Vihanga Perera: more poet than novelist

Vihanga Perera has been shortlisted (yes once again!) for the Gratiaen Prize.  This time for his collection of poems, 'Love and Protest'.  The others shortlisted are Sandali Ash (for the novella 'Rao's Guide to Lime Pickling'), Quintus G Fernando (for the novel 'Celibacy Factor') and Santhan Ayathurai (for the novel 'Rails Run Parallel').  This is a comment on Vihanga's poetry published in the Sunday Observer, July 18, 2010.  

A few years ago, I was privileged to be invited to read my poetry at the University of Peradeniya. English poetry. So the crowd was small, naturally.  I read some of my poetry, a poem by Pablo Neruda and a couple of poems from Ariyawansa Ranaweera’s collection, ‘Elimahan kavi saha guha kavi (Poems of the cave and of its outside)’.   I was particularly inspired by the quote from the Dhammapada at the beginning of the book, ‘Asareerang guha sayang…’ (the light is not too far from the mouth of the cave, but it is outside, nevertheless).  I remember mentioning that for economy of word, alliterative power, substance, nuance and rhythm, there is no greater poet (or linguist) than Siddhartha Gauthama. Others also read.  Most of what I heard was pedestrian, including tortuous attempts at turning ideology into poetry by an award-winning author.  There was a high point though.  Vihanga Perera.

Vihaga read out what some might call an unashamedly sexist poem.  The politics of propriety aside, to me it was a brilliant piece of writing.  It was entertaining, dramatic, creative and most important, he kept it to the minimum length that the content demanded. It was not just another one of those prose passages chopped into short 4-7 word snippets so that it looks like a ‘poem’.  I remember telling him that I think he should write plays. 

Vihanga was then a first year student in the Arts Faculty. He graduated and joined the English Department of Sri Jayawardenapura University.  I am not sure if he wrote any plays, but he did write several novels.  His novels were shortlisted for the Gratiaen Prize on two occasions.  I know that someone has praised his writing (novels) to the hilt.  Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder, I suppose.  While a Gratiaen shortlisting is good and encouraging, it could also mean (like in the case of all ‘shortlistings’) a product of weak choices and/or poor judging.  I don’t think Vihanga or anyone else (self included) should make too much of such ‘recognition’ outside of considering it ‘encouragement’.  My point is that Vihanga, while he certainly can write and is capable of weaving a story, is not exactly (as yet) a budding Simon Navagattegama or Garcia Marquez or anyone else that he thinks is ‘great’.  I hope he doesn’t think so either for that would be the ultimate trip that truncates his literary orbit.  

His novels, ‘Unplugged Quarter’ (2009) and Stable Horses (2008), both cited as ‘longer fiction/novel’ in his blog, http://vkper.wordpress.com, and his ‘experimental short fiction’ piece, ‘The(ir) (au)topsy’ (2006), like all of his work poetry included (see ‘Pesticides’, a collection of 14 poems), are, according to Vihanga, are amazing literary works.   He says, for example, that ‘The(ir) (au)topsy’ is ‘one of the most under-rated and under-weighted publications of [his] lifetime’ and of his poetry, opines that they are ‘unarguably the best written by a Sri Lankan in English post Lakdasa Wikkramasinha.’

That’s Vihanga.  Arrogant.  Tongue-in-cheek.  Reminds me of the man who said that if a list was made of all the humble people in the world he would be No 2, and added ‘if I don’t talk about myself, who would?’ 

Vihanga is a young man in a hurry and that’s a good thing for someone his age.  He is a prolific writer, doesn’t give a damn about whose toes he steps on, says his piece regardless and again, typical for those his age, knows everything there is to know in this world.  That all-knowing is what makes (to me at least) his fiction a tad tedious.  Someone who has all the answers tends to act prophet but Vihanga has a few more feet to go to get out of the guhaava, I think.  For now, there’s sloganeering and a tendency to ‘write in’ political preferences.  It harms narrative, sounds raw and steals from flow.  

Having said this, I still think that Vihanga Perera is clearly the freshest voice among those who write poetry in English in Sri Lanka today.  He has the word at his fingertip, one feels, spins it out effortlessly, has a kind of heart-rhythm that is clearly lacking in a lot of things that get the ‘poetry’ label.  Don’t trust me. Go to Barefoot and check the Sri Lankan poetry.  Much of it is rubbish. Vivimarie Vanderpoorten’s ‘Nothing prepares you’ is an exception.  Vihanga’s irreverence gives his poetry a cutting-edge feel.  He is cynical, rude (more so for effect, one feels) and unforgiving, but there is no denying that he has a gaze that can quickly cut through ‘appearance’ and delve into that ugly underside of things and processes which we all know (even if it’s just an instinctive thing) but like to pretend doesn’t exist at all. 

His take on the taming of Angulimala is utterly irreverent but telling:

‘While 999 men were killed, their penises cut

Where was this guide, the Buddha:

The worldly compassionate one?

Where – more the question – was the police:

Polishing the interiors of their gun?’

Never mind that the Buddha was not policeman, official or self-appointed.  Vihanga points out that Angulimala changes gear and trade and becomes a prominent player of the Buddhist tradition and claims that his name survives more as the man who shaped husbandless wives.  To me, he’s got it all wrong, and that comes from his ‘all-knowingness’.  Still, one cannot help admiring the word-footwork and dramatic rush in the following (preceding) lines:

‘This was a major serial killer incident,

F****** terrorism spreading

Wherever there were men and men had balls.

Brought down to his knees, on Buddha’s bidding.

His Rest begins. His Desire falls.’

Vihanga is a political statement maker.  As poet he has license to add and subtract, contextualize and de-contextualize.  ‘The Trek for Rights Sri Lanka’  is VK’s overview of things.  He writes of Prageeth Ekneligoda (‘journalist’, according to some; porno-peddler to me, but nevertheless a citizen who has gone missing):

‘We’ve stopped worrying about this Prageeth.

A numbskull, all the same:

Just 46 chromosomes and a bitta knowledge.

Just a family and two shitty kids.

Wife is just another woman.

Some non-mainstream fucking stringer

Some non-patriotic deal.

Time will heal.

People are crazy, making him into a fetish

That human rights are f***ed up. ‘

He takes pot shots.  He sys that his m-f-ing friends, at the height of their patriotism had posted my links on his (Vihanga’s) ‘Facebook’  and that some continue to do so:

‘Some still

Post Malinda, mercenary pen in hand

Aiming his tarot at David Miliband.

Conscience is not his employer.’

Vihanga gets his political knickers twisted a lot, but shhhh don’t tell him that, he ‘knows all’, after all.  That’s not the point here.  He would say the same of me.  The point is that even Pablo Neruda was victim of such wardrobe malfunctioning, especially in defending Stalinism. Even when this happened, as Garcia Marquez points out in a series of interviews under the title ‘Fragrance of Guava’, Neruda was like a King Midas of Literature, that ‘everything he touched turned into poetry’.   Vihanga is not Neruda, no.  I don’t have any unholy fascination with patriotism or any ism for that matter, but even when Vihanga is ill-informed and analytically slothful, he does write well. 

‘I saw Wimal Weerawansa’s hoardings

And I snapped the talisman off my throat

It is not he, it is me

The f***ing talisman of the nation.

He’s a talisman, alright,

But how lousy he mess up the spelling?’

The reference is to Wimal’s election campaign and its signature line, ‘Maubime Panchayudaya’. Biting, yes, but there is an element of elegance here, a clean cut-through that does not leave any frayed edges to be sandpapered away later. 

And it is not all about politics and things related to power.  In ‘In a roomful of Strangers’, he turns into painter:

‘But will your furtive fidgeting of this

Moment’s rhyme

Keep the bloodlines flowing; resist

The test of time?’

He speaks of and to his generation and of others as well.  ‘Bachelor of Arts’ gives perspective:

‘Problem is

Some kids took those lectures seriously.

Tried to unravel and analyze.

Deconstruct and be political. To be

Sensitive to gender; use the ‘his’ or the ‘hers’

Po-co, po-mo, po-Poocault, anit-co, re-co:

Ithin (avasana vashayen), tho ko?’

‘These knowledges,’ Vihanga pronounces, apparently with anger, but to me in brutal honestly, ‘is where the common die; kings hold their shit rag banners high’.

I am coming to these conclusions based on a set of poems I asked Vihanga to email me and which he did. All written in the first few months of this year.  Not all of it is great of course, but there is here something that you will not find in any of the poetry-blogs of Sri Lankans writing in English.  In time, Vihanga will know less, I am sure.  Less and less as time goes on.  His cynicism will become even more lyrical. And he will not depend as much on meter and rhyme for rhythm and melody. I might be dead by that time.  That’s irrelevant, though. 

msenevira@gmail.com

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On winning the Gratiaen Prize

Now available at Surasa (Maradana),
Sarasavi and Vijitha Yapa

It is customary for the winner of the Grataen Prize for Creative Writing to deliver an acceptance speech.  Accordingly, on Saturday May 24, 2014, as the recipient of the prize I addressed the audience.  In previous years, The Nation has featured those shortlisted for the award as well as the eventual winner.  Naturally, I excluded myself from these exercises.  This time, however, for reasons that do not require elaborate, when the Features Editor wanted ‘something’ I said I would write what I remember of my acceptance speech.  Later I realized that I might not remember everything and also that in the rush of the moment I left out certain things I ought to have mentioned.  So in this piece I will write what I said and in italics add that which I did not but ought to have. 

It occurred to me that 29 years from now, I would be just one of fifty Gratiaen Prize winners.  Now had I not won, 29 years from now (who knows?) I might be the only one to have been shortlisted on five occasions.  I’ve submitted to the Gratiaen six times over the past seven years. Looking back, the high point has clearly been winning the H.A.I. Goonetilake Prize for the Best Translation, that of Simon Navagaththegama’s Sansaaraaranyaye Dadayakkaraya.  That was special because that text is an important literary landmark and because Simon Navagaththegama was one of the best writers in Sinhala in the second half of the last century.  It was special because of who Ian Goonetilake was.  He was an adornment to the Gratiaen.

In the past seven years, thanks to the Gratiaen, I encountered many good writers.  Among the poets whose work I am acquainted with, there was Vivimarie Vander Poorten the winner of the 2007 Gratiaen.  Ramya Jirasinghe, to my mind, is the most outstanding poet of my generation.  There is Marlon Ariyasinghe who wrote a book called ‘Froteztology’ some years back. He was not shortlisted. There is Dhanuka Bandara, again someone who was not shortlisted. He has a kind of confidence in expression, wit and ability to dissect that is rare in one so young.  Inosha Ijaz, shortlisted this time, is clearly the poet of tomorrow.  Her mastery of metaphor and her ability to connect disparate things in new and thought-provoking ways is amazing.  There’s another poet I must mention although he never submitted for the Gratiaen. Rasika Jayakody writes about love in poetic form in a way that no one I know can. 

Among those who write prose, there’s of course Shehan Karunatilleka and there’s Asgar Hussein.  I was impressed by Ruwanthi De Chickera and Nadee Kammellaweera for the script of their play ‘Kalumali’.  There are probably others whose names I’ve missed. 

There have been strange moments too.  For example, on one occasion we were told that ‘unfortunately there was very little engagement with political themes’.  I had thought that what was being assessed was literary worth of texts submitted.  The judges may have their preferred topics, but that’s largely irrelevant.  More seriously, when one yearns for the political what is implied is that there are political preferences which, naturally, factor in to decision.  By the same token there would also be political positions opposed or even abhorred.  I’ve often wondered, I must say, about the politics of the Gratiaen or rather its key players. 

It was stated once that perhaps the Gratiaen Trust should consider having separate prizes for poetry, short stories and plays.  Again, this surprised me.  The Nobel Prize for Literature has been given not only to novelists.  It’s a position that has been echoed by others, some writing to newspapers.  The claim is that writing novels is somehow tougher.  Well, more sweat does not necessary deliver better literature, if indeed there’s more ‘effort’ in writing a novel as opposed to a collection of poetry.  Pablo Nerud, Octavio Paz, Rabindranath Tagore are among several poets who have won the Nobel Prize, I told myself.

So it’s been a long seven years.  Let me begin with the first time I submitted. I was thrilled to learn that I had been shortlisted.  That year, however, I was disqualified.  I found out who had moved for my disqualification and was not surprised to learn that he is someone for whom the Gratiaen was an adornment. Let me not say anything more about that.  That same year, I remember clearing someone’s name. In public.  That someone, when the opportunity came, did not clear my name, even though that someone knew (and acknowledged to me later) that I was in the clear.  I lost a friend that night. I gained a lesson.

I was disappointed.  I didn’t want to submit to the Gratiaen again, but on the 30^th or 31^st of December 2008, I decided I would rag the next set of judges by forcing them to read something I had written. I had some poems but the collection seemed too thin. Fortunately I had another collection.  I had been inspired by a beautiful book by Pablo Neruda, ‘The Book of Question’.   It was to these questions that Inosha had provided those beautiful answers in her Gratiaen submission.  The book inspired me to write my own questions, some 250 of them.  So I broke them into groups of five and inserted each set between the poems.  That gave me a volume.  It was shortlisted.  I remember Michael Meyer mentioning that it was a unique format.  I told him how that unique format came about. He said ‘So you tricked us!’ and I replied, ‘it would seem I have!’    Shehan won that year.  I feel privileged to have been shortlisted with him.  When I listened to the excerpt he read out when the shortlist was announced I knew we had something special.  Shehan also had the humility to pick my brains about sports journalists and newspapers later on.  I believe some of what I said went into a later edit of his text. 

I had a collection the following year too but the recipient of all those poems didn’t want them shared. 

I submitted for the 2010 prize too.  As I listened to the names being called out when the shortlist was announced, I remember texting Marlon, ‘No poets this time, brother’.  I remember coming out wondering I knew what poetry was and whether I knew what prose was.  I leave you to figure that one out.  I remember Rajpal Abeynayake, the much vilified, asking me why I even bother to submit.  I said ‘I want to indulge in a fantasy, that of what I would say in the event I win’.  He asked me what I would say.  This is what I would have said and I will say it now.

Good as these submissions are, they are nothing compared to contemporary Sinhala literature.   The poetry of Sunil Sarath Perera, Bandula Nanayakkarawasam, Rajee Welgama , Sandun Lakmal and to a certain extent Sunil Ariyaratne….is far better than anything I have written.  There is also (how could I have forgotten!) Ariyawansa Ranaweera, Nandana Weerasinghe, Ratna Sri Wijesinghe and many other lyricists.  Masimbula, Mohan Raj Madawala and Manjula Wediwardena come to mind among the novelists.  There’s no one who writes short stories in English that can match Jayatilleke Kammellaweera.  The plays of Rajitha Dissanayake and Udayasiri Wickremaratne are exceptional.  Indeed, I can’t think of anyone writing in English in Sri Lanka who can match Udayasiri for sheer versatility.  I don’t know Tamil but my hunch is that the same can be said of contemporary Tamil literature. 

I submitted in the following three years as well.  As I mentioned on the first two of these occasions, upon being shortlisted, it was just poetry I had written in the relevant year.  I was less and less thrilled, naturally, about being shortlisted.  This is not to say that I didn’t want to win.  Of course I did.  I didn’t have great expectations and what expectations I had diminished from year to year. This year, and I did not intend any insult to the Gratiaen, I chose to attend an event by Bandula Nanayakkarawasam focusing on Mahagama Sekera. I just felt that was more important than attending a ‘shortlisting’.

Ok, I have to say ‘thank you’ now.  First of all, I want to thank the Gratiaen Trust.  If not for this prize I would never have collected my poetry.  It is thanks to the Gratiaen that I was able to publish all my submissions.  This year was to be the last, whatever the outcome.  I had already got ‘Edges’ published.  The other five all came out yesterday.  I believe I am the most published English poet in Sri Lanka.  It happened just list that. I wasn’t two days ago and now I am.  

I must thank Prem Dissanayake of Fast Ads and Surasa for publishing ‘Edges’.  No one ever offered to publish my poetry but when I asked him, Prem Aiya immediately offered to do so.  Sandra Mack of Ketikatha (Pvt) Ltd designed all the books.  I am extremely grateful to Sandra for taking so much trouble at very short notice.  It is thanks to her efforts that the books are there at the back of this hall.  I must thank, also, Amarajeewa of Neographics for agreeing to print the books.  I told him I will pay him slowly, but he merely told me not to worry and that I can pay in kind by doing some work for him 

There were some occasions when people who read my poetry blog www.malindapoetry.blogspot.com would complain that I hadn't updated in a while.  I would respond by saying, 'ok, give me a word and I will give you a poem'.  It was a fun exercise.  Marianne David, Rifka Roshanara and Randim Attygalle have in this way inspired me to write.   

I want to thank all the judges of all the panels. It’s a thankless job.  I have been a judge myself and it is not easy to read through all the books, especially those that are really, really bad.  Judges make just one person happy or perhaps two.  They disappoint a whole bunch of others.  Writers are vain creatures as Ashok Ferrey pointed out a couple of years ago; we think we write very well and when we are young we even think that we write better than anyone has ever written.  This is why I will never sit on a Gratiaen panel of judges.   But I thank them all.

My father gave me words.  My father, Gamini Seneviratne, is a better poet than I could ever be.  My late mother, Indrani Seneviratne gave me heart.

I want to thank all of you, those in the audience, who have supported writers by coming here, showing appreciation for literature, year after year. It means a lot.  Thank you.

I must mention now that there has not been any inspiration as wholesome, stimulating and critical in my poetic endeavors as the word of Siddhartha Gauthama the Buddha.  To me, he is among other things, the greatest literary figure ever.  His doctrine, or rather what I understand of it, has guided and framed my explorations with the word.  If there’s any thread or recurrent theme in all the poetry I’ve written it is that most liberating of philosophies, Buddhism. 

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