A melody faint and yet not beyond hearing ~ Malinda Words

Among writer there those who see what everyone else sees and yet can describe it all so beautifully that the reader is compelled to ask the question, ‘damn, how was it that I didn’t notice all this poetry around me?’ Two individuals come to mind. Simon Navagaththegama and Mahinda Prasad Masimbula.

Among writer there are also those who notice things that others miss, compelling readers to ask, ‘now how was it that I didn’t see this?’ Two individuals come to mind. Ariyawansa Ranaweera and Jayatilaka Kammallaweera. Ranaweera is a poet. Prose is Kammallaweera’s preference, the short story arguably the genre he has a better and of course exceptional grasp of. Highly acclaimed, both. And prolific too.

Kammalaweera has published two collections of poetry, ‘Kaageda vasanthaya (Whose spring)’ and ‘Ae sihin gee nada (That faint music),’ the latter launched on Thursday. What struck me as I flipped through the pages is that in poetry too Kammallaweera demonstrates exceptional sight, literally and metaphorically, to note that which goes unnoticed. The thirtieth, untitled, for example.

ඔහු කියයි අපට
පිළිගන්න ම ඔනෑ නෑ මේ වදන්
එහෙත් සවන්දෙන්න හොඳින්
සවන්දීම ප්‍රගුණ කරන්න
එය අවශ්‍යයි යහපත් සමාජයක්
ගොඩනඟන්න

සවන් දී හිඳිමි මම
මහත් සැලකිල්ලෙන්
වචනයක් වරදින තැනක් අල්ලා ගන්න
රිදෙන්න දෙන්න ඔහුට

He tells us
we need not necessarily
accept these words
but listen nevertheless
develop listening faculties
which is necessary
a wholesome society
to build

I listen
with great attention
waiting for a slip
a word out of place
so I can hurl it back
and hurt

No one has to say ‘listen!’ We listen. Carefully. With bated breath. In anticipation. Not always in expectation of pearls of wisdom. That’s what Kammallaweera has noticed. Filters are used, not always to draw the positive essence but to pick out error.

Now there’s nothing wrong in critique. Criticism and self-criticism are essential in the matter of decent discourse aimed at building a yahapath samaajaya. Looking and waiting for slippage is something else. When the objective is to pounce and bite or grab a word-brick and hurl it back at the speaker so hard that it has to hurt, a lot is missed. Indeed, it is essentially a confession that one is not interest in healthy debate. One, instead, is in the business of collecting debating points. Victories of a kind are possible of course. A feel-good-about-myself kind. Poor consolation.

Kammallaweera is not dismissing the worth of listening of course. What he’s suggesting is that it may be prudent to ask ourselves why we decided to listen in the first place.

So there are many reasons to listen carefully and not all of them are wholesome. One might believe that looking out for clash-points is necessary to put down someone or some ideology that one feels is a roadblock on the way to a better society, but all that is predicated on the belief that one knows, completely, everything that’s there to know. A tad arrogant, that.

There are humble people in this world who wish for a better tomorrow for one and all. There are arrogant people in this world who believe they alone have the roadmap to a better tomorrow whose blueprint they alone have. There’s no way to know which group will effect change for this world has seen tragedies precipitated by the best of intentions and this world has seen villainy, arrogance, self-importance and people with superiority complexes launch movements that have yielded decent enough tomorrows albeit not at all resembling the architectures they envisaged.

It’s in the process. It’s about listening to learn, if not anything, the truths someone else believes in even if you may not agree. It’s about resolving to question that which is seen to be error, not to hurt but to clarify, to obtain other ways of seeing, other dimensions of reading the world. The world or a society or even an individual.

Kammallaweera, in this poem, is not throwing a brick. He’s merely opening some eyes. Gently. And so we see that which we have not or else have seen but have as quickly forgotten. A melody, in fact, faint and yet not beyond hearing.

['The Morning Inspection' is the title of a column I wrote for the Daily News from 2009 to 2011, one article a day, Monday through Saturday. This is a new series. Links to previous articles in this new series are given below]

21 April 2023

A melody faint and yet not beyond hearing

0 comments: