It has been said many times before. Carl Muller seems to be riding some sort of literary switchback and one can never feel confident that this is a writer who can be depended on to offer his readers work that is markedly his. He is a chameleon. One never knows what he will come up with next; and yet, he is one of the most entertaining writers we have today, prolific, exceptionally brilliant and ready to take on anything and everything. To qualify this further, I wonder, is he a genius or a maniac, or both? That's an uncomfortable thought, but it lingers.

As the blurb at the back of this book says: "(he) gives us this new collection that is positively brutal in its presentation. He has seemingly whipped the traders out of the temple in forcing this modem age to look at itself..."

A new collection that I would call poems of castigation, and in his introduction, Muller states: 'We face, today, a devouring fire - a worldwide phenomenon of carnage and communal violence; a steady and general deterioration in the quality of life, primarily because of suspicion, fear and hatred. Also, there are economic disparities, injustices and worsening environmental conditions.

"... we have international terrorism, insurgency and militancy that has deranged our planet's equilibrium, There is genocide and ethnic cleansing. Who is responsible? Where is modem man heading? Can we hope to survive in today's materialistic conception of life?

He then recalls the words of the Buddha: "Surely if living creatures saw the results of all their evil deeds, they would turn away from them in disgust."

And he says: "Mark well these words, then ask: 'Do we actually turn away in disgust - or do we continue to pay a "Fear Tax' or a - 'Terror Tax' so that our arsenals are piled high and all productive pursuits abandoned?'

We have 26 pulsating poems. It is a literary rampage - a stunning collection that has swept upon us like a pouncing wave, denouncing this modem world for the muck-heap it really is!

It will be no easy task, attempting to deal with 26 poems, but we do have a theme - a damning - indictment. The first in this devil-may-care litany is titled "I am the man of today" (pp, 11-13). 1 intend to extract, although one poem that is a sort of freewheeling, finger-pointing, lightly-presented common or garden affair that we are now so accustomed to deserves to be reproduced in full. However, before I come to that, lets take extracts that could send chills up your spine. In the first poem we have these lines:

Yes, I am the proudest creature of today -

the man who has it all, devoid of conscience,

my leadership upheld. Do I not hold sway,

deceive and spread my virus of transigence?

This modem man is the Trinity: Corruption, Chaos and Craving!

In "Our Starship and its sorry crew" (pp14-16) we have:

The extremists polarize humanity,

defiant and prejudiced,

with their clownish posturings...

Sarasavi Publishers have taken the following extract for the back cover of this book. It is from "This Age of Prejudice" (pp 17-22):

Here stands the modem man who says

"I am a believer!"

and there the modem man who condemns

the faults of all others - and they go out

to kill each other, and one says:

"To deliver us from evil!" and the other, "

for the faith of our fathers!"

In 'What of this 'Better Half' (pp23-26) Muller takes up the cudgels on behalf of women.

... even in the lands of the desert,

it must surely be known that the date palm

if female, with feminine truth

bears abundant fruit...

and the male stands valueless,

a barren palm,

unwanted on any farm!

There lies creative wisdom -

"When clerics control governments" (pp 26-34) is a poem I earnestly demand must be read. Muller ends this with:

Modem man may claim to be

of this faith or that - but Victim to

a cacophony of religious dictates.

Where does he hear the voice of God?

In "Modern man and free will" (pp 35-45) Muller notes:

Considering the many faces of hatred, intolerance,

extremism and nationalism that has surfaced

in Sri Lanka, what could put it all right?

An atom bomb? No, not really - but something

has to be done to make us all unite

and pull this island out of the abyss it is now plunging into!

I could go on and on. In "Violating the foundations of belief " (pp 46-48) he tears into the suicide bombers. In "The Muslim, the Jew, the Christian" (pp 49-53) he attacks racial and religious prejudice. In "Prayers that call for death" (pp 57-60) he rips into the imams who demand that their flock go out and kill. "House of God and House of War" (pp 61-68 is superb in its construction. It amazes me to think that Muller puts so much study into his work. He brings in the voice of prophet Muhammad and then asks:

Are these misbegotten fanatics and fundamentalists

actually following the prophet?

Or are they the new prophets

with their books spattered with blood?

Muller tells of Hitler, Genghis Khan, Stalin, Pol Pot, the Assassin Cult, the American Doomsday Machine, and the horrors of nuclear war in "What the hell is all this for?" (pp 72-74):

The radioactive dust moves across the lands

Like ashen-faced death clouds...

Where will our governments be?

Oh, so safe in their underground bunkers...

And when they finally emerge

What Will they have to rule over?

Ah, their kingdoms of the dead!

Space compels me to ask that you read on, for Muller covers everything, takes the world to the cleaners, so to say. More disturbing is that he certainly knows what he is writing about. Suddenly there is this queasy feeling that what we thought was a overwrap that is big, scarlet, bright and wonderful, is in truth the rags of a leper ... and Muller takes full responsibility for his brutality and honesty. Let me now offer you the poem in full that I promised:

OH LORD, ITS HARD TO BE HUMBLE (pp 54-56)

Look at me! Me, modem man!

Now I stand before you. Where will you find

a more upright man that I?

You vote for me ... and you will understand

my truest worth ... for no one can deny

my aim to serve, to make all your dreams

come true. I am your humble servant...

Think! Why do I spend the little

that I have? But I do not count the cost.

Now in the lists I stand. You send me

to the seats of government -

that's all I ask! for that is where

I will do you proud!

How many men have come and gone before,

wearing many hats and caps

of different colours, full of prejudice

and shouting out aloud.

And when you gave them your votes

what did they do? They promised you the sun

and the moon and the sky above!

Such corrupt, unfeeling men -

a motley crew that loved themselves!

No other did they love.

His band of thugs, his sycophants were pleased.

"Those stupid buggers ate out of your hand!"

He smiled. "I think my standing has increased."

"You're sure to win," they crowed,

"Your speech was grand!"

He rubbed his oily hands, "It won't be long,

once I am in, I know just what to do,

I'll screw this country, sing another song -

Five years is all I need, then say adieu.

If I can wrangle Ministry of Trade,

I'll make my pile - to hell with all the rest!

These stupid voters think they have it made:

let them wallow in the mud,

my way is best!

The modern scoundrel takes us for a ride,

he does it his way - we in disbelief

can only stare - he's stuffed and puffed with pride.

He conned us! Where is his promised relief?