Peb 25, 2014

Usapang Haiku

Bago magtapos ang Pebrero, heto ang talakayan namin nina Hani at Tilde tungkol sa tulang "Haiku" ni Nicholas Christopher. Sakaling mapatunayang walang halaga ang anumang sasabihin namin tungkol sa bagay na ito, oks, walang problema. Huwag na lang itapon ang haiku mismo at grabe, sayang:

Etched on the moth's wings
the story of a man's life
powder to the touch


H— The thing about haiku, malakas yung hatak nya na magmeta agad-agad kasi somehow may compartments na kine-create yung 5 7 5isang fleeting na imahe/idea (5), isang parang pantukoy na phrase (7), isa ulet fleeting na imahe/idea(5). Ang effect nya yung parang dun sa toy na ginagamit to view microfilm cards. (Nakalimutan ko tawag.) Pag click/flash mo minsan nung maganit na button, makikita mo yung border sa transition to the next slide/card. Same effect pag old film tas may scratch yung reel. Ganun ang dating ng haiku sa akin. Kadalasan ay yung relations ng mga imahe o ideya ang focus pero pag sa haiku, interesting tingnan yung transitions from one image to another na sa kabuuan parang isang moving image lang: "moth's wings" to *insert a fraction of a nanosecond thought* to "powder".

D— view-master? gusto ko yung implied 3-way movement ng pag-iisip. o kahit ng mata lang, dahil minimal ang processing ng isip. pero dito sa haiku ni NC, mukhang bumutog nang husto sa gitna. biglang story-of-a-man's-life wow. meta-haiku talaga, na hinahanapan (o iniimprentahan) ng buhay ang isang napakaigsi at panandaliang imahe



T— kung image at image din lang, yung obyus meta, hugis pakpak pa yung kinginang haiku na siyang nagcocontain ng kwento ng buhay ng tao. tas magandang panapos, i think, yung "powder to the touch" kasi kung hindi man yari sa maliliit na particles or dots yung mismong text kung asa paper, yari naman sa bytes, o anumang "powder-y" substance kung digital.

D— ngayong pinadapo mo yung mata ko sa 'powder' parang mas nagiging outcome/byproduct ito nung 'etched', na parang detritus ng paglikha (o paulit-ulit na muling paglikha) ng isang buhay. hindi ko tuloy matanggal sa isip na hindi lamang buhay kundi pagsusulat ng buhay ang tinutumbok dito. pero ano ang detritus? yung buhay o yung account? tas hindi ko rin malimutan yung sabi-sabi (na mukhang hindi totoo) na nakabubulag ang powder/scales sa pakpak ng moth/butterfly. ang angas/simetrikal lang masyado na yung kinagigiliwan mong tignan ang babawi ng kakayahang tumitig

H— Interesting yung paulit-ulit na muling paglikha at pagiging panandalian ng changes na nangyayari. Kung iso-slow mo, nagiging byproduct nga ang man's life o story of a man's life pero it appears na hindi siya isang katapusan in terms of plot man o tangka. Hindi ko maiwasang tingnan na bukod sa simetrikal, in motion ang story habang ito ay nililikha. Tuloy, hindi nga lang paglikha kundi patuloy na paglikha. At kung iisipin, tulad ng iba pang particles and waves sa kalawakan (at maging sa digital na kalawakan), wala talagang nawawasak o nalilikha, kundi, ang lahat ay patuloy na nagpapanibagong hubog lang. Ang "powder" ay kasing-buo lamang ng "wing" imbis na dinikdik na version nito. Such is a man's life.

D—  ang "powder" ay kasing-buo lamang ng "wing" imbis na yung dinikdik na version nito. Maaari din kayang ang "byte-sized" life ay sing-buo ng buhay na pinaghugutan nito?

T— hm... parang napaka-oroborus na naman nito, ano? ang instant reference ko na naman ay Tool: life feeds on life feeds on life... "ang angas/simetrikal lang masyado na yung kinagigiliwan mong tignan ang babawi ng kakayahang tumitig" > > > parang apoy sa gamugamo? inaakit sila nang apoy pero pag nagkaron ng kontak, abo. abo, powder, kapwa bakas na may prosesong naganap. pero sa kabila ng bakas o bantang ito, mauulit at mauulit pa rin ang proseso ng pagbuo at pagwasak. thus, transpormasyon lang ang lahat? quits quits lang, at the end op da day?

D— alternatively, Taittreya Upanishad: "I am this world and I consume this world." ayun, baka nga quits, law of conservation of matter and energy or, in this case: of life and inscription. na siguro hindi naman pilit sa kaso ng tulang ito lalo kung iisa (o kunektado) ang tao sa "story of a man's life" at ang may-kamay na implied sa "powder to the touch"

T— also, baka isa ring discussion point ay paggamit ng articles. bakit "the" sa moth at story, pero "a" lang sa man. napansin ko ito nang problemahin kung in flight ba ang moth, nakatengga, patay, o buhay. pero, dahil "powder to touch," i assume na nakatengga lang, pero mukang walang clue kung buhay ito o patay ang THE moth. kung anu't anuman, mas mahalaga at mas natatangi ang moth at story kaysa sa man, na pwedeng kung sino na lang.

D— mas tukoy ang moth, totoo. but the last stanza seems to me attributable to either or to both. malamang, sa pareho. pabor din sa moth kung pagbabatayan natin ang tradisyunal na jacob's ladder, tao ay mas mataas sa insekto, mas mahalaga, mas natatangi. kaya hindi lang lumiliit kundi 'minamaliit' ang kwento buhay ng tao (na hindi man lang ikinuwento, naging katangian lang halos ng moth! symbol or symbolized, but that seems to be it) sa paglapat nito sa pakpak ng moth. ngunit may tradisyon sa panitikan kung saan hinahanapan ng estruktura ng kosmos ang mga padron sa balat ng hayop (hal: ang mga tigre ni borges). as above, so below. at kung ito ang lenteng gagamitin, hindi sa minamaliit ang tao, nagkataong sadyang kay liit lamang ng lahat, moth, tao, mga sibilisasyon, kung ikukumpara sa bigat/buhay ng sandaigdigan. pulbos lang talaga e

H— Sa paggamit ng article—nagiging stronger yung imahe pag particular tulad nga kumbakit mas madali kong nasabi na fleeting na imahe yung una at huling linya, at yung "man's life" ay lumabas na parang thought/idea lang na dumaan o ginamit na tulay o panabla. Pero kung babasahin independently hindi dahil insignificant ang statement na ito kundi dahil pa nga epic ito at sa haiku, tila may turning tables na nagaganap. "The story" of any man is epic pero kahit may ganung pagpapahalaga sa isang mabigat na pahayag, tila minamaliit ito sa haiku at tinutulak tayong mas pag-usapan yung mga panandalian at insignificant pero mas real to the flesh (the touch) na imahe. Ang silbi tuloy nung "story of a man's life" ay contrast na nagpapatibay lalo sa imahe ng moth's wing sa pamamagitan ng pag-aanimate dito, kumbaga, "etched on the moth's wing" ay tangible pero nang dugsungan ng "story", nagkaroon ng karakter. At ginabayan din towards the next line na, "powder to the touch," kung saan na-prompt tayo na makitang may buhay na transformation o proseso na nagaganap sa tula imbis na magkahiwalay na fleeting na imahe lamang. Lalo kung fragmented, kay liit nga lamang ng lahat at expected yon na pananaw ng tao sa mga bagay sa paligid niya. Maliban sa sarili nya. At parang yun ang sampal ng haiku sa atin. Kahit pa gaano ka-epic ang story o search for meaning ng tao, insignificant ka pa rin. Hehe

D— mas abstrakto nga yung gitna (story) kesa sa una (etched) at huling linya (touch). tindi ng epekto. parang pinalipad ka nang onti tas, ops, baba uli. grounded talaga. may isa pang legend-legend na kapag nahawakan mo na ang mariposa (i suppose, moths will do as well) hindi na ito makalilipad. na hindi naman totoo kung hindi mo naman pipisilin nang todo. pero nais kong isiping may pinag-uugatan ito (at simetrikal din tulad ng tanong kung mabubulag ba sa tayo sa pulbos sa pakpak), na pakiramdam nati'y bigla at ganap ang paglipat ng "bigat" ng tao sa gaang ng paru-paro, at kung gayo'y matindi ang singil ng kahit panandaliang kontak sa isang masyadong maganda at manipis na nilalang

Peb 24, 2014

Bulawan

Ayon sa iyong panaginip,
nilamon ng lupa kaming mga tatay
habang nagtatanim-tanim sa paligid.

Nang iluwa kami nito, kinagat kami. Ng kung ano.
Lumabas kaming mga pagkalaki-laking lalaki,

at pinaghahabol ang mga anak nang may makain.
May batang naiyak, at nais magpa-alo sa ama

(siyang bespren ng ating bunso) . . . pigilan!
Bagamat may lunas, takbo ka nang takbo sa

iyong panaginip. Kay raming hindi nakaligtas,
mga hindi makabalik-balik sa dati nilang anyo.

Kamukha ng bituka ng dalag ang lunas,

at nagising ka nang hindi ito nailalapat sa
iyong asawa. Na tipa nang tipa nang tipa.

Peb 17, 2014

Thirst for Immediate Results

Last year, July, we launched a small book called Waylaying Innocence at the UP Rural High School. The title was derived from a poem in it by Emmanuel Dumlao, a co-teacher in the Department of Humanities at the University of Philippines Los BaƱos. The second stanza of his “Art of Waylaying Innocence” reads:

                              He stayed silent as a spider; and with seamless
                              gliding of limbs and fingers, he entrapped
                              his prey like a moth entangled in a cobweb.

This stanza, yanked from the context of the other four, speaks to me not only of victim and predator, but also of subject and artist.

I provide half the poems in this book, and I wish to write briefly about one in particular, among those of the poems dearest to me, maybe because it came out in a gush, most likely because it contained more lives and transmissions than I can follow. I have attempted to, though, against the curious prudence of authors keeping mum on their work. While the resulting essay might prove spare, the effort has been both delightful and excruciating—no surprise, for I assumed both the spider’s hairs and moth’s, these paragraphs the “seamless/ gliding of limbs and fingers”.

“Before they're allowed to graduate” is a 27-line poem cut irregularly into 8 stanzas. With only a few exceptions, you'll find five words per line. All the lines, including the title were gleaned from elsewhere: news, biology textbooks, pop ballads, “Araby,” and social media. Consider the lead:

                              the first day of school
                              the outline of a skeleton
                              was looking into your eyes

                              I'm waiting, this is true

Here’s the background. My HUM 1 class studied Bob Perelman’s “Chronic Meanings” among the introductory materials. I picked this poem up from ModPo, or Modern and Contemporary American Poetry—a massively open online course, and in my opinion, the most lively and student-enabling MOOC to ever exist, one taught by Al Filreis, Kelly Professor at the University of Pennsylvania. The poem “Chronic Meanings” consists of a hundred lines divided neatly into 25 quatrains. Each line contains only five words, all of them unfinished sentences. Curiously, Perelman placed a period after every line, stressing for me the feeling of being silenced.

I asked my students, around 160 of them, to collect fivers of their own. After briefly discussing some techniques of cut-ups and found poems, I asked the class (divided by then into groups of six or so) to make a poem by arranging select pieces (three lines per member) according to some ordering scheme or other.

I began checking their submissions that very afternoon, while seated in the waiting area of my daughter's school, the mothers and grandmothers around me, abuzz with small talk and gossip. It started as something quite involuntary: I began ticking off some of their lines. Later that night, I would return to these lines, re-compose them, and produce a cut-up from their cut-ups. “Before they're allowed to graduate” was the result, and its penultimate stanza read thus:

                              interest in the universe alive
                              when did the rain become
                              the thirst for immediate results

I posted the poem on our private feed, and some of my students immediately engaged it. Within that same semester, the Sunday Times would publish our poem. Much to our delight. High spirits which would survive the holidays, floating us well past Valentine’s (with the help of some eccentric readings, a novel by Sionil Jose, and a couple of movies), landing us only in time for March, when we learned of the suicide of Kristel Tejada, student of UP Manila, someone unable to pay her tuition loans, forced to quit school.

*

                              air, musty for having been long
                              time in your own health
                              arms to look like wings





This is the graphic accompaniment of “Before they're allowed to graduate” in the said book, Waylaying Innocence. It was created by UPLB students Jesa Perl and Paulin Reyes. Each of the 20 poems in the book was paired with such prints.

Tomorrow, we will launch Waylaying Innocence: Poetry/Pictures Exhibit at the Sining Makiling Gallery. It will run until the 28th. All the prints are up for sale and—thanks to the Office of Initiatives for the Culture and the Arts-UPLB (OICA-UPLB)—100% of the sales will go to the Given Grace Academic Excellence Foundation, Inc.

The Foundation describes itself as “a cause oriented organization which aims to provide financial assistance to aspiring and deserving students to complete their education.”

Peb 16, 2014

Ilang talulot sa ating anino

Kalahati ng buhay ay paghahanap
ng makukwentuhan. At halos lumapat

itong palad sa dibdib ng iyong pinto;
bibigay ang kapit ng besagrang ito.

Hinog na ang bukbok sa ating hinahon.

Peb 3, 2014

WHEN LAST WE SAW EACH OTHER


a loose translation
of Wena Festin's
"NOONG HULI TAYONG MAGKITA"



I have gained possession of
The sparkle in your eyes
Your toothy smile
Rough head of hair
Warmth of your embrace

Little did you know
I took you home with me that night, and
Sleep ceased coming easy, or deep
Dawn breaks humid
And in the middle of work
I wish to go home
Take back the sleep I lost, but
You are there
You will rouse me

If only I could return you
And these borrowed dreams
How to scrub this body
Free of our final coming together?

   ________________________________________

Sa pagkakataong ito, naipagpaalam ko sa makata ang pagpapaskil ng orihinal na akda. Swerte tayo, at nabigyan ng pahintulot.


NOONG HULI TAYONG MAGKITA
ni Wena Festin


Inangkin ko na
Ang mga mata mong maningning
Ang mga ngiti mong mangipin
Ang buhok mong magaspang
Ang yakap mong mainit

Hindi mo alam
Inuwi na kita nang gabing iyon
At hindi na mahimbing ang aking mga tulog
Maalinsangan na ang mga madaling araw
At sa kalagitnaan ng mga trabaho
Gusto kong umuwi
Upang bawiin ang nawawalang tulog
Ngunit naroon ka nga pala
At aabalahin lang ako

Kung maibabalik lang sana kita
Kasama ang hiniram na pangarap
Ngunit paano ba buburahin sa katawan
Ang huli nating pagkikita?


Pebrero 2, 2014