Silence is a language
 It
is a privilege for us to review a collection of poems by Elmo Fernando
titled 'The Heart of Silence'. The poet, writer and knowledgeable film
critic, from Kalutara is well known especially to the Daily News readers
especially when his innumerable articles and poems have appeared in the
past.
For the benefit of young readers we must add some information about
him. Born in 1929, Elmo Fernando is a grand old man.
He was instrumental in starting a Film Society as early as the mid
1950s. One of his friends - and mine too - Placidus Corea had spoken
high of him although I have not met him so far.
Moral outlook
We must thank him for reminding us some of his seminal features that
went on the air as well: Tragic vision of Thomas Mann, New voices in
Poetry, Cinema in Transition, Poetry of Osiop Mandelstam, Changing
Phrases of Modern Fiction, essence of the Shakespearean Tragedy. Thus
you would see he had a remarkable insight on the Arts, but not widely
publicized.
He has studied Sinhala and Pali that give him the rootedness of our
cultures.
Elmo was a broadcaster and freelance writer while working as teacher
in the English language Unit of the University of Kelaniya.
Academics such as Professors D. C. R. A. Goonetilake, Manique
Gunasekera and Dr Lakshmi de Silva have regarded him worthy of being
recognized for his writing.
This self-published book has 19 poems and is available from the
author at 'Shanthi', 62/2 D, Sri Sumangala road (South), Kalutura North,
Kalutura, priced at Rs.150.
Maturity of a thought
Mature thoughts and feelings govern the composition of most of the
poems.
Beneath the social observations and consciousness lies the moral and
spiritual outlook of the poems.
I like the poem 'The Wait' for its empathy and more so for the
creative use of the language in its narration. Let me quote the first
two stanzas which are self evident. Desolation smocked the solitary
figure
In tatters strewn, hair unkempt,
A silhouette against a crimson sky
Moving in stoic solemnity
Towards the shore.
Eyes of despair gazed
At the distant horizon;
A gust of wind raised
The sandy soil filled
Her eyes with mock recompense.
"Will he come? She imagined.
"There's time, yet to return
With a big catch, hopes fulfilled
Let us now look at some of the lines in some of his poems which to my
mind look fresh expressions:
The Buddha:
Desire, you taught us to shun,
permeats our deeds in the autumn
of life, and
our boundless bound passion must run.
Each into each like rivers that break
the imprisoning banks
the buildings are hurled.
Rediscoveing Derek Walcott - a tribute:
Men looked up to you, who made them see
life in a foam-tub, under a blue soap sky
in this beleagured world. The First Sermon:
The moon was butter-milk
reflecting the saffron robes they
adorned
Electra
"This is impressionism
she thought, but not
nudism"
The Heart of Silence
Summer swept her into oblivion
spawned in the inertia
of the night's hangover,
the smell of antiseptics
pervaded the ward
the impercipience of
eternity stained a
tear lost: your siging
for me frowned at
time's battered skull.
Wheeling the Cancer Patient
The translucent rays tore-up the thick
fog, hovering above the sanatorium,
a pulaeozoic bird, never seen before
spread out it's darkly wings zooming high
to mock the sun
I enjoyed the poems for the thought, innate feelings the internal
rhythm and the nuances the words imply. You too would enjoy.
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