glass).
The wine that was poured
took the shape of the glass
and yet
there was no difference in taste.
And though I
when entering her
did not take her shape
a singular taste-difference
did I perceive.
The signature is part of the poem: 'I am Sandun who has abandoned the
act of pouring from bottle to glass'.
Sandun's poetry is intensely personal and for this reason comes off
as innocent and honest and moreover has the ability to make the reader
extrapolate to things social as well. He 'frames' women, in a poem
titled 'gehenun raamu kireema'.
Since I cannot
re-mould you
in the image of my preference,
I let you be
as you are;
I just photographed you
and framed you
in the dimensions
of my preference.
'I am Sandun, discoverer of a new way to frame women'.
Some of the poems obtain vigor from image but are strong enough to
stand on their own word-legs. There's one titled 'krodhaye skandaya'
(the mass of hatred).
The image is split. On the left there is a drop of water clinging to
the bottom of a dark object and on the right a drop that is falling. Two
verses. Split as right and left.
At that moment
when the mass
of your hatred
exceeded a particular value...
gravity
became stronger
than the strength
of our togetherness.
The signature: 'I am Sandun, looking for a plot of land on the moon
to settle down'. This, to me, is not footnote but part of main-text, for
the 'gravitylessness' speaks to so many things including the matter of
loving and being in a relationship.
I will stop with the one titled 'binduwen binduwa' (Drop by drop),
decorated with the image of a saline drip.
I was indisposed
extremely ill.
Drop
by drop
by drop
by drop
you entered
my heart.
Drop
by drop
by drop
by drop
my heart
she left.
Signature: I am Sandun, totally cured now.
There are nikamata wage lines, written 'for no reason at all'. The
ease, the healthy frivolousness, the flippancy, ability to laugh at
self, the skill with words, the ability to render in simple ways and
with minimal fuss things that are familiar and yet so complex and deep,
makes the blog an illuminator and teacher, source of entertainment and
sobriety-inducer. All at the same time.
Sandun is a single blogger and he does not make a genre, this is
true. I won't put him at the forefront of this new landscape into which
Sinhala literature has ventured because I've not checked out all the
blogs and am ignorant of all bloggers.
I've seen enough though to be excited and even cynical of those who
lament the death or dying of Sinhala literature.
There is no death, no dying; there is life and living and the Ven.
Kumara Kashyapa Thera might very well have said that those who think
otherwise are looking in the nunuwana-mode, i.e. without circumspection.
Either way, the Sanduns of these times will continue to key their lines
for no reason at all, I am sure.
Malinda Seneviratne is a freelance writer who can be reached at
[email protected]
|