The intoxication of poetry; in a bottle; extra special poetry by Chaminda Gunasinghe

By Surya Vishwa 

It may or may not be a good idea to open a bottle; dangerously similar to an arrack bottle; with the label Athi Vishesha Kavi (Extra Special Poems). Of course, once you open such bottles the freedom of choice is in your hand whether to consume or not. In this case whether to read or not. 

On an insomniac night last week, with the rain battering at the windows, I took the latter decision whatever the consequences and started uncurling the rolled up poems on small square pieces of paper, the sizes varying slightly according the length of the poetry. The outer cover had yellow strips which those familiar with beating insomnia through the other alternative associated with bottle may be familiar with. It was indeed strangely beautiful to tip the bottle onto the palm and allow whatever the rolled up verse to fall through. The poet, Chaminda Gunasinghe has certainly meandered where others have not and I will not subject to conjecture as to why and how he got this idea, not having interviewed him yet. 

I first came across this bottle of poetry in the series of stalls that were featuring Sinhala poetry at the book fair at BMICH in September. Among piles of books my eyes hit the row of bottles and was quick to judge. I was wondering what kind of license was obtained to sell arrack with poetry. But it was a dismal day with overcast skies and I shrugged off my judgment. It is only when I was close to the cash counter that I saw that it was not extra special arrack but extra special poetry. 

The poetry is indeed extra special. It awakens you from the inebriation of day-to-day rote living and shocks you as if a ton of crushed ice was hailing on your head. Ice I believe does go well with the stuff of bottles. 

One of the best poems of the lot that I unrolled and sipped line by line was titled ‘The poem the nelum flower recited from the flower shop bucket’ (Malkade Baldiye Nelum Mala Kee Kawiya).

Maha seya pena bawa habai, eith mea thisa wewa newei. It is true that we can see the maha seya but this is not the thisa wewa. 

Depa seethala thamai. Eith mea thisa wewa nevei. 

Yes, the feet are cold but this is not the thisa wewa. 

Karak Wathure thama. Eith mea Thisa wewa newei.

It is through that there is water around us. But this is not the Thisa wea.

Mohothakin pipena bawa habai. Eith mea thisa wewa nevei. 

It is true that we will bloom in a moment soon. But this is not the thisa wewa. 

Mal pudana eka hondai. Eith viwana nam thawa durai. 

It is good to offer flowers. But nivana is still a long way off. 

It is some time since I read such profound enlightening verse that juxtaposes ritual with the core essence of the spiritual destination. I certainly did not expect to find such wisdom in a bottle of the kind it inhabited. 

The poetry covers a wide range of emotions that enshroud everyday realities and much of it of a harsh nature.

For example the poem;

‘Mawakade awurudu udawa’ (The new year celebration of a mother)

Noka nobee, siyalu wedakara 

Carrying out all duties on an empty stomach 

Laba wasrayakinme serasi

Dressed anew in the same kind of cheap garment 

Kisindu dishawak nobala

Without looking at any direction 

Nawa wasareth daruwan wenuwenma wehesenu manawi

In the new year too 

The old pattern of toiling for the children will be fine. 

The poem is challenging to translate to get the exact nuances that the poet deals with pertaining to the rituals of the traditional new year celebrated in Sri Lanka where the rituals include the stopping of work for a while according to the astrological timings given – where a certain time is considered as the nonagathaya – where no work is done and the auspicious time is associated with a particular direction and the new year is hoped to be better than the last.

The imagery of this poem brings to life through metaphor the reality of the majority of Sri Lankans outside the bubble of Colombo where there is nothing new in the New Year. The rituals are meaningless and the mother who has to shoulder all burdens continues as the slave of her fate year after year even as she goes through the traditions which may signify a change in the future where her children are concerned – in the long run – and this is the dream of the mother who sacrifices her today for the tomorrow of her offspring. 

The greatest feat of these bottled up words synonymous to gems in how it shines the brightest of sheen on the darkness of our oblivion and forces us to see the paradoxes of our uncaring. The poem titled ‘Hadawath’ shows this societal dichotomy best. 

Hadawath

Irigiya mes joduwa 

The torn pair of socks 

Thani leather Sapathuwa 

The pure leather shoe

The dirty banian 

Branded clothing 

The smelly body 

Perfume from Paris 

The stale hearts 

The powdered face 

If anyone thought that the bottling of the poetry could be a gimmick to sheath a possible deficit in talent then even a cursory glance at these poems will be sufficient to wipe out that line of thinking. 

The idea to showcase the poetry in a bottle in the most sustainable possible manner in this day and age of sustainability being preached but not practiced is a fantastic creative form of moving away from having to turn pages. Printing books costs us trees. Here the bottle could possibly be reused if the need arises with the passing of time. (Apart from alcohol stuff such as coconut oil, kerosene and ayurvedic medicine also can be transferred to such bottles).

The neatly rolled squares of paper can fit into any cloth bag or envelope. In my case I transferred some to the small cloth bag I carry my phone in. 

Let us look at two more poems before we bid goodbye for the moment to this exceptional poetry that unravels the complexities, dualities and simplicities of this journey we call life. The Harmony page, in its continued effort to support artistes of all spheres and functioning in Sinhala, Tamil and English, hopes to feature an interview with this poet in the upcoming editions.

As we leave this page the following two poems can accompany us for a while. 

Abinishkramanaya 

Kohoma yannada, neranjanawata, kulee gedarin nikmila,

(How to go to the Neranjanawa leaving the rented house

Rahulala badaginne andanakota

When the children are crying n hunger 

Pelai mage papuwa, kalin, kanthakata

My heart will break, before kanthaka

Mohini 

Umba kalpanawen,

Mohini, you better be watchful 

Aran daruwawa adaren,

Taking your child with purported love,

Will chat you out of your garments.