Drawn by wordplay and raw honesty of poetry
Anuththara Ekeli
Anuththara Ekeli, lawyer, academic and now poet, is a breath of fresh air into the Gratiaen shortlist. She grew up ‘treasure-hunting’ in her father’s library devouring lofty Sinhala novels and translations of Russian literature, and even today Sinhala is her “favourite language of expression”.
It was love for reading that made her learn English and French, says Anuththara. The only poet in this year’s shortlist she was always intrigued by the genre “because to me, poetry is all about wordplay and the endless possibilities within language”.
Also an ardent collector of jhumkas and bangles she has quite a collection of these, while her love for Indian fashion and art led her to do bharatanatyam.
Talking about inspiration, she cites Albert Camus but also her father, with whom she would have ‘constant conversations’: “We’ve had evenings where we talk about politics and art and everything in between, which has shaped my moral compass, if you can call it that.”
On being shortlisted she has this to say: “Writing poetry can feel like walking naked through a street full of people because it demands a raw kind of honesty. Poetry asks for honesty, and honesty is rarely comfortable.
“Being shortlisted is deeply personal because to see these poems and the honesty they ask for resonate with the judges is both humbling and encouraging. The Gratiaen Prize is a platform for voice, and voice is what is needed for honesty.
“I am especially grateful to be recognised alongside four other remarkable writers, and I hope this moment opens further space for bold and experimental writing in Sri Lanka.”
Excerpt:
Red Rice, Polos Curry and Nationalism on Date Night
Red rice, polos curry, and a well-stirred potato hodda explains my date with an English passport.
Fork on the left, knife on the right, he dissects the plate politely, as if the meal was a recipe he memorised but
never lived.
This reminds me of home!
Can you cook, he further asks. But home means distance. I nod and watch him negotiate spice.
I would give up anything, he says, if you cook me this meal.
I wonder which part he means. The rice, the country, or the woman serving it.
He speaks of corruption and decline, how the country needs discipline. Nationalism has entered his body.
Not through a flag but through a meal, he only value once someone else prepare it for him.
The plate is cleared. The politics remain.
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