Monday, April 27, 2009
Hot summer
April 2006
Summer is the best time to curl up on a good book, eat a mouth-watering halo-halo, frolic with friends in the mall, or just be a couch potato the whole day. These activities people would do to get away from the scorching heat, to cool themselves away from the discomforts of the roasting climate.
Going to the beach is one thing that most families anticipate, to get together and do one thing at the same time, bond and get away from the cares of the day.
(Postcard was a gift from Janet Lyn "Selena" Go-Alano back in 1997 in Ateneo de Naga)
Yet, some thirty summers ago, one promising poet perhaps fresh from the Tiempos’ Dumaguete workshop, rendered a picture of how one picnic can be one opportunity for something more than frolic and picnic.
In “The Picnic” by Luis Cabalquinto, a Bikolano writer based in New York, the persona does more than observe the sights and sounds in a beach, perhaps like Boracay.
The first touch of bare feet to sand
Makes of us reborn children
We drop invisible weights
and smile like a seashell.
Our limbs are light as the wind.
Our heads clean as clouds.
Loneliness is the vague land
on the far horizon.
Published in the Manila Review in August 1976, “The Picnic” features a persona who observes more than what he sees on the beach.
For the persona, the beach getaway is an opportunity to not only refresh the body, but to rejuvenate the soul. The cool respite from the heat takes him and his companions away from the hustle and bustle, from all the car[e]s of the day, so to speak:
We are all good people on the beach:
We are quick with our movements
to help
one another—
With the baskets, with the towels,
and our lunch.
We retrieve a smooth pebble
For a stranger’s two-year-old daughter
Against an advancing wave.
The persona sees the people’s good dispositions, of those who have gone to the beach to relax. He sees that people who go to the beach must really be there “for the keeps.” They are certainly there to make fun and have fun just because they are [fun]! They are good people; they are kind ones; or, they become what they don’t seem to be:
We give freely: our gestures generous,
large
as the mothering sea.
We eye each other’s bodies in the spirit
of a free-love commune:
We are ready to sleep with other men
Or secretly lend our wives.
The beach is an open space, like an open mind that can be polluted anytime. In the preceding stanza, the persona slowly delivers the poem’s tension. In the recesses of the persona’s mind, he ponders duplicity, he contemplates infidelity.
As in any other beach, which must be brimming of picnickers, the beachgoer is indeed thrown open [literally] to hundreds of possibilities, being given more choices than what he can contain. For one, his mind can go freely as to accommodate delicious cravings or [for freethinkers] or go overboard as to contemplate unspeakable acts as sleeping with his own kind [for moralists].
The beach affords the beachgoer chances to sin. The persona can entertain such thoughts as flirting with anyone, or trading off one’s filiations, if any.
Perhaps the 1970s—the period in which this piece was written—was some substantial years after the liberation of ideas, philosophies and lifestyles in the West from within college campuses and beyond. In this poem, Cabalquinto echoes a freethinking sensibility; through his craft he becomes the herald about treacheries [and also truths].
Very well, Cabalquinto who hails from Magarao, Camarines Sur, sees issues beyond sights; he rather sees metaphors in trivial objects or situations.
In a rather fun-seeking rendezvous, the poem’s persona gets to speak out more nasty intentions; the poet [literally] flings open the realities of the “fling.” Flirtations among men and [even] between them have never been antiquated as in this poem written some three decades ago.
“The Picnic” persona, of course, may just shrink in comparison when—he comes to know some three decades later—what he chooses to do is not something to be wary of—it is not anymore something frowned upon.
Times have changed, radically.
Had the poem’s persona been alive now, he may not have to hide his affection for anyone whom he desires in one island beach. There will be no more need for corals or shells to speak for what is rather forbidden:
But—
We are not wholly people on the beach:
Back in our houses, back in our cities—
We live on other rules,
follow
different
tides.
Even as we leave on the last jeep
to town—
Our grip grows strongly
over a gold cowrie
We picked off a coral.
We slip it into a pocket quickly,
Away from our neighbor’s
greed
and eye.
Recently, a local daily here ran a story on gay prostitutes being barred from Boracay due to their violations on some regulations in the island. The burgeoning business of gay prostitution says only one thing. The business is boiling [high] because the demand for it heats it all up. These facts are clear, however. Most if not all foreigners or even local tourists who go there are not [only] after the beach. They are after the experience from being clients of a healthy and thriving flesh trade—oh well—legitimized by the rest of the world.
In the hot summer, spirits have already been scalded and scorched by the fires of hell so as to be intense about anyone’s sexual preference. Now, duplicity is not anymore duplicity. For if in the past, duplicity lurked in the realm of the uncertain, today, duplicity is the certainty.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Sa Pinsan Kong Taga-Dayangdang Pagkabagyo
Nabasa mi ni Manay mo—sa Bicol
inaratong daa ni Milenyo
an kabuhayan
nalantop diyan sa Dayangdang.
Maski para-pa’no
kamo ni Nonoy saka ni Jun.
Samo na Manay mo,
pag-uuran na ‘yan
nagtutururo an kisame
ano pa minarugi
an minsan ming pag-ibahan,
pasalamat ako ta
pagkakatapos kan uran
may nasasalod kaming
tubig sa banyera
sa gilid kan sagurong,
nagagamit ming
pambagunas sa dalnak
na natipon sa salang
linalantop nin baha.
Masa’kit ta minsan an tubig-baha
minaabot sa may hagyanan
pirang pulgada na sana
an langkaw kan samong turugan.
Katatapos pa sana kan
sarong makusog na bagyo,
sabi sa radyo, igwa na naman
nagdadangadang.
Mag-andam kamo, Ne,
dai nanggad pagpaapgihi si Nonoy;
maglikay na dai magpukan
an saindong iniidung-idungan—
ta dai man kamo puwedeng maatong
na sana pag an uran sige-sige na.
Biernes Santo
Natapos na an gabos na pabasa
Sa barangay ngonyan na Huwebes Santo.
Maimbong an huyop kan duros,
Nag-aagda sako para maglamaw sa turogan.
Sa harong na malinig, mahalnas, makintab,
Naeenganyar akong maghurop-horop nanggad
Kan gabos kong nagkagirinibuhan—magpoon
Kan nag-aging Biernes Santo kan sarong taon
Asta ngonyan—penitensya ko an maihatag sa iba
An gabos na maitatao—boot, bu-ot,
Kapakumbabaan, pag-intindi, pasencia,
Kasimplehan, pagtiwala o kumpiyansa
Libertad, leyaltad, kusog, kalag.
Mahigos an isip kong maghurop hurop
Kan sadiring sala. Kaya dawa dai pa ngani
Nakabayad nin income tax—mayong tawong
Mamimirit na singilon ako kan sakong moroso
O ano pa man na kautangan ta an mga ini
Binayadan na—ako binalukat na
Kan sarong tawong nagsakit, pinasakitan
Ginadan—haloy nang panahon
Sa Kalbaryong sakong dinudulag-dulagan.
Biernes Santo
Bitoon, Jaro, Iloilo
An Mga Taga Bagacay Kun Semana Santa
Pagpuli sa Bagacay
Pag-Deciembre dai ka na puwedeng mag-uli
Sa dakulang harong. Sa mga enot mong aldaw duman,
Matarakig ka sa katre mo pagkakaaga; saka kun magparauran
Na nin makusog, matata’kan ka
Mga bintana parasa’, an lanob garaba’, an atop nagtotororo.
Kun magparauran nin makosogon, mahaha’dit ka pa
Sa pagkadakul-dakul na basura—mga dahon saka sanga
Mga bagay, daga sagkod laboy aatongon
Tapos mapalibot sa saimong natad.
Maghanap ka na
Duman sa mayong duros na mapatakig saimo pagkakaaga;
Duman sa dai ka na maparahadit pa sa kadakul-dakul
Na bagay pag nagparauran na nin makusog.
Ki Agom
Basa-basa an buhok mo; nagbuburulos
An basa sa angog mo,
Saka sa pisngi mo;
Nagtatarakig an ngabil mo;
Mari digdi—nagparasain ka, Ne?
Nagparapauran ka na naman pauli?
‘Tukaw ka digdi;
Hubaa an blusa mong tumtom
Na nin lipot
‘Punasan ko an payo mo; ‘paimbungon
Ko an mga kamot mo; ‘painiton
Ko an hawak mo. Nag-aalusuos na
An sinapna ta. ‘Gatungan ko
Ining kalayo ta. Kaipuhan saimo
Igwang bagang dai masisigbo
Dawa’ magparapauran ka pa;
Dawa’ na magparapauran ka pa.
Sa Tigman Kun Maduman Ka
Marambong an mga kahoy patukad sa bulod pababa sa kadlagan pasiring sa salog. Duman pwede kang magkarigos ning huba. Duman pwede kang magturog nin halawig.
Pasiring duman dai ka malingaw na maghuba nin bado ta ‘baad mawara’ ka lang sa dalan—an halas na masasabatan mo mabalagbag sa may tungod kan poon kan santol. Hale ni sa sapa man sana, papuli’ na sa hararom na labot; basug-basog na kan pirang siyo’ na pinangudtuhan niya; dai ka magngalas kun madangog mo an putak-putak kan sarong guna’ sa harayo; tolo na sana kaini an kaibahan na ogbon.
Sige
Madya! magmadali’ ka ta ‘baad maabutan mo pa si dakulang uwak na minsan nagtutugdon sa sanga
Sige, lakaw lang. Harani ka na; hilinga baya’ an agihan mo ta ‘baad mahawi mo an sapot kan lawa—obra maestra nin saday-saday na nilalang; mismong ika ‘sakitan marirop kun pa’no nagibo, bako ta sadit an hayop na ini, kundi ta an utak mo mas dakula sa saiya. Dai baya’ pagrauta an harong niya, ‘baad ika an maenot na masapot para kakanon niya.
Pag nakaabot ka na sa may dakulang gapo’, magtabi-apo ka nin tolong beses, garo baga palaog mo ini, permisong makalangoy sa salog na dakul na mga bagay o tumata’wo an may kagsadiri—digdi pwede kang magkarigos ning huba, ta an mga yaon duman mayo man nin mga gubing.
Maray man ta’ mayo ka nang bado’; arog ka na ninda, saro sa mga hayop
A, nahahambugan ka
Siguro nadadangog mo na an duli-duling garong dagang nakadukot sa poon
Hilinga an salog. Sa may libtong magayon maglangoy ta’ an tubig hararom. Malipot an tubig sa tiripon na raratang dahon. Ano na? Naghahalat na saimo an hararom na imbong kan tubig kataid mo an ribo-ribong noknok saka layug-layug; malataw-lataw ka, dangan iduduyan sa mahiwas na salog; para magpahingalo o maghingalo, para makaturog na nin halawig.
Sige na, Noy, dai ka na maghanap nin shower room; nauranan ka na baga; puwede ka nang magbuntog tulos.
Tagbang na!
Ateneo Serrado
Serrado an Ateneo pag-abot mo. Mayong tawo. An guardia sa tarangkahan dai mo bisto. Mabisita ka sa sarong pading dai nag-uli pag bakasyon. Pero mayo daa siya. Pero pinadagos ka.
Hali sa guardhouse nahiling mo an Four Pillars may bago nang pintura. Nagduwaduwa kang maglaog ta garo dai mo aram kun Ateneo man nanggad an linaogan mo. Pininturahan ni nin kolor na garo man lang bagong shopping mall sa Centro. Nagimatan mo na kayang kupas an pintura kan Four Pillars kaya nataka ka kan nahiling mo.
Saboot mo tapos na man nanggad an mga aldaw kun kansuarin sa façade kan eskwelahan na ini, nagparasad-pasad an magagayon na coed na pencil-cut an mga palda—yaon ka duman sa hagyanan kairiba si Emil, Bong sagkod Gerry, iniiriskoran pa nindo an magagayon na nag-aaragi.
Nagsalingoy ka sa wala. Mayo na an soccer field kun saen kamo nagkaramang sa carabao grass ta may nagpasaway na parehong kadete sa Delta Platoon. An Xavier Hall na dati wooden building pa kaidto na dati man na SIO (Social Integration Office) saro nang konkretong edipisyo. Dai mo na mahiling an Pillars Office kun saen mo pigmakinilya sa bukbukon nang Olympia an enot mong love letter ki Jenny. Huli ta bago, dai mo na ni nabisto.
Nagsalingoy ka sa tuo. Mayo na an mahiwas na grounds kun saen kamo naggiribo nin Belen para ilaban sa Pintakasi. Sa may batibot na ito nabisto mo si Lani, kaklase mo sa Sociology ki Nong Fernandez. Tapos na an Pintakasi kaidto pero dai mo pa nalingawan si mahamison na huyom kan Miss Irigang ini. Totoo man nanggad an cultural myth na pinag-adalan nindo sa subject na ito. Dai pa natapos an semester kadto naprobaran mo na tulos kun ta’no ta an Iriga pamoso sa mga aswang—pirang banggi kang dinuno kan sarong kagayunan na Lani an pangaran. Haen na man daw siya ngonyan?
Naglakaw-lakaw ka. Nagsara-salingoy.
Haen na an gym? A, natahuban na palan kan Xavier Hall Building na bago. Dai mo na tulos nahiling an Blue Knight sa letrang A na enot mong nahiling kan nagpila ka para mag-exam sa First Year High School beinte anyos na an nakakaagi. Pagbalik mo pag-ralaogan, ogmahon kang maray kan mabasa mo na an ngaran mo sa lista kan LG 12.
Mayo ka pang kabisto kaidto kaya pagtingag mo sa façade kan building, nahiling mo an Blue Knight na nakasakay sa kabayo. Hiya! Maski sa kabayo saboot mo masakay ka makauli lang tulos sa Bagacay—iiistorya mo ki Mama mo an marahay-rahay na bareta ito.
Tinahuban na palan kan Xavier Hall Building na bago. Dai mo na mahiling si Blue Knight na tiningag mo kaidto.
Mayo na an dating Ateneo de Naga. Sarong aldaw pagbisita mo, dai mo na ‘ni naabutan. Marayo na sinda. Mayo ka nang mabisto digdi. Dai ka na madagos sa laog. Tibaad ka kaya maanayo. Malakaw ka na lang pabalik sa Avenue.
“Tapos na ang maliligayang araw,” saboot mo sana. Tibaad an Golden Age kan Ateneo de Naga nakaagi man nanggad na. An Four Pillars Lucky Fortune Hotel an pintura.
Maraot man nanggad daw na magsangli nin itsura an Ateneo—na an Ateneo magbago?
Bako daw an Ateneo bako man sanang sarong edipisyo? Bako daw an sinasabing Ateneo ika mismo—an tawong naglaog sa antigong edipisyong ini? Tibaad ika man nanggad an makaluma— habong magsangli, habong magbago.
Dai man daw na an bagong pangaran mo—Ateneo Serrado?
Paggisa nin Tiniktik With Some Garnish
Gisahon mo an bawang, sibulyas, kamatis;
later, ilaag mo na an perang patos na tiniktik
fresh from the talipapa. Just a pinch of salt lang
ta may asin-dagat pa baga an talaba—iyan an
mapahamot kan saimong obra-kusina pag
nag-alusuos na. La’ganan mo nin two cups of water,
tapos alalay lang an kalayo, low fire lang ba? Takupan
ta nganing dai mag-evaporate an sustansya. Pakala-kagaon
mo ta nganing maluto an tiniktik. Simmer for a while,
mga three minutes or less, depende sa dakul kan seashells.
After that, puwede mo nang ilaag an berdura.
Or kangkong can do. Pero garo awkward siya
kun la’ganan mong pechay o patatas—
bako man kaya ning menudo o pochero.
Dai mo bitsinan tanganing wholesome siya—
maski siisay na bisita, health-conscious o boy scout,
puwedeng maka-free taste. Pag pigluwag mo na
an saimong ginisa and serve it with some
steaming hot rice, in fairness, tibaad
sa dapog puroton an sinasabi nindang fine dining.
Pagbúhay kan Lengwáhe
Kadaklán na beses, kun saén an saróng lengwahe nagngángarongátong mawará o magadán, dakúl an puwédeng gibóhon tangáning buháyon iní. Kun maaráman nanggád kan saróng komunidád na tibáad magadán an lengwahe nindá, magíbo sindá nin mga paági pára buháyon o padagúson pa iní.
Kaipúhan na mísmong an komunidád an mámuyang magsalbár kan saindáng sadíring lengwáhe. Mas oróg na makabuluhán kun paháhalagahán sa mísmong mga gawégawé o kultura kan mga táwong iní an lengwáheng ginagámit kan dikit sa saindá, o an ináapod na minoríya. Kaipúhan man na gástusan an mga gigibóhon na iní— puwédeng magmukná nin mga kurso o maggámit nin disiplínang ma-ádal dapít sa lengwáhe, mag-andám nin mga materyáles dángan mag-engganyár nin mga paratukdó na iyó an mabalangíbog kan lengwáhe.
Oróg na kaipúhan an mga lingwísta—sinda iyó an mga magámit kan lengwáhe—an katuyuhán iyó na maitalá, mahimáyhimáy, saká maisúrat iní. Kaipúhan kan mga táwong magbása dángan magsúrat sa sadiri nindáng lengwáhe, kun ma’wot nindáng magpadágos iní; kun má’wot nindáng sindá mísmo magdánay.
Villa, Ciudad Iloilo
Hunio 2008
Sa Puro Kan Kadlagan
Probaran mong imahinaron kun ano an ginibo ninda ki Armando.
Pagkadakop saiya sa engkwentro, dinara siya sa puro kan kadlagan.
Duman hinubaan siya ninda, saka nginirisihan ta’ mayo nin bulbol.
Tinagpas an saiyang dungo sagkod talinga,
Hinuldo saka dinuldog an saiyang mga mata,
Tinaga an saro niyang kamot, saka siya kinadog-kadog.
Isinulmok siya sa daga, rinugtas an saiyang buto sagkod bayag,
Dangan isinu’so sa saiya man sanang nguso. Dai sinda nakuntento;
Sinapsap ninda an duwang lapnad nang suso,
Pinalaob siya kan saro sainda saka kinado-kado.
Nag-aagrutong pa siya kan badilon sa payo kan saro sa sainda.
Pagkatapos siyang iwalat para ipaon sa mga hantik
Ruminulukso sinda sa naghaharak-hatak na salog, nagkararigos
Nganing magkawaraswas an langsa sa mga hawak ninda.
Susog sa "Edge of the Woods"
ni Luis Cabalquinto
2001
Monday, April 06, 2009
Seeing My Salvation with Fear and Trembling
I cringe at the sight of the Scourging at the Pillar in Mel Gibson’s Passion of the Christ. Whenever I watch it on DVD, I skip that part where Jim Caviezel’s bloodied body is flogged heavily like an animal, his skin ripped apart by the Roman soldiers. I fast-forward to the part where Abenader, Pilate's chief guard, scolds the soldiers for having almost killed Jesus. The first time I saw it on a wide-screen sometime in 2004, I tossed and turned and could not look, almost wanting to leave my seat, but could not.
Saturday, April 04, 2009
I, Rooney
When I was a high school senior in Ateneo de Naga, I found it hard listening to Fr. Michael Rooney, the new adviser of the Sanctuary Society of the Sacred Heart (SSSH), a group of acolytes who served in the Mass and performed apostolates. That year, Father Rooney replaced Fr. Johnny Sanz who was then assigned in Bukidnon.
Father Rooney spoke Filipino with a twang that sounded so awkward, one which he tried so hard to enunciate. Always appearing eager to learn to speak the language, the priest would greet us “Magandang umaga” or “Kumusta kayo?” with an inflection that was only his.
Though soft-spoken, his Tagalog rather sounded ridiculous to me that I would just be distracted by the way he spoke and not understand what he would say.
Even the way he’d call my name every time I met him in the hallways made me feel uncomfortable.
Whenever I heard him say Mass in the Xavier Chapel, I could not help but while away my time, thinking other thoughts because I could hardly make out what the priest was saying.
But I found it interesting because the speaker himself did not seem to match the words he was speaking. Fr. Michael Rooney looked Caucasian but spoke Filipino—it was just incongruous.
The priest always sounded funny to me.
Yet, everything the priest did was anything but funny. In the brief company I shared with him as a member of the altar boys, I always found him amiable, and cheerful. Towering just like Father Phelan, Father Rooney hovered over us, students, someway like a coach, unfailing to smile and always rooting for us in whatever we would do, always there to make us aspire.
But why did he have to speak Filipino? I suppose Father Rooney spoke Tagalog, or even Bikol because he had to, if only to relate with everyone in Ateneo, the community he had been assigned to serve.
Like that of any other Jesuit seeking to lay down his life for his friend, his should have been the most difficult tradeoff. Perhaps Fr. Rooney’s calling which is hinged on selflessness and vulnerability to ridicule just required that he sound ridiculous (or otherwise interesting), if only to make people listen to what he had to say.
I suppose when Fr. Rooney became a Jesuit, he also knew that he should learn the language of the people with whom he will be called to serve. So he sought to learn it himself, not even thinking of how ridiculous he would sound.
I admire him for his constant eagerness to learn our own mother tongue, Filipino, inasmuch as I feel guilty of not using it myself.
Language was not one to prevent him from doing what he ought to do. For in the fifteen years he had served in the community, through his unfailing efforts for the Ateneo, of which I just heard or learned from others, I can only surmise he surely got his message across.
Surmise—that’s the word. I can only surmise all these because as soon as I entered Ateneo college, Fr. Rooney had already become an obscure figure to me.
I just saw him in one of the pictures taken during my mother’s wake in Tinambac, Camarines Sur sometime in 1996. In the picture, he was seated in one of the pews. He was carrying an umbrella. It rained hard on my mother’s funeral. Fr. Rooney looked so forlorn—looking like he’s almost crying. Or as if he’s listening hard to one of the eulogies being given for my mother—one of which I myself gave in behalf of my brothers and sisters. Later, I would know that a bus-load of members of Ateneo community came to the Bagacay cemetery for our mother’s last rites.
I remember some of my classmates who were in the funeral but I hardly knew Fr. Rooney was there. I was surprised to see him in one of the pictures. During those days in college, being into a number of other things, I would not just be one to pay much attention.
I felt awkward when Mr. Gerry Brizuela, my fellow acolyte in those days, asked me for this tribute. Nothing is more ironic here than not being able to say anything much about the man of the hour.
I hardly knew the man, if at all.
It makes me want to cry, knowing I have not understood what he really said. Because in the rare instances he talked to me, or appeared trying hard to talk to me, I was hardly listening.
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