By Lionel Bopage –
Dr. Lionel Bopage
Chitra and I had the privilege of attending the launch of කැකිරි පැළුවා සඳමඬල (The Moon Curved Her Silver Lips), the debut Sinhala poetry anthology by our dear friend Ms. Swarnakanthi Rajapaksa, an accomplished writer and award-winning translator based in Victoria, Australia.
The literary discussions at the launch, guided by eminent writers and critics, transported me back to my school days at Rahula College, Matara, and Richmond College, Galle. I initially struggled with the way Sinhala literature was taught, though I eventually developed a deep appreciation for both Sinhala and English literary traditions. For my English Syllabus at the S.S.C. Examination, I studied Stevenson’s Treasure Island alongside an anthology of English poetry ranging from Wordsworth’s “Daffodils” and “Ode to Duty” to many other poets who shaped my early literary sensibilities.
This marks Swarnakanthi’s first published collection: twenty-one Sinhala poems of which twenty are free-verse poems (නිසඳැස් කවි). While Mr G.B. Senanayake is widely credited with breaking away from traditional forms and archaic language in Sinhala poetry, it was Professor Siri Gunasinghe, an illustrious Mahindian of Galle, who introduced free verse to Sinhala literature with his groundbreaking 1956 collection මස් ලේ නැති ඇට (Bones Without Flesh and Blood). Gunasinghe’s modernist defiance of ornate literary language and conventional metrics revolutionised Sinhala poetry, provoking fierce debate and reshaping its artistic direction.
Gunasinghe championed the use of spoken language, challenging the superficiality of traditional verse. Though his work has not received the sustained scholarly attention it deserves and recent erasures[1] have only deepened this neglect, his modernist vision held enormous potential to shift society away from insular nationalist sentiment. I vividly recall learning about his poetry during my Year 8 classes at Rahula College with my Sinhala literature teacher, Mr. M.S. Sahabandu.
Later, at Richmond College around 1964, the late Dr. Gamini Haththotuwegama, renowned playwright, critic, educator, and father of Sri Lankan street theatre, revisited these debates in his lessons. I still remember him analysing a poem of Gunasinghe’s that included the line “සඳවතියේ මම ආවා සඳ පානේ සඳ උලන්ට” (I have come, Moon Goddess, to caress the moon in the moonlight)[2], an audacious metaphor for sexual intimacy in a society unaccustomed to such frankness.
With these memories in mind, I must clarify that I am not a professional literary critic. I am a generalist, one who has occasionally written poems and songs, and sung some of them. Yet Swarnakanthi’s free-verse collection compelled me to reflect deeply. Her poems trace the dualities of life: childhood and adulthood in “ඔබ වින්ද ළමාවිය” (The Childhood You Embraced), and the contrasts between her early life in Sri Lanka and her experiences as a mature woman in Australia, as seen in “සිහින” (Dreams) and “අහසින් යති අම්මාලා” (Mothers Travel on Sky). One exception in form is “කය මිස සිතක්” (A Mind, Not the Body), which stands out for its structure as well as theme.
Plutarch[3] once observed that painting is silent poetry, and poetry is painting that speaks. Swarnakanthi echoes a related reflection by Horace: “A poem is a picture that cannot be seen. A picture is a poem without words.” At the launch, several speakers expanded on these ideas, reminding us that poetry’s role shifts across time, culture, and context. For the poet, it can be a vessel for healing; for the reader, a window into lives and emotions beyond their own, opening pathways to empathy and shared humanity.
Historically, poetry served as Sri Lanka’s earliest literary archive, preserving values and cultural memory in works such as ලෝ වැඩ සඟරාව (Lo Weda Sangarawa), සැළලිහිණි සන්දේශය (Salalihini Sandesaya), ගණදෙවි හෑල්ල (Ganadevi Hella), බුද්ධ ගජ්ජය (Buddha Gajjaya), and නරසීහ ගාථා (Narasiha Gatha). In Swarnakanthi’s poem “අප දෙදෙනා” (The Two of Us), I sense a similar impulse to capture experience for posterity.
Poetry has long been a voice of protest, challenging injustice, amplifying voices of the marginalised, and provoking social reflection. As a woman, Swarnakanthi writes with sensitivity and courage about women’s suffering, resilience, and aspirations. This is most prominent in poems such as “කය මිස සිතක්” (A Mind, Not the Body), “වෙසතුරු සිරිත” (Vessanthara Custom), “ප්රයත්න” (Endeavours), and “සායම” (Paint).
Poetry enriches both writer and reader, expanding vocabulary, deepening comprehension, stimulating critical thought, and nurturing an appreciation for language as art. By distilling life’s complexities into carefully chosen words, poetry transforms the personal into the universal, touching on shared experiences of joy, grief, hope, and conflict. Swarnakanthi achieves this with skilful use of imagery, metaphor, and rhythm in poems such as “දුරයි” (It’s Far), “පිණිබිඳ” (Dew Drop), and “ස්නේහයෙන්” (With Affection).
To write poetry is to cultivate sensitivity, insight, and craftsmanship. Swarnakanthi’s years of reading, translating, and engaging with literature, combined with her broad life experience, have given her a distinctive philosophical and emotional depth. Her poems are rich in honesty and vulnerability. They reflect not only her grasp of language but her ability to shape lived experience into evocative artistic expression.
This collection is also visually striking. Almost each page of a poem is enriched with a page of a colour illustration drawn from Sri Lankan and international exhibitions, transforming the book into a handheld gallery. Words and images intertwine, heightening the sensory experience of reading. Professor Sarath Chandrajeewa deserves special mention and recognition, both for his stunning paintings that adorn these pages and for his meticulous attention to the book’s production.
Swarnakanthi’s inaugural anthology is more than a book. It is a work to be read, held, seen, and savoured, an intimate fusion of poetic and visual art, offered with generosity and grace. It is a celebration of life in all its textures, and a gift to anyone fortunate enough to encounter it.
[1] While searching for Professor Gunasinghe’s poem online, I made a troubling discovery. That is that at 08:53 on December 5, 2024, someone named Tanbiruzzaman (also known as Tanbir or T-man), a Wikimedia enthusiast allegedly from Bangladesh, had deleted the reference page. (https://si.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?title=%E0%B7%80%E0%B7%92%E0%B7%81%E0%B7%9A%E0%B7%82:%E0%B6%BD%E0%B6%9D%E0%B7%94_%E0%B7%83%E0%B6%A7%E0%B7%84%E0%B6%B1&logid=348796)
[2] I cannot recall the poem’s title – perhaps a reader of this post might help.
[3] Plutarch was a Greek Middle Platonist philosopher, historian, biographer, essayist, and priest at the Temple of Apollo in Delphi.
