A few
weeks ago, HarithGunawardena sent me a link to a song by the late Clarence
Wijewardena. According to K.G. Jinasena, an ardent collector of anything written about or by Mahagama Sekera, the lyricist was Chitranganie Rajapaksha, from Kandy.
සීත පවන් හමා ඇදී අඳුර ගලන සැන්දෑවක
රැහැයි ගීත නද අතරින් අඩ සඳ බැස යන මොහොතක
ඔබ කළ ඇරයුම සිහිවී දුක් කඳුලින් පිරුණු නෙතේ
සදා සුවෙන් ඔබ සැතපෙන තණ පියසේ නිසල ලොවේ දුක් ගීයක් ලියන්නටයි
මා ආවේ සොහොන් කොතේ
මව් දෙරණේ නිධාන වී සැඟවී ගිය නමුදු ඔබේ
නාමය පවතී කිවිඳුනි අප හද තුළ නොමියන සේ
දුක් ගීයක් ලීවෙමි මම සැලෙන ඇඟිලි තුඩු අතරින්
පලන්ගටි ගී තනුව අනුව සිහිල් පවන එය ගයාවි
එතකොට ඒ ගී රාවය පාවී ඔබ හට ඇසේවි
Here’s
a rough translation:
When cold winds blew on an
evening dark
Through the music of crickets
as the half moon dipped
With tear-filled eyes did I
come
Heeding your request to where
you lay in eternal rest
Just to pen a song on your
gravestone at the silent green
You’ve disappeared, in Mother
Earth interred
But Poet! In our hearts you
are forever resident!
Thus did I write with
trembling fingers a song
The cool winds will sing the
grasshopper composition
And then will it soar for you
to hear.
It is
clearly a response-song to the popular ‘maa
mala pasusohonkothe’[Upon my gravestone after I die…] written by
MahagamaSekera and voiced by Pundit Amaradeva.
To my knowledge this is the only song aboutMahagamaSekera.
Ironically it is Clarence who sings it.
Ironically, because Clarence is seldom spoken of in iconic terms when
the subject of modern Sinhala music is discussed. Ironic because few actually speak of
Sekera. But Clarence did, according to
Harith.
“Sekera
is a person who seemed to have achieved maargapala,
at least sovaan. When it comes to writing lyrics, he is
unsurpassed.”
That’s
what Clarence said. Clarence paid
tribute to Sekera in a land where one might conclude that tribute aside Sekera
has not even been adequately read.
Sure,
we do see lots of pieces in newspapers when his birth and death anniversaries
come around. This is good of
course. Is it good enough? ‘Enough’ is hard to ascertain, this is also
true. A few days ago at the launch of
‘Pranaini’, a collection of poems by Troy Mahamohottala one of the guest speaks
referred to MahagamaSekera. He said that
once Sekera was asked why he writes, to which question Sekera had replied,
simply, “for my aathmathrupthiya”
(for my satisfaction). That’s both a
confession and a recommendation for writers as well as readers.
When
we read Sekera, we know him. When we
read Sekera (or anyone else for that matter) we indulge ourselves. When we re-read it is because it delights
us. The moment we ‘own’ Sekera’s work,
it becomes ours, it becomes us. While
this is true for all poetry, all literature and all art, in the case of Sekera
it is often held that he spoke to everyone.
This is true.
I
remember a ‘Sekera Moment’ way back in January 1997 when a group of
students in Peradeniya who went by the name Hantane
Nava Parapuraorganised a "SekeraSemaruma"or
“Commemoration of MahagamaSekera”.
There
were a couple of short talks delivered by university lecturers where Sekera’s
work was examined, followed by a general discussion. If the lectures gave the
audience Sekera in a nutshell, the discussion served to free the poet from all
pet frameworks. Sekera came alive in that most vibrant airing of views and his
being floated unfettered all over the Arts Theater. I found then too that there
was no lack of people wanting to claim him as their own.
There
was a young student belonging to the Young Socialists who claimed that Sekera’s
sensibilities were eminently Marxian, while a Buddhist monk said that his
poetry epitomised the Buddhist approach to life. A third said that he
recommended Sekera’sepic poem “Prabuddha” to anyone who wanted an answer to the
question "What is JathikaChintanaya?" Finally, a Philosophy student
observed that the length of the ideological spectrum from which these claims
arrived points to the richness of Sekera’s work and reflects the fact that he
touched so many people deeply. Sekera, as my father once said, like the sky, is
not less private although he belongs to us all.
Sugara,
commenting on the commemoration of Sekera’s 25th death anniversary, had
something like this to say:
"Sekera’s verse; honed with a
sensitivity to recognise humanity and life, an understanding of tradition and
heritage, and an unbounded compassion to human beings; was not only the
language of his heart, it was the mark of his genius. It is true that he
traversed his creative ocean as a novelist, filmmaker and an artist; but it was
the poem that blossomed in his heart as a lotus, exuding fragrance. Has this
poetic path been adequately reviewed? We are curious to know if the Sinhala
poetic form, which Sekera explored and indeed whose traditional boundaries he
shattered as he searched for its identity, has been subject to serious inquiry.
Do the various schools of Sekera devotees possess such eyes as are necessary
for this?"
Sekera died on January 14, 1976, the record
shows. And yet, he did not die in 1976, for he was alive when he
first came to me, again in the form of a book that my father brought home later
that year, ‘MahagamaSekarageGeetha (MahagamaSekarara’s
Lyrics)’. He has been alive since, in all the lyrics to which
melody, music and voice were added to give us memorable songs. He
was alive a few years ago at the NelumPokuna when Pundit Amaradeva sang what is
widely held as the people’s national anthem, ‘RatnaDeepaJanmaBhoomi’. He’s
been that much more alive in the past three years because I visited him
frequently as I attempted to translate ‘Prabuddha’ into English.
That exercise naturally made me read several
times the foreword to ‘Prabuddha’ penned by the
late Ven. Dhammavihari, then Prof JyothiyaDheerasekera. That essay
was commissioned by the poet himself and is a piece of writing that Sekera
never got to see, just as he didn’t see the book in print, it a literary and
philosophical gem, in a way as profound as ‘Prabuddha’ and therefore a perfect
complement to the text.
Dheerasekera
notes that neither he nor Sekera could have known that Death was the uninvited
‘third party’ at their discussion. He had called the professor and asked for a
meeting. The professor had expressed surprise that Sekera, given his
vast knowledge on a wide range of subjects and proven excellence across many
literary genres was nevertheless not holding a teaching post in a
university. He had pointed out in particular the depth of meaning
in Prabuddha and the fine deployment of critical faculties in
unlayering a social, political, cultural and philosophical milieu. It so
happened that Sekera attended to the final edits of his doctoral dissertation
after visiting Dheerasekera.
Dheerasekera had told
Sekera that he displayed innumerable and happy elements of a writer endowed
with a poetic disposition filled with generosity, humility and
honesty. Sekera had merely stated, ‘In that case, it would be best
that you write the introduction’.
Dheerasekera’s
introduction refers to Sekera’s previous work, including MaknisadaYath (The
reason being…), Nomiyemi (the closest English translation, Sekera's son suggests would be "My will against my willingness to die") and specific lyrics
for stage plays. The way he describes the man mirrors the nature of
the main character of the epic poem, Prabuddha. The story is a
veritable exposition of the cultural, literary and musical tastes of the time,
the changes therein, the dangers ahead and the possible ways of recovering the
humanity that was clearly under threat. Dheerasekera elevates
Prabuddha to an importance of a nature that calls for a replication of the work
in all art forms. Indeed, such an exercise is the responsibility of
youth with discerning taste and exceptional creative ability.
Prabuddha was his last poetic exercise, although his
doctoral dissertation, Sinhala
GadyaPadyaNirmanaKerehiRidmayaBalapaAthiAkaraya (Influence of Rhythm on the
Sinhala Prose and Poetry)’ can theoretically be read as a similar
unfolding. Sekera may not have anticipated the ‘end’ that Prabuddha
clearly marked, but Prabuddha, on account of his passing, marks his,
philosophically, politically and literally, in a manner more pronounced than
his other work. This is why it is the most frequently quoted and referred to of
all his work, none of which can be called ‘lesser’.
Sekera,
in Prabuddha, brings a nation and a collective back to something
that was and encourages a journey to a something that can still be
(better). It is a call for a softer engagement drawing from Buddhism
but not exclusive from that doctrine. There is a world he envisaged
and which he promised to design, before leaving (dying). He could
not, but he did sketch a blueprint, or rather gathered blueprint from the
civilizational ethos which made him who he was and which can be the foundation
of a cultural, social and moral edifice that we could all inhabit.
From the silent sky
where
the half-moon becomes pronounced
by and by
there drips the milk
for a child’s heart;
the infant son smiles
dreaming of the new world
that will come up tomorrow.
In this motherland
where a nation of giants
who built the thousand reservoirs
are now reborn
new freedoms emerge
in a myriad of color
elegantly polished
by his smile;
I wipe my tears
and see
the little boy reigning
in a debt-free fear-free tomorrow
Little sons all,
who conjure the spring
that wipe weariness
from tired limb,
know this:
when I see you
that labor is pleasure
nothing else;
I cannot leave,
before I craft
that world
I’ve made and shaped
over twenty five hundred years.
And therefore, Siddhartha!
And therefore grant me permission of
finality
bless me in the manner of the Buddhas who
came before
blessed the Buddhas to be,
now, this moment.
At this very table,
upon this very chair
among these papers,
in a paddy field that knows
tilling, sowing and reaping,
among slogans, strikes and
the teeth of a factory wheel,
in a crowded train
carrying men and women
in their thousands
to work and back,
to secure the ultimate truth
Enlightenment,
not alone, no
but with those millions
to know together
to reach collectively
the truth
Enlightenment!
|
But
it was not all about nation and community, and not all about the class-laden
“oppression”. He wasn’t as prescriptive
as some make him out to be. Indeed, even
as I write about him at this very moment, I am troubled by the thought that I
am doing disservice to an important thrust of the man’s thinking.
I
doubt if Sekera ever wanted clinical treatment of his work. His poetry after
all has a rare quality of humility; he shies away from investigation and
implores the reader not to search for him in his work. Thus he consciously
recognised the full agentic power of the reader and only speaks of
"hopes". Sekera never demanded. This is evident in the introductory
poem in the collection Sakvalihini titled "Mage
kaviyenobadakinna" (view yourself in my poem), which I have translated
below. It is indeed a gentle and very revealing note on how Sekera wanted to be
read, or, more precisely, how he ought not to be read, and why.
"Look not for
me in my poem.
You and I, and all
of us
are journeying
towards a morning star
shining at the far
end of a dim sky,
knowing and not
knowing that we are.
Someday, all of you
will encounter the
great mountains
and steep cliffs
I meet along the
way.
When you stumble and
lose your way
among the many
traps along the path,
when your body is
soiled
by the mud showered
by untruths,
when, bludgeoned,
you cling
to the earth with
weak hands,
when that day you
weep helplessly
just as I have
wept,
my poetry will
becomes yours.
Friend! Then,
without searching,
find yourself and
not me in my verse.
When the blood that
flows from my feet
as they break upon
thorns and hard gravel,
points out the
correct path from those that lead astray,
and you come to
your journey’s end
to find the morning
star,
if you happen to do
so before me,
a felicitation of
flowers will bloom for your feet.
Among those petals,
find me."
Reading this, it
would seem that the anonymous lyricist referred to at the beginning of this
essay, when speaking of the “naamaya”(name)
that Sekera had left undying is not his (i.e. “MahagamaSekera”) but hiscall for
self-exploration.
I realize all
over again something that came to me about 12 years ago when I first wrote
about Sekera: “I do not know how to commemorate a dead poet. And I do not
know why one should commemorate at all, poets or non-poets. If all life is
transient, everything is subject to the law of decay, and this includes the law
itself. People die, memories too die. Commemoration then, let me offer tentatively,
is perhaps a marking of time, more of one’s passing than the passing of the
dead. Sekera might not have disagreed.
I
cannot know how others read Sekera. Speaking for myself, I have been lifted,
empowered, saddened, chastised and humbled by Sekera and this only because his
poetry is a mirror that allows us to see ourselves. He has given me tears and
laughter, and these have filled the lamps I carry and have fed the feeble
flames that I have counted on in certain dark and dreadful days.
I
can say with conviction, “I know him better now, but I might know him less
later, and it’s all about how well I know myself and how I’ve ‘unlearnt’
myself”.
I wrote this fifteen years ago:
Perhaps there will be a flower for me
someday. Hopefully, in the spirit with which Sekera wrote, it will be such a
garden where the best in the human being flourishes, if only because of the
collective character of the journey. That will certainly be a felicitation, a
celebration where some of us can think of Sekera and be grateful that he walked
on this earth, and of course that he traced his journeys with the exquisite
play of word and metaphor.
BandulaNanayakkarawasam I believe said it better in what could be
read as an extrapolation of the sentiments to embrace the collective during a
delightful event titled “Rae Ira Pana – Sekera Mahima”
two
years ago:
“Let
all that is best in all of us come together and create another Mahagama Sekera
who would then unravel who we are and the world we live in and thereby show us
the pathways we ought to choose so we can reach a better, more tender, more
knowing world.”
