HAMOG NA LAMPIN: isang pagbasa sa “Tiyanak” ni Ron Atilano

Hindi pa nga ang tiyanak ang unang kumagat sa akin sa tulang ito kundi ang kanyang kakaibang kuna: “naliligid ng anino ng nag-usling guho,/ tila kunang hatid ng buwan.” Kuna ito ngunit hindi. Matinding presensya (usli-usli at nakapaligid) pero patong-patong ding kawalan (o pagkakait), sapagkat anino ng guho. May tensyon ang nakahihimbing na mahika ng “tila kunang hatid ng buwan” sa kawasakan at pananakot ng mga naunang linya rito. Mauulit ang ganitong kilos ng tula, mga kahindik-hindik na eksena na aaluin ng linyang halos pang-fairy tale at hindi pang-horror story.

Dahil na rin sa “guho,” nahirapan akong iwasan ang pagbasa rito ng kasalukuyang pamumuksang-lahi sa Gaza. Kung sa ganitong lente babasahin, maraming interesanteng tanong ang uusbong: Sino o ano ang tiyanak? Buhay ba ito o hindi? Alaala? Damdamin? Balita? Kaaway ba ito? Nino? Bakit? Tila aandar ang tula tungo sa iba’t ibang direksyon depende kung paano mo lalamnan ang kuna, kung sino o ano iyong nais bihisan ng “hamog na lampin”.

Paano naman ang “siya” na nagpapadede rito? Bakit kaya hindi tahasang binanggit kung nanay? At kung sakaling hindi siya ang ina, kaano-ano? Bukal ba sa loob o hindi ang pagpapasipsip ng “kaniyang dugo’t puso”? Bakit “walang oyayi, walang pangalan”? Bakit hinayaan tayo sa kagimbal-gimbal na bungisngis, sa berdeng lungad, sa tulog na halos hindi tulog “habang kumikindat-kindat”?

Bukas na bukas ang tulang ito pero lahat ng landas para sa akin ay patungong Gaza, sa kung ano ang ginagawa nito sa atin. Gaano na tayo ka-pamilyar sa maramihan at pang-araw-araw na pamamaslang ng sanggol at kakailanganin pa itong i-defamiliarize? Ano ang implikasyon sakaling sakyan natin ang katuwiran ng tula at ituring na “multong talang nahuhulog” ang mga bomba?

Mukhang ganito nga ang tulang ito para sa akin: tulog na hindi, tatahan, manggigising, tatahan, manggigising. Kahit “walang oyayi” batid natin ang karahasan sa tradisyon ng oyayi: sanggol na mahuhulog sa puno, batang ibebenta pagdating sa bayan, batang kung hindi matutulog ay iiwan sa putikan.

Hindi pa ako tapos sa tulang ito ni Ron. Nais ko pa ring unawain kung paano’t ganito ito kalambing. Samantala, gumagalaw pa rin ito, ngayon mismo—bilang pahiwatig, bilang patuloy na kaganapan, bilang di magkasundo-sundong pares ng mga mata—habang sinusubukan kong isulat. Walang talab ang ano mang pagtatangkang gupitin ang “buhol-buhol nitong pusod.” Sadyang ayaw magpahele.

Tilaok ni Boris

Bago magsimula ang ikalawang semestre, pag-isipan sanang magboluntaryo sa Ugnayan ng Pahinungód! Narito ang aking karanasan nitong nakaraang semestre. Salamat po sa Filipino Writers sa paglathala :)

  __________________________________________ 

MGA SIPI 

1. Hindi ginamit ang mga tunay na pangalan ng mga kalahok. Tinago ang lokasyon ng paaralan. 

2. Bagamat dati nang nakatrabaho ang Ugnayan ng Pahinungód UPOU, ito ang una kong karanasan bilang volunteer storyteller para sa kanilang Read Aloud Program. 

Patuloy sana ang tagumpay nila at ng kanilang mga katuwang na paaralan. 3. Sinulat ni Rebecca T. Anonuevo at ginuhit ni Ruben De Jesus ang librong 𝘈𝘯𝘨 𝘔𝘢𝘩𝘪𝘺𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘔𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘬. Kabilang sa nilalaman nito ang tatlong linya: “Paglaki ko, ako naman ang magtuturo / Sa mga mahiyaing batang manok / Kung paano ang pagtilaok.”

All the ghosts of my race sighing

December began with two ekphrastic collections by Marne Kilates and will end with a (likely unfinished, surely on-repeat) volume of Cirilo Bautista’s poetry. During this sort of shift, devices and conceits are thrown into stark contrast, one poet immediately (naturally? necessarily?) becomes intertext to the other. 

As I neared the fiftieth page, Bautista takes over completely. Kilates still makes his presence felt, but in another room, rustling and bumping about, not a bother. Bautista provides light here, the sound and the vibe.

It’s the third time I encountered his “Athens, Ohio, One Winter Night”. He read it during a PEN meeting years ago, on the third floor of Manong’s Solidaridad bookshop (these details are so fuzzy, forgive me). Elmer Ordoñez almost immediately published it in the Sunday Times Magazine. Both of these are, likely, the second version. I say likely as I remember the electric blanket, not the lovers, but this is just me, my memory failing. I have the STM page stashed somewhere, but I recall (correctly, I hope) the poem taking up significant print space, and the second version is 70-line strong compared to the first’s reported 17. I say reported, as when I wanted to refresh my memory, I went search engine, and, lo, here’s Marne Kilates on Marjorie Evasco on Cirilo Bautista and the two versions of his Athens.

The poem begins with these three lines: “You never loved me,” a boy outside my window / shouted, breaking the cold crystal night. / “Why should I love you?” a girl shouted back. 

The poet overhears, obsesses, marking himself immediately as other in terms of age, race, wisdom, and passion. As I re-encounter the poem, I move as Cirilo’s other (not entirely oppositional, and not in similar categories or degrees), the first version of myself as listener/reader of the then very much alive Cirilo by now also distant, maybe as today’s I will be to an older, less or more interested, future reader.

I will likely return to these paragraphs to edit (Christmas dinner and a makeshift photobooth are already set downstairs). Above, I concealed my discomfort toward certain conceits that Bautista and Kilates display along with most other Filipino writers, myself included. Maybe when I’m stronger I will share my thoughts. The title though—2/3rds of a line from  “Athens, Ohio, One Winter Night”—will remain untouched.

the weather of leaving ni Victoria Dialogo Cuevas

“Nais ko lamang po sanang itanong kung puwede po namin kayong kuning tagapayo ng isa naming mag-aaral sa PHSA.” Mensahe ito ni Kristoffer Aaron Tiña—isang guro at manunulat na ikinararangal kong tawaging advisee—noong Oktubre 2023. Simula noon hanggang Mayo 2024, makakatrabaho ko ang mahusay niyang estudyante sa Philippine High School for the Arts, si Victoria Dialogo Cuevas.

Nasa itaas ang pabalat ni Vee para sa nabuong aklat, rekisito sa kanyang pagtatapos ng hayskul. Si Adam David ang nagdisenyo ng layout para sa the weather of leaving. Nakilala ko rin sa proyektong ito ang isa sa mga guro ng awtor, si Hannah Adtoon Leceña. Ingles ang koleksyon ngunit hinayaan ako ni Vee na magsulat ng panapos na salita sa Filipino (nakita niyang pagkakataon upang gawin din sa Filipino ang kanyang pasasalamat).

Loob ng belt bag

Kaninang umaga, habang hinahatid sina Noam, Damian, at Maria, makalampas ang tulay na tinaguriang never-ending bridge, napansin namin ang isang lalaking may edad, light brown ang kamiseta at mas maitim na brown ang pantalon. Pinaghihiwalay ang mga pang-itaas at pang-ibaba ng itim na belt bag. Umaakyat ng Forestry ang matanda, mukhang nakapag-warm-up na sa Freedom Park. Maiigsi ang kanyang mga hakbang at may regularidad ang kumpas: mas mabilis kaysa karaniwang lakad ngunit hindi pa matatawag na jogging, walang gaanong talbog. Gusto ko pa siyang pagmasdan kaso nagmamaneho ako at marami pang ibang naglalakad-lakad na baka mailagay sa peligro. Pinag-usapan namin siya saglit ni Pinky bilang “goals”. “Kamukha siya ni Mr. Miyagi.”

Dati ko nang gustong itala ang aking mga kasalukuyang binabasa. Naumpisahan ko na kina Fantauzzo, Laux, at Ordoñez,  si CJ at ang IBON praymer, at siyempre ang mga zines. Mga marker lang sana ang mga ito para sa mga hinaharap na engkuwentro at muling pagbasa. Sa palagay ko, hudyat si “Mr. Miyagi” upang magdagdag ng mga muhon:

Una kong naiskor ang so we must meet/apart na collab nina Jesa at Vince Imbat. Salamat (sobra!) kina Ava at Jing, may kopya ako ng Everything is First Person ng aming IYAS mentor na si Sir Vince Groyon. Inayos ni Pinky ang pagbili ng Beckoning Baguio ni Sir Ivan at okey lang kahit na-miss ang 10/10 sale ng dalawang araw. Atats e. 

Mukhang nagwo-walking for fitness si manong kaya shoot na agad ang so we must meet/apart kung saan nagsusulatan ang magkaibigan tungkol sa kanilang paglalakad-lakad. Nirerekord nila ang mga layunin, sagabal, at sari-saring obserbasyon habang umuusad sa labas (at dahil mapagnilay, paglalakbay din sa loob). Mukhang ibang-iba ang layunin ni manong (na patuloy kong pinaglalakad paakyat ng bundok ngayon, sa gabi ng aking iisipan). Palagay ko, nagpapahaba ng buhay, nagpapanatili ng nalalabing lakas. Maaaring may 10K step goal. May pagtatapos o kasal dalawa o apat na taon pa sa hinaharap at kailangan siyang makadalo.  

Madali ang 10K step goal para kay E—, ang matalik kong kaibigan, dahil sa trabaho niya sa warehouse. Katunayan, kung nakukulangan ako sa “hakbang pangkalusugan” dahil nakakain ng kotse sa pabalik-balik ng hatid-sundo, mahina kay E— ang 15K steps at inaalala na niya ang lagay ng kanyang paa. Pinag-uusapan namin ang lotion. Pinag-iisipan na niya kung mainam at kakayanin (kasi naman, mamahalin! may warranty!) na wool socks.

Nagbibilang din kaya ng hakbang sina Prop. Ivan at Prop. Vince? Solb na sa relo o... manual count? Kapwa kasi silang umamin sa kani-kanilang mga libro na may kakatwa silang predileksyong magbilang nang magbilang. Nagsimula ang sanaysay ni Ivan na “At Least, Some Charm with Numbers” sa “I have some fascination with basic operations with numbers, which I guess I hope do not lapse into the lunatic. When I am in jeepneys, I count the passengers—lima kami nang umalis sa terminal; may pinick-up na dalawa sa store, pito na; tatlo sa highway, sampu na; dalawa sa Chapis, dose na; siyaman ang jeep, may anim pang bakante sa likod, duwa pay jay sango.” 

“I wouldn’t want to call it a malady” naman ang pambungad na sugnay ni Prop. Vince sa sanaysay niyang “Ock-Ock”. Nakakaasar daw ito habang nagtatagal at napansin ng mga kasama. Nababawasan ang kanyang pokus at pag-intindi sa naririnig o nababasa. Samantala, iniisip ni Prop. Ivan ang konek ng ganitong mga operasyon sa pagiging malikhain, sa likot ng utak.

Paano kaya kung maging lalo pang detalyado ang step counter sa ating relo at mobile? Ano kaya ang makukuha natin sa datos? Sa ngayon medyo abante na nga, nababasa ng app sa phone ni Pinky maging ang incline angle. Kung real-time din ang pagsukat ng BP at tibok ng puso ng relo, aba’y i-synch na sila nang maging treadmill mo na ang mundo! Sa akin, mas mahalaga ang pagbilang ng hakbang at pagkakategorisa ng mga ito, hal., ilan sa mga hakbang ko ngayong araw ang napunta sa pagsasampay ng damit? Sa pagsampa at pagbaba ng mga bag ng bata? Papunta at paalis sa hapag-kainan? Habang may kasama? 

Ilang libo sa mga hakbang ang talagang dedikado sa kalusugan? Ilang daan sa pagtapon ng basura sa labas? Ilang libo-libo ang mga hakbang na hindi inalintana? Samakatwid, ilan ang may kabuluhan, ilan ang walang saysay? Maaaring makatikim pa ako ng pie chart na iyan kung uusad pa ang teknolohiya, mapapahaba ko ang buhay, maitutuwid natin ang lipunan, at maiiiwas ang daigdig sa pagkagunaw: Update: 1,118 of your 9,265 steps were happy.

Nika

Naghanda kami sa bagyong Nika kahit kakaunti ang ulan at halos walang hangin. Mabuti na ang sigurado. Sinuspinde ng gobernador ang mga klase sa lahat ng antas kahit nasa TCWS #1 lamang ang Laguna. Dahil kaya hindi pa naghihilom sa Katrina? Hindi pa tiyak na tiyak sa mga estruktura? Gaya rin lang siguro namin, nanigurado. Baka tama lang dahil tuloy pa rin ang pagkumpuni sa mga kable. May mga kumpol pa ng mga retasong troso sa mga sidewalk. Walang tigil ang pag-iimis, pero marami-rami pang kalat na maaaring maging problema. At sa loob pa lamang ito ng kampus.

Sa labas, hindi pa tapos ang pamimigay ng yero sa mga nasiraan ng bahay. Hindi pa nga alam ng mga kuwalipikado tumanggap kung yero talaga ang iaabot o peperahin lang. Basta hindi raw hihigit sa dalawang pirasong yero.

Samantala, ang pagsuspinde ay gaya ng nakasanayan kong diskarte bago ang pandemya. Walang asynchronous-asynchronous, walang kahit anong kondisyones. Hindi ko alam kung pinagsisisihan ang pagsuspinde dahil naging kalmado ang panahon sa Laguna. Nangyayari na naman ito dati. Hindi pa rin 100% ang ating pagkilala sa lagay ng panahon.

Pumaitaas ang bagyo kaya napupuruhan ang mga kababayan natin sa Norte kahit katatapos lang nila kina Leon at Marce. At naku, may dalawa pang parating! Kung sakali, papangalanan silang Ofel at Pepito.

Ngayon ko lang naalala na Nika rin ang pangalan ng bida sa binabasang nonfiction ni Laurel Fantauzzo. (Salamat ulit kay Pau!) Kaka-landing ko lang sa pahina 100 at sa puntong ito, mas kilala ko si Alexis, ang bidang lalaki. Kaya rin siguro hindi ko agad naikonek sina NikaPH at Nika Bohinc. O sadya ko yatang iniiwasan ang pagsentro ng trahedya ng magkasintahan sa aking pag-iisip habang may hinaharap na mga peligro.

Samantala, may pasok na bukas at kailangang maghanda sa hatid-sundo. Martes ang pinakamaraming pabalik-balik. Kung matino-tino ang panahon, tingnan natin kung maipagpapatuloy ang labada. Pati na rin ang pagsasaayos sa bakuran. 

Undas 2024

On October 21, Severe Tropical Storm Kristine (internationally named Trami) entered the Philippine Area of Responsibility (PAR) as a tropical depression. That was the Monday we brought Damian and Maria to the clinic. Damian got admitted at the University Health Service (UHS) after lunch. While alternating with Pinky as his watch, I followed the storm as it ravaged its way through Bicol, Camarines, and adjacent regions, paying attention to rescue and relief efforts.

The winds came for Laguna and found our family split: I with Damian, the girls at home. Thankfully the hospital had few and short power interruptions with almost no problems with water. This wasn’t the case at home where we lost electricity, water, and connectivity for days, getting full restoration only after a a week.

As the storm took it easy on us and the sun came up, the university’s first order of business was to secure the constituents—the students first of all, and the frontliners—while clearing the paths. Fallen trees, electricity posts, and detritus blocked the roads and presented hazards to needed repairs (my former advisee Jessa has a report). Pinky had to move a heavy acacia branch off the driveway then maneuver to avoid various roadblocks just to visit us. Soon our doctor—understandably in absentia—issued discharge orders.

I asked permission from the guard to fill water containers: 45 liters meant a lot when you had no assurance of water rations. That done, I took a few more snaps before leaving with my happy little boy, gladly unshackled from the drip, eager to come home to the wide open arms of his sisters.

 

 

We tried to clean up at home and help out in the area but found it a problem without running water. Since UP Los Baños was intent on asynchronous classes, we felt the need to leave home for connectivity. Also, we all had bouts of coughing and Damian was still on the mend. Away from LB, I would learn of Randy’s passing during Jol’s birthday (and today, on Jol’s death anniversary, I learned that we lost Chris Belison). 

I wished to review this poem as one of two favorites in Poems Against the War, an anthology edited by Sam Hamill with Sally Anderson and others. I put this and other projects in the backburner because of the storm, the admission, (the grief, too, and the shock) and other challenges. With the house nearly in order, I faced the needs of the yard. And look, the kaymito “shouldered” a fallen kamansi: 

After 250 ax blows, the star apple unburdened of its “cello”: 

While you will find many such “shoulderings” inside the campus, we only had this one case in the yard. Mostly, what we needed was the inverse: Y-cut branches from fallen trees used to prop up leaning trees and smaller plants. Below, a young mango before and after a Y-support: 

 

Death supporting life, to extend Laux’s analogy. I did around eight of these, including one for an older mango and another for this thorny kalamansi: 

Some extra Ys because you never know (and I suppose I liked the sound of the bolo whistling).

Overdid these Ys. This acacia—bane of rooftops—needed no brace, especially not with its own heavy branches:

I have yet to find a purpose for all this wood. I can convert them to firewood, but the smoke may cause health problems. It was raining for a while as I wrote this, but now, more yardwork awaits. 

Found a piece of someone’s roof with which I can maybe patch up our gutter. Life on life, death on life, life on death, and... something I picked up yesterday.

Tulang pinilas mula sa p.6 ng IBON praymer

Tingala ang sahod sa presyo ng bilihin.
Kaya kayod paitaas (pasalamat at empleyado).
Kapag nagsimula nang magtrabaho,
habang-buhay ka na sa empleyo.
Kung magbibitiw, may trabaho pa rin

ayon sa ekonomistang nakalukok:
Trabaho mo ang masiraan ng loob.
Walang suweldo ngayon, siya sige,
pero nagkasuweldo ka na kasi dati: touch move.
Trabaho ang magsisi—ang kapal ng mukhang umalis,

ni hindi nagtiis (o inalis at hindi tiniis).
Pagbutihin! Baka sakaling makakabawi bukas
makalawa sa mga pinagkakautangan.
Trabaho ang umasa. Tumanggap ng suhol na nagbihis
-ayuda. Magbanat ng boto.

Naghanap ka ng mas maayos na trabaho, sapat na kita,
at katrabahong hindi balat-kayo. Kasalanang mortal,
pero sa bansa... hindi ka unemployed!
May halaga ka, bahagi ka ng komunidad,
kabilang sa masasayang numero!

Ikinatataas ng noo natin—kahit
kanino—ang punyagi ng iyong pagkalugmok.

The Reading Nook × Garahe Press

Nakapunta sa unang anibersaryo ng The Reading Nook nitong nakaraang linggo. Dalawang beses pa nga, kaya nadala ang buong pamilya sa pagitan ng mga hatid-sundo (bukod kay Damian, sorry). Narito ang ilan sa naiuwi mula sa unang bisita: 

May ginuguhit si Maria sa tabi niyan, sa guestbook (dilaw na dilaw, kung may pagkakataong silipin). Kasalukuyang hawak ni Elisha ang libro ni Maxine, dati kong estudyante na nakahanap ng mabungang paraan upang ipagsama-sama ang kanyang mga interes sa iisang lugar. Masaya rin akong makita sina R— at P— na nagtatrabaho roon, mga dati ring estudyante (prepandemic at pandemic ARTS 1).  

Kinabukasan, kami naman nina Noam at Pink. Saglit ngunit mahalaga ang muling pagsasalubong namin ng advisee kong si E—. Nag-uwi ako ng apat na zine mula sa Garahe Press pero hindi ko mahanap ang kay X (narito lang ‘yun, kung saan). Nasa dalawang zine na ito ang mga tula ni E— kasama ang mga salita, dibuho, at litrato nina Justin Firmalo, rzg, jevi, at Ash:

Isa sa marami kong paborito ang “Home Remedies” ni E— sa inhabit (2023). Labing-isang segment na pinagbibidahan ng isang kasapi ng mag-anak: father sa unang segment at mother sa ikalawa, habang nasa kabilang dulo, sister sa ikasampu at brother sa huli. May mga piraso ng kuwento na hindi mabuo-buo dahil mas mga sintomas lang ang isinisiwalat. Tipong kuwento, oo, pero sa paraan ng photo album noong araw, noong hard copy pa ito. Sa isang banda, kabaligtaran din ito ng album dahil narito ang mga karaniwang hindi nilalantad, hindi pinapanatiling mga alaala at sentimiyento. 

Kakaiba ang ikalimang segment dahil wala itong tao:

—Flood. Books hang on a makeshift clothesline. Inside the only shelf, medals glint against the glass. Pages start to curl inward as hideously as they dry.

May-akda naman ng a study on spaces (2023) si Lian, dati ko ring estudyante. Sayang at hindi kami nagkita, pero masaya akong malaman na buhay na buhay (at patuloy na malikhain) ang pagkakaibigan nila bilang Garahe Press. 

Maliban dito sa pabalat, may walong litrato ang zine. Mga espasyo rin ang pito sa kanila: mga posteng halos lamunin ng baging, mga nakasisilaw na bubong, ang ibabang kalahati ng pinto. May nag-iisang litratong may tao, at tinatakpan ng bata ang kanyang mukha. May walong pasulat na piyesa at tula ang karamihan. May dalawang kuwento na sa pakiwari ko’y sampayan ng mga litrato at tula: ang ikalawang piyesa na “Abuso ang Haligi ng Pagkababae” at ang ikaanim na “The Best Thing I Did This Year Was Get an Implant.” 

Mahalaga ang pambungad na tulang “displaced” bilang unang piyesa dahil narito ang set-up nitong buhay (at zine) bilang lagalag. Bubuksan ito ng linyang “every year since birth, I move from place to place” at gagalaw tayo tungo sa banda gitna kung saan— 

nothing changed when I graduated and had a partner and got a job 

and changed partners and changed jobs

what is it about spaces that can’t stand me,

·

Naglatag ang Garahe Press sa BLTX at iba pang kahalintulad na ganap. Kasama sila bukas sa Silang Album Release Gig. 

On the 23rd stanza of Jada Renée Allen’s “Drill”

Her poem represents a formal trajectory I abandoned during the pandemic, if I recall correctly. I believe (at least) two things prevented a resurgence: disinformation and A.I. I felt the need for other ways of saying, or maybe, I hankered for older methods. Somewhat satisfied, I should consider a return. Below are six of Allen’s stanzas from the full 26: 

In class, I’d ask for comments on the Whereas anaphora and the nephew progression. I’ll request another read and ask if they find value in other repetitions and variations. Here’s her self-annotation proceeding in lockstep:

Naturingang bayan ni Rizal

—

—May mga manunulat. May mga grupo. Si Rizal nagkagrupo, oo, pero hindi umabot hanggang sa huling hantungan. Hindi ko ma-gets ang iyong punto.

—

—Hello ulit. Ano ang kakanyahan ng Cavite group na nais nating makita sa Laguna? If it’s place-name, then maybe it can be set up and SEC-registered. Is it acknowledgement from the LGU? Walang ganitong imprimatur sa Laguna (may ganoon ba sa Cavite sa iyong pagkakaalam? sa Angono?) Hal., sa Uplb may Uplb writers club pero wala itong official patronage. Not in the sense of the school’s basketball team. Ganoon ba ang Cavite Writers mula sa Cavite LGU? Or naunahan lang nila ang ibang orgs sa pangalan? Kasi maaari kang magtatag ng place-named guild, if that’s what you’re looking for: isang org na nagdedicate ng sarili sa Laguna. Pero ingat din, kasi kung may ganyang item sa preamble ng ibang orgs, it won’t matter kung ano ang pangalan niyan, bahagi ang Laguna ng sense of purpose niyan. In which case, I won’t stand for them to be invalidated, Rizal thrown at them just like that, porke walang Laguna sa pangalan.

—

—Oks. Glad you want to be on a team. Huwag padala sa pangalan, kung maaari. Hindi porke may place-name, may interes sa pagpapayaman ng lugar na iyon. Maaari, but not necessarily. Ehemplo na riyan ang mga pulitiko. You and I can slap a place-name on anything and have it work toward other ends. Maaari pa ngang taliwas sa pangangailangan ng lugar na iyon kung saan ipinangalan. Kung mga mala-Rizal ang hinahanap mo, mayroon tayo rito, manunulat, nag-oorganisa, pinepersecute, hinaharass, nireredtag, magigiting. Kung may iba pa kaming maipaglilingkod sa iyo, ipagbigay-alam lamang.

—

—

—

—

—Hello at salamat! Dati na akong in awe sa achievements at longevity ng inyo sa Cavite. Mas lalo pang humanga rito dahil sa iyong post. Tagahanga rin ako ng mga nagawa nina Sir Gappi at mga kasama sa Angono—laging magkatabi ang Cavite at Angono bilang mga “peg,” mga best practice. Hindi ko lang siguro (pa) maituloy na huwaran bilang respeto sa kakanyahan ng orgs sa bandang amin, sa kanilang mga tunguhin at pinagdadaanan. (Maaaring limitasyon ito na kailangang pagnilayan.) Nung mga lockdown days kita huling nasumpungan sa department. Makasalubong sana ulit. Magandang gabi sa inyong dalawa.

On the fourth line of Rae Armantrout’s “Buy In”

Yes, we did
ask to be born.

Not all of us, of course,
only the first few.

They must have bought in
to this round robin
duress:

the gasp,

the gnawing hunger,
then the actual gnawing.

Maybe they did it
the way we’d put on

a corset or toe shoes
one night

and feel fabulous.

To be able to repeat themselves
must have seemed

like such a thrill
at first.

But who were they
if not that trick—

that breathless
pirouette?

*

New York Review of Books

*

Would rather not get stuck in belatedness, but not a line in this would stray should we opt for such a reading. Two of the later questions are (a) did they know what they were getting us into and (b) did they hope we’d somehow make it so they didn’t ruin it for us? Affirmatives would diminish them (shifting the interrogative to the penultimate line). Negatives mean we at least have something they don’t (hope) and so would likewise diminish them though only in the light of us.

Self-naming and the third line of Notley’s “Poem”

St. Mark’s Place caught at night in hot summer,
Lonely from the beginning of time until now.
Tompkins Square Park would be midnight green but only hot.
I look through the screens from my 3rd floor apartment
As if I could see something.
Or as if the bricks and concrete were enough themselves
To be seen and found beautiful.
And who will know the desolation of St. Mark’s Place
With Alice Notley’s name forgotten and
This night never having been?

*

Poets.org

*

Not as distant as Guadalajara nor as threatening as Vesuvius. Not noisy like the former nor certain like the latter.

As urgent as? As focused as? 

The Ghazal-type signature pines, and I return a moment to Corman. Differences truly between Corman and Notley, but I can’t place these as surely as I can a distinction between two of my children forced to a morning goodbye.

On “jobs” in an Eigner poem

Headlights
                      in the  sky

                tail spot
                         on a cloud

                   there are
                           invisible beams

     somebodies'  jobs

                steady   wherever

*

Al Filreis shared this with his ModPo students. The caption read “Larry Eigner wrote this poem in late April 1972 in Swampscott, Mass.”

*

No need of the sources to partake of the wonder. As in the myth of Lamed Wufniks, maybe apprehension of a whole endangers its multiplicity. What if the poem is neither “we only have this much”? Where getting (or even getting to) any more (from “somebodies” “wherever”) dims everything.

Orions

Kesa saluhin ang bitaw ni H.D. (“I know no light in the woods”) at sa halip na rebyuhin ang munting aklat ni Cledera. May bigat kasi ang kaliitan na sana na-gets. Na kailangan ng isa pa—at kalahati pa yata—para tapatan ang ruler. Bakit kasi hindi kalas-kalasin at ibudbod sa ibabaw ng ano mang nanghihingi ng sukat? Sabay tagos ng iyong titig. Hindi ka ba nasisiyaha’t nakatatagos ang titig? Wala pa tayo nito sa tinitingnan at pinagtatagusan. At wala man ding nakikipagtitigan. Ni wala pa sa mga ito, mga nagbabalat-sibuyas. Aba’y, wala ka pala.

Hi, A—

First, let me thank you for your participation in class. It now seems much better than the previous time I offered it, and I have you and others like you to thank for that.

It’s rare to find someone eager for true feedback, not merely instant, easy praise. I’ll honor your earnest request by sidestepping the flattery. We both know that you are fluent, that your syntax need less work than others your age. We both see your capacity for extended composition (you can dwell on something, go on and on about it) and you’ll be needing that when times are trying and writing’s more of a burden than a promise. Your letter is evidence of your inclination, interest, and willingness to put in the work.

So, what needs work? Originality, imagery—I’d have you concentrate on these two.

Look at your titles: we could easily miss those, yes? In our readings we have titles like “Guava” and “Autobiography of Water” that attempt to distinguish their pieces. We have “The Mother” too, true, and it comes across as something we could so easily forget, but it makes up for that it with symmetrical imagery in the thrift of sentences, such that title and piece together become indelible, inextricable from each other.

Find ways toward new expressions, new situations, fresh images. If you’ve seen it in a telenovela or heard it in a pop song, stay away from it (that, or find a way to reinvent it). Rooftop scenes are romantic but they are also trite, that is, one such scene would melt against all similar scenes from the past. If on your first draft you find the characters drifting there, don’t stop them. Let the scene play out. But once you’ve completed the draft ask yourself if you can move them closer to a better, more distinguishable place, maybe one from your childhood where you can dwell on odors, recoil from a pest, or touch the occasional petal or a discarded cigarette.

Once you’ve moved them in (or out), let them interact with this place. You will find that the scene changes, not just visually, but the action too, the words, the thoughts of the people inside the scene.

I am leading you to the environment (streets with stray dogs, one scratching an already swollen tail, there’s a building, salmon pink, you won’t miss it as the other others are nearly all gray or sky blue, but there’s a foot of wrought iron jutting from its side and someone in the neighborhood—who?—comes out at dawn to hang sando bags of garbage there for the morning collection, and after that’s collected, the children take turns monkeying around with bar, oh the reddish brown on their palms) because while your submissions tell us that you can put into words what’s on your character’s mind, you and your characters must engage the material texture of the world or those feelings would seem to bloom from no true ground.

Attached is this book that I’ve kept, an old go-to when it comes to composition.

Kaugnay sa ilang sipi tungo sa posibilidad ng rebyu ng poblacion

Narito ang mga nasabing sipi, habang nasa ibaba ang isa sa dalawang imaheng naipakiusap mula kina A dela Rosa at Reya Mari. Ito ang ika-15 pahina ng kanilang zine.

40 blue shadows

On Akat, Akat Revisited, Re:Visions, and Another Place


Irma Lacorte’s current solo exhibit is presented by the National Commission for Culture and the Arts . It will run until July 31 at the NCCA Gallery, Intramuros, Manila.

For now, let us believe that the act of an epic is to preserve, to carry farm produce, trinkets, magical pets, vats of dye, and rolls of fabric aboard the same story. Our elders wanted to keep it together, we are told, to each its proper place, every detail as if charged with command:

                    Let there be light

                    As on heaven so on earth

                    Eat the world

                    Still life

So we take and keep, and what we can’t preserve we transform into something not fully tangible, something that might yet outlive us. How do we keep such non-things in? How do we leave an inkling of something to the next carriers, to those destined to find some other yet unforeseen use for it? And what if the notion is to multiply, “scatter”?

Irma Lacorte comes to us now with four of her exhibits, cut portions of her creative prime, her decades of making, gifts from walking about among under shades of violet and yellow ochre, swimming in blue, breathing out variants of white. Her Akat and Akat Revisited play on the T’boli word for scatter, and while one celebrates land and wind, the other invites water.

And water pervades my way of looking at it: Irma doesn’t take the word “akat,” she takes to it—as Rilke once took to the phrase “nature morte”. Heroines and heroes of creation myths would behold the leaf and name it “leaf,” and when millennia after we invented bound pages, it was as if we could not think of any other word. Perhaps even back then, while envisioning contracts and narratives, we also saw how these leaves torn from their contexts would take flight.

In Re:Visions, a partial gloss was placed over previous compositions to extend and renew the tale, maybe even change it, push the thought off the weathered groove. But there is no abandoning the old meter: though limned, the original make might yet be traced through the new membrane. Life is cut and layered in a variety of modes—dried petals and a flower print cut-out drift toward a silhouette abloom, and alongside them dart fragments of anthologies (“anthology,” from the Greek for “bouquet”)—across the sprawl of a sheet that was perhaps not done saying something else.

We have followed the chant from lake to sea, the artist from hilltop to her far shore. But Another Place takes us to the root of it, the wild vision all of a sudden grounded, as if children unraveling from crawl to walk, or fingers held high, but steady, to gather wind, and at the base of it, the hidden decay, decomposition informing composition, this old, irremediable striving, the pain beholding itself, hoping to exhume some pattern, the expectation itself painful: and maybe—receiving nothing, hearing no whisper, finding no opportunity—we are brought to latch, finally, onto beauty.

BVX

B figures hmm, they’re just like the Rs in a fight when on a steady diet of training runs with the fam. So he’s scanning for patterns, testing with projectiles and feints, all the while using their own field anxiety against them: hitting a friend. As B I’d ride A, but only if it’s fun rodeo, I mean, if there’s a golden bridle of sorts (I’m thinking D’s), otherwise it would be like riding a metal cactus which is also a god-besotted pegasus. So if I’m not riding him, I’m defending against him. Blind him until you figure him out, etc. If I’m not deploying anything, it wouldn’t be ideal to take I. However, if I have my anti-F gear, then it’s I, but only to incapacitate as how’s it B-like to use someone unconscious as a shield? It’d be too much of a hostage sitcom, too desperate. Maybe the weakest link is C if you have a B skill-set (oh, B must have a thing for S-type eye burns, should be able to defend against those in his day-sleep). Get behind him! Though C is the brainiest in terms of tactics: it would be like dodging O-beams. Counter-though if B sets up the surroundings, you know, smoke, etc. But if he isn’t U-belting anything? So it’s I cracking jokes, maybe all that fear factor not biting. It’s H, and if he’s holding something science-y or mystic artsy, B will take it from him, but if H is all body? Well it shouldn’t be easy throwing against any of them alone or together, as adults or as kids (what’s a human if you’ve toed field against E?). Anyway, enter J (X’s J not B’s). B resists with some zen-type jujitsu or whatnot, maybe surprise J (B pulled a trick like this against the M, but he had time to study the M). Anyway, J gets revived (everyone always rushes to save her, we all know this) and though B makes happy with the folk thrown off, J at round 2 will use bigger, headier stuff, maybe a TK to go with the TP. So, J’s inside, and H pins B down, C takes aim (at, I don’t know, the brand, I suppose, though he must realize that its up front and “eye-catching” because, hey, don’t look at the chin), A is enraged (I’s look guys, she has this, and they know she does, the universe is her fire-buddy like that, but B seems like the slippery sort of SR, and you should at least pose to maintain focus) but J goes, no, don’t hurt him, please, don’t hurt him, because the pain, the rage. Little boys right, what can I say? J’s in tears, and C’s jealous (and if it’s as kids, then so’s H). I’s playing his usual dumb, so, is it over, are we friends now? A is trying to shrug off the acid (or if it’s as kids, to burn it all off). B glares, recalculates, accepts that the files are out, has been shared, the thing to consider is 01. will they work for him, 02. will they work with him, 03. will they get out of the way long enough for him to accomplish what needs accomplishing? .04 Who has time for this? He decides he can’t have all these wild cards running about, has to distract them somewhat. It’s a good thing he called N at the outset, before the first blow was even struck. Yes, N, the time-saver. N, a prettier pair of lips than even C. N gets J confused (at the very least) and I, too (though the adult I would deny it). H gives it his trademark oh my, and that very instant he gets to “garters” he regrets it.

Notes on Cid Corman’s “Fire”

Is it the
principle
or process

of desire?
To take some
thing at all

once from it
self until
it pervades

emptiness—
warms and glows
and goes out.

But what is
out that is
not into?

*

—

It seems like someone has been staring at a candle, looking at how much (and how much nothing) goes into that hunger. Including his/her thoughts, desires, thoughts of desire, and desire to think—all of which should be eliminated if there’s to be any hope at all of extinguishing the ego, suffering.

—

The stanza cut yields us both. The sentence assigns pervades to it (it pervades emptiness, which seems to be something both occupying and being occupied by emptiness) but the cut allows emptiness its own stanza, where it may warm and glow, maybe as something quite distinct from just an emptied out some/thing.

—

Another, burdened with saying what’s nothing in such space.

—