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Rajiva Wijesinha – Creative Writing

Monthly Archives: March 2014

Poets and their visions 16 – Gerald Manley Hopkins

30 Sunday Mar 2014

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Alice in Wonderland, Binsey Poplars, Gerald Manley Hopkins, In Memoriam, Lewis Carroll, poems, Poetry, Sprung Rhythm, The Windhover, The Wreck of the Deutschland, Time’s Eunuch

Unlike those we have been looking at recently, Gerald Manley Hopkins is known, as a creative writer, only for his poetry. But he is known also as a Catholic priest, and his faith is inextricably bound up with his work. If we recall Tennyson, in In Memoriam, responding to the doubt brought by scientific discoveries to Christian dogma by simply reaffirming his faith, Hopkins did the same thing with greater anguish as well as drama, is befitted his calling.

The simplest poem of this nature, and one of the strongest, is the sonnet in which he wrestles with what seems an unjust world. The latter part of the poem contrasts the fecundity of nature with the statutory celibacy of Catholic priests, highlighted here in the term ‘Time’s Eunuch’. The plea with which the poem ends then is most moving, with its need for a purpose beyond what seems an arid passivity.

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The Moonemalle Inheritance: From ACTS OF FAITH – Part 1

29 Saturday Mar 2014

Posted by rajivawijesinha in The Moonemalle Inheritance

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Acts of Faith, Moonemalle Inheritance, The Moonemalle Inheritance

Indra and Diana were trapped—if that is the right word for what could well be described as the safest and most peaceful spot in the country—in a wild life reserve during the troubles. They had been on one of their regular visits to Phyllis who, though she adored her massive house and her little village, grew quite bored with it at times and, whenever she could, bundled any house guests available into her land rover to make an Expedition. These were often to the sanctuaries, but as often as not they were simpler meanderings towards and not towards some distant and not very vital goal, designed primarily for the enjoyment of the countryside, and the birds and the trees and the flowers. At the back of the vehicle, amidst pots and pans and provisions, were two village belles (usually chosen by lot since demand for places on these trips was intense) to do any wayside cooking and serving required, and either with them or on the roof-rack, depending upon the claims of modesty and their ages and his, was a boy of all work to set up deckchairs and build fires and do any other odd jobs necessary. Though Phyllis could do without a great many things, there were certain comforts she thought basic; and, even if Diana occasionally worried about the almost feudal character of these expeditions, to Indra they were blissful.

The troubles rocking the rest of the country indeed scarcely impinged upon them in their rural retreat, hearing about them as they did only from isolated trackers met on the paths or fitfully over the carefully censored and furiously crackling radio. They did however have a cause for worry in that the boy they had brought with them was Tamil. This was largely Indra’s responsibility and, if ever Diana came near to criticizing Indra’s initiatives, it was on this occasion.

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Poets and their visions 15 – Thomas Hardy

23 Sunday Mar 2014

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Jude the Obscure, poems, Poetry, The Darkling Thrush, The Dynasts, The Man He Killed, The Voice, The Walk, Thomas Hardy, Waiting Both

Thomashardy_restoredAfter discussing a number of poets who might be considered idiosyncratic, I return now to a writer of a more orthodox nature. Yet even he is better known for his other writing, namely a string of novels about an area of England which is now identified with him.

This is what Thomas Hardy called Wessex, the south west of England, in which he also included Oxford, which is not so far west of London. The city of dreaming spires was however needed for Hardy’s last novel, Jude the Obscure, which is about the efforts of a village lad to gather learning there. His ambitions end in tragedy, and excessively so, which led to such criticism of the novel that Hardy forswore fiction after that.

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The Aunt’s Stories: Hidden Depths – Part 10

22 Saturday Mar 2014

Posted by rajivawijesinha in The Moonemalle Inheritance

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Moonemalle Inheritance, Oxford, The Moonemalle Inheritance

I saw comparatively little of Jeremy. We had drinks together, and supper, on my first evening, but it was only infrequently after that that we met over the next few days, and then only for a quick drink in town. He left very early for work and was thoroughly occupied with it during the daytime; conscientious businessman as he was, he had long been asleep by the time I got back at night, and I would manage to slip into bed without rousing him. This was probably all for the best, for solitude was what I largely needed. Right at the start we arranged that we would have dinner at length together on my last evening, before I caught the night train back to England, and then make up for all the time that had been lost.

He arrived in fact much earlier than I had anticipated at the rendezvous, and we drank a great deal of wine before going to dinner. I had persuaded him to patronize a cheap restaurant, and we tried one of those marvellous places by the station that specializes in provincial cooking so that, amongst the many courses we indulged in, we could both have cassoulet. After dinner there was still plenty of time for my train, so we had several rounds of brandy.

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The Aunt’s Stories: Hidden Depths – Part 9

19 Wednesday Mar 2014

Posted by rajivawijesinha in The Moonemalle Inheritance

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Moonemalle Inheritance, Oxford, The Moonemalle Inheritance

I lived out of Oxford during the following year, working extremely hard to prove, primarily to myself, that I was fit to do postgraduate work. Jeremy lived even further out, on the other side of Oxford, but of course he had a car; Jane came up quite often during that first term, and we had several evenings together reminiscing about the holiday and much else. The problem that had arisen, except for one or two brief discussions about it with Jeremy, was fortunately not brought up at all.

Towards the end of the term they had a superb dinner party in honour of Charles, who was finally leaving. He was fulfilling a life long ambition of travelling by sea, and two days later it was of course Jeremy who drove him down to Southampton. As we sped down the motorway on that cold November evening, I thought back to the time, eighteen months ago, when we had wandered, just the three of us then too, over the peaceful Oxfordshire lanes in pursuit of an eternal summer. Charles was going away without taking a degree, having grown tired of Oxford after his term as President of the Union: now in my fifth year I could see what he meant, but as we said goodbye to him I felt that some things remained fresh if one wanted them to.

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Poets and their visions 14 – Oscar Wilde

16 Sunday Mar 2014

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Ballad of Reading Gaol, De Profundis, Gilbert and Sullivan, Jeanne Pinto, Lord Alfred Douglas, Nightingale and the Rose, Oscar Wilde, Patience, Requiescat, Richard de Zoysa, Salome, Sphinx, The Happy Prince, The Importance of being Earnest

Oscar Wilde figures in Gilbert and Sullivan’s Patience as a figure of fun, but this only underscores his extraordinary achievement in launching and sustaining an aesthetic movement that swept Britain towards the end of the Victorian age. His prominence gives the lie to the concept that the Victorians were staid and prope, and though in the end society, as he superbly asserted in his valediction, De Profundis, had no place for him, it had held him in higher esteem than most for a very long time.

His fame I think rests most on his plays, and in particular The Importance of being Earnest, which is an astonishing display of self-indulgence presented as moral necessity. Much can be said about the different guiding principles of the six principle characters, who each have weaknesses that motivate their triumphant transcendence of mundane realities. But my subject is the poetry, and I cannot really claim that the great drawing room comedies are poetic.

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Mirrored Images – 16

15 Saturday Mar 2014

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ANOMA RAJAKARUNA, Buddhini Ramanayaka, Fire Churning from Within, FTZ Girls, PANNAAMATHTHUK KAVIRAAYAR, poems, Poetry, S Sivasegaram, To My Son His Inheritance, Wickramasena Jayasekera

Buttons_(504354910)

ANOMA RAJAKARUNA

 

FTZ Girls

 

Factories wherever you go

Girls wherever you look

Machines and equipment

For buttons and collars

 

Vacancies galore but no vacations

Sustaining the nation’s economy on twelve hour shifts

Demand and supply causing headaches and vomit

The Board meets, the girls fall ill

 

The chairman lives abroad, the girls in cardboard shelters

Standing in queues for private buses as the Intercoolers pass

 

So the foreign exchange comes

From the UN and the UK and Japan

For the work through days and nights

In Katunayaka, Biyagama, Koggala

 

The Quota Target Shipment is achieved

By independent healthy voluntary labour

Or perhaps not

 

World famous brands produced by girls also branded

Girls – females – youngsters – sluts

Our girls

 

Translated by Buddhini Ramanayaka

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The Aunt’s Stories: Hidden Depths – Part 8

13 Thursday Mar 2014

Posted by rajivawijesinha in The Moonemalle Inheritance

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Moonemalle Inheritance, Old Place, Oxford, The Moonemalle Inheritance

The incident was not of course one that could be entirely forgotten, but I had neither occasion nor desire to refer to it again over the ensuing days, and by the time fixed for Jeremy and Jane to leave it had passed to the back of my mind. The Perahera had provided a fitting climax to our trip and the following week had been packed with frenzied attempts to fit in as much sea and sun as possible. I did not realize at that time that anything untoward had occurred; so that I was almost overwhelmed by horror when, just before she got into the car to leave for the airport, Jane said softly to me, ‘I had a letter from your uncle, along with some pamphlets, and I thought I’d better reply and thank him. Can I leave the letter with you to post?’

It was useless, and beyond me, to pretend that I did not know what she was talking about. ‘He didn’t!’ I said, and went on, for it seemed best to make a clean breast of things, ‘He did ask me whether it would be all right to write, and I’m afraid I didn’t say no, but I never thought that he would. I’m terribly sorry.’

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A crusader of the English language

12 Wednesday Mar 2014

Posted by rajivawijesinha in Interviews

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English, English Language Teaching, English Language Training, English Teacher Training, Mirrored Images: An Anthology of Sri Lankan Poetry, poems, Poetry, University of Perad­eniya

Most of us depend on the English language when in a foreign land. However, the same would not have held true in Sri Lanka were it not for Professor Rajiva Wijesinha, whose efforts have given recognition to English language in his country.

“Monolinguals are destructive,” pronounced Professor Rajiva when recently in the City to participate in a discussion on his recent book Mirrored Images – An anthology of Sri Lankan poetry. The learned professor shared details of how the very language in which you read this article now, was looked upon as a deterrent by Sri Lankans for a long time.

“English as a language has the potential to liberate people from their orthodoxies and make them live in harmony. Knowing two languages opens one’s mind, in addition to facilitating communication with others on an equal basis,” opined Rajiva for whom, the task to reduce the widening gap between Tamilians and Sinhalese through the medium of this language, was quite daunting.

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The Aunt’s Stories: Hidden Depths – Part 7

10 Monday Mar 2014

Posted by rajivawijesinha in The Moonemalle Inheritance

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Moonemalle Inheritance, Old Place, Oxford, The Moonemalle Inheritance

It was lucky that I was there, for I was able to see my uncle as he arrived, and forestall him before he did anything tactless. He was not a tactful man. We were meant to be dining with him that evening, but it was clear to me that he had thought it essential to come over as soon as possible to ensure that all was decent. Indeed, I thought wryly to myself, he was probably under strict orders to telephone through to Colombo with a full report.

He headed direct towards me across the deep grass the moment he heard my call. ‘You’re a terrible man.’ he said as he approached, thumping his knuckles against his forehead. ‘What have you been doing?’

‘Nothing, as far as I know. And I’m sleeping in the iron bed too. Why?’

‘I suppose they actually do sleep with each other?’

My mistake this time was even more disgraceful than the previous one. I should have told him to mind his own business; but he was a priest, and I was on the defensive, and I didn’t.

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