tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-61690142023-06-20T21:22:11.471-07:00P(u)we-tics ni TatangPwe, Puwet, and Puwetics of an old man. Tatang REtonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07974886548609901724noreply@blogger.comBlogger36125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6169014.post-53161379229687500502010-09-18T08:42:00.001-07:002010-09-18T08:42:27.514-07:00Time flies<br />
<br />
18 September 2010<br />
<br />
My dearest daughter,<br />
<br />
Time flies when you are having fun. In the last two days, I just connected with two first cousins of mine. My father’s sister’s children. All I remember about them is their house in a certain region in the Philippines. Thirty years is a long time to be away from home. <br />
<br />
They have memories of us going to Tagaytay. I have very nice photos of it. <br />
<br />
I have memories of eating oyster at their house party. Very good memories of it. I did not realize that someday, I will also be an oyster fanatic. I remember the old people handling the oysters gingerly, opening them carefully so that their hands don’t get cut. <br />
<br />
I remember their father coming home with a Hasselblad camera 6x4. He was the first of the overseas workers, we did not know then. A continuation of the brain drain. The Philippines builds the world while the Philippines languishes. <br />
<br />
They had many children in their family. I can count six in my memory. But the memories are far away from memory simply because we grew up far from them. <br />
<br />
There are many mysteries about your grandfather that I am trying to piece together. It is not easy. His siblings either did not want to write about him, or could not write about him. Their life in the Philippines was hard.<br />
<br />
So, we settle into wondering about his life, trying to piece together some genealogical map to bring order to chaos, to unknown.<br />
<br />
What I do know are as follows. We left the Philippines. He left in 1981 with your grandmother. We joined them in 1982 in Los Angeles. They borrowed the money form a friend of theirs in New York.<br />
<br />
In Los Angeles, your grandpa would sit outside even in the rain barbequing. He loved to BBQ. He loved cigarettes; he loved beer too.<br />
<br />
College financial aid bought us our first American car. Not just any car, mind you, it was an Oldsmobile Omega 1984. The smell of that car was intoxicating. The cloth was dark brown, not chocolate, but chocolate hills dark brown. Philippine dark brown.<br />
<br />
Grandfather worked as a cleark at Bank of America. He used to be the chief accountant for the Bureau of Trade in the Philippines. Or so my memory tells me. <br />
<br />
(Aside to you daughter: There is always a desire in humans to be above everyone else. I understand this. I used to have this desire. You must understand that our family began at the bottom. If we are to rise, we stand on each generation’s successes and failures. No one else will give it to us.)<br />
<br />
Your grandfather was at the top of the game in the 1970’s. An Ilokano accountant CPA defending the budget of a whole government ministry to Malacanang. Not bad for a boy born in Ilokos. This might have been our Ilokano heights. The time of martial law. <br />
<br />
But he leaves office with a hint of despair. Charged with corruption, or some crime that he should have known about if he was really in command of his group. Forced to retire and to seek a new life in America.<br />
<br />
How do you go from the heights of command to become a clerk in B of A, when B of A meant opportunity and not infidelity? By smoking nearly two packs a day. By drinking four cans of beer at the end. <br />
<br />
Like the ancestors of old, pain is just your body telling you that you need more alcohol, more nicotine to drown out that body pain.<br />
<br />
In the end, it was just one day in which all things changed. A near crash at an intersection that led me to wear his seatbelt. Feet swelling which led to a leukemia diagnosis. <br />
<br />
And all those hours in the hospital for my mother. How do you define love? I saw it there. Nary leaving the hospital from the day the ordeal began till the day he died. Your grandmother must have lost 20 years in that time. The rock, the foundation in life against all odds. <br />
<br />
If you ever come to a precipice of life, remember your grandmother. A rock. A foundation. There is nothing that can shake us from this earth with her mooring you to the core of humanity. Nothing!<br />
<br />
Such emotions are so raw. So painful to process. Yet so essential to understand so that you don’t get lost in your life. Do not worry about the past. The past is taken care of by your ancestors. Worry for your future. Prepare for interesting times.Tatang REtonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07974886548609901724noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6169014.post-1144081988734222412006-04-03T19:00:00.000-07:002006-04-03T09:33:08.750-07:00Birth …death. A cycle that repeats incessantly. In a thousand worlds, in countless galaxies. Birth …death. The two sides of a knife. The same side of life. <br /><br />In our reaction to death, to dying, we see that which is true in the universe. <br /><br /><br /><b>APRIL IN LOS ANGELES</b><br />by Eileen Tabios<br /><br />[4/2/06, A.M.]<br /><br /><br />1)<br />Everything is a relationship.<br /><br />My family relied on the doctor to cure my father.<br /><br />The doctor caught my mother in a weak moment and got her to concede, "Yes, he's dying."<br /><br />I arrived in Los Angeles to hear my mother report on how a doctor discussed the best ways for a man to die, rather than how to heal.<br /><br />"Doctor," I said in a conversation I plan to have. "Your role is not to advice how a person best dies. Your role is to treat illness, hopefully cure it."<br /><br />I heard his thought, He's dying.<br /><br />I replied with my eyes, We're all dying. We're also all living.<br /><br />The words I said: "What do you recommend for someone who wants to live, with a family who wants him to live?"<br /><br /><br />2)<br />Since I last saw her, Mama has sprouted snow on her head.<br /><br />Mama, ever by Daddy's bedside.<br /><br /><br />3)<br />F. beats himself inside his mind for having chided Dad for not eating. Later, we would learn his throat was blocked by so much phlegm he could not swallow.<br /><br />Tears firmly jailed by the mind.<br /><br />I beat myself up because I don't want to be here -- where Dad has shrunk to "Daddy" cradled among plastic tubes delivering antibiotics, antibiotics, antibiotics ... and oxygen.<br /><br /><br />4)<br />I am glad to be here. He saw me enter his hospital room and his face was suddenly the sun. His arms entwined with plastic tubes reached forth to hug me. I am glad he felt my arms, suddenly trees surrounding him. He hugged me back but I only felt more air.<br /><br /><br />5)<br />Kaiser Permanente -- ever stupid with cost-cutting cruelty. One hospital forced my father to leave -- "he's fine; he just needs to go home."<br /><br />On the way home, Daddy started to have trouble breathing and they turned the car to take him to another Kaiser hospital's Emergency Room.<br /><br />He is still in the Emergency Room.<br /><br />Once, the ER nurse asked my mother in sincere confusion, "Why did the other hospital discharge him?"<br /><br />A new question added to the list of questions which will never have adequate answers: How could the other hospital have discharged him?<br /><br /><br />6)<br />My father is better treated at the second hospital.<br /><br />People matter.<br /><br />At this second hospital, there is an experienced nurse with the ability to dislodge the phlegm that had been blocking my father's throat for five weeks in the other hospital.<br /><br />They kept the jar with the sucked out phlegm. Ugly. Yellow. And the last piece sucked out was solid. Ugly. Brown.<br /><br />"Like a piece of paper," my cousin observed about its solidity.<br /><br />I would not be able to breathe, too, or swallow with paper stuffed down my throat.<br /><br />As if my poems remained trapped there as I gasp unsuccessfully to sing.<br /><br />I would not be able to breathe if my body jailed my poems.<br /><br />My father is ill and I think of poetry and and and all of that saddens me.<br /><br /><br />==============<br />[4/2/06, P.M.]<br /><br /><br />7)<br />The conversation unfolded as I imagined it.<br /><br />I asked, "Doctor, I'd like an update."<br /><br />The doctor -- this one with a better "bedside manner" than any other Kaiser doctor I've met -- replied, "He's dying. I don't know what update I can give."<br /><br /><br />8)<br />My father's youngest son -- my brother -- died unexpectedly less than six months ago. At one point this evening, not knowing where next to turn my mind, I turned to a cousin H. to say, "If my father is to die soon, it's too bad he couldn't have died before my brother. It must be difficult for a parent to witness the death of a child."<br /><br />In response, H. said nothing.<br /><br />Belatedly, I remember that H., with whom I'd lost touch over the years, has two children, one age 2 and the other age 5.<br /><br /><br />9)<br />Except.<br /><br />Except that since I arrived by his bedside, his condition markedly improved. Within hours after my arrival, he improved enough to be taken out of the emergency room. The technician unplugging his various tubes in preparation for moving him said, "It's always good news to be transferred out of ER."<br /><br />Always?<br /><br /><br />10)<br />Later, I joked to Dad about how his improved condition must be due to my arrival. Grandiosely, I emphasized, "It must be my presence!"<br /><br />He turned his head slightly, pretending otherwise. But his lips smiled.<br /><br />He had called me a few weeks ago in the midst of delirium caused by his medicines. Not knowing what else to do, Mom had put him on the phone. That's when he scared me shitless by announcing, "I've got a tumor coming out of my nose."<br /><br />Later, Mom would explain that the "tumor" was the feeding tube inserted through his nose. But, first, he pleaded with me to talk to Dr. G -- the very useless Dr. G -- to take away the tumor. To ease his mind, I lied and said I would. That's when he broke my heart by saying so plaintively, like a child just melting in relief, "Thank you."<br /><br />As if I had the power to make things better.<br /><br />The painful, conflict-ridden relationship we had all my life and, despite the criticisms he'd levied, he still believes me to be a bigger person than I know myself to be.<br /><br />As if I had the power to make things better for him.<br /><br /><br />11)<br />I left him nearly 30 years ago. I have finally returned.<br /><br />Finally.<br /><br /><br />12)<br />Everything is a relationship.<br /><br /><br />13)<br />As if I could make things better.<br /><br />No. Thank you, Dad.<br /><br /><br />14)<br />The adult ages into child. The parent becomes a baby. The only difference, I thought as the tossed-aside blanket revealed how thin and ravaged his body has become, is that all babies are beautiful.<br /><br />It took three seconds for my mind to skid, turn a corner and conclude, His ravaged body is beautiful. The purple bruises and purple lines of collapsed veins caused from too many intravenous tubes. The folds of skin loosened as his inability to eat pares down muscles and fat. The brown age spots. The skeletal legs undermined by lack of exercise. A body that I suddenly realized his daughter can probably carry.<br /><br />Would carry.<br /><br />O, Fallen Angel.Tatang REtonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07974886548609901724noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6169014.post-1130433326722104522005-10-27T10:13:00.000-07:002005-10-27T10:15:26.723-07:00<b>Kabalyero</b><br /><br />What does <a href="http://www.kabalyero.motime.com/">kabalyero</a> mean? <br /><br />At any rate, she speaks of love and killing and incest. What else do you need? She joins the list of writers.Tatang REtonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07974886548609901724noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6169014.post-1113123436391416582005-04-10T01:55:00.000-07:002005-04-10T01:57:16.393-07:00<b>Kanlaon</b><br /><br />Nick Carbo's poem <b><a href="http://carbonator.blogspot.com/2005/03/prose-poem-i-was-supposed-to-send-to.html">When I Was The God of Destruction</a></b> moves me.Tatang REtonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07974886548609901724noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6169014.post-1093892673252452282004-08-30T12:04:00.000-07:002004-08-30T12:04:33.253-07:00<b>From My Eyes</b>
<br />
<br />My knees hurt from having to kneel
<br />waiting to hand one offering after another
<br />
<br />beads of sweat in my blood
<br />wondering whether or not it was enough.
<br />
<br />in the end it was not jewelry but my words
<br />just as it was in the beginning.
<br />Tatang REtonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07974886548609901724noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6169014.post-1085331768206274222004-05-23T10:02:00.000-07:002004-05-23T10:03:06.290-07:00<b>Asian American Poetry: The Next Generation
<br />Edited by Victoria M. Chang
<br />Foreword by Marilyn Chin</b>
<br />
<br />Filipino American poets featured
<br />
<br />Rick Barot
<br />Nick Carbo
<br />Antonio Jocson
<br />Aimee Nezhukumatathil
<br />Oliver de la Paz
<br />Jon Pineda
<br />Marisa de los Santos
<br />
<br />This exciting anthology of work by up-and-coming writers is the first to profile a new generation of Asian American poets. Building on the legacy of now-canonized poets, such as Li-Young Lee, Cathy Song, and Garrett Hongo, who were the first to achieve widespread recognition in the American literary community, this new generation also strikes off in bold new directions. Asian American Poetry: The Next Generation gathers for the first time a broad cross section of the very best work of these young poets, much of which has never before been published or has appeared only in hard-to-find journals and first books of poetry.
<br />
<br />The poems collected in Asian American Poetry: The Next Generation lay a groundwork for readers while at the same time expanding the scope of American literature. Featured poets, all under the age of forty, include Timothy Liu, Adrienne Su, Nick Carbo, Sue Kwock Kim, Rick Barot, Brenda Shaughnessy, Mong-Lan, as well as less familiar names. Their backgrounds combine many ethnicities and their perspectives and concerns broaden the boundaries of Asian American poetry. Some continue with styles and topics closely related to those of their predecessors while others break conventional patterns and challenge readers with new subject matter, fresh language, and powerful new voices.
<br />
<br />A foreword by Marilyn Chin puts the book in context of both Asian American national identity and history, and makes the important distinctions between generations clear. Asian American Poetry: The Next Generation opens the door on a dynamic, developing part of the poetic world, making it finally accessible to students, scholars, and poetry fans alike.
<br />
<br />
<br />"The poems in this vibrant, varied collection address so many subjects in such a range of voices that it all but destroys monolithic notions of Asian American identity, culture, and issues."
<br />-- Guiyou Huang, author of The Columbia Guide to Asian American Literature
<br />
<br />"A new generation of Asian American poets has indeed risen and needs to be acknowledged and celebrated--something this book does brilliantly. Victoria Chang has done a great deal of digging, allowing the reader of this collection to experience again and again the excitement of discovering a vibrant new poetic voice."
<br />-- Jim Daniels, author of City Pool and coeditor of American Poetry: The Next Generation.
<br />
<br />
<br />Illinois Univ. Press
<br />232 pages. 6 x 9 inches.
<br />Cloth, ISBN 0-252-02905-4. $45.00
<br />Paper, ISBN 0-252-07174-3. $20.00
<br />Poetry / Asian-American Studies / Literature, AmericanTatang REtonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07974886548609901724noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6169014.post-1083530763882011112004-05-02T13:45:00.000-07:002004-05-02T13:50:25.170-07:00<b>Pilipino Poems</b>
<br />
<br />If you ever wanted <b><a href="http://www.emanila.com/pilipino/panitikan/">Pin@y poems</a></b>, here it is.
<br />Tatang REtonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07974886548609901724noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6169014.post-1083520552578054472004-05-02T10:53:00.000-07:002004-05-02T11:00:14.216-07:00Assignment for March 2004: Flipping the situation.
<br />
<br />This is the poem that I forced to birth. It was a difficult assignment from <a href="http://yllor.blogspot.com/">Rollie</a> Guess who my inspiration is: George W. Bush!!! He stammered, he yawed, he sank into oblivion when asked about the US soldiers who were taking photos of tortured Iraqis posed in the nude. Talk about having an idiot in the White House. We got one!
<br />
<br />A Filipino-American Soldier in Afghanistan
<br />
<br />(First days of the Gulf War II)
<br />Barbarians! The whole lot of them.
<br />Living in filth so that they can
<br />humiliate and murder people.
<br />Barbarians! They deserve to die!
<br />
<br />A special place in hell awaits all these
<br />who would be the bringers of jihad.
<br />They will burn in the fires of damnation.
<br />
<br />(December 2003 of Gulf War II)
<br />Barbarians! They separate me from
<br />my wife and children. If it were not them
<br />I would be at home fixing my children's
<br />Christmas presents. I will kill them for that!
<br />
<br />I am doing God's work by bringing civilization
<br />to the Middle East. I will sanctify
<br />this land with the power of America
<br />just like Spain civilized the Philippines.
<br />
<br />
<br />(May 2004 of Gulf War II)
<br />Barbarian! I killed a whole village yesterday
<br />with the simple push of a button.
<br />While the world trade center took four thousand
<br />I have taken four thousand myself.
<br />
<br />I will meet in hell the jihad warriors
<br />whom I despised so much.
<br />I am in hell.
<br />Tatang REtonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07974886548609901724noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6169014.post-1079295071291968212004-03-14T12:10:00.000-08:002004-03-14T12:14:50.106-08:00<b>A list of Pin@y Writings</b>
<br />
<br />
<br />NOVELS
<br />
<br />Apostol, Gina. Bibliolepsy. U.P., 1997.
<br />Babst, Arlene. Xeniteia. National, 1982.
<br />Batacan, F.H. Smaller and Smaller Circles. U.P., 2002.
<br />Brainard, Cecilia. Song of Yvonne. New Day, 1991. [The Day the Rainbow Goddess Wept, Plume, 1995]
<br />Casper, Linda Ty. Awaiting Trespass. New Day, 1989.
<br />__________. Dread Empire. Heinemann, 1982.
<br />__________. Dream Eden. Ateneo, 1997.
<br />__________. Fortress in a Plaza. New Day, 1985.
<br />__________. The Hazards of Distance. New Day, 1981.
<br />__________. The Peninsulars. Bookmark, 1964.
<br />__________. A Small Party in the Garden. New Day, 1988.
<br />__________. The Stranded Whale. Ateneo, 2002.
<br />__________. Ten Thousand Seeds. Ateneo, 1987.
<br />__________. Wings of Stone. New Day, 1990.
<br />Chai. Arlene. The Last Time I Saw Mother. Fawcett Columbine, 1997.
<br />__________. Eating Fire and Drinking Water. Review. 1998.
<br />Castillo, Erwin. The Firewalkers. [Anvil, 1992]; U.P., 2003.
<br />Dalisay, Jose. Killing Time in a Warm Place. Anvil, 1992.
<br />Daroy, E. Vallado. Hazards of Memory. New Day, 1992.
<br />Enriquez, Antonio. The Living in the Dead. Giraffe, 1994.
<br />__________. Subanons. U.P. 1998.
<br />__________. Surveyors of Liguasan Marsh. [Univ. of Queensland, 1981] A. Ruby/ARE, 1991.
<br />Enriquez, Mig Alvarez. Devil Flower. National. 1977.
<br />__________. House of Images. New Day, 1993.
<br />Galang, Zoilo. A Child of Sorrow. [1921] PECO, 1924.
<br />Gamalinda, Eric. Confessions of a Volcano. Anvil, 1990.
<br />__________. The Empire of Memory. Anvil, 1992.
<br />__________. My Sad Republic. U.P. 2000.
<br />__________. Planet Waves. New Day, 1989.
<br />Garrido, Wilfredo. Stolia. New Day, 1983.
<br />Gil, Lakshmi. The Third Infinitive. Tsar, 1993.
<br />Gonzalez, NVM. The Bamboo Dancers. Benipayo, 1960.
<br />__________. A Season of Grace. Benipayo, 1956.
<br />__________. Winds of April. U.P., 1998.
<br />Groyon, Vicente. Sky Over Dimas. DLSU, 2003.
<br />Hagedorn, Jessica. Dogeaters. Pantheon, 1990.
<br />__________. Gangster of Love. Houghton Mifflin, 1996.
<br />Hidalgo, Cristina Pantoja. Recuerdo. U.P., 1996.
<br />__________. A Book of Dreams. U.P., 2001.
<br />Holthe, Tess Uriza. When the Elephants Dance. Crown, 2002.
<br />Ilio, Dominador. Guerrilla Memoirs. 1993.
<br />Infante, Eddie. Affairs. New Day, 1984.
<br />Javellana, Stevan. Without Seeing the Dawn. (1947) Phoenix, 1976.
<br />Joaquin, Nick. Cave and Shadows. [National, 1983] Anvil, 2003.
<br />__________. The Woman Who Had Two Navels. Regal, 1961.
<br />Jose, F. Sionil. Ermita. Solidaridad, 1988.
<br />__________. Gagamba. Solidaridad, 1991.
<br />__________. Mass. Solidaridad, 1979.
<br />__________. My Brother, My Executioner. New Day, 1979.
<br />__________. Po-On. Solidaridad, 1984.
<br />__________. The Pretenders. Solidaridad, 1962.
<br />__________. Tree. Solidaridad, 1978.
<br />__________. Two Filipino Women. Solidaridad, 1981.
<br />__________. Viajero. Solidaridad, 1993.
<br />Kalaw, Maximo. The Filipino Rebel. [1927] Filipiniana, 1964.
<br />Laya, Juan, His Native Soil. [1940] Kayumanggi, 1972.
<br />__________. This Barangay Inang Wika, 1950.
<br />Lim, Paulino. Tiger Orchids on Mount Mayon. New Day, 1990.
<br />__________. Requiem for a Dying Priest. New Day. 1996.
<br />Linmark, Rinehart Zamora. Rolling the R’s. Kaya, 1995.
<br />Madrid, Renato. Devil Wings. Ateneo, 1997.
<br />__________. Mass for the Death of an Enemy. Ateneo, 2001.
<br />Miraflor, Norma. Island of Wives. Mediamasters, 1994.
<br />Moore, Lina Espina. The Honey, the Locusts. New Day, 1992.
<br />__________. Heart of the Lotus. Solidaridad, 1970.
<br />__________. A Lion in the House. New Day, 1980.
<br />Nakpil, Carmen Guerrero. The Rice Conspiracy. Vessel, 1990.
<br />Nolledo, Wilfredo. But for the Lovers. [Dutton, 1970] Dalkey, 1994.
<br />Ong, Charlson. Embarrassment of Riches. U.P., 2000.
<br />Ong, Hau. Fixer Chao. Farrar-Strauss, 2000.
<br />Polotan, Kerima. The Hand of the Enemy. [Regal, 1961] U.P., 1998.
<br />Realuyo, Bino. The Umbrella Country. Ballantine, 1999.
<br />Reyes, Gracianus. Death in the Cordilleras. New Day, 1988.
<br />__________. The Uncommitted. New Day, 1986.
<br />Rosca, Ninotchka. State of War. [Norton] Phil. Edition, National, 1988.
<br />__________. Twice Blessed. [Norton] Phil. Edition, IWS, St. Scholastica/ Gabriela, 1988.
<br />Salanga, Alfrredo (and Romulo Sandoval). The Birthing of Hannibal Valdez (in two languages). New Day, 1984.
<br />Santos, Bienvenido. The Man Who (Thought He) Looked Like Robert Taylor. New Day, 1983.
<br />__________. The Praying Man. New Day, 1982.
<br />__________. Villa Magdalena. New Day, 1965.
<br />__________. The Volcano. New Day, 1965.
<br />__________. What the Hell For You Left your Heart in San Francisco? New Day, 1987.
<br />Sering, Tara F.T. “Getting Better,” Reconnaissance. U.P., 2003.
<br />Skinner, Michele. Mango Seasons. Anvil, 1996.
<br />Talag, Michele. The Sanchezes of Old Manila. National, 1978.
<br />Tiempo, Edith. The Alien Corn. New Day, 1992.
<br />__________. A Blade of Fern. [Heinemann, 1978] Giraffe, 1998.
<br />__________. The Builder. Anvil, 2003.
<br />__________. His Native Coast. [New Day, 1979.] U.P., 2000.
<br />__________. One, Tilting Leaves. Giraffe, 1995.
<br />Tiempo, Edilberto. The Cracked Mirror. New Day, 1984.
<br />__________. More than Conquerors. 1964.
<br />__________. The Standard Bearer. New Day, 1985.
<br />__________. To Be Free. New Day, 1972.
<br />__________. Watch in the Night. Archipelago, 1953.
<br />Uranza, Azucena Grau. Bamboo in the Wind. Vera-Reyes, 1990.
<br />__________. A Passing Season. New Day. 2002.
<br />Yuson, Alfred. Great Philippine Jungle Energy Café. [Adriana, 1988] U.P., 1996.
<br />__________. Voyeurs and Savages. Anvil. 1998.
<br />
<br />Tatang REtonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07974886548609901724noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6169014.post-1079258662657496802004-03-14T02:03:00.000-08:002004-03-14T02:07:36.450-08:00<b>I have little tolerance for people like me</b>
<br />
<br />Yes, I keep seeing triple L's out there. Triple Losers. Jesus. I'm one of them.
<br />Tatang REtonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07974886548609901724noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6169014.post-1079257710869299442004-03-14T01:48:00.000-08:002004-03-14T01:51:44.216-08:00<b>for the SO</b>
<br />
<br />i am in love with a woman
<br />who wields a sword as if
<br />she was breastfeeding her child.
<br />
<br />her stare reveals the many spirits
<br />communing within her flesh.
<br />they celebrate their lives
<br />
<br />through her halad.
<br />every strike a breath
<br />every parry a laughter.
<br />
<br />desire played a role in my life once
<br />but now the heart skips,
<br />flutters at the thought of her smile.
<br />Tatang REtonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07974886548609901724noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6169014.post-1078848308382095972004-03-09T08:04:00.000-08:002004-03-09T08:08:15.640-08:00<b>Patrick Rosal</b>
<br />
<br />I finally figured out what it is about Patrick Rosal and why he is one of the vanguard of the golden age of Pin@y culture in America:
<br />
<br />He's a slam poet but he is not the typical slam poet of MTV. There is a complexity to his poetry that is unmatched by other slammers. He is a true poet living in a slam poet's body.
<br />
<br />Tatang REtonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07974886548609901724noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6169014.post-1078848005196382142004-03-09T07:59:00.000-08:002004-03-09T08:04:11.123-08:00<b>i protest</b>
<br />
<br />i protest how time moves
<br /> from baby to boy to man
<br />i blink and
<br /> the people i know grow
<br /> wrinkles and white hair
<br />i pucker to kiss and
<br /> children amused by stories
<br /> giggle at my feet
<br />i hug a child and
<br /> i am called lolo
<br />i protest the speed of my life
<br /> i want to kiss you
<br /> and live my life again.Tatang REtonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07974886548609901724noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6169014.post-1077904341608475422004-02-27T09:50:00.000-08:002004-02-27T10:03:43.983-08:00<b>turon</b>
<br />
<br />buddha used to preside over the store with incense drifting from the ceiling.
<br />but now the crucified christ has come to spread his worldly charm all over.
<br />food used to be bountiful, the product of an economy unsurpassed in raw materials.
<br />but ever since christ came, the portions have been smaller, the meat less tender.
<br />
<br />i did not mind the change in proprietors. after all how can you screw up pinoy food?
<br />boil the chicken and pork in toyo and suka for an hour and you have adobo,
<br />boil the rice in water and kanin appears. fry the pork in oil and lechon kawali pops out.
<br />scoop the ube on the mixed nata de coco, langka and sweet beans and halo-halo is served.
<br />
<br />wrap a banana with langka as if making lumpia, place into boiling sugar cooked
<br />over medium high heat and turon the king of all merienda makes an appearance.
<br />but christ in his holy charity prescribes that perhaps we should practice poverty
<br />humility and some sort of piety so the proprietor of the store quartered the banana
<br />and meekly placed it into the turon.
<br />
<br />buddha was aghast at what his son christ's follower did. quarter a banana?
<br />ridiculous. the saba costs the shine of FDR or ten lincolns, at most maybe a
<br />washington coin. buddha cried when all the lovely friends he made through the
<br />years stopped visiting the temple where christ practices piety.
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Tatang REtonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07974886548609901724noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6169014.post-1077902314432139872004-02-27T09:16:00.000-08:002004-02-27T09:34:26.700-08:00<b>slam poetry</b>
<br />
<br />i do not slam my poetry around
<br />i'm afraid i do not have enough angst or anger
<br />to summon the demons of alcohol, drugs or abuse
<br />the worst my demons get is when i remember high school
<br />i should have asked K to the dance floor or out for a walk
<br />in UCLA's sculpture garden.
<br />
<br />my parents never divorced each other though sometimes
<br />i wonder if it would have been better if they did.
<br />in america their lives were so intertwined by money that
<br />petty jealousies would rear from something twenty years ago.
<br />in the end though, my mother stayed in the hospital
<br />as my father went through a series of chills and pills.
<br />
<br />the closest my world came to an end was the death
<br />of my mother. the sky was azurine blue with the hand of god
<br />the wind gently kissed my ears and the sun was pure
<br />the color of childhood milk. but worlds come to an end
<br />and are reborn again if you choose to live your life.
<br />
<br />slam fingers / slam feet do not materialize in the air
<br />like cocaine fueling the economy. sometimes though when
<br />the president wants a constitutional amendment to deprive
<br />people of rights, my eye twitches, my fingers crack and
<br />my head shakes at the stupidity of it all. but no, my fingers
<br />do not point, my feet do not pace. my mind races and my heart
<br />contorts at the absurdity. nothing else.
<br />
<br />i am of age to a generation which never prized innocence because
<br />it is only an illusion conjured up by ignorants and cowards. truth
<br />comes in many forms and the more i and my generation see the
<br />truth, the better of i and my generation are.
<br />Tatang REtonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07974886548609901724noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6169014.post-1077899138671714872004-02-27T08:25:00.000-08:002004-02-27T08:28:30.543-08:00<b>Simula</b>
<br />
<br />psst! hoy!
<br />
<br />ako ay isang kolonyal
<br />buong buhay nakatago
<br />sa limlim ng siyudad.
<br />
<br />lumaki at lumakas
<br />mula sa hapag kainan
<br />ng telebisyon at radyo.
<br />
<br />marami akong mga kamay
<br />na tumutubo mula sa aking
<br />katawan. nakatago nga lang.
<br />
<br />kung gusto mo naman ay
<br />mata, mayroon din akong
<br />pitong sa pikit ay marikit.
<br />
<br />ang buhok ng karanasan
<br />ay nagbigay kislap sa aking
<br />nuong limang lipad ang tangka.
<br />
<br />psst! hoy!
<br />
<br />sa iyong sarili hanapin
<br />ang kapatid ko.
<br />Tatang REtonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07974886548609901724noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6169014.post-1076993882425273472004-02-16T20:57:00.000-08:002004-02-16T21:00:39.496-08:00<b>Filipino Food Anthology Submission Guidelines</b>
<br />
<br />As expatriates, migrants, settlers in a world that
<br />insists upon our Westernization, we lose so much. Our
<br />language goes, economics necessitates the breakdown of
<br />our family structures, and many of our cultural
<br />foundations break down.
<br />
<br />Increased urbanization has altered our living patterns
<br />and our palettes. But what remains, unswervingly, are
<br />our memories of food. Properly and lovingly prepared,
<br />linked to rituals, a sense of community, geography.
<br />Food brings us back to ourselves.
<br />
<br />Submission guidelines:
<br />
<br />-Up to 3 poems, short story, and/or other fictional
<br />work.
<br />
<br />-Each piece must make mention to or be inspired by at
<br />least one Filipino dish. For example, green mango
<br />shake would be considered a dish, but mangoes would
<br />not.
<br />
<br />-Included with the submission should be a recipe for
<br />the referenced and inspiring dish(es). If all pieces
<br />refer to only one dish, then one recipe may be
<br />submitted. Author may choose which recipe to submit
<br />if multiple dishes are mentioned in one piece.
<br />
<br />Example: If all pieces refer to kare-kare, then one
<br />recipe for kare-kare should be submitted. If the 3
<br />pieces submitted refer separately to adobo, laing, and
<br />kaldereta respectively, then a recipe for each of
<br />these dishes should be included.
<br />
<br />-Literary work may have been previously published.
<br />However recipes may not have been previously
<br />published.
<br />
<br />-Author of literary work and recipe may be different.
<br />
<br />-Author of literary work should have gotten permission
<br />from recipe author for inclusion in anthology.
<br />
<br />-Cover letter should include: short contributor's
<br />bio(s), titles of pieces, list of recipe(s), and
<br />contact info (name, address, and email or phone #)
<br />
<br />Send cover letter with 2 copies of literary work and
<br />recipes to:
<br />
<br />The Filipino Food Anthology
<br />c/o Barbara Reyes
<br />1461 Alice Street #205
<br />Oakland CA 94612
<br />
<br />OR
<br />
<br />Emailed in the body of the message (no attachments)
<br />to:
<br />
<br />pagkainbook@yahoo.com
<br />
<br />DEADLINE: December 25, 2004
<br />
<br />Do not send originals. Submissions will not be
<br />returned. Questions may be sent to <pagkainbook@yahoo.com>.Tatang REtonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07974886548609901724noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6169014.post-1075923418716902722004-02-04T11:35:00.000-08:002004-02-04T11:39:19.093-08:00<b> STUDY POETRY IN TRINITY COLLEGE, DUBLIN IRELAND</b>
<br />this summer with poets
<br />
<br /><b>NICK CARBO
<br />DENISE DUHAMEL
<br />CAMPBELL McGRATH</b>
<br />
<br />July 12th-August 12th 2004 (that's one whole month!)
<br />
<br />Cost of trip $3395* (includes airfare, lodging at Trinity College dorms located in center of Dublin, and many other extras like literary tours, pub crawls, book of kels, etc. etc.)
<br />
<br />Come join us in one of the most literary cities in the world. Land of Joyce, Wilde, Yeats, Beckett and many more.
<br />
<br />Study the craft of Poetry with award winning poets at historic Trinity
<br />College in the heart of Dublin.
<br />
<br />The program offers both graduate and undergraduate credit and is open to anyone interested in learning how to write poetry.
<br />
<br />Courses qualify for Teacher Re-certification.
<br />
<br />You do not need to be enrolled in a college or University to participate.
<br />
<br />* Price subject to change due to currency fluctuations March 1 deadline for applications. Only few spaces left, so hurry and sign up!
<br />
<br />For more information follow link:
<br />
<br />http://2studyabroad.com/default.htm
<br />Tatang REtonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07974886548609901724noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6169014.post-1075923306297314372004-02-04T11:33:00.000-08:002004-02-04T11:37:26.686-08:00<b>Any composers out there in California?</b>
<br />
<br />Obtained from the flips list:
<br />
<br />The San Francisco Bay Chapter of the American Composers Forum announces individual grants of from $500 to $1500 as part of its SUBITO advancement grant program to composers in northern California.
<br />
<br />SUBITO is designed to give an immediate financial boost to composers and performers of new music at a time when this help would have a significant career-enhancing effect. The application process is uncomplicated, and the peer review process is streamlined to provide quick turnaround.
<br />
<br />WHO CAN APPLY? composers, performers, and sound artists who are strongly dedicated to their art, who show artistic merit, and who propose an excellent project.
<br />
<br />Applications will be accepted from March 1 through September 1, 2004.
<br />
<br />For application materials and further information, visit:
<br />
<br />www.sfcomposersforum.org
<br />Tatang REtonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07974886548609901724noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6169014.post-1075022840961298082004-01-25T01:25:00.000-08:002004-01-25T01:29:27.123-08:00Subject: asian american lit magazine
<br />
<br />If you ve ever been or have known an Asian-American person who loved to write in between practicing piano to the tick of his or her mother s kitchen timer and applying to medical school, we welcome you or your friend to consider submitting to Asian America s new literary home, Morton s Toe.
<br />
<br />MT is a literary magazine dedicated to supporting a new generation of talented Asian-American writers. Each issue will contain a short story oressay or body of poems or other creative literary work by one Asian-Americanwriter in a well-designed, easy to read, easy to carry format.
<br />
<br />We are looking for submissions of previously unpublished material between 3000 and 8000 words or something substantial. We offer $100 and 10contributor copies upon publication.
<br />
<br />The magazine s website will also feature an interview of each writer we publish as well as other promotional material. In short, we 're not interested in just putting out a magazine; we want to create a community to support emerging Asian-American literary talent.
<br />
<br />If this sounds all right by you, click www.mortons-toe.com to submit or for more details.
<br />
<br />Sincerely,
<br />
<br />MT
<br />
<br />PS. please direct any questions to
<br />info@mortons-toe.com or
<br />mijinlee519@yahoo.com
<br />Tatang REtonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07974886548609901724noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6169014.post-1074575748398355812004-01-19T21:00:00.000-08:002004-01-19T21:17:47.560-08:00<b>Ethnic Writer</b>
<br />
<br /><blockquote>This experience reinforced my belief about the racial politics of publishing. Prior to submitting, I had a hunch that the editor would choose the poem that was more “ethnic” over the poem that was contemporary and not culturally specific.... I knew that my work would be more appealing if I wrote race and culture in a way that added a gratuitous diversity to the collection of poems even if the poem was largely fabricated. Because I am an ethnic writer, I was expected to create ethnic work...
<br />--Joel Tan, from his PINOYPOETICS essay excerpted in Jan. 7 blog entry </blockquote>
<br />
<br />One of the preoccupations I have had recently is to analyze the poems which won the Palanca awards in the Philippines during the 1980's. That decade is so prominent because of the social and political upheaval which took place to dislodge and drive away a dictator. When people feel that dying to attain freedom is more important than living in metaphysical chains, dictators have no recourse but to leave.
<br />
<br />Examining the poems, I can't help but notice that there are no references to Philippine mythology though there are adequate references to Greek mythology. It is interesting to note that some poets even sound British or American in their usage and choice of language. I have discussed before how Filipinos often subvert a dominant paradigm and transform it into something distinctly Filipino. However, in my readings of the Palanca poems, I do not detect said subversion.
<br />
<br />I am sure that there many other writers who wrote during the 1980's poems that were more nationalistic or more centered on being Filipino. Their absence in the anthology can probably be explained through the hypothesis that these writers did not win in the competition. What does that say then for the judges of the Palanca award?
<br />
<br />In writing, there are always choices. What I have found is that each individual writer makes a conscious decision about the nature of his writing. I have consciously decided to make poems which explore the colonizing influence of America and Spain in my Filipino psyche. The poet Eileen Tabios chooses to subvert the English language by being an avant-garde in poetics because the narrative form has been used in the colonization of the world.
<br />
<br />It is interesting to note that Joel Tan is examining publication and the expectations on an ethnic writer. It almost seems like he is making conscious decision to compromise the art for the sake of publication. At least that is my take on it from the excerpt above.
<br />
<br />
<br />Tatang REtonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07974886548609901724noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6169014.post-1074303702075831842004-01-16T17:40:00.000-08:002004-01-16T17:43:36.686-08:00<b>Poetry by Pin@ys</b>
<br />
<br />These are poems as sent to the internet by Alberto Florentino.
<br />
<br />~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
<br />Luya
<br />Anonimo
<br />
<br />Ako ay nagtanim,
<br />kapirasong luya,
<br />tumubo ay gabi,
<br />namunga ng mangga;
<br />nang aking pitasin,
<br />hinog na papaya;
<br />bumagsak sa lupa—
<br />magandang dalaga!
<br />
<br />Tanaga
<br />Anonimo
<br />
<br />Katawan mong madudurog,
<br />Uuuri't mabubulok,
<br />Siyang sinusunod-sunod,
<br />Hinihimas, iniirog.
<br />
<br />Soliranin
<br />Ang Tamuneneng Ko
<br />Anonimo
<br />
<br />Ang tamuneneng ko'y lumuha sa bundok,
<br />Kasabay ang taghoy ng luha't himutok.
<br />Luha'y naging dagat, along sumasalpok,
<br />Ang tamuneneng ko'y sadyang napalaot.
<br />
<br />Ako namang ito'y humanap ng daong
<br />At kusang tumugpa sa gitna ng alon.
<br />Natagpu-tagpuan: sigwa at daluyong,
<br />Ang tamuneneng ko'y kung saan nataboy.
<br />
<br />Mana isang araw, humampas ang hangin
<br />Dini sa dibdib ko na nahihilahil.
<br />Kaya pala gayon ay si tamuneneng
<br />Nasa aking puso't doon humihimbing.
<br />
<br />Hayo, mga sama, at ako'y tulungan
<br />Sa dagat itawid itong kapalaran.
<br />Kung tayo'y palaring dumating sa pampang,
<br />Ang tamuneneng ko'y aking kalangitan.
<br />
<br />Hala, gaod tayo, pagod ay tiisin,
<br />Ang lahat ng hirap, pag-aralang bathin.
<br />Palayu-layo man, kung ating ibigin,
<br />Daig ang malapit na ayaw lakbayin.
<br />
<br />Awiting-Bayan
<br />Jocelyn ng Baliuag
<br />Anonimo
<br />I
<br />Pinopoong sinta niring kaluluwa,
<br />Nakakawangis mo'y mabangong sampaga;
<br />Dalisay sa linis, dakila sa ganda,
<br />Matimyas na bukal ng madlang ligaya.
<br />
<br />Edeng masanghayang kinaluluklukan
<br />Ng galak at tuwang katamis-tamisan;
<br />Handa kang maningning na ang matunghaya'y
<br />Masamyong bulaklak agad sumisikal.
<br />
<br />Pinananaligan niring aking dibdib
<br />Na sa paglalayag sa dagat ng sakit
<br />Di mo babayaang malunod sa hapis,
<br />Sa pagkabagbag ko'y ikaw ang sasagip.
<br />II
<br />Ikaw ang lunas sa aking dalita,
<br />Tanging magliligtas sa niluha-luha,
<br />Bunying binibining sinukuang kusa
<br />Niring katawang nangangayupapa.
<br />
<br />Tanggapin ang aking wagas na pag-ibig,
<br />Marubdob na ningas na taglay sa dibdib;
<br />Sa buhay na ito'y walang nilalangit
<br />Kundi ikaw lamang, ikaw niring isip.
<br />
<br />At kawakasa'y ang kapamanhikan,
<br />Tumbasan mo yaring pagsintang dalisay;
<br />Alalahanin mong kung di kahabagan,
<br />Iyong lalasunin ang aba kong buhay.
<br />III
<br />Sa tarik ng sinta, pagal na sa hirap,
<br />Ang bunga ng nasa'y laging inaakyat;
<br />Anyong padudulo'y biglang itinulak
<br />Ng kapang-agaw ko sa sinta mo't liyag.
<br />
<br />Ang idinilig ko'y luhang bumabatis,
<br />Binakuran ko pa, masinsing pag-ibig;
<br />Sa hardin ng sinta ako ang naglinis,
<br />Saka nang mamunga'y iba ang nagkamit!
<br />
<br />Adios, halamanang aking binakuran,
<br />Hirap at dalita'y diyan ko kinamtan.
<br />Kung kaya nga lamang di ko malimutan,
<br />Palibhasa, Neneng, pinamuhunanan!
<br />
<br />Mga Saknong Mula sa
<br />Florante at Laura
<br />Francisco (Balagtas) Baltazar
<br />
<br />Pag-ibig anaki'y aking nakilala
<br />Di-dapat palakhin ang bata sa saya,
<br />At sa katuwaa'y kapag namihasa,
<br />Kung lumaki'y walang hihinting ginhawa.
<br />* * *
<br />Sapagka't ang mundo'y bayan ng hinagpis,
<br />Mamaya't sukat tibayan ang dibdib,
<br />Lumaki sa tuwa'y walang pagtitiis,
<br />Anong ilalaban sa dahas ng sakit?
<br />* * *
<br />Ang taong magawi sa ligaya't aliw,
<br />Mahina ang puso't lubhang maramdamin,
<br />Inaakala pa lamang ang hilahil
<br />Na daratni'y di na matutuhang bathin.
<br />* * *
<br />Para ng halamang lumaki sa tubig,
<br />Daho'y nalalanta munting di madilig,
<br />Ikinaluluoy ang sandaling init,
<br />Gayundin ang pusong sa tuwa'y maniig.
<br />* * *
<br />Munting kahirapa'y mamalakhing dala,
<br />Dibdib palibhasa'y gawing magbata,
<br />Ay bago sa mundo'y bawa't kisapmata,
<br />Ang tao'y mayroong sukat ipagdusa.
<br />* * *
<br />Ang laki sa layaw karaniwa'y hubad
<br />Sa bait at muni't sa hatol ay salat;
<br />Masaklap na bunga ng maling paglingap,
<br />Habag ng magulang sa irog na anak.
<br />* * *
<br />Sa taguring bunso't likong pagmamahal
<br />Ang isinasama ng bata'y nunukal,
<br />Ang iba'y marahil sa kapabayaan
<br />Ng dapat magturong tamad na magulang.
<br />* * *
<br />Sa Tabi Ng Dagat
<br />Ildefonso Santos
<br />
<br />Marahang-marahang manaog ka, irog, at kata'y lalakad,
<br />Maglulunoy katang payapang-payapa sa tabi ng dagat;
<br />Di na kailangang sapnan pa ang paang binalat-sibuyas,
<br />Ang daliring garing at sakong na waring kinuyom na rosas.
<br />
<br />Manunulay kata, habang maaga pa, sa mga pilapil
<br />Na nalalatagan ng damong may luha ng mga bituin;
<br />Patiyad na tayo ay maghahabulang simbilis ng hangin,
<br />Nguni't walang ingay, hanggang sa sumapit sa tiping buhangin.
<br />
<br />Pagdating sa tubig, mapapaurong kang parang nangingimi,
<br />Gaganyakin kita sa nangaroroong mga lamang-lati;
<br />Doon ay may tahong, talaba't halaang kabigha-bighani,
<br />Hindi kaya natin mapuno ang buslo bago tumanghali?
<br />
<br />Pagdadapithapon, kata'y magbabalik sa pinanggalingan,
<br />Sugatan ang paa at sunog ang balat sa sikat ng araw.
<br />Talagang ganoon: sa dagat man, irog, ng pagmamahalan,
<br />Lahat, pati puso, ay naaagnas ding marahang-marahan.
<br />
<br />Kagilagilalas Na Pakikipagsapalaran ni Juan de la Cruz
<br />Jose Lacaba
<br />
<br />Isang gabing madilim
<br />puno ng pangambang sumakay sa bus
<br />si Juan de la Cruz
<br />pusturang-pustura
<br />kahit walang laman ang bulsa
<br />BAWAL MANIGARILYO BOSS
<br />sabi ng konduktora
<br />at minura
<br />si Juan de la Cruz
<br />Pusturang-pustura
<br />kahit walang laman ang bulsa
<br />nilakad ni Juan de la Cruz
<br />ang buong Avenida
<br />BAWAL PUMARADA
<br />sabi ng kalsada
<br />BAWAL UMIHI DITO
<br />
<br />sabi ng bakod
<br />kaya napagod
<br />si Juan de la Cruz.
<br />Nang abutan ng gutom
<br />si Juan de la Cruz
<br />tumapat sa Ma Mon Luk
<br />inamoy ang mami siopao lumpia pansit
<br />hanggang sa mabusog.
<br />Nagdaan sa Sine Dalisay
<br />
<br />tinitigan ang retrato ni Chichay
<br />PASSES NOT HONORED TODAY
<br />sabi ng takilyera
<br />tawa nang tawa.
<br />Dumalaw sa Congreso
<br />si Juan de la Cruz
<br />MAG-INGAT SA ASO
<br />sabi ng deputado.
<br />Nagtuloy sa Malakanyang
<br />wala namang dalang kamanyang
<br />KEEP OFF THE GRASS
<br />sabi ng hardinero
<br />sabi ng sundalo
<br />kay Juan de la Cruz.
<br />Nang dapuan ng libog
<br />
<br />si Juan de la Cruz
<br />namasyal sa Culiculi
<br />at nahiga sa pusali
<br />parang espadang bali-bali
<br />YOUR CREDIT IS GOOD BUT WE NEED CASH
<br />sabi ng bugaw
<br />sabay higop ng sabaw.
<br />Pusturang-pustura
<br />
<br />kahit walang laman ang bulsa
<br />naglibot sa Dewey
<br />si Juan de la Cruz
<br />PAN-AM BAYSIDE SAVOY THEY SATISFY
<br />sabi ng neon.
<br />Humikab ang dagat na parang leon
<br />masarap sanang tumalon pero
<br />BAWAL MAGTAPON NG BASURA
<br />sabi ng alon.
<br />Nagbalik sa Quiapo
<br />si Juan de la Cruz
<br />
<br />at medyo kinakabahan
<br />IN GOD WE TRUST
<br />sabi ng obispo
<br />ALL OTHERS PAY CASH.
<br />Nang wala nang malunok
<br />
<br />si Juan de la Cruz
<br />
<br />dala-dala'y gulok
<br />gula-gulanit na ang damit
<br />wala pa ring laman ang bulsa
<br />
<br />umakyat
<br />sa Arayat
<br />at namayat
<br />na si Juan de la Cruz
<br />WANTED DEAD OR ALIVE
<br />sabi ng PC
<br />at sinisi
<br />ang walanghiyang kabataan
<br />kung bakit sinulsulan
<br />ang isang tahimik na mamamayan
<br />na tulad ni Juan de la Cruz.
<br />
<br />============================
<br />
<br />Ladino
<br />Salamat Ng Walang Hangga
<br />Fernando Bagongbanta
<br />
<br />Salamat nang walang hanggan
<br />Gracias se den sempiternas,
<br />
<br />Sa nagpasilang ng tala
<br />Al que hizo salir la estrella
<br />
<br />Nakapagpanaw ng dilim
<br />Que destierre las tinieblas
<br />
<br />Sa lahat ng bayan natin.
<br />De toda esta nuestra tierra.
<br />
<br />
<br />Kauna-unahang gamit ng talinhaga?
<br />Loob Ninyong Masilakbo
<br />Felipe de Jesus
<br />
<br />Loob ninyong masilakbo
<br />Parang ningas alipato,
<br />Sa alapaap ang tungo
<br />Ay bago hamak na abo.
<br />
<br />
<br />Kauna-unahang kilalang makatang Tagalog?
<br />May Bagyo Ma't May Dilim
<br />"Una Tagala Persona"
<br />
<br />May bagyo ma't may dilim,
<br />Ang ula'y titigisin,
<br />Ako'y magpipilit din
<br />Aking paglalakbayin,
<br />Tuluyan kong hanapin
<br />Diyos na Ama namin.
<br />
<br />
<br />Kauna-unahang makatang Tagalog na nakilala sa tunay na pangalan?
<br />Salamat Nang Walang Hoyang
<br />Pedro Suarez Ossorio
<br />
<br />Salamat nang walang hoyang
<br />Sa iyo, Diyos kong maalam,
<br />Nitong iyong awang mahal
<br />Sa aming Katagalugan.
<br />
<br />Ikaw, paraluman namin,
<br />Ang sukat nga naming sundin
<br />Hanggang di kami dumating
<br />Sa lalawigang mahimbing.
<br />
<br />
<br />Awiting-bayan
<br />Sinong Tao Kaya...?
<br />Anonimo
<br />(Nilathala ni Jean Baptiste Mallat sa Les Philippines: Paris, 1846)
<br />
<br />Sinong tao kaya sa sandaigdigan
<br />Ang may dusa nitong aking kahirapan?
<br />Di mo na nilingo't pinalungaylungay
<br />Pagsinta sa iyong walang kaliluhan.
<br />
<br />Signos at planetas, nangasaan kayo?
<br />Ikaw, Kamatayan, ngayo'y sumaklolo.
<br />Aanhin ko ang buhay sa panahong ito,
<br />Wala ring halaga kung ang sinta'y lilo.
<br />
<br />Maghintay-hintay ka, irog kong pumatay,
<br />Itong pinatay mo kung pagbabalikan
<br />Di ko naman wikang ako'y panangisan,
<br />Ihatid mo lamang sa tabi ng hukay.
<br />
<br />
<br />Tulang-bayan
<br />Pakinggan Mo, Aking Bunso...
<br />Anonimo
<br />
<br />Pakinggan mo, aking bunso, itong mga sasabihin,
<br />Na sa aking katandaa'y parang huling tagubilin:
<br />Sa puso mo ay ingatan at sa diwa'y kandilihin,
<br />Balang araw ay tutubo't para utang na singilin.
<br />
<br />Sambahin mo't dakilain ang mataas na Bathala,
<br />Ang pagsamba'y diligin mo sa muni't nang manariwa;
<br />Ang sarili'y para mo ring pawawalan ng bahala
<br />Kung ang Diyos ay hindi mo itanim sa puso't diwa.
<br />
<br />Mahalin mo habang-buhay ang Bayan mo at ang lahi;
<br />Oras-oras, sa kilos mo, ay itanim sa pangwari;
<br />Ang paglimot sa Bayan mo, sa sarili'y pag-aglahi,
<br />Pagwawaksi't pagwawaldas sa likas na mga ari.
<br />
<br />Igalang mo't arugain ang nagkupkop na magulang;
<br />Oras-oras ay dinggin mo ang palihim na awitan;
<br />Kahit ka na naghihirap, kasaluhin sa dinulang,
<br />Kahit mo na ikasawi, aliwin sa panambitan.
<br />
<br />Bigyan mo ng karangala't dakilain ang sarili;
<br />Sa tukso ng kamunduha'y hindi dapat mamarati;
<br />Busabos ang di marunong sa sarili'y kumandili,
<br />Isang hamak ang sa lusak ay masabing nahirati.
<br />
<br />Sikapin mong lumigaya't tumahimik ang tahanan,
<br />Maging pugad ng marilag at mapuring kapalaran;
<br />Ang ligalig sa buhay mo ay dapat na paglabanan,
<br />Kung labis man sa panata ay di bagay na tawaran.
<br />Ako Ay Nagtanim
<br />Anonimo
<br />
<br />Ako ay nagtanim,
<br />kapirasong luya,
<br />tumubo ay gabi,
<br />namunga ng mangga;
<br />nang aking pitasin,
<br />hinog na papaya;
<br />bumagsak sa lupa:
<br />magandang dalaga!
<br />
<br />
<br />Mahal Na Binata
<br />Anonimo
<br />
<br />Mahal na binata
<br />ay magdahan-dahan
<br />ikaw nang paghipo
<br />sa kanan kong kamay;
<br />dulo ng daliri'y
<br />kapag hinawakan,
<br />buti pa'y kitlin mo
<br />ang sariling buhay.
<br />
<br />
<br />Mahal Na Ginoo
<br />Anonimo
<br />
<br />Mahal na ginoo, nagpupumilit ka,
<br />Ako'y turuan mo ng sumar de cuenta;
<br />Bituin sa langit, kung ilang hilera,
<br />Ang tubig sa dagat, ilagay sa tasa.
<br />
<br />Mahal na ginoo, nagpipilit ka rin,
<br />Dahon ng aroma ay iyong hichuhin;
<br />Pagka nahicho mo'y dalhin mo sa akin,
<br />Ang hain mong sinta'y pilit tatanggapin.
<br />
<br />Mahal na ginoo, huwag kang magpumilit
<br />Umakyat sa kahoy na lubhang matinik;
<br />Baro't salawal mo'y magkakampupunit,
<br />Kung sa ganang akin, walang masasapit.
<br />
<br />
<br />May Balak Ka Pala...
<br />Anonimo
<br />
<br />May balak ka palang
<br />pumitas ng rosal,
<br />di ka nagpunta
<br />nang kapanahunan;
<br />
<br />nang pumarito ka'y
<br />lagas na ang tangkay,
<br />buko ma'y wala na,
<br />nasa iba nang kamay.
<br />
<br />ibang bersiyon:
<br />
<br />Ikaw at ikaw rin,
<br />aking sinisisi,
<br />may nais ka pala,
<br />di ka nagsasabi,
<br />
<br />ang nakakatulad,
<br />bituin sa langit,
<br />sisikat din lamang,
<br />nagpahatinggabi.
<br />
<br />Hele, Hele, Tatis
<br />Anonimo
<br />
<br />Hele, hele, Tatis, hele, hele, Tacion,
<br />Bendita tu eres, sabado ng hapon,
<br />Binabati kita, di ka man nalingon,
<br />Nagmamalaki ka, may panyo kang asul.
<br />
<br />Ang panyo mong asul, dinagit ng lawin,
<br />Dinala sa bundok, siyang pupugarin;
<br />Di na maglalaon, ako'y bibili rin;
<br />Luma na ang iyo, bago pa ang akin.
<br />
<br />
<br />Di Baga Noong Una...?
<br />Anonimo
<br />
<br />Di baga noong una,
<br />noong unang panahon,
<br />ako ang anahaw
<br />na pinandungpandong;
<br />nang makakita ka
<br />ng pulang payong,
<br />pandung mong anahaw,
<br />iyong itinapon.
<br />
<br />Itinapon mo na,
<br />iyo pang winaksi
<br />at ang wika mo,
<br />di na magsisilbi;
<br />ano't nang masira,
<br />payong mong binili,
<br />nagsauli ka rin
<br />sa pandung mong dati.
<br />
<br />
<br />Sa Dalampasigan
<br />Anonimo
<br />
<br />Sa dalampasigan,
<br />dagat ng Maynila,
<br />Luneta ang tawag
<br />ng mga Kastila;
<br />doon nga binaril
<br />ang kaawa-awa
<br />nating Pilipino,
<br />martir nitong lupa.
<br />
<br />Naramay sa dusa
<br />'yang ating tanggulan,
<br />panganay na Burgos
<br />at bunsong si Rizal;
<br />sa inggit at takot
<br />ng mga sukaban,
<br />pinatay kahit walang
<br />bahid kasalanan.
<br />
<br />
<br />Halina, Halina
<br />Anonimo
<br />
<br />Halina, halina, kulasising itim,
<br />Galing sa gubyernong padala ng matsing;
<br />Kung maliligo ka bukas nang madilim,
<br />Padadalhan kita ng gugong maitim.
<br />
<br />Halina, halina, kulasising puti,
<br />Galing sa simbahang padala ng pare;
<br />Kung maliligo ka bukas nang tanghali,
<br />Padadalhan kita ng gugong maputi.
<br />
<br />Halina, halina, kulasising pula,
<br />Galing sa simbahang padala ng kura;
<br />Kung maliligo ka bukas ng umaga,
<br />Padadalhan kita ng gugong mapula.
<br />
<br />
<br />Mahal Na Ginoo
<br />Anonimo
<br />
<br />Mahal na ginoo,
<br />akin pong tinanggap
<br />ang iyong padalang
<br />mapitagang sulat;
<br />nang di paratangan
<br />ng pagmamataas,
<br />tutugunin ko po
<br />ang inyong kalatas.
<br />
<br />Nagtataka ako
<br />sa kapangahasang
<br />ang pagsinta ninyo'y
<br />sa akin inialay,
<br />gayong tanto ninyong
<br />ako'y may magulang.
<br />
<br />Dapat sangguniin
<br />sa ganitong bagay.
<br />hanggang dito ako'y
<br />magpapasalamat
<br />sa pagsintang handog
<br />na di ko matanggap;
<br />maniwala kayo,
<br />ang tunay kong hangad,
<br />Kayo po'y magkamit
<br />ng magandang palad.
<br />
<br />
<br />Kundiman
<br />Jose Rizal
<br />
<br />Tunay ngayong umid yaring dila't puso,
<br />Sinta'y umiilag, tuwa'y lumalayo,
<br />Bayan palibhasa'y lupig at sumuko
<br />Sa kapabayaan ng nagturong puno.
<br />
<br />Datapuwa't muling sisikat ang Araw,
<br />Pilit maliligtas ang inaping Bayan;
<br />Magbabalik mandin at muling iiral
<br />Ang ngalang Tagalog sa sandaigdigan.
<br />
<br />Ibubuhos namin ang dugo't babaha,
<br />Matubos nga lamang ang sa amang lupa;
<br />Hanggang di sumapit ang panahong tadhana,
<br />Sinta'y tatahimik, tutulog ang nasa.
<br />
<br />
<br />Buhay
<br />Manuel Car. Santiago
<br />
<br />Sagitsit ng tuwang nanulay sa ugat,
<br />Aliping damdamin na nagpupumiglas,
<br />Nang bigyan ng laya't bayaang umalpas,
<br />Ang lugod ng puso'y dumaloy na katas.
<br />
<br />Nagpikit ng mata ang antuking ilaw
<br />At saka lumatag ang katahimikan;
<br />Tulog na ang lahat, walang naglalamay
<br />Kundi mga pusong tugma't magkaramay.
<br />
<br />Halos nagpupuyos ang wagas na mithi,
<br />Nang walang masayang na mga sandali;
<br />Nagpapalumagak ang layong masidhi
<br />Sa silid na kaban ng mga lunggati.
<br />
<br />Bangkay na ang lugod matapos lumaya,
<br />Patay na ang ningas ng kanilang nasa;
<br />Kay tamis ng hirap, kay sarap ng luha,
<br />Kasunod ng sigwa'y panahong payapa.
<br />
<br />(Sa dibdib ng lupa ang punla'y tumubo
<br />At ngayo'y hinog na ang bunga sa puno).
<br />
<br />
<br />Metamorposis:
<br />Mga Nota ng Isang Serenata sa
<br />Kaibuturan ng Gabing-Disyembre
<br />Virgilio Almario (Rio Alma)
<br />
<br />Sinderelang Serenata, esmeralda at granate,
<br />Di ka takas na sonata sa sepulkrong alas-dose;
<br />Manapa, sa sinisera ng sandali ay impante
<br />Kang gumigitaw, sakay-wari ng sagradong elepante.
<br />
<br />Kapagkuwan, sumibol ka at sumayaw sa estante
<br />Ng retina, at sa diwa ay nagsinsil ng brilyante.
<br />Ngayo'y oras ng paglalang, habang titig ng bitui'y
<br />Labahang inmakulada sa planeta at sa dilim
<br />
<br />Ng lunggati-lalo't uhaw bawat letrang isapapel,
<br />At lapida bawat bantas. Bombilya man ay kulimlim,
<br />Makinilyang nanlalamig ay kandilang kalawangin
<br />Sa ngiti mo, naliligo ng asido at pormalin.
<br />
<br />Pintig-pantig ka sa gayon, Sinderelang Serenata,
<br />Kaulayaw ko kung gabi'y makulubot na kubyerta
<br />At ang buwang nakalente ay may uban na sa mata.
<br />Eskalera ng estropa at imaheng largabista.
<br />
<br />Ang handog mo; at sa tinig na may tanso ng trumpeta
<br />Ang puso ko'y nilulunod sa posporo at bendita.
<br />Esmeraldang pangitain at granateng kahel-anghel;
<br />Rebelasyon-ebolusyo't rebolusyong inistensil
<br />
<br />Sa taludtod; tsokolate at aromang butil-butil
<br />Na umapaw sa pandiwa at pang-uring nagdidildil.
<br />Sa piling mo, ang pagtula ay kemika ng hilahil
<br />Habang ako'y pasa-limbo sa palanking hasmi't nikel.
<br />
<br />Diwa ngayon, kahit sigsig ng rayuma't dinisyembre,
<br />Metapora ng tagsibol ang kindat mong kinoryente;
<br />Sa pag-usad ng sandali sa magrasang engranahe,
<br />May minutong adarna ka at naroong maging tigre.
<br />Nang linyang mabanghay ko'y naging kristong inespinghe.
<br />
<br />
<br />Sa Poetry
<br />Rolando S. Tinio
<br />
<br />Sa poetry, you let things take shape,
<br />Para bang nagpapatulo ng isperma sa tubig.
<br />You start siyempre with memories,
<br />'Yung medyo malagkit, kahit mais
<br />Na mais: love lost, dead dreams,
<br />Rotten silences, and all
<br />Manner of mourning basta't murder.
<br />
<br />Papatak 'yan sa papel, ano. Parang pait,
<br />Kakagat ang typewriter keys.
<br />You sit up like the mother of anxieties.
<br />Worried na worried hanggang magsalakip
<br />Ang odds and ends ng inamag mong pag-ibig.
<br />
<br />Jigsaw puzzle. Kung minsan, everything fits.
<br />Pero sige ang pasada ng images
<br />Hanggang makuha perfectly ang trick.
<br />At parang amateur magician kang bilib
<br />Sa sleight-of-hand na pinapraktis:
<br />Nagsilid ng hangin sa buslo, dumukot,
<br />By golly, see what you've got---
<br />Bouquet of African daisies,
<br />Kabit-kabit na kerchief,
<br />Kung suwerte pa, a couple of pigeons,
<br />Huhulagpos, be-blend sa katernong horizon,
<br />You can't say na kung saan hahapon.
<br />Tatang REtonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07974886548609901724noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6169014.post-1073526491323376352004-01-07T17:47:00.000-08:002004-01-07T17:48:30.680-08:00<b>The puwetics of tango</b>
<br />
<br />A friend took a workshop on poetry. The poet Eileen Tabios said that one should write a poem at least once about wine, tango, and ______. For this week, we will tackle the subject of tango. You can discuss the first time, the woman, the music, the beat, or the dancers and their faces. A poem about tango should be specific enough I think.
<br />
<br />http://dmoz.org/Arts/Performing_Arts/Dance/Tango/
<br />
<br />In case you need some research on the dance.
<br />Tatang REtonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07974886548609901724noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6169014.post-1072680542597610562003-12-28T22:48:00.000-08:002003-12-28T22:49:19.306-08:00<b>Review by Rolly de los Santos</b>
<br />
<br />First off, I think I liked the poem's structure and meter as being
<br /> very apt for the theme. The choice of words was perfect.
<br />
<br /> I was a bit confused about the first and second stanza. Don't worry.
<br /> It's more of me understanding the poem and not on how it was written.
<br /> I was looking at the symbols in the poem and came out with three very
<br /> important ones. The significance of the age, the aswang and the
<br /> tikbalang being the major ones.
<br />
<br /> Night as a symbol was relatively easy compared to these three.
<br /> First, the age. Being 35 is significant for me as I think this is
<br /> the time a man truly becomes an adult. I have the feeling that one
<br /> associates himself (I guess women mature earlier than men. Maybe this
<br /> is not politically correct but….)still belonging to the younger
<br /> generation during the twenties and early thirties. Thirty-five hits
<br /> one on the head that "yeah, I'm an adult." Anyway, in this stanza, I
<br /> sense that this is the time when the speaker decides that he will
<br /> decide his destiny as he doesn't believe in aswangs who "suck life
<br /> dry" anymore. Thus, I take it that the aswang symbolizes everything
<br /> that represents childhood. The playfulness, the anxieties over the
<br /> unknown, the threats the "older generation" used, superstitious
<br /> beliefs….
<br />
<br /> I can't help notice that the poem takes a rather fatalistic stance at
<br /> the second stanza. A very Filipino trait of "bahala na" psyche lying
<br /> in wait for what tomorrow brings no matter how good (fulfillments) or
<br /> bad (disfigurement) it may be. This fatalistic tone is strengthened
<br /> by the third stanza which states that night "promising so little"...
<br />
<br /> Furthermore, night giving the "tikbalang a chance to earn a
<br /> living" confused me, too. If my earlier meaning is correct, how come
<br /> it still believes the "tikbalang" in the end? At first, I thought
<br /> this didn't make much sense but later on decided that it drives a
<br /> certain point that the speaker hasn't really parted with his/her
<br /> teenage inhibitions in spite what he wanted to believe. This is
<br /> almost saying that we never outgrow being a child.
<br />
<br /> Of course I may be wrong. I had the chance of scanning through
<br /> your "blog" and I noticed that the tikbalang is somewhat a personal
<br /> symbol. Hence, there might be soemthing I was missing out on.
<br /> Nevertheless, I enjoyed reading the poem and can relate to what it
<br /> was saying. Good work, Rhett.
<br />
<br />Tatang REtonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07974886548609901724noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6169014.post-1072680236468214112003-12-28T22:39:00.000-08:002003-12-28T22:47:24.963-08:00<b>Notes on poem</b>
<br />
<br />
<br />the night when I am 35 years old
<br />
<br /> the night no longer holds the mysteries
<br /> of childhood fears, of aswangs
<br /> flying over the rooftops waiting
<br /> for the opportunity to suck life dry.
<br />
<br /> the night is just another time
<br /> to be an orphan, waiting for the coming
<br /> of life's fulfillments, whatever
<br /> disfigurement that might be.
<br />
<br /> the night promises so little
<br /> compared to day, but in its
<br /> spartan way, the night gives tikbalang
<br /> a chance to earn a living.
<br />
<br />
<br /> 1. I have been fascinated by the Philippine mythology. I am trying to
<br /> incorporate the mythical legends into my poems. I wonder about the lack of Philippine mythology in the Philippine poetry (English versions) that I have read so far. It is as if Philippine mythology never existed. Meanwhile, Sisyphus (and all the other Greek gods) are continuing to roll the boulder in a Pilipinos mind. I see this as a continuation of the process of colonialism. In the projects that I am undertaking, I am rediscovering the Philippine myths and placing them center stage. I hope to expose readers to Philippine mythology; I also want them to rethink what the mythologies can mean with respect to the colonization process.
<br />
<br /> 2. In giving the prompt, I had deliberately chosen a topic which I had not been writing towards. In general, my process is one where the poem is born out of my hands. It is very challenging to be writing about topics that have no relation to the current poetry projects at hand. I had a very difficult time beginning the process because I usually write about what I feel. I never write about what someone tells me. However, to understand the process I believe it is important to be able to create poems that might not necessarily be able to fly but can show the development of the process.
<br />
<br /> 3. Rolly, you hit it on the head when you mentioned about becoming a man at 35 years old. The transposition of the night into one that holds emotions (young person afraid of aswang) into one that simply gives tikbalang an opportunity to get a job and work is my version of the maturation process. Whereas before the mythological creatures cause fear, now, they are seen as individuals who have to get work.
<br />
<br /> 4. At the same time, in the middle of 35 years old, the speaker is an orphan who is looking at his past achievements as disfigurements instead of trophies. A sad tale about a life that is not going in the way he intended. This was probably the more difficult to express or to understand. I don't believe that I was able to show this part more clearly.
<br />
<br /> 5. There is an acknowledgement of the existence of supernatural beings as
<br /> working stiffs that are not to be be feared. Why and how is it that the Pilipino supernatural beings became things to be feared? I am interested in the role that Catholicism plays in the Philippine psyche.
<br />
<br /> I was reading a pinoywriters newsgroup and found someone saying that by
<br /> reading a book (Satan's bible or something like that. Presumably a novel), they began dreaming about demons. I have tried to go away from the view point that Satan is an active agent seeking to corrupt people. I want to believe that people are responsible for their actions.
<br />
<br /> 6. The topic was so hard to make a poem out of because of the lack of images that I am normally accustomed to. For example, both images written that occur in the middle of the night end up being myths, not really a concrete example of an image. And in the third stanza, the night is representing the future of life. Again, the lack of an image is at hand.
<br />
<br /> 7. I also had difficulty finding the voice for this poem. It is part of the
<br /> lack of cohesion of this poem coming into existence in the middle of my other projects. See the haynaku series in the blogspot site.
<br /> Tatang REtonghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07974886548609901724noreply@blogger.com