Kite Form and structure- Free Verse, use of run on lines Tec...
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September 19, 2022
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Kite Form and structure- Free Verse, use of run on lines Techniques —Juxtaposition of rural and urban setting and village Themes- incqualitv, poverty, difference between city Visual imagery- Nature imagery has been 'used for the rural setting while images of decay through vivid imagery arc associated with urban poverty stricken setting. Ex- -deep blue sky- in contrast to "black acrid smoke", "multi-colored kite" with "blue and red tail- to -the used polythene bag tied to piece of tape from discarded video cassette". Olfactory imagery- "rotting garbage in blocked drains" Symbolism- kite as a svmbol of inequality, the little boy in ragged shorts symbolizes poverty while green trees heavy with fruits and ripening rice fields stands for prosperity and abundance Personification- golden green waves of ripening rice fields, factories spewing black acrid
smoke
Sound techniques — alliteration — 'golden green", 'ripening rice',
ToneAtotxl- starts with idyllic note and ends in despair Language — Simple
Inequality comes in many forms. It is true of every race upon this earth and is embedded in the life of all nations. There is this continuous striving to be as equal as the other and this is where human torment is best seen. In his latest collection of poems, inequality (simple letters, please), Daya makes inequality his theme.
As you will recall, Daya took the 1998 State Literary Award for his book kat bitha a story of Sigiriya and the mirror wall. He then broke new ground with his first Asian e-novel, the saadhu testament that was published as saadhu.com by Godage and Brothers in 1999.
After that he gave us the healer and the drug pusher in 2000 and three more e-novels: the bastard goddess (2003); vessan novu vedun in Sinhala in 2003; and thirst (2004), In inequality and let me tell you that Daya deplores capital letters: he is, one supposes neither capitalistic nor capitalised - he offers us a collection he had written over 40 years, and, as he says, they arose from an "insatiable itch for scribbling".
I suppose we writers do this all the time. Just yesterday, something simply floated into my head and I scribbled it down. Then, looking at it, I grinned, I had written: "If Martians are little green men, this country seems to be full of them. "You see what I mean? Truly is literature an all-sorts kind of thing and it is the mind that makes things happen,
Daya'stheme is ineq . uali say is just ty► and we, as a people, know so much about it in this island we 40 leagues from Paradise. Indeed, Daya starts the ball rolling with his first three-liner, "inequality" (p 6) inequality breeds inequality Hungry villagers
And no, this is not what some may think is a pretty mundane observation. What else can come out of inequality than greater inequality? That first splintering leads to many more until, in the end we have a land divided, communities divided, houses divided, families divided, all hope strewn to the winds. But what Daya has done is bring us close to the inequalities we seem to accept or pass over as things of little consequence. This is starkly presented in "food for thought" (p 12), where he tells us, remorselessly enough, of the hungry villagers who live in pools of the sweat and blood of their children in order to keep safe those who consider themselves more equal that are:
the face of a starving child stares at me from each grain of rice on my plate all the food on my plate grew on soil fertilized by the bodies of those who sacrificed their lives to keep us alive
The symbolism here is not that our farmers die of want. Instead they waste away, moaning their sons plucked away from their homes, told by a state to go out and die in battle; sons who are then brought back to lie in their village graves, fertilize the soil.
Where is equality when one man can tell another to go out and die that he might live? Today, certain politicians demand this sacrifice, this massacre of the innocent, while their own sons haunt night clubs like the arrogant monsters they are. Why were they not set to fight and die? Ah, but you see, they are a breed more equal than that must become T. 56 fodder, are they not?
There is so much inequality mirrored in this slim book. The village boy in ragged shorts will call an old polythene bag his kite, and run along the road, trying to get it to catch the breeze. But, as we know, the children of the rich will descend on Galle Face Green with their kites of many forms and colours, some brought in from Japan, Korea, Thailand and Singapore.
There will be much fun and laughter, for this is a "Kite Festival". Will there be a place on the green for the village boy and his rude polythene bag? This poem kite (p. 14) is an eye opener and it was first published in "Poetry International", Oregon State University,
USA. What makes the reader cringe is the gap - that huge gap that keeps widening between the haves and have-nots. Who can ever claim equality? In shelter (p. 17), we again see how well the inequality is marked - the father, comforting his child, telling of a future dream-time that can scarcely be imagined:
the tree canopy is good enough shelter for us from the sun and the rain that's all I can give yet I will send you to school as long as I can someday you too could build a mansion like that for yourself and your children Of course, this sense, this recognition of inequality is the kernel of village grief as well, it is too bad that our rulers don't see this as the sort of "gam peraliya" that brings all the old and serene ways crashing down. The strong feeling of inequality pushes the young to destroy the simple hopes and dreams of their parents.
This is a disquietude that takes hold of so many. In "inheritance" (p. 23), we are told of the son who disowned his father, ashamed of the loin cloth and the toiling in the rice fields. He wanted to equal the city friends he had cultivated. Soon, he accumulates his own wealth, immersed in the evil of the city ... but:
his elder son disowned him when he found how his father had amassed his filthy lucre the younger son threw his father out once he took control of the business
One son ashamed of his father, the other bursting with greed ... what will the father now do? Return to the loin cloth and the rice fields? His quest for equality ruined him and destroyed his dignity.
Again, sleep (p. 24) carries much of the same theme, but there lies a world of difference. A villager will toil in the fields, return to his but to eat a plain rotti and drink a mug of tea; but he will sleep with a faint smile on his face, his slumber deep and untroubled. He has done his work for the day and the night holds no fears. But in the cities are those who think themselves better, richer, more worldly-wise; people he can never be. They exist in their status, their money in the bank, in position and in power. Yet, the villager sleeps and the inequality of it all does not really matter. Contentment is all:
he doesn't have to worry about diet cholesterol blood sugar ad doesn't need sleeping pills air-conditioning and a featherbed
Daya also seems to tell us that inequality, although a dirty word to some, can also be a blessing in disguise. This depends, of course, on mental and spiritual attitude, and this is brought to our ken in distance (p. 25), where the poor man, walking in the hot sun, knows all the joys of nature that meet his steps; and not the rich man who flashes by in his speeding car.
For the man in the car, the journey is marked by the time he takes to travel a thousand metres ... but for the man who walks with his burden on his back -
birds are singing flowers are in bloom children are playing lovers are embracing a cool breeze is blowing from the distant hills over a blue stream and a green earth Sense of freedom
This sense of freedom cannot be denied. And yet, the poor man will consider the car that flashes past him with some envy, won't he? In this way, this sense of inequality becomes more convoluted. We see this is health food (p. 25). A village woman will sell her land, her buffaloes, to send her son to Italy. Now she has nothing and is yet so proud to receive what her son send her - food supplements, calcium, vitamin-enriched milk powder and did she barter he healthy village life so that her son could send her factory food from abroad? Is this how she could be regarded in her village as a woman of quality? In barefeet (p. 27), we meet the rural man who tried to bridge the divide. But he had taken his feet away from the good earth. He must wear cotton socks and leather-soled shoes, walk on rich carpets and smooth tiling. He can no longer walk barefooted on the gravel road to the temple The same is true of the city diner in dining out (p. 27) who can sit at a restaurant table and check the prices
on the menu. His meal depends on what he can afford, His taste, buds are not activated, nor are his digestive juices. hat he is their equal who can order a Does he eat well or does he eat to show others that meal as good as theirs? But there sits the unequal man unde ith h of deep r a kumbuk tree by the edge of a rice field, eating his "embula" and curries off a banana leaf and w a sig content. Who eats better? In book fair(pp. 28-29) the question again arises. The young man will save his money to go to a book fair, buy the books he is proud to collect. Oh, he has so many books but he never seems to be satisfied; then, as he makes his ‘vay home in the rain, he sees the image of parched village fields, a dried-up river, starving farming families, even hungry beggars in the street. Can he give them books to eat? Is his life a wasteland of books he could never live long enough to read? Many of the poems resound with this curse of inequality. We see it in the Four Noble Truths (p.30) and playtime (p. 33). This poem tells us of the spoilt rich brat who can smash the TV monitor because she is bored with her TV game. Here roomful of toys give her no pleasure either: ... hut:
Kumari was cooking a meal for her home-made rag doll outside their little but waiting for her mother's return from the tea estate to bake a rotti for her dinner
We see inequality in luxury (p. 36), and teachings (p. 38) as well; and while the collection carries other poems as well, I find what I have scrolled down of greatest significance. As a finale, Daya has also given us his own 21st century Sigiri graffiti, beautifully presented, as Malini Govinnage says, "A poem is a part of the spiritual wealth of a person who creates it„" Daya is, to all intents, a reformer of sorts.
He hangs his thoughts on seething crosses and asks that we regard them with our conscience. This collection also reminds us, gently, that we are unequal, one to another, in one way or another. It is only contentment that dispels this mind-demon.
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