A
couple of years ago, Sunil Sarath Perera published a collection of
essays titled ‘Mathaka Nimnaya,’ or ‘The valley of memories.’ Memoirs,
essentially. The author of course is best known as a lyricist, although
he’s had a considerable and productive career as an administrator in
various media institutions and state departments. Naturally, there was
lyrical blush in his prose. Both in subject and style.
I didn’t review that book, but the dedication ‘sumadura kuru thuna, maha kava, ammaata (to [mother] the epic and sweetest three-letter poem)’ inspired a comment that was published in the Daily News. The book, by the way, was also dedicated to his father: ‘dayaaloo ivasana gunaethi thaaththaata (for [my] father, kind and patient).’
The note of dedication to his mother was also the title of one of the essays. Naturally, it made me think of my late mother, and I did mention the fact.
Sunil Sarath Perera’s essays are informative. They speak of a life lived and reflected on. The reader is swayed by the poetry, like a gentle breeze across a valley. There are mountains too, and they take aeons to move. Usually. He takes us to view points and doesn’t have to say ‘look!’ Later, though, he directed me to a particular note, one on the haiku form of verse: Tikak kiyaa hungak hangavana haiku (Haiku, says little implies much).
Now it must be mentioned that this pithy form of verse has persuaded both poets and critics to pin the name on ‘verse’ that is half-way poetic and adequately opaque. ‘Haiku vagei,’ they say (it’s like haiku). But it is or is not, for the structure is pretty rigid: three lines, seventeen syllables in a 5-7-5 count.
Anyway, Sunil Sarath Perera opines that there’s a fourth line in a haiku poem, only it is invisible. Silent. That’s for the reader and it’s for reflection in the manner of as-you-will.
The essay itself speaks of Japanese culture, the disposition to reflect, following long, strong and deep Buddhist influences and that which the author is most fascinated by — the natural world. Culture, literature and literary devices, places visited, memorable encounters — things made for a memoir — abound in the collection.
Sunil Sarath Perera’s latest book, ‘Soba sondura’ or ‘Natural beauty’ is a poetry collection that reflects a lifelong fascination with the landscapes he encounters as well as his enduring love for his island home, it’s natural splendour, culture, heritage and the philosophy that has informed them all. He reveals in a lengthy preface his philosophical and literary journeys across the valleys and over the hills of his concerns.
A significant number of these poems read like thumbnails of familiar places, some iconic on account of historical or cultural significance. We are given new sight to see the Dalada Maligawa, Kataragama, Somawathiya, Nuwara Wewa, TIsaa Wewa, Tissa Wewa, Sri Pada, Ruwanweliseya, Sri Maha Bodhiya, Kumana and Bellanwila. The poet, though, is not fascinated with only the grand, for he has eyes to notice the wayside. Such delights he has versed as elegantly. We are taken thereby to the everyday or extraordinary ‘ordinary’ lives and nondescript delights.
As interesting is an afterword written by Jayantha Amarasinghe of Ruhuna University, who speaks of the ‘stamp’ of Sunil Sarath Perera in the corpus of Sinhala poetry and lyrics. Amarasinghe offers interesting insights into the poet’s use of imagery and the way he works them into lyrics that are easy-to-read and easy-to-listen to and yet profound in thesis.
‘His [poetic fervour] grew in the rich soil of tradition. It took centuries for this soil to become fertile. It took just half a century to make it barren. Today, in those fallow lands weeds grow in abundance.’
That’s Amarasinghe’s conclusion which is at once a salute to Sunil Sarath Perera as it is a lament on a bleak present and future. I do not share the pessimism, although Amarasinghe insists that Sunil Sarath Perera is the last of a generation of literary greats capable of crafting lyrics of high literary worth, it is generally inadvisable to make definitive predictions. Barren lands, in time, can be turned around. Soils can be enriched. Poetry didn’t perish in long, dry and even toxic centuries. Indeed, one could argue that Sunil Sarath Perera by the very fact of having written keeps cultural, traditional and literary soils moist. Others will come.
But I digress. This is about three-letter poetry: Ha-i-ku, Su-ni-l, Sa-ra-th, Pe-re-ra, A-m-maa and an honorary doctorate, a p-h-d, one might say. He was recently honoured this way by the Ruhuna University. Late, one might say, but then again what's ‘time’ for a man who concerns himself with things timeless? He was, is and will be, regardless of accolades or insults, intended or otherwise.
Today I remember the lines of the theme song that wafted through doors and curtains to wherever I happened to be in my grandparents’ house in Kurunegala, the melody that simultaneously announced the beginning of a children’s programme and the day’s passing through dusk to night: ‘manakal hada vil thalaye pipi nivahal mal…ratata pipena mal api vemu punchi kekulu mal [the unfettered flowers that bloom upon the waters of a heart-reservoir…(these) flowers, tiny blooms all, bloom for the nation and the nation alone]. I didn’t know who wrote those words back then. Today, I do. People forget. Melodies and lyrics remain. Especially three-lettered ones, for they spell ‘essence’ of that which nourishes a mind, a heart, an individual and a nation.
I didn’t review that book, but the dedication ‘sumadura kuru thuna, maha kava, ammaata (to [mother] the epic and sweetest three-letter poem)’ inspired a comment that was published in the Daily News. The book, by the way, was also dedicated to his father: ‘dayaaloo ivasana gunaethi thaaththaata (for [my] father, kind and patient).’
The note of dedication to his mother was also the title of one of the essays. Naturally, it made me think of my late mother, and I did mention the fact.
Sunil Sarath Perera’s essays are informative. They speak of a life lived and reflected on. The reader is swayed by the poetry, like a gentle breeze across a valley. There are mountains too, and they take aeons to move. Usually. He takes us to view points and doesn’t have to say ‘look!’ Later, though, he directed me to a particular note, one on the haiku form of verse: Tikak kiyaa hungak hangavana haiku (Haiku, says little implies much).
Now it must be mentioned that this pithy form of verse has persuaded both poets and critics to pin the name on ‘verse’ that is half-way poetic and adequately opaque. ‘Haiku vagei,’ they say (it’s like haiku). But it is or is not, for the structure is pretty rigid: three lines, seventeen syllables in a 5-7-5 count.
Anyway, Sunil Sarath Perera opines that there’s a fourth line in a haiku poem, only it is invisible. Silent. That’s for the reader and it’s for reflection in the manner of as-you-will.
The essay itself speaks of Japanese culture, the disposition to reflect, following long, strong and deep Buddhist influences and that which the author is most fascinated by — the natural world. Culture, literature and literary devices, places visited, memorable encounters — things made for a memoir — abound in the collection.
Sunil Sarath Perera’s latest book, ‘Soba sondura’ or ‘Natural beauty’ is a poetry collection that reflects a lifelong fascination with the landscapes he encounters as well as his enduring love for his island home, it’s natural splendour, culture, heritage and the philosophy that has informed them all. He reveals in a lengthy preface his philosophical and literary journeys across the valleys and over the hills of his concerns.
A significant number of these poems read like thumbnails of familiar places, some iconic on account of historical or cultural significance. We are given new sight to see the Dalada Maligawa, Kataragama, Somawathiya, Nuwara Wewa, TIsaa Wewa, Tissa Wewa, Sri Pada, Ruwanweliseya, Sri Maha Bodhiya, Kumana and Bellanwila. The poet, though, is not fascinated with only the grand, for he has eyes to notice the wayside. Such delights he has versed as elegantly. We are taken thereby to the everyday or extraordinary ‘ordinary’ lives and nondescript delights.
As interesting is an afterword written by Jayantha Amarasinghe of Ruhuna University, who speaks of the ‘stamp’ of Sunil Sarath Perera in the corpus of Sinhala poetry and lyrics. Amarasinghe offers interesting insights into the poet’s use of imagery and the way he works them into lyrics that are easy-to-read and easy-to-listen to and yet profound in thesis.
‘His [poetic fervour] grew in the rich soil of tradition. It took centuries for this soil to become fertile. It took just half a century to make it barren. Today, in those fallow lands weeds grow in abundance.’
That’s Amarasinghe’s conclusion which is at once a salute to Sunil Sarath Perera as it is a lament on a bleak present and future. I do not share the pessimism, although Amarasinghe insists that Sunil Sarath Perera is the last of a generation of literary greats capable of crafting lyrics of high literary worth, it is generally inadvisable to make definitive predictions. Barren lands, in time, can be turned around. Soils can be enriched. Poetry didn’t perish in long, dry and even toxic centuries. Indeed, one could argue that Sunil Sarath Perera by the very fact of having written keeps cultural, traditional and literary soils moist. Others will come.
But I digress. This is about three-letter poetry: Ha-i-ku, Su-ni-l, Sa-ra-th, Pe-re-ra, A-m-maa and an honorary doctorate, a p-h-d, one might say. He was recently honoured this way by the Ruhuna University. Late, one might say, but then again what's ‘time’ for a man who concerns himself with things timeless? He was, is and will be, regardless of accolades or insults, intended or otherwise.
Today I remember the lines of the theme song that wafted through doors and curtains to wherever I happened to be in my grandparents’ house in Kurunegala, the melody that simultaneously announced the beginning of a children’s programme and the day’s passing through dusk to night: ‘manakal hada vil thalaye pipi nivahal mal…ratata pipena mal api vemu punchi kekulu mal [the unfettered flowers that bloom upon the waters of a heart-reservoir…(these) flowers, tiny blooms all, bloom for the nation and the nation alone]. I didn’t know who wrote those words back then. Today, I do. People forget. Melodies and lyrics remain. Especially three-lettered ones, for they spell ‘essence’ of that which nourishes a mind, a heart, an individual and a nation.
