When words weep
 My
friend looked downcast, very much worried, I sensed. 'Look, I can't
complete this sentence. I have to worry about grammar. I mean I have to
check if I'm following proper grammar.'
I was relieved in a way, because I was worried whether it's a
personal problem. But it confused me too. My friend read quite a lot,
and he didn't pick whatever he came across. He was someone who could
write good and proper, and sometimes he would transcend the traditional
grammar. So this man's sudden worry of grammar came down on like a bolt
from the blue. "But it has never been a worry to you, right?" I asked
the obvious. "The thing is..." My friend set off as if he is going to
narrate a long story. But he did not. He cut it short halfway.
"It's our lecturer, your family friend. She is forcing grammar on us.
One day she was in a black mood." Then he fell silent. I had no idea how
to carry on the conversation as he was really upset. "So what did she
say?" "She said we have not learned English properly." His voice is
still edged with worry, but it only made me burst out laughing.
"So that means she has learnt English properly?" "May be... Anyway I
don't see anything funny there..." Chimed in my friend quite irritated.
I couldn't gather any words, I knew I have upset my friend to the hilt.
Even so this whole affair seemed really funny to me. I knew of my family
friend, who had a snobbish attitude of her English. She kept on
condemning others for not letting her implement her language action
plans. They call this business linguistics, and it bores me really
stiff. But my friend indicates something really serious.
Isn't this the age-old clash between linguists and creative writers?
Whoever teaches language, I observe, has not come up with any creative
works - well save for a few exceptions. And those in the creative
writing venture don't care a damn about traditional rules of language or
whatever it is they call linguistics or grammar. I go back to my
childhood, when my literature teacher taught grammar points in every
single sentence of some literary excerpt. Whenever this memory strikes
me, it makes me frustrated. This is so with many linguists. Why do they
challenge the good old maxim: 'poetry is spontaneous overflow of
feelings'. Not only poetry, any kind of literature is spontaneous
overflow of feelings.
And now our hands are handcuffed. We have to worry about our words
and sentence structures. And this is where you see the gulf created
between linguists and creative writers. Linguists do not worry about the
beauty of language and creative writers do not worry about the grammar.
Sometimes I listen to David Crystal introduce newly formed English words
on the BBC. He is someone who observes how the language evolves inch by
inch, and yet leaves the modern usage alone Shyam Selvadurai is a
professor who teaches creative language at a Canadian university, and he
practices it too. In Sri Lanka - may be I'm wrong - I don't see any
language professor who teaches its creative capacity while practicing.
Except for Ashley Halpe.
When I said I don't see anyone skilled with both linguistic knowledge
and creative capacity, my father cited Munidasa Cumaratunga adding he is
the only example he could think of. Cumaratunga manipulated the grammar
wherever he wanted. Linguists are right here, Cumaratunga knew his
Sinhala grammar. But that's not my point. linguists or language lovers
keep on condemning the modern usage, as if we have to perfect the
grammar and abide by it. If you need to insult the creative capacity,
there is nothing more offensive.
Everybody cannot and doesn't use the language creatively. Grammar
cannot raise creativity, because you should be born with it. I see two
categories: those who sharpen their skills by reading; and those born
with creative capacity and don't read much. Linguists and language
lovers are all over roaming over the hill like sticks-in-the-mud without
letting the creative writer buck the trend. So my friend leaves me
thoughtless, let alone words - they are weeping now. I simply stare out
into a darkening paradise that once was splendid. That's the only option
left for me.
[email protected]
*******
To the Injured
Petal,
You are the injured petal. That means you aren’t anymore a part of
the flower. Blown away! Plucked and dumped. But me the broken blossom.
You were once a flower. But I wasn’t that lucky even to bloom for a day
and see the sun. See the fluttering and flying flowers. I was plucked
untimely. So my dear injured petal, savour in your past. You had a
glorious past. You are lucky to be once in bloom. Be not so worried.
From the broken blossom
(Samodh) |
