Tongue&Chic

Reading Two Women Authors from Antique

 

 

Mid-May 2006, the University of San Agustin’s Coordinating Centerfor Research and Publications under the leadership of Prof. Jigger Latoza and Production Director John Iremil Teodoro proudly launched two new poetry collections.

 

Written by two women authors from Antique, the works represent the two generations of writers in the West Visayas. The first book—Ang Pagsurat…Bayi—is a Kinaray-a poetry collection by Maria Milagros Geremia-Lachica, a Sibalom resident who now works in a cancer research center in New   Jersey.  The second work—Pula ang Kulay ng Text Message—is a collection of new and previously published poetry in various languages by Genevieve Asenjo, a 28-year old De La Salle professor who hails from Dao (Tobias Fornier), Antique.

 

Production Director Teodoro, who is also the director of USA’s Fray Luis De Leon Creative Writing Institute, considers the books launch a tremendous success, saying that they have contributed to the birthing of two new poets. Teodoro notes that the achievement stems from the privilege to have published works in the vernacular, namely Kinaray-a, which is one of the thrusts of the said academic institution.

 

 

Maria Milagros Geremia-Lachica

Ang Pagsurat…Bayi (Writing is…Woman):

Poetry in Kinaray-a with English Translations

IloiloCity: USA Publishing House, 2006

 

Coming with English translations, Ang Pagsurat…Bayi (Writing is…Woman), Lachica’s thick collection of Kinaray-a poetry features four sections, each of which depicting a woman’s sensitivity [sense and sensibility] that borders social realism, an age-old clamor for social equality inspired by liberation theology.

 

Considered a classic text in Humanities classes in UP in the Visayas, Lachica’s “Lupa Kag Baybay sa Pinggan,” which also is the title of the second section, draws a persona who suffers the daily toil of agricultural work—a farmer perhaps among the rest of the society, thus laments his litany of legwork, all in the name of life and limb—“Maarado/ mamanggas/ mang-abono/ mangani/ malinas/ mapahangin/ manglay-ang/ mapagaling/ manahup/ matig-ang.”

 

The farmer persona bears all the hard work, enumerating his tasks for the day of work, religiously and categorically, as in the list of things to do, for one purpose—“para gid lang pinggan ni Nonoy masudlan”

 

Here, Lachica’s socio-political angst surfaces as the persona articulates their seemingly enormous lack of the basic necessities needed to survive—pero kan-un pa lang dya/ wara pa maabay gani/ kon pano ang pagsarok/ kang baybay/ agud mahimo/ ang asin nga darapli”

 

Salt as food provides a painfully powerful symbol of poverty, especially in the Philippine rural areas, where the author herself drew out the experience.

 

Lachica laments that in her college days in UP, a humanities teacher allowed them to explore the social realities by way of immersing themselves in the situations of the rural folk, most of them live below the poverty line—or to be more trite, dwell in the margins. Later they would have to “write something about it.”

 

Therefore, considering that this poem was somehow a product of the said social immersion, Lachica admits that she saw the real plight of the poor, an experience which does not fail to enrich the words and images in the literary work itself—“Kag sa pinggan ni Nonoy/ Liwan magakitaay/ Ang lupa kag baybay.”

 

Also evident in the book is the persona’s struggle to find oneself in the “real world” out there—as in the fourth section titled “Pagsaka sa Ulo ni Lady Liberty” (Ascent to Lady Liberty’s Crown), which largely contains works written when the author was already out of the country—reminiscences, nostalgia and other similar stories.

 

While the first section “Sa Mga Kaimaw sa Turugban” chronicles different sensibilities and personas, the book’s other sections sentimentalize memory and nostalgia, speaking of the transitions in life—as when the mother sees her daughter wheeze away her time from childhood to youth—“Ugaring kadya nga adlaw/ gamay na nga mga alima/ wara run pagkapyut kanakun/ kundi sa balonan ka tubig/ ang naglaukdo ka knapsack na nga likod/ kag gamay na paris ka batiis/ maisug sa pagpanaw”

 

The first recipient of CCP awards and grants for Kinaray-a writing, Lachica offers her work “to share the natural gifts of the world, to celebrate the constant flow of life and the freedom of thoughts, to honor the language of my ancestors.”

 

Featuring lamentations and observations in her native tongue, Lachica’s work stems from her very core, especially believing “we may find ourselves in the far-flung corners of the world, but passing the language on to our children ensures that the link from generations before us remains unbroken.”

 

A student of workshops of Leoncio Deriada, literary icon in the region who has since advocated the use and integration of the vernacular in oral and written literature, Lachica likewise sees the need for us [writers] to translate the works [we have written] in our own language so we could be understood by the rest of the world. Though much yet can be said about the collection, such realizations can shed light on Lachica’s work, among other things.

 

In all, the work is a brave attempt to chronicle the loves of one woman who wants to make a mark in the world, one whose life is being lived to the fullest.

 

 

Genevieve L. Asenjo

Pula Ang Kulay ng Text Message

Iloilo City: USA Publishing House, 2006

 

Since her winning poem in Home Life in 1997, Genevieve Asenjo has gone to win Palanca awards in recent years, until the Fray Luis De Leon Creative Writing Institute awarded her this book grant in 2005.

 

‘Cosmopolitan’ is how John Iremil Teodoro, fellow award-winning writer and publishing director, describes Asenjo’s style of writing, citing that her works read a la “Sex and the City”—or more aptly, “Text and the City.”

 

Starting with the book’s title itself, “Pula ang Kulay ng Text Message,” or even portraying experiences in the mall—“Eyeball”—and attachments to one’s origins—“Long Distance Call”—most poems in the collection are profuse imageries, which altogether give birth to an independent, liberated, and empowered woman. It is good to note that imagery and irony stand out as merits of this poetry collection.

 

In “Suso,” Asenjo presents a new image of an empowered woman—not the enhanced woman, but one who keeps “abreast” with her own dilemma. In this age of liposuction, botox, and Vicky Belo, the persona asks the same question posed on women nowadays—does size really matter?

 

Sarcastically and beautifully, then, she takes “no” for an answer, taking pride in what small breasts can do, thus—“Itong mga suso ay maliliit/ na mga suso. Hindi na/ kailangang tumago sa Wonder/ bra ng Avon, Sara Lee, at Triumph.”

 

To her, small breasts are a plus, instead—because they are lighter, easier, fondler, er—“Payak sa sukat, may gaan/ sa mga kamay ang pagbalangkas—/ hapulas.” To the persona herself, small breasts are nothing but advantage. For, in the midst of hungry eyes and sex-slavering men, they, in fact, triumph—“Itong mga suso/ ay payat. Nililigtas ako/ sa hipo’t titig, tayo’t tigas—/ sa kalsada, malls, dyip at bus.”

 

Without needing a Wonder Bra, small breasts in themselves create “wonders” for their owners—“Itong mga suso ay mahihiwagang mga suso. Kilalang-kilala ko—/ muli’t/ muli,/ nagiging sanggol/ ang isang lalaki.” Humorously wry and brimming with succulent imagery, the poem elevates a woman’s sex and sensibility to a higher plane, perhaps in some place where size [or the lack of it] really matters.

 

At best, Asenjo considers “Oyayi sa Tag-Ulan,” Home Life’s best English poem in 1997, her ars poetica—her own definition of the poetic craft. “Oyayi” introduces to us a lovelorn persona who misses her significant other at the start of the rainy season—“Kapag ganitong umuulan/ bumubuhos ang kahidlaw/ sa aking dughan./ Tag-ulan kasi nang umalis ka.”

 

Despite her lover’s absence, the nostalgic persona still nurtures perhaps the magic of poetry she shared with him—“kahit nag-iisa na lang ako/ patuloy ko pa ring inaararo ang taramnanan ng pagsulat.” The lover’s absence does not at all stop her from pursuing—rather it inspires her to nurture the craft, as if to relive the company of the lover, especially now that the rains have come.

 

Just like farming, poetry entails hard work and real toil. And thus considered the highest form of art or language, poetry a “disciplined discipline”—“naisab-og ko na/ ang binhi kong mga kataga./ Aabunuhan ko ito ng pagsasanay.”

 

Ultimately, it is the writer’s task to cultivate his own craft, and bring to perfection, or fruition—“payayabungin sa tensyon ng mga/ unos at salot, bubunutan ng mga ligaw/ na metapora, at aanihin sa lamigas/ ng kalipay.” The persona holds on to writing craft, as she is holding on to the magic between her and her lover, whom she hopes one day will return—“Nasisiguro kong hanggat buhay/ at tutuo ang mga binalaybay/ sa ating kaluluwa, habang may/ tagtaranum sa bawat tag-ulan,/ uuwi ka pa rin.”

 

Aside from its sly experimentation with the language, infusing non language into a predominantly Tagalog verse—with the use of words like binalaybay (poem) kalipay (happiness), kahidlaw (longing), tagtaranum (planting season), etc., Asenjo’s piece is also lyrical, being a poem about a poem.

 

With such one-of-a-kind language and imagery, neatly juxtaposing writing and farming/planting, and creating powerful effects of coherent images, “Oyayi” succeeds as Asenjo’s masterpiece, her ars poetica.

 

Of this fine collection by the author, National Artist for Literature Nominee Cirilo Bautista, has this to say—“Ang kabalintunaan ang malakas niyang sandata upang ipahayag ang kanyang saloobin at damdamin.”

 

Bautista is confident that the author will certainly go a long, long way—“Dahil mahusay ang wika at matapat ang kanyang pagsusuri sa kanyang kapaligiran, siya ay magiging mahalang makata ng ating bansa.”

 

 

Published in The Daily Tribune, November 3, 2006.