Seni Seneviratne is many things, including a poet, creative artist and psychotherapist who also sings acapella. Of English and Sri Lankan heritage, Seneviratne was born and raised in Leeds, Yorkshire.
An alumnus of Ten – The Complete Works programme, her first collection of poetry, Wild Cinnamon and Winter Skin, was published in 2007 to critical acclaim. Her newly published second collection, The Heart of It, showcases her lyrical poetry touching on themes of heartbreak, sadness and trauma. She tells Joy Francis why poetry has been a “constant” in her life.
What attracted you to writing poetry and when?
I started writing poetry in my teens. It has always been a constant; the thing I have been able to rely on. I was first published in 1989. Before that, I channelled a lot of my passion for writing into political activism and producing newspapers. I also sang in an acapella group.
What is it about the form that captures you?
Poetry is a question. When I start a poem I begin with a question rather than an answer. This means I start with something that is possibly unresolved and through [writing] it I’m trying to find an answer. By the end, the poem may have gone somewhere else. There is something about the process of writing poetry that is intuitive. It comes from somewhere deeper than you first imagined.
You combine poetry and acapella song. Why?
If it is appropriate, I combine singing and poetry. It depends on the nature of the event and the length of the slot. Sometimes I work out a set where the poems and the songs have a relationship with each other in some way. Sometimes I’ve worked with musicians. What I usually do is to sing unaccompanied songs and I work with musicians to play music with my poetry.
You write about migration, family and being of mixed heritage. Why are these themes important to you?
Being of mixed heritage has always been about being an outsider.
I grew up with issues about identity in Yorkshire in the 1950s then lived through the increasing institutional racism of the 1960s and 1970s. This isn’t the only thing I write about, but is something I explore a lot in my writing.
In 2007, you were commissioned to respond to the bicentenary of the Abolition of Slavery Act 1807. Was that challenging?
I like challenges. I like writing in response to what is happening in the world like slavery. I went back to the time of slavery and I found Amazing Grace: An anthology of poems about slavery 1660-1710. It is inspiring to see how poets were objecting to slavery well before the politicians, and found a way to connect to it personally.
How would you describe the state of British poetry?
It hasn’t got any easier to pursue a career as a poet. Until recently, I had to supplement being a poet with other work. Now I am just focusing on my career as a poet. I’ve been able to do that because I got a grant from the Arts Council to work on my new collection, The Heart of It. I also got some funding through the Winston Churchill Memorial Trust to produce work on poetry and trauma, which took me to South Africa. There are some exciting developments such as being part of Ten – The Complete Works. Inscribe and Peepal Tree Press gave me the support to get my poetry out there.
Which poets inspire you?
Mimi Khalvati. It is not just about her work but her generosity of spirit as a writer and poet in terms of enabling other people. Also Michael Ondaatje, a Sri Lankan writer and poet based in Canada. He is famous for the English Patient, which was made into a film. And there’s Jackie Kay.
What advice do you have for aspiring poets?
Don’t expect to be rich. You have to do it because you really want to do it. I always say to budding poets that it is important is to stay true to your own voice, develop your craft and, read really widely. Learn about different forms and ways of writing poetry. The combination of craft and voice is very important. Sometimes in working on crafting of the poem I find the truth of what I want to say.
[toggle title=”Read Seneviratne’s poem Operation Cast Lead.”]
She was baking bread
when the soldiers came.
Her children ran to her.
She held the two of them,
one against each hip, the dough
on her fingers stuck to their hair.
Two days and she never washed
her hands, kept thinking of the dough
still rising in the kitchen.
Now the soldiers are saying things,
jabbing at the air with guns,
fingers too near the triggers.
She thinks the guns are like
heavy limbs in the hands
of these wild-eyed boys.
If they let us go, we will
walk south, she tells herself,
walk south with everyone else.
We may not sleep tonight
nor find bread but, Insha’allah
we will stay alive.
With her hands full of children,
she moves through the space
where her door used to hang.
Her right hip rotates, lifts
her right foot, her left hip tilts,
the left foot follows.
The turn, the swirl of her dress,
the squeeze of her hands
on her children’s palms.
The turn, left instead of right,
the sniper’s eye holding her heart
at the centre of his lens.
The moment of turning left
instead of right, the arc of a weapon
across the wide screen of this moving picture.
This woman walking, this woman
walking with her children, walking
the wrong way, too close to the red line.
This woman, her hands’ grip loosened
with traces of dough on her fingers,
remnants in her children’s hair.
©Seni Seneviratne
Shortlisted in Arvon International Poetry Competition 2010
Included in The Heart of It, Peepal Tree Press, April 2012[/toggle]