I hear in expatriate circles that the earth is flat and that Yeats will rise from his grave to announce the fact in the Irish Senate. Newspapers, certainly, are pure poetry. No need to highlight the poem in the body of the article.

There is a lot of beating gongs, of course, at the Annual General meeting of the Sri Lankan critics’ society. And recitals of Wordsworth’s Prelude. Newspapers are banned at such meetings.

I hear that a major publisher, begins with a P, might publish an Anthology of Expatriate Poetry. The flyer I read says that it promises to feature only the richest poets and especially those who have not learned yet to swim in the deepest waters of sensibility. The current critical term for these bards is exotic, and they are all brilliant if not subtle self promoters. In fact a competing term these days to describe their work is the I poets, the Me and Myself Bards–pernicious their influence has been over impresionable, young minds.

I wonder sometimes if they may succeed in banning the beating of gongs at our Annual General Meeting. I hope indeed that Yeats will survive his supporters…and his Byzantium not go up in flames.

From a point of literary criticsm it is a trifle prodigal to refer Mr A’s poetry as sublime example of imaginative power. From a practical view point what word do you use to describe Yeats Byzantium – ‘That dolphin- torn that gong-tormented sea’.

I would suggest this poem is merely a re-statement of current newspaper news in SMS lanugage giving the reader no greater clarity, depth nor scope of understanding as a result of reading. The language is flat and the reasoning uninspired. I propose for your consideration this poem as a typcial example of a now flourishing genre of expatirate poetry defined by a shallow sensibility backed by economic means combined with deft self promotion based on an exotiscing impulse.

In Sri Lanka, the absence of a rigourous critical tradition allows the writers of this genre to flourish on the premiseof mutually congratulatory quid pro quo. It is also a pity becuase the genuine, passionate poetic impulse, distilled by reason and given clarity by a poignant use of language has become passe.