Re-‘residencing’ Lakdasa Wikkramasinha

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Lakdasa or Lakdas Wikkramasinha? A collection of his poems edited by Aparna Halpe and Michael Ondaatje, published by New York Review Books (NYRB) and just recently released, has it as ‘Lakdas.’ His gravestone insists, ‘Lakdasa.’ What is in a name, though? He wrote and what he wrote now writes him. Rewrites, inevitably. Re-rewritten if you toss in translation.

But where is Lakdasa? Where has he been all these years? Where is he now and where is he going?

Around 10 years ago I chanced upon his grave and was struck by what was inscribed on the gravestone: ‘Calm on the rock of age, above the roar of the tumultuous sea, came a voice, ‘I am the resurrection and the life, Lead on O Lord.’

He was drowned, and therefore the first part of it is apt. He was a rebel whose poetry turned things upside down (after all in ‘The Poet’ he advocates the tossing of bombs followed by note-taking), but in terms of theology and formal religious structures never more clear than in ‘Nossa Senhora Dos Chingalas’ (‘Our Lady of the Sinhalas’).

Blasphemous, some may say. It was, as I observed then, ‘[In terms of] lyrical finesse, emotional control, narrative ease, simplicity of metaphor, and for informed and astute political commentary this was Lakdasa at his best.’ He simply restored divining from creator-god to god-creator, one might say. This poem exemplifies the ‘political fearlessness’ observed in the NYRB blurb, but in the carefully crafted poetics.

I concluded, ‘mis-residenced’ (in the Borella Kanatta), but then again, corporeal leftovers are beyond the reach and control of the dead; the living inscribe in accordance to the image of the departed they privilege. They could be right or wrong or somewhere between.

What lives on is his poetry. In hearts and minds privileged to have read, in manuscripts lovingly typed by a friend and admirer, Ashley Halpe, later discovered by his daughter Aparna, in Advanced Level and university syllabuses, university libraries and collections of poetry-lovers and poets, has Lakdasa lived. Scattered like so much ash, like so much history, in fragments, pottery shards that recite the frustrating line, ‘there’s so much more.’

That ‘so much more,’ is what Aparna and Michael have put together. They have brought together the fragmented and scattered poet, dusted off neglect and ignorance, reconstructed and re-residenced him. Resurrected, yes, in ways consistent with ‘Nossa Senhora Dos Chingalas.’

Importantly, the collection includes some of his Sinhala poems. I’ve read somewhere that towards the end of his life Lakdasa had believed that writing in English constituted some kind of cultural treason. There was as much ‘Sinhala’ and ‘Sinhala culture’ in his English poetry as there is in the few Sinhala ones he has written though. Cultural treason can manifest itself in many ways. There can theoretically be treachery expressed in Sinhala that is as pernicious as that which is in English. We could go into that, but this is not the moment.

What Aparna and Michael have done is to relocate Lakdasa in the here and now of contemporary Sri Lanka and contemporary Sri Lankan literature, especially contemporary Sri Lankan English literature. It is in many ways an insurgent venture on their part.

Hiniduma Sunil Senavi, during the launch of Chulananda Samaranayake’s ‘Dehamida Me Divayina’ or ‘Is this Island virtuous?’) and ‘Glimpses of a Shattered Island’ five years ago, spoke about ‘language-relatives,’ i.e. English and Sinhala: ‘The English Poet is a relative that the Sinhala Poet does not converse with.’ Interesting enough to comment, so I did:

‘It’s probably a language issue. Two relatives living in different continents, separated by seas or mountains or rivers, let’s say. We could put it all down to the ‘language policy,’ that easy alibi for incompetence, ignorance and sloth, but then again we must not forget that such ‘islands’ existed even before 1956. We can quibble about how it happened or when but we can agree that the estrangement exists. There’s something that Sunil Senevi did not say, perhaps because the audience was ‘Sinhala’ and not ‘English’: The English Poet or rather the English Poetic Circle not only does not talk to the Sinhala Poet, but is by and large ignorant of the latter’s existence or, worse, even if aware is somehow dismissive, not account of quality-lack but some other malady. And we are all the poorer for it. And we could say the same of the relationships or lack thereof between Sinhala poets and Tamil poets, and also English Poets and Tamil poets.’

Aparna and Michael have dedicated the book to the GotaGoGama Library. She wants to believe that Lakdhas would have approved of that. ‘GGG Library’ certainly was one of the more endearing products of last year’s protests. She is probably right; Lakdasa would have identified with it, although he lived in a different time and agitation had different colours, textures and, let’s not forget, substance.

Lakdasa’s poetry should be translated into Sinhala. All of it. Sunanda Karunaratne and Liyanage Amarakeerthi I believe are the best suited for such an exercise. Now that we have this collection, perhaps one of them or both or someone else may attempt this. That, now, would be radical and Lakdasa would have certainly approved of it.

For now, this is good. Aparna and Michael have done something amazing. It is an invaluable contribution to Sri Lankan literature and would hopefully inform, nuance and glaze political engagement in positive ways for a long time to come. They have re-residenced Lakdasa. Or Lakdas. And now we can contemplate our own respective residences. And residencies. Literary or otherwise.

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www.malindawords.blogspot.com.