The Public Mirror is a collection of 37 poems in English written by a writer and translator of Sinhala fiction. Hailing from Badulla he is Dimuthu Samudra Liyanage. Published by Dimuthu Publishers it is priced at Rs 200/-.
The poet in his note says that he has woven the poems in his book during the past two years and adds “The mirror will reflect the unorthodox thinking of an orthodox apprentice in the massive world of English Poetry” This statement itself is striking of his mode of creativity.
I like to quote some lines in his poems that I liked. They are self-explanatory and need no commentary.
Poem #1
You and I are embankments of a rivulet never cuddling,
Our love is the murmur of the rivulet never ending,
The doomy ocean is the egress of a rivulet never longing
Poem #2
The fabric styles of dirt and dust I sponge and cleanse from dawn to dusk.
Poem #3
The cold gloomy sky had set the mist agile on the blur mirror ply, ‘We miss you’, they write. The Mirror with the heart cracked. So again, with the dawn on the pedestal wall of the solitary soldier’s statue. They embed a public mirror.
Poem #4
Oh God! Forgive the fanatic, lest grant me a rubber to erase my haunting history!
Poem #5
Facebook Account: They shot, full shots, mid shots, close-ups, high angles, Dutch angles. They captured, extreme close up of the veins, the crane shots and panning over the suffocating pains. They shoot, select, share with Facebook, write a caption, select the public, share-upload-share... He laid unconscious on my blood-stained bosom
A Colombo University student, Sivapalan Sumithreyi, whose parents are academics attached to the University of Yaalpaanam, showed me some of her well-written poems which she hopes to publish in a volume shortly. I wish to share some of her poems with our readers as they prove to be appreciably coming from a youngster.
Here are some of her thoughts and feelings: Poetry comes silently. When the world is hushed you hear the drumroll of your thoughts surging to welcome the invisible muse whose breath is the music of your words.
It comes in a flash, triggered by an announcement or the notice for a talk. Jotted down in black or blue before the spark dies. It takes a minute to recognize it. A poem.
Time eight-thirty Ante meridiem. A/L literature. The black-printed paper folding its wings alights on your desk from a passing hand.
Unseen poetry. A block of lines uneven gazes back at you. You unpick them word by word to see the pattern lurking underneath.
Then you weave it back onto another sheet and stitch by stitch the pattern you see unfolds as your own.
Poetry isn’t a dazzling gem. More like Mercury slipping between your fingers. Poetry will not stand under the spotlight but will be peeping through a keyhole or drifting behind a curtain giggling at your bafflement.
Thus, you see the freshness, originality and choice of appropriate verbs in her opening poem. She has the potentiality to shine. While wishing her success as a promising poet in English in our country, I would suggest she writes more poems on many other subjects as well.
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