Translated from Sinhala to English by Gaya Nagahawatta
Translator’s note
In translation, I need to find the voice of the original in the target language.
Eric Illayapparachchi is a Sinhala writer who works across genres. His work explores a range of perspectives, from the mundane everyday to the exotic—as well as perspectives of those who do not have a voice. The most colourful of Eric’s poems are so immersed in Sinhala culture and idiom that I would categorize them as untranslatable. The two poems translated here describe the war in Sri Lanka and the urban chaos it caused. In his devastated urban world, it seems that only nature and wild creatures enjoy any measure of happiness. My translations are an attempt to capture the myriad images in his work in all their suggestiveness.
The Bomb at the Rooftop Restaurant
Free of routine worries
sky-high on feathery softness
snugly seated in cushioned comfort
I sipped good liquor
when the Tigers surrounded,
shot and grounded my dream
As my dream sprinted, naked
as a girl child on the Nagasaki highway,
various photographs sourced from BBC News
appeared in local newspapers
Later, after the battle fire died,
my ghostly dream, wrapped from feet upward
with rust-gathered injection needles protruding,
was centrally installed at the State Art Gallery—
called a modern art sculpture
My healed dream muses upon the lost legs
and lies wheelchair bound.
On days when the sky is not dark,
it gazes up at the nurse moon white among the clouds.
Against Colombo
The angered devil, the sun, approaches,
splits shutters and unlatches windows;
sharp fingernails pry open sleepy eyes
forcing me to observe
the still sleeping, rag-covered city in disarray
A baby cries on a pavement cradle.
The company cow selling milk powder
forces the teat onto the prostitute’s child
The fanning ocean cools the noon heat,
making doves fly gladly,
their wings flapping in delight
Engaged in a hundred-day hunger strike
at the base of the Olcott statue,
labourers’ eyes register
the fate of strike action gone wrong
A poet roaming in the city of Fort,
wearing a drab national dress and Nehru headdress,
sells poetry leaflets
The thugs of Fort are apprehended,
grabbed by their throats.
I accompany them to file a case against Colombo.
Illustration by Tahira Rifath
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