ni Mark Strand
aking salin
Dambuhalang manika ang aking katawan
at ayaw na nitong umangat.
Laruan ako ng mga babae.
Iniupo ako ng aking nanay
para sa kanyang mga kaibigan.
"Magsalita ka, magsalita ka," pagsusumamo niya.
Pinakilos ko ang aking bibig
ngunit hindi dumatal ang mga salita.
Ibinaba ako ng aking asawa mula sa estante.
Nakahiga ako sa kanyang mga bisig "Iniinda natin
ang karamdaman ng sarili," bulong niya.
At nakahiga ako roon, nakatameme.
Ngayon naman ang aking anak
ang nagsusubo sa akin ng dedeng plastik
at puno ng tubig.
"Ikaw ang totoong baby ko," sabi niya.
Kawawang bata!
Tumingin ako sa mga kulay-lupang
salamin ng kanyang mga mata
at nakita ang aking sarili,
lumiliit, lumulubog
sa kailalimang ni hindi niya alam na naroon.
Wala nang hininga,
hindi na ako muling lulutang.
Lumalaki ako tungo sa aking kamatayan.
Maliit ang aking buhay
at paliit nang paliit. Luntian ang daigdig.
Ganap ang kawalan.
Nob 30, 2014
Nob 27, 2014
I had more of you
With ease—my fingers locked with yours—how we entered the murmurs soon after the nurse of Ockham wrote: take it slough. With knowledge of where do we go from here. This terminism wanting something to do with you, neither you nor it thoroughly acquainted with failure. In worlds such as . . .this is, where escalators carry hands. A metaphor transports you with meat hooks or the assembly line. Let it depend however on the conviction of your grip, “of vengeance / the assertion / of every woman / we know.” Me, I’d go with the syllable “strain,” this difficulty of passing it on lessening by the take. Whose attainments insult, having arrived en masse with the handmaiden of health. Slob in ways only seldom cheerful. Erring always and now on the side of simplicity.
Nob 22, 2014
Pagkatapos na pagkatapos
ng iyong ikaapat na kaarawan ang kanilang ikalima. Nabitawan
ng iyong kapatid ang kanyang lobo.
Sa halip na tumingala pa tayo sa ulap,
ipinakita mo sa kanya ang nakabuhol sa iyong pulso.
Ano ngayon kung may isang petsa sabay may isa pang petsa?
Ginagapang pa rin ng sereno ang mga dapit-hapong
hindi kayo pinagbuksan. Wala kayong karapatan sa labas.
ng iyong kapatid ang kanyang lobo.
Sa halip na tumingala pa tayo sa ulap,
ipinakita mo sa kanya ang nakabuhol sa iyong pulso.
Ano ngayon kung may isang petsa sabay may isa pang petsa?
Ginagapang pa rin ng sereno ang mga dapit-hapong
hindi kayo pinagbuksan. Wala kayong karapatan sa labas.
Nob 19, 2014
Ikalabing-tatlong sipi mula sa “Tugon sa Lubos na Kapita-pitagang Sor Filotea”
ni Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz
aking salin
Ngunit hindi iyon ipinahintulot ng taong ito, ipinahayag pa nga bilang isang tukso. At sa katunayan, maaaring ganoon ang kalabasan. Kung kakayanin mang pagbayaran ang kahit bahagi lamang ng aking pagkakautang sa iyo, Kamahalan, nagtitiwala akong ganito nga ang aking ginagawa ngayon sa pagbubunyag ng mismong bagay na ito, sapagkat hindi pa sumasayad ang mga salita sa aking mga labi maliban ngayon, para sa taong dapat pagsabihan ng mga ito. Ngayon, tumuntong ka na rito, lagpas sa bukas na bukas na mga pinto ng aking puso, ngayon na isinangkot na kita sa mahigpit na lihim nito, batid mong kasukat ng aking pagtitiwala ang aking pagkakautang sa iyong kapita-pitagang pagkatao at sa iyong labis-labis na pagtangkilik.
Sa pagpapatuloy ng aking pagsasalaysay ng aking pagkahilig, bagay na nais ko sanang ikuwento sa iyo nang buo, ni hindi ko pa natutuntong ang aking ikatlong kaarawan nang ipinadala ng aking ina ang isa sa mga nakatatanda kong kapatid upang matuto sa isang paaralan para sa mga babae na tinatawag na amigas. Bumuntot ako dala na rin ng aking pagmamahal sa kanya, at dahil sa sariling pagkagalak. Nang nakita kong tinuturuan siya ng liksyon, nagbaga ang aking kalooban sa kagustuhang matuto ring magbasa, at umabot ito sa puntong sinabi ko sa maestra na ipinadala rin ako ng aming nanay upang matuto, at inakala ko pang naloko ko siya. Hindi siya naniwala rito, sapagkat hindi kapani-paniwala, ngunit pinagbigyan pa rin ang aking kapritso. Patuloy akong pumasok, at patuloy niya akong tinuruan, ngunit hindi na bilang isang laro dahil hinawi ng karanasan ang panloloko. Sa napaka-igsing panahon lamang ay natuto na akong magbasa, at marunong na ako bago pa ito natuklasan ng aking ina. Inilihim ito ng maestra upang sorpresahin ang aking ina at baka rin sakaling makatanggap ng pasobra para sa kanyang punyagi. Ako nama'y nanahimik sa pag-aakalang matatamaan ako sapagkat ginawa ko ito nang walang pahintulot.
aking salin
Ngunit hindi iyon ipinahintulot ng taong ito, ipinahayag pa nga bilang isang tukso. At sa katunayan, maaaring ganoon ang kalabasan. Kung kakayanin mang pagbayaran ang kahit bahagi lamang ng aking pagkakautang sa iyo, Kamahalan, nagtitiwala akong ganito nga ang aking ginagawa ngayon sa pagbubunyag ng mismong bagay na ito, sapagkat hindi pa sumasayad ang mga salita sa aking mga labi maliban ngayon, para sa taong dapat pagsabihan ng mga ito. Ngayon, tumuntong ka na rito, lagpas sa bukas na bukas na mga pinto ng aking puso, ngayon na isinangkot na kita sa mahigpit na lihim nito, batid mong kasukat ng aking pagtitiwala ang aking pagkakautang sa iyong kapita-pitagang pagkatao at sa iyong labis-labis na pagtangkilik.
Sa pagpapatuloy ng aking pagsasalaysay ng aking pagkahilig, bagay na nais ko sanang ikuwento sa iyo nang buo, ni hindi ko pa natutuntong ang aking ikatlong kaarawan nang ipinadala ng aking ina ang isa sa mga nakatatanda kong kapatid upang matuto sa isang paaralan para sa mga babae na tinatawag na amigas. Bumuntot ako dala na rin ng aking pagmamahal sa kanya, at dahil sa sariling pagkagalak. Nang nakita kong tinuturuan siya ng liksyon, nagbaga ang aking kalooban sa kagustuhang matuto ring magbasa, at umabot ito sa puntong sinabi ko sa maestra na ipinadala rin ako ng aming nanay upang matuto, at inakala ko pang naloko ko siya. Hindi siya naniwala rito, sapagkat hindi kapani-paniwala, ngunit pinagbigyan pa rin ang aking kapritso. Patuloy akong pumasok, at patuloy niya akong tinuruan, ngunit hindi na bilang isang laro dahil hinawi ng karanasan ang panloloko. Sa napaka-igsing panahon lamang ay natuto na akong magbasa, at marunong na ako bago pa ito natuklasan ng aking ina. Inilihim ito ng maestra upang sorpresahin ang aking ina at baka rin sakaling makatanggap ng pasobra para sa kanyang punyagi. Ako nama'y nanahimik sa pag-aakalang matatamaan ako sapagkat ginawa ko ito nang walang pahintulot.
Nob 18, 2014
Oyayi ka na mixtape lang ang saksi
Unti-unting pumapatak sa mga halama’t mga bulaklak
hmm hmm hmm hmm
hmm hmm hmm hmm
through my nerves and into my eyes
pagmasdan ang dilim
cuts like anguish
while the weak ones / fade
kasabay rin ng hanging kumakanta
they’re crowding around / your door
or recollections of better days gone by
ikaw ri’y magpapaalam na
though your gardens grey
they / don’t come / no more
leave it to the other girls to play
but he will never be back
a feather trail to a better way
minsan pa, mahagkan ka’t maiduyan pa
hmm hmm hmm hmm
hmm hmm hmm hmm
through my nerves and into my eyes
pagmasdan ang dilim
cuts like anguish
while the weak ones / fade
kasabay rin ng hanging kumakanta
they’re crowding around / your door
or recollections of better days gone by
ikaw ri’y magpapaalam na
though your gardens grey
they / don’t come / no more
leave it to the other girls to play
but he will never be back
a feather trail to a better way
minsan pa, mahagkan ka’t maiduyan pa
Nob 16, 2014
MASKING, SPLITTING, AND RALLYING THE SELF: A reading of Lacaba’s “Diyalogo ng diwa at damdamin”
“Dialogue” in this poem is an act, a way of splitting the self in order to contemplate and formulate a solution to a problem. However, these apostrophes never fully separate from each other nor do they become truly human characters. Hence, in the title we have “diwa at damdamin,” not “Diwa at Damdamin”. The voices are too similar (ex. damdamin: “aruy, aruy, aruy,” diwa: “naku, naku, naku”) and agree almost immediately with each other. They both raise questions and issue answers in the same way (ex: diwa / damdamin: “If that is the crisis / what ought to be done?” and “If you ask me / I’d tell you this...”).
Note that the dialogue began and ended with diwa. It raised the first question and delivered the final articulation of the solution. Diwa and damdamin came closest to an argument when the manner of solving the crisis became the issue: must we take the problem head-on or resort to circumvention (i.e., the use of masks)? Must one sing the old song or “the true” (i.e., the truth of the poem’s present-day)?
The artifice of this separation—the premeditation and deliberateness behind it—brings us to question why unity was considered wanting, incapable of solving the problem. Perhaps the unity pre-existed, and that the very fact of splitting indicates the power of the adversary (the queen): that the self needed to be halved, but also doubled, in order to face the enemy.
It’s also possible that the self had always been split into two (or more) in the persona and that these sub-selves are being hailed (and are hailing each other), being rallied toward a solution.
The mask is central here, a method as well as the bone of contention (according to damdamin: “how hard it is to breathe behind a mask”), but also as the identity of the agonists, as damdamin and diwa are also masks, apostrophes that preserve the “I” hidden in the poem.
In order to clarify damdamin’s framing of the problem, diwa poses a question: Wherein lies the difficulty? Before we address this question ourselves, we need to discern whether or not diwa changed its sentiments in the course of the dialogue.
Kung ako ang tatanungin
ito ang aking sasabihin:
kumanta ng lumang kanta
tungkol sa dragon at prinsesa
o prayle’t Katipunero
o Kano at insurekto
o Hapon at gerilyero—
kahit luma, may tugmang totoo.
Here we have diwa’s position regarding creation in their present straits while “the work of art is guarded,” “contained,” “mutilated,” and “prohibited”. The old song is being proposed as an alternative here. The artist would enter an old form (such as this present dialectic), accept its restraints, all to slip from guards and wardens of thought, their prohibition of free speech, disallowing these guards from cutting or blocking their expression, choosing to police the self rather than suffer censorship or imprisonment. Since diwa has chosen to shape art according to a poetics of subterfuge and evasion, it embraces the necessity of the “masks” found in old songs, an old style if we consider Florante at Laura as a form of masking, if we remember how Simoun “dressed” his personal tragedy in the smoke and mirrors of ancient Egypt, addressing it to his rival, Padre Salvi.
Diwa lines up the historic figures as types (prayle, Katipunero, Kano, insurekto, Hapon, at gerilyero). The list begins with a dragon and a princess, as if history itself borders on fantasy, depending perhaps on how it is used, how it is worn. A special problem here, where history could be set up as a manner of evasion. Diwa’s poetics had been derived from his samples, the tactics of the Katipunan, guerrilla warfare, and insurrectionists being brought to bear not merely as the poem’s decor, but perhaps its motivation. “Diyalogo” could be read as an aesthetic assimilation of violent subversion.
However, these tactics lead us to an ordering of the present predicament as a fantasy, the allies and enemies not named, projected into other identities and time frames. On one side we are given the protagonists of the national fantastic tale—princess, Katipunero, insurrectionist, and guerrilla. Ranged against them, the antagonists—dragon, friar, the American, and the Japanese.
A solution has been found then, the work of art surfaces as projected, having slipped through enemy defenses, escaped censorship. A new problem surfaces, however. The artist needs to guard his own name, submerging signs that indicate his milieu, burying the struggle of his people under masks. Lacaba himself does not name the dictator or the first lady, does not list the imprisoned or the desaparecidos, the martyrs of the cause. It comes as no surprise when damdamin complains:
Ang hirap kumanta ng lumang kanta,
ang hirap huminga kung nakamaskara.
Diwa and damdamin then changes their roles, diwa raising the question for damdamin to answer. However, it falls again to diwa to speak in the declarative, sum up their dialogue, provide the resolution:
Awitin mo ang totoo,
sagad-buto, tagos-apdo.
Ang totoo ay mabuti
kahit mapanganib sa iyo.
Ang totoo ay maganda
kahit pangit sa reyna.
Mind the shaping of this response. It maintains elements of the “old song,” containing two rhyming pairs (totoo/iyo and maganda/reyna). While the rhymes ring true, diwa does not commit to the scheme and leaves one pair unrhymed. The same goes for meter of the stanza with eight syllables in almost every line but not in all, the last line lacking a breath.
We don’t see “reyna” capitalized, unlike Kano and Katipunero. It falls under the same category of medieval-type fantasy as the dragon and the princess. “Reyna” partakes of the poem’s “present-day” as an alternative method of naming the adversary, not directly, exalted perhaps as the last word of the poem— almost as if the queen was the poem’s main objective—but not to the point of making a proper noun out of “reyna,” a form of mockery rather than respect.
Notice also that where diwa sees danger (mapanganib), damdamin finds difficulty of breath. The mask poses a predicament for damdamin (“how hard it is to breathe behind a mask”). Damdamin would rather breathe easy, would rather resort to popular tunes, to narratives where heroes and villains are unambiguous, the line between them clear-cut.
Damdamin pines for the direct expression of “lust” and “suffering” as opposed to diwa’s princess and dragon. In diwa, we find an affirmation of the mask as an instrument of resistance, of truth, in fact, for while difficult and perilous, the mask must be worn, a form of it sung, for the very presence of these masks indicate the truth of oppression, the beauty of making-do, and the good behind the sacrifice of safer, more popular forms—along with the easier ways of breathing and thinking—in order to oppose the queen and achieve the freedom desired.
kumanta ng lumang kanta
tungkol sa dragon at prinsesa
o prayle’t Katipunero
o Kano at insurekto
o Hapon at gerilyero—
These pairings are mythic in the sense that they represent old structures but also because they present types, i.e., simplistic binaries. El Filibusterismo presents differences of personalities among the clergy, ranging from the lascivious to the kind of heart. History presents the case of insurrectionists, the differences in their methods, the terms of their struggle or surrender, their aspirations. So too for the guerrillas whose weapons are trained against the Japanese, yes, but also against the guerrillas of other regions.
In Lacaba’s lines, however, these differences are submerged to assume the form of “song”. We need to interrogate the definition of “truth” here, that aside from rhyme ringing true so too must the reason, the contents and intents of the song prove true.
“And” is also significant, joining the pairs together instead of the expected “versus”. It seems that these symmetries of presentation (heroes in one column, villains in the other) sterilize the topic and its song in an interesting manner. Yes, it is still about struggle but time and language has rendered it impotent, so that instead of violence we receive pairs robbed of gravity, instead of the betrayal of an old friend, the rape of the wife at the hands of the enemy, all we have are words paired off in the shape of a fairy tale.
We get the sense of a safe topic, of songs serving solely the purpose of entertainment. And while the rhyme remains true, the song calls us away from reality.
Compare this with the complicated pairing of diwa and damdamin, similar in voice but not in terms of interest and method. Aside from this, the possibility that this pair (that weaves other pairs) exist inside the consciousness of one individual or a group of like-minded people, and that this person/people is besieged by a clear threat, a nameable and present danger, the source of containment and mutilation, censorship and torture, the force (or system of forces) masked in poem as “reyna”.
While literature enters and at times actively courts discourse, it also maintains means of undermining definitions, evading full view, provoking contrasting ideas and entertaining non sequiturs, therefore stimulating discourse by means of multiplicity (therefore deferral) of meaning.
Poetry has provided centuries' worth of these procedures—passed on from generation to generation as rhetoric, poetic devices, and imagery—and continues to find novel ways of generating such procedures because of its intense attention to language, language being the inescapable site, unavoidable method, and (in the case of literature) undeniable objective of discourse.
One feature of poetic discourse that deserves special mention in the case of "Diyalogo ng diwa at damdamin" is self-reflexivity. This poem systematically upon its origin, the difficult conditions of its own "coming to being", its basic struggle and definitive aspiration. Whenever words like "song," "rhyme," and "art" are mentioned, we consider these as instances of the poem directly contemplating the possible duplicity of its nature as well as its desired fidelity to truth. Definitively too and true-to-form, the poem disputes with itself regarding these very notions about itself.
Thus we may read the poem as a performance of an active choosing of its own identity (pop ballad? lullaby? a document of damning truth?).
There are also indirect ways of referring to the poem's self. It's use of the image of the "mask" might be considered as itself a manner of masking, a hidden possibility for the poem to behold itself, its truth as a poem, especially as this co-occurs with other truths: the peril of the poet, the plight of the crowds, and the cruelty of the powers that be.
Note that the dialogue began and ended with diwa. It raised the first question and delivered the final articulation of the solution. Diwa and damdamin came closest to an argument when the manner of solving the crisis became the issue: must we take the problem head-on or resort to circumvention (i.e., the use of masks)? Must one sing the old song or “the true” (i.e., the truth of the poem’s present-day)?
The artifice of this separation—the premeditation and deliberateness behind it—brings us to question why unity was considered wanting, incapable of solving the problem. Perhaps the unity pre-existed, and that the very fact of splitting indicates the power of the adversary (the queen): that the self needed to be halved, but also doubled, in order to face the enemy.
It’s also possible that the self had always been split into two (or more) in the persona and that these sub-selves are being hailed (and are hailing each other), being rallied toward a solution.
The mask is central here, a method as well as the bone of contention (according to damdamin: “how hard it is to breathe behind a mask”), but also as the identity of the agonists, as damdamin and diwa are also masks, apostrophes that preserve the “I” hidden in the poem.
*
In order to clarify damdamin’s framing of the problem, diwa poses a question: Wherein lies the difficulty? Before we address this question ourselves, we need to discern whether or not diwa changed its sentiments in the course of the dialogue.
Kung ako ang tatanungin
ito ang aking sasabihin:
kumanta ng lumang kanta
tungkol sa dragon at prinsesa
o prayle’t Katipunero
o Kano at insurekto
o Hapon at gerilyero—
kahit luma, may tugmang totoo.
Here we have diwa’s position regarding creation in their present straits while “the work of art is guarded,” “contained,” “mutilated,” and “prohibited”. The old song is being proposed as an alternative here. The artist would enter an old form (such as this present dialectic), accept its restraints, all to slip from guards and wardens of thought, their prohibition of free speech, disallowing these guards from cutting or blocking their expression, choosing to police the self rather than suffer censorship or imprisonment. Since diwa has chosen to shape art according to a poetics of subterfuge and evasion, it embraces the necessity of the “masks” found in old songs, an old style if we consider Florante at Laura as a form of masking, if we remember how Simoun “dressed” his personal tragedy in the smoke and mirrors of ancient Egypt, addressing it to his rival, Padre Salvi.
Diwa lines up the historic figures as types (prayle, Katipunero, Kano, insurekto, Hapon, at gerilyero). The list begins with a dragon and a princess, as if history itself borders on fantasy, depending perhaps on how it is used, how it is worn. A special problem here, where history could be set up as a manner of evasion. Diwa’s poetics had been derived from his samples, the tactics of the Katipunan, guerrilla warfare, and insurrectionists being brought to bear not merely as the poem’s decor, but perhaps its motivation. “Diyalogo” could be read as an aesthetic assimilation of violent subversion.
However, these tactics lead us to an ordering of the present predicament as a fantasy, the allies and enemies not named, projected into other identities and time frames. On one side we are given the protagonists of the national fantastic tale—princess, Katipunero, insurrectionist, and guerrilla. Ranged against them, the antagonists—dragon, friar, the American, and the Japanese.
A solution has been found then, the work of art surfaces as projected, having slipped through enemy defenses, escaped censorship. A new problem surfaces, however. The artist needs to guard his own name, submerging signs that indicate his milieu, burying the struggle of his people under masks. Lacaba himself does not name the dictator or the first lady, does not list the imprisoned or the desaparecidos, the martyrs of the cause. It comes as no surprise when damdamin complains:
Ang hirap kumanta ng lumang kanta,
ang hirap huminga kung nakamaskara.
Diwa and damdamin then changes their roles, diwa raising the question for damdamin to answer. However, it falls again to diwa to speak in the declarative, sum up their dialogue, provide the resolution:
Awitin mo ang totoo,
sagad-buto, tagos-apdo.
Ang totoo ay mabuti
kahit mapanganib sa iyo.
Ang totoo ay maganda
kahit pangit sa reyna.
Mind the shaping of this response. It maintains elements of the “old song,” containing two rhyming pairs (totoo/iyo and maganda/reyna). While the rhymes ring true, diwa does not commit to the scheme and leaves one pair unrhymed. The same goes for meter of the stanza with eight syllables in almost every line but not in all, the last line lacking a breath.
We don’t see “reyna” capitalized, unlike Kano and Katipunero. It falls under the same category of medieval-type fantasy as the dragon and the princess. “Reyna” partakes of the poem’s “present-day” as an alternative method of naming the adversary, not directly, exalted perhaps as the last word of the poem— almost as if the queen was the poem’s main objective—but not to the point of making a proper noun out of “reyna,” a form of mockery rather than respect.
Notice also that where diwa sees danger (mapanganib), damdamin finds difficulty of breath. The mask poses a predicament for damdamin (“how hard it is to breathe behind a mask”). Damdamin would rather breathe easy, would rather resort to popular tunes, to narratives where heroes and villains are unambiguous, the line between them clear-cut.
Damdamin pines for the direct expression of “lust” and “suffering” as opposed to diwa’s princess and dragon. In diwa, we find an affirmation of the mask as an instrument of resistance, of truth, in fact, for while difficult and perilous, the mask must be worn, a form of it sung, for the very presence of these masks indicate the truth of oppression, the beauty of making-do, and the good behind the sacrifice of safer, more popular forms—along with the easier ways of breathing and thinking—in order to oppose the queen and achieve the freedom desired.
*
kumanta ng lumang kanta
tungkol sa dragon at prinsesa
o prayle’t Katipunero
o Kano at insurekto
o Hapon at gerilyero—
These pairings are mythic in the sense that they represent old structures but also because they present types, i.e., simplistic binaries. El Filibusterismo presents differences of personalities among the clergy, ranging from the lascivious to the kind of heart. History presents the case of insurrectionists, the differences in their methods, the terms of their struggle or surrender, their aspirations. So too for the guerrillas whose weapons are trained against the Japanese, yes, but also against the guerrillas of other regions.
In Lacaba’s lines, however, these differences are submerged to assume the form of “song”. We need to interrogate the definition of “truth” here, that aside from rhyme ringing true so too must the reason, the contents and intents of the song prove true.
“And” is also significant, joining the pairs together instead of the expected “versus”. It seems that these symmetries of presentation (heroes in one column, villains in the other) sterilize the topic and its song in an interesting manner. Yes, it is still about struggle but time and language has rendered it impotent, so that instead of violence we receive pairs robbed of gravity, instead of the betrayal of an old friend, the rape of the wife at the hands of the enemy, all we have are words paired off in the shape of a fairy tale.
We get the sense of a safe topic, of songs serving solely the purpose of entertainment. And while the rhyme remains true, the song calls us away from reality.
Compare this with the complicated pairing of diwa and damdamin, similar in voice but not in terms of interest and method. Aside from this, the possibility that this pair (that weaves other pairs) exist inside the consciousness of one individual or a group of like-minded people, and that this person/people is besieged by a clear threat, a nameable and present danger, the source of containment and mutilation, censorship and torture, the force (or system of forces) masked in poem as “reyna”.
*
Some literature resists being decoded, being spelled out, close-endedness at times beheld as a manner of death. If for example you have the moral lesson in file, then rest of the fable become mere backdrop, the characters assume the two-dimensionality of cut-outs. If a poem is kept open however, doubt and double-meaning kept as intrinsic to the form, then the poem becomes deserving of a reader's conversation.While literature enters and at times actively courts discourse, it also maintains means of undermining definitions, evading full view, provoking contrasting ideas and entertaining non sequiturs, therefore stimulating discourse by means of multiplicity (therefore deferral) of meaning.
Poetry has provided centuries' worth of these procedures—passed on from generation to generation as rhetoric, poetic devices, and imagery—and continues to find novel ways of generating such procedures because of its intense attention to language, language being the inescapable site, unavoidable method, and (in the case of literature) undeniable objective of discourse.
One feature of poetic discourse that deserves special mention in the case of "Diyalogo ng diwa at damdamin" is self-reflexivity. This poem systematically upon its origin, the difficult conditions of its own "coming to being", its basic struggle and definitive aspiration. Whenever words like "song," "rhyme," and "art" are mentioned, we consider these as instances of the poem directly contemplating the possible duplicity of its nature as well as its desired fidelity to truth. Definitively too and true-to-form, the poem disputes with itself regarding these very notions about itself.
Thus we may read the poem as a performance of an active choosing of its own identity (pop ballad? lullaby? a document of damning truth?).
There are also indirect ways of referring to the poem's self. It's use of the image of the "mask" might be considered as itself a manner of masking, a hidden possibility for the poem to behold itself, its truth as a poem, especially as this co-occurs with other truths: the peril of the poet, the plight of the crowds, and the cruelty of the powers that be.
Nob 8, 2014
Names from Verses Typhoon Yolanda
A Storm Advisory (DD/MM/YYYY) | Tilde Acuña
Hopeful Father | Yasmin Aguila
About 10,000 Characters | Dennis Andrew S. Aguinaldo
Fill the Void | Crzthlv Escalona Bisa
Bangon kababayan | Michiko Karisa Buot
195MPH Rapture/Malacanang Stall-vation | Paul Carson
Sunshine | Emmanuel Codia
excerpts from “These Days” | T. De Los Reyes
Shh | Gail Gerolaga
The Basket | Almira Astudillo Gilles
Saan tayo nagkulang? | Rogene A. Gonzales
A Little Hope | Micah Laguardia
Blame Game | Jolo Lim
Where is Lucy? | Mary Rose Manlangit
The Flooding That Writes Itself | Eileen R. Tabios
Look Ma, No Hands! | Deus Tiongson
Dance It | Julienne M. Urrea
After the Storm | Issa Vergara
Hopeful Father | Yasmin Aguila
About 10,000 Characters | Dennis Andrew S. Aguinaldo
Fill the Void | Crzthlv Escalona Bisa
Bangon kababayan | Michiko Karisa Buot
195MPH Rapture/Malacanang Stall-vation | Paul Carson
Sunshine | Emmanuel Codia
excerpts from “These Days” | T. De Los Reyes
Shh | Gail Gerolaga
The Basket | Almira Astudillo Gilles
Saan tayo nagkulang? | Rogene A. Gonzales
A Little Hope | Micah Laguardia
Blame Game | Jolo Lim
Where is Lucy? | Mary Rose Manlangit
The Flooding That Writes Itself | Eileen R. Tabios
Look Ma, No Hands! | Deus Tiongson
Dance It | Julienne M. Urrea
After the Storm | Issa Vergara
Nob 7, 2014
Ilang tulak na lamang
at mauuwi rin tayo sa muli
kung saan wala pang napatutunayan;
panay gatas at labi
tayong makikinis na ambisyon,
mga walang bahid ng inggit o katiyakan.
Samantalang wagas at araw-araw
ang pagtapon ng hugas bigas
sa mga sulok na walang halaman.
Bukod sa may gusto ako,
may gusto akong ipahiwatig.
Lalo pa’t minatamis
na langgam ang ating pagsasama.
kung saan wala pang napatutunayan;
panay gatas at labi
tayong makikinis na ambisyon,
mga walang bahid ng inggit o katiyakan.
Samantalang wagas at araw-araw
ang pagtapon ng hugas bigas
sa mga sulok na walang halaman.
Bukod sa may gusto ako,
may gusto akong ipahiwatig.
Lalo pa’t minatamis
na langgam ang ating pagsasama.
Nob 5, 2014
Ghost
A whole range of proposals
Black hole
Bottom up
Build a better future
Comprehensive raft of measures
Hard-working families
It's going to take time
Let me at this stage be absolutely open and honest
May we bring
Metropolitan elite
Most serious threats
People who work hard and do the right thing
One nation
On your side
Our message is clear
Squeezed middle
The doorstep
The fact of the matter is
The great people
The people
The previous administration
The promise of a
There are no easy answers
There is an alternative
Those who need it
To be frank
Top down
Tough
Tough decisions
Tough on
We hear you
Where we find
Zero tolerance
Black hole
Bottom up
Build a better future
Comprehensive raft of measures
Hard-working families
It's going to take time
Let me at this stage be absolutely open and honest
May we bring
Metropolitan elite
Most serious threats
People who work hard and do the right thing
One nation
On your side
Our message is clear
Squeezed middle
The doorstep
The fact of the matter is
The great people
The people
The previous administration
The promise of a
There are no easy answers
There is an alternative
Those who need it
To be frank
Top down
Tough
Tough decisions
Tough on
We hear you
Where we find
Zero tolerance
Nob 2, 2014
Pandan Scarecrow
Night had begun parading its tinier sounds, all of them, save for ache and water, and other people. The gecko hinted at the repeat of rain, would not commit however. How was lunch with him around? Close: toys strung up, the mess I will miss, that one smelly mask. The youngest fears it, wondering maybe what had been done wrong, or how to earn a father less given to pranks. If a fork drops in the forest and nothing is wounded, are we still hungry? How about being in it, little one, the inside of its lips on the outside of yours, the taste of various milk teeth? How suddenly we burped into song. Hinting, again. We’ve come a long way from the typewriter . . . but coming now, down to your feet, down to tracing these bones of your feet.
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