Neoclassical Criticism

A

lexander Pope’s Essay on Criticism is a masterpiece of novelty in terms of form and compactness that sums up the neoclassical sentiment on literary theory and criticism. Perhaps prodigious because it was written when he was only 20 years old, Pope’s work contains an epigram by Horace with traces of Quintilian, Boileau and Dryden—which is rather memorable for its brilliant style. Written in heroic couplets, the work revitalizes familiar teachings and makes them sparkle.

Modern American critic Walter Bate, in an effort to render a topical outline of Pope’s poetics —sums up the Essay under three major topics, which is “by no means intended to attribute an argumentative or reasoned order to the poem.”

The first part compares poets and critics—and comes with pieces of advice for critics— as the general qualities needed by the critic can be found in the first one hundred couplets. After presenting knowledge of nature in its general forms—defining nature which needs of both wit and judgment to conceive it, Pope famously declares—

 

Learn hence for Ancient Rules a just Esteem;

To copy Nature is to copy Them.

 

“Classic texts, like Nature are a standard and guide. Their balance, harmony and good proportion are evident in their parts as well as demonstrated in the whole. In other words, Wit is Nature—for it instances something that we have all thought but whose sheer truth the poet now makes compelling through his language:”

True Wit is Nature to Advantage drest,

What oft was Thought, but ne’er so well exprest,

Something whose truth convinces at Sight we find

That gives us back the Image of our Mind. (297–300)

 

In itself a compendium of critical principles—or a sophisticated, witty poem with much reading and reflection in it, Essay on Criticism showcases Pope’s own view of literary borrowing—thus: Poets, like merchants should repay with something of their own what they take from others, not, like pirates, make prizes of all they meet.”

 The neoclassicist creed, according to Pope, therefore is to imitate the ancient authors and to adopt the critical precepts that these authors and their texts embody. Two directions are afforded by this concept of imitation. First is the more self-conscious and restricted side based on authority and passed models that leads to the writing of imitations. Art's first requirement is its direct appeal to reason or pasion.

Second has to do with the broader side thar reejects them by placing truth to general nature. The more universal and far-reaching the truth desired or conveyed by art, the closer art comes to fulfilling its primary aim. And as interpreter of Nature, then, the poet must divest himself of the prejudices of his age and country, in order to grasp and disclose general truths, which will always be the same.

 This is followed by the practical laws for the critic in the second part. This includes, for instance, the critic’s prerogative to seek the author’s aim and the critic’s fallibility in mistaking the part of a literary for the whole. Pope tirades critics who do not only come up with partial readings, but also those who are proud and arrogant.

 The third part—essayed out from lines 560 to the end of the concerns with the ideal character of the critic. Perhaps echoing the moral uprightness advanced by the Roman Horace, Pope deems it proper for the critic to have the qualities of integrity, modesty, tact and even courage. This calls for the concern for the critic to be morally liable—which translates that the critic can be the ordinary man—whose uplift is chief concern.

Renaissance Criticism

Following medieval criticism characterized by spiritual- or allegorical-centered interpretations of literary works—most notably the Sacred Scriptures—Renaissance criticism would return to the Aristotelian and Platonic tenets on art as imitation, with a number of improvements and expansions to accommodate the critical controversies of the period.

With his Apology for Poetry (1595), perhaps a response to the “Schoole of Abuse” by Stephen Gosson, considered a “Puritan attack on imaginative literature,” English nobleman Sir Philip Sidney comes in defense of poetry, earning for him as the quintessential Renaissance sensibility in literary criticism.

A classical oration with the seven standard parts—the Apology set out to accomplish three tasks.

I.

First, it was written in defense of poetry and its superiority over history and philosophy. Sidney considered poetry to aid toward the “purifying of wit, the enriching of memory, the enabling of judgment and the engaging of conceit.”

For Sidney, poetry has noble roots and serves a noble purpose. Sidney argued that poetry may be found at all times in all cultures, surveying that the famous classical figures from philosophers to historians relied on poetic techniques in writing their works. Sidney considers the prophetic and creative functions of the poet and of poetry, famously declaring that the poet improves upon nature, thus—”Her world is brazen, the poets only deliver a golden.”

Sidney improves on Aristotle in defining poetry as an “art of imitation,” sorting them into three kinds—poetry which imitates “the inconceivable excellencies of God”; poetry which deals with moral philosophy, natural philosophy, astronomical philosophy, or historical philosophy; and those works of “right poets” who “imitate to teach and delight.”

Such definition sets an agenda for the discussion of poetry—allowing for an outpouring of insights into the critical controversies of the period.

Also defending comic poetry, Sidney says that it holds vices up to such ridicule that no one would want to be like the ridiculous, vice-ridden characters portrayed therein. He furthers by saying that much of the Bible is even written in poetic form. For instance, Nathan recalls David (and the reader) to virtue by telling a story. Or Christ teaches by means of parables which “inhabit both the memory and judgment.”

Since the [final] end of [all earthly] learning is virtuous action, Sidney considers poetry better equipped to teach right behavior than either philosophy or history:

For whatsoever the philosopher says should be done, the poet gives a perfect picture of it in someone by whom he presupposes it was done; so as he couples the general notion with the particular example.

While combining the moral precepts of philosophy with the entertaining examples of history, the poetic pursuit cloaks “its lessons with the pleasurable devices of art, rendering it more effective than the first two disciplines.

II.

Second, Sidney’s Apology deals with specific objections raised against poetry. Below are the point-by-point responses of Sidney to the previous attacks charged against poetry since the classical antiquity.

As regards poetry is a waste of time; Sidney counters by asking how can poetry be a waste of time if learning leads to virtue and poetry is the best way to learning? For him, poetry has been the first educator of primitive peoples, which lead them to a more civilized state and a more sensitive receptivity to knowledge of every sort.

Next, against the objection that poetry is the “mother of lies”, Sidney famously declares: “for the poet, he nothing affirms, and therefore never lieth.” Placing poetry outside of the realm of truth and falsehood, Sidney contends that the poet never claims that he is presenting absolute truth in the first place—thus the accusation of falsehood leveled at poetry is merely irrelevant.

As to the claim that poetry is the “nurse of abuse, infecting us with many pestilent desires,” Sidney considers the abuse of any art should not condemn that art—”poetry is not to blame for the abuses committed against it by bad poets.”

Then, essentially, when we realize that poetry was banished from Plato’s imaginary republic—so it must be dangerous—Sidney clarifies that Plato did banish “the abuse, but not the thing. Therefore, by being in a way threatened by its power, Plato rather honored poetry.

 
III.

The third task set forth in the Apology examines the current state of English literature. more of a broad survey of English literature and rather not a comprehensive blow-by-blow revaluation of works of the time, Apology offers some critical comments on diction, poetic figures, meter, rhythm, rhyme and the English vernacular to other languages.

Significantly, Sidney’s censure of the English drama which failed to adhere to the [overemphasized if not misread] Aristotelian unities of time and place— will further later preoccupy the neoclassical critics of drama, most notably the French Pierre Corneille and the Englishman Samuel Johnson.

On the whole, Sidney’s defense of poesy/poetry—it is said he treats poetry both as having feminine and masculine attributes with reference to both gender qualifiers his and her used in the tract itself—has rendered a number of influences. First it imposed stricter interpretation of the moral function of art. Put more simply, we are said to s see virtue exalted, and vice punished. Second, the rigid distinction of genres allowed for the classification of the types of literature which will be constantly considered by the generations of critics following. And finally, Sidney’s adherence and use of his forerunners as cornerstones of his own critical insights acknowledges the pervasive self-conscious awareness of authority and tradition, an issue to be taken seriously by Matthew Arnold and T.S. Eliot in the centuries following.

Medieval Criticism

L

iterary criticism would not disappear in the Middle Ages. The classical tradition would survive the collapse of the Western Roman Empire, and most of the great Latin authors will remain a part of the cultural tradition of Europe.

 

The Greek authors, however, will survive only through Latin versions and imitations of their works. For one, Homer’s works would be unknown during the Middle Ages and Aristotle’s Poetics will reach the West perhaps only through mangled versions and derivations.

 

Yet, some key concepts of classical poetics would be preserved. This would include the Plato’s and Aristotle’s conception of art as imitation and the classification into three basic genres, and the concept of decorum (from Roman admirer Horace).

 

Statue of Dante in the Piazza

di Santa Croce,  Florence

The medieval tradition of literary criticism is one of textual commentary of the classics, mostly the Bible and theological writings—which would direct its attention not to the way “works should be, but to the way they are.” The critical tendency would be towards works which are already written and those having religious or moral significance.

 

Though characterized by a reliance on authority and revelation evident in the emphasis on the study and interpretation of the Sacred Scriptures, medieval criticism would later see the displacement of critical methods “from the sacred to the secular.” Through his number of works in the vernacular Italian and Latin, Italian poet Dante Alighieri (1265–1321) would stand out in the map of theory and criticism to articulate the humanist thought developed in the wake of the twelfth-century Renaissance.

 

In his “Letter to Can Grande Della Scala,” an introduction to the “Paradiso” from his La Commedia (Comedy), Dante establishes a classification of the elements to be considered in a literary work. Drawn from the Scholastic models of literary prologue, Dante sounds very much like Aristotle:

 

There are six things then which must be inquired into at the beginning of any work of instruction; to wit, the subject, agent, form, and end, the title of the work, and the branch of philosophy it concerns.

 

Applying to Comedy the approaches of medieval interpretation, Dante famously writes:

 

The sense of this work is not simple, but on the contrary it may be called polysemous, that is to say, ‘of more senses than one’, for it is one sense which we get through the letter, and another which we get through the thing the letter signifies, and the first is called literal, but the second allegorical or mystic.

 

Dante posits that writings can be understood and are meant to be expounded chiefly in four senses—namely: the literal, which does not “go beyond the strict limits of the letter”; allegorical, which Dante calls “a truth hidden under a beautiful fiction”; moral, that for which “teachers ought as they go through writings intently to watch for their own profit and that of their hearers”; and anagogic, or above the senses. The last sense connotes that when a piece of writing is expanded, it ought to “give intimation of higher matters belonging to eternal glory.”

 

In Il Convivio (The Banquet), Dante says that the surface level and allegorical level are both truthful in theology; while in poetry, only the allegorical level of meaning is true and the surface level is fiction. Here, Dante

 

Dante’s introductory comments on the Comedy also reveal the medieval conception of the opposition between tragedy and comedy, saying that “tragedy begins admirably and tranquilly, whereas the end or exit is foul and terrible… whereas comedy introduces some harsh complication, but brings its matter to a prosperous end. Therefore, tragedy and comedy therefore differ according to the outcome of the story—they are also considered kinds of fiction, not dramatic genres.

 

Regarding the purpose of poetry, Dante mentions a possible difference between the proximate and the ultimate ends, but concludes that “the end of the whole and of the part is to remove those living in this life from the state of misery and lead them to the state of felicity.” In this sense, Dante resonates the Horatian dictum that poetry delights and instructs (dulce et utile). Moreover, Dante argues that delight comes not only from ornament, but also from the goodness in the work, which is delightful in itself.

 

In De vulgari eloquentia (On Eloquence on the Vernacular), a treatise written in Latin, Dante defends his choice of writing in Italian, arguing that serious literature can be written in the vernacular as well as in Latin.

 

Examining the various Italian dialects and choosing as the ideal vernacular the Sicilian dialect spoken by “people of quality,” Dante also expressed concern on the enrichment of Italian through the borrowing of words, a pursuit which will preoccupy Europe two centuries later.

 

Championing the importance of the vernacular, a crusade to be taken by Sir Philip Sidney in the Renaissance, Dante listed three possible themes available to vernacular poetry—namely: the state, love, and virtue. While love as a serious theme is a novelty in medieval criticism, Dante would go further to claim that the lyrical song or canzone is the best poetical form. This is the first time such a claim is made, which will perhaps be enhanced if not elaborated by the Romantic poets some five hundred years.

Photo Credit
Wikipedia.org

Nothing writes so much as blood.

Nothing writes so much as blood.
The rest are mere strangers.
—corrupted from Lawrence Kasdan’s Wyatt Earp, 1994

I. Dear Mother
Some twelve years ago, when I was working for Plan International Bicol, gathering information from the NGO’s beneficiaries-respondents in the upland barangays surrounding Mount Isarog and the Bicol National Park, I kept a notebook where I wrote the following verse for my mother Emma, who passed away in January 1996.

        In that job, I kept a journal wherever I went—perhaps to relive the days with my mother whom I dearly lost during her life [I hardly had time for her when she was sick because my editorship in the college paper ate up my schedule] and tearfully loved after her death [after college graduation, there was not much to do aside from job-hunting and freelancing with media entities around Naga City]. And there was not much reason to hunt for jobs at all because there would be no one to offer my first salary.

        The original scribbles below were written on a yellow pad paper.

 

The Sea House
For Emma, who loved so much
1996

 
Tomorrow
I will build a house
by the forest near the sea
where
six palm trees
will become
brave bystanders by day—
and
warm candles by night.

 

II. Pride from a Published Poem
After so many versions and revisions, a national magazine then edited by the National Artist for Literature Nick Joaquin—published a longer submission (see below) before the end of the year. The publication of my poem in Philippine Graphic Weekly thrilled me to no end. I felt too lucky to have my [too personal a] sentiment printed in a national publication.

        It even seemed like the tribute to my mother was more heightened. For one, she would have loved to see my work printed on a national paper. Sad to say, though, it is my contemplation on her death that would give [her or me] such pride.

 

The Sea House
Philippine Graphic Weekly, November 1996

I hate to leave really.
But I should go home tonight.

Tomorrow  I will build a house
by the forest near the sea
where I alone
can hear my silence.

For it, I gathered six palm trees
stronger than me, to become
the pillars, firm foundations
of my tranquil days to come
which I will not anymore hear.

I know the trees are good
for they survived many typhoons in the past
which uprooted many others
and which made others bend,
and die.

I hope they become bright lamps
along the black road
where I will pass through
when I go home tonight.

I hope they’d be there
and that they would recognize me.
And if they don’t, it wouldn’t matter.
I would not want any trees other than them.
For I know they are very good.

But tonight, please
let them be
my warm candles.

And when I’m home
I will be certain:
Tomorrow, I will have built a house
in the forest near the sea where
Every palm tree can hear his silence. 

And the others can listen.

 

 
III. A Reader’s Response
Finding the poem in one of my diskette files when I applied for work in Quezon City and Manila, my brother Mente—perhaps to while away his time in SRTC [his workplace then where I typed hundreds of my resumes] in Kalayaan Avenue back in 1997—must have liked it so much that consequently, he translated it in Bikol, rendering a rather old, archaic Bikol version.

An Harong Sa May Dagat
(Para qui Emma, na sobrang namoot)
1997

 

Magabat an boot co na maghale,
Alagad caipuhan co na mag-uli
Ngonyan na banggui.

Sa aga, matugdoc aco nin harong
Sa cadlagan harani sa dagat,
Cun sain aco na sana an macacadangog
Can sacuyang catranquiluhan.

 
Sa palibot caini, matanom aco
Nin anom na poon nin niyog
Na mas masarig sa saco,
Na magiging manga harigi—
Manga pusog na pundasyon
Can manga matuninong cong aldaw
Na dae co naman madadangog.
 

Ma’wot co na sinda magserbing
Maliwanag na ilaw sa dalan
Sa macangirhat na diclom,
Cun sain aco ma-agui
Sa sacuyang pag-uli
Ngonyan na banggui.

 
Ma’wot co man na yaon sinda duman
Asin na aco mamidbid ninda.
Alagad cun sinda malingaw saco,
Dae na bale. Dae nungca aco mahanap
Nin caribay ninda, nin huli ta aram co
Na sinda manga marhay.

 
Alagad sa atyan na banggui,
Hahagadon co na sinda
Magserbing manga maiimbong
Na candela cataid co.

Asin cun aco naca-uli na
Sigurado aco na sa aga
Naca-guibo aco nin harong
Sa cadlagan harani sa dagat
Cun sain aco na sana
An macacadangog
Can sacuyang catranquiluhan.
Asin an iba macacadangog.

 

 

IV. My Brother, My Reader, My Writer
Perhaps having the spirit of the classicists who dearly loved the classical age before them, for one, reinventing an old manuscript to serve their own purposes, Mente made an English version based on his English translation.

        Perhaps wanting to relive for himself the memory of our dear mother who was rather fonder of him [than the rest of us], Mente turned in his own masterpiece based on the published poem. Notice how the versification has radically changed—from irregular free verses to a series of couplets—and ending with a one-liner which is supposed to be the poem’s closure.

        In the process, the version he rendered would become totally his original work. Comparing his piece with the original published piece, I see that the new work now brims with new meanings and warrants a different, if not disparate interpretation.

 

 

The House by The Sea
(For Emma, who Loved So Much)
1997

 
I leave with a heavy heart
But I need to go home tonight.

Tomorrow, I’ll build a house by the sea,
Where only I will hear my tranquility.

Around it I’ll plant six coconut trees
Which are stronger than I am.

Trees that will become the stable foundation
of my quiet days, which I will no longer hear.

Undoubtedly, these coconut trees are of the best quality
Because they have overcome a lot of storm, that uprooted the others.

I want them to light the way through horrible darkness,
Where I will pass when I go home tonight.

I like them to be there and for them to know me
But never mind if they’ve forgotten me.

Nobody can replace them
Because I know they are good.

But tonight I’ll ask them to be like candles,
Warm, beside me.

And when I am home
I will have surely built a house by the sea
Where only I will hear my tranquility.

And others will hear it, too.

 

 
V. A Promise to Write (A Poem)
After having undergone a number of literary workshops, I realize that images, symbols and metaphors [if any if at all] I used in the first draft are confusing and too overwhelming—giving it a puzzling dramatic situation. Now, I realize that the poem published in the past and wholly appreciated by my dear brother—with my sister perhaps, my sole readers at the time—carried double and mixed metaphors which rendered the piece fragmented, incoherent and totally not a good poem at all.

          And perhaps because it was dedicated to my dear mother, I never subjected this piece to any workshop which granted me fellowships. I submitted other pieces, and not this one.  Perhaps because I considered the work too sacred to be desecrated—or more aptly slaughtered by the write people.

         The images in the poem were drawn mostly from emotion, not reason. There was not even a clear use of figurative language or tropes such as metaphor or irony, a fact that would be abhorred by the American New Critics (who espoused that everything that we need to know about the poem should already be in the poem itself—and to the very least, never in the author’s intention, never in my sincerest wish to dedicate it to my mother.

      

Aristotle's Poetics

A

ristotle’s Poetics clearly marks out the beginnings of literary theory and criticism.

        In this age-old treatise, Aristotle provides both a history of the development of poetry and drama, and a critical framework for evaluating tragic drama. It is considered the first systematic essay in literary theory because it is full of insight and shows a high degree of flexibility in the application of its general rules.

 

More inclined to forming categories and organizing them into coherent systems than his teacher Plato (who highly esteemed a cerebral Theory of Forms), Aristotle conversely treated the discussion of poetry as a natural scientist, carefully accounting for the features of each “species” of text.

                                                                       Poetics, 1780 Edition

In the twenty six books perhaps gathered as notes by his pupils, three points stand out as probably the most important. First is the interpretation of poetry as mimesis. In Chapters 1–3, all poetry, Aristotle argues, is imitation or mimesis. Poetry springs from a basic human delight in mimicry. Humans learn through imitating and take pleasure in looking at imitations of the perceived world. The mimetic dimension of the poetic arts is always representational. As artistic representation, mimesis in poetry is the act of telling stories that are set in the real world. The events in the story need not have taken place, but the telling of the story will help the listener or viewer to imagine the events taking place in the real world.

 

Furthermore, representations of human beings in poetry can be sorted into three categories—depictions of humans as better than they really are, depictions of humans as they are in reality, and depictions of humans as worse than they really are. It then distinguishes three types of poetry—tragedy, comedy and epic poetry, perhaps just like an anatomist labels parts of the human body.

 

In particular, Aristotle focuses his discussion on tragedy, which uses dramatic, rather than narrative, form, and deals with agents who are better than us, ourselves. Aristotle writes the famous opening line in Book 6, which sums up the centerpiece of his work—

Tragedy, then, is an imitation of an action that is serious, complete, and of a certain magnitude; in language embellished with each kind of artistic ornament, the several kinds being found in separate parts of the play; in the form of action, not of narrative; through pity and fear effecting the proper purgation of these emotions.

 

Aristotle lists six components of tragedy—plot or mythos, character, thought, diction, melody, and spectacle. While diction and melody are the style of the text or lyrics, and the music to which some of them are set; spectacle refers to staging, lighting, sets, costumes, etc. Thought refers to the indications, given primarily through words but also through other means, of what the characters are thinking.

 

Of the six parts, Aristotle insisted on the primacy and unity of plot.  While plot as representation of human action can either be simple or complex, Aristotle stresses that complex plots are required for successful tragedies. Here, the plot must be unified, clearly displaying a beginning, a middle, and an end, and must be of sufficient length to fully represent the course of actions but not very long that the audience loses attention and interest.

 

Unfolding through an internal logic and causality, a complex plot should consist of a hero going from happiness to misery. The hero should be portrayed consistently and in a good light (and the poet should also remain true to what we know of the character). For Aristotle, then, action—represented as the plot—must be consistent with character—and more importantly reveal character.

 

Furthermore, a number of terms can illuminate how complex plot works successfully for tragedy. Hamartia, translated directly as “error,” is often a “tragic flaw” on the part of the hero that causes his very downfall—this error need not be an overarching moral failing, rather only a matter of not knowing something or forgetting something. Employed along with it is anagnorisis or “recognition,” a part in tragedy—often at the climax—where the hero, or some other character, passes from ignorance to knowledge. This could be a recognition of a long lost friend or family member or a sudden recognition of some fact about oneself, as the case of Oedipus in Sophocles’s Oedipus Rex. Therefore, the concept of mythos is about how the elements of a tragedy come together to form a coherent and unified whole—in such a way that the overall message or impression that we come away with is what is conveyed to us by the mythos of a piece.

 

Equally prominent in the Aristotelian treatise is the notion of catharsis. For him, such tragic plot must serve to arouse the emotions of pity and fear and effect a catharsis of these emotions. While some critics forever debate the meaning of the term, Aristotle’s reference to the purging of the emotions of pity and fear aroused in the viewer always links it to the positive social function of tragedy—in general, the ethical utility of art.

 

Thus, it is a truth universally acknowledged that Aristotle’s Poetics established the beginning of literary theory and criticism, in that it started the discussion of poetic art as representation of reality, a contention held true even today.

 

Its “species-concerned” treatment of the components of poetic art also initiated the recent and ongoing discourses on the classification of literary forms and types or genres, or genre theory, a structuralist approach to literary, film and cultural theories.

 

Its concept of the three unities—those of action, place and time—was even taken to its most austere limits during the Renaissance and the succeeding European periods.

 

Above all, it ushered in for the succeeding eras the importance of the value of art itself, which is one of moral instruction, a concept taken always seriously in the discussion of literature.

Walking, graduate studies and other occupations

WHILE I consider walking a romantic activity mainly because ever since I could remember I have always walked to wherever I choose to go or to be, or simply because I must have read Henry David Thoreau’s essay on it from Walden and later romanticized the whole idea by treating it as the best daily exercise, I also realize that doing so in the city does not make sense at all.

Funny how I realize that walking from Katipunan Avenue going to the Loyola campus cannot always be a leisurely activity, especially if I have to do it towards noontime. Sun’s heat just becomes unbearable and then it is up for me to be pissed off by the stress it causes me, that later determines my tasks and activities inside the university library where I have to read for my graduate studies.

This morning I realized that taking a tricycle can make a big difference. I chose to ride a tricycle and not walk and that saved my time, effort and energy so that, minutes ago, I already started pounding these keys to write this lament, thus, [this] discourse.

I just realize I am a subject of the urban culture that rather compels people to buy cars so transportation and mobility are a bit easier for them.

Now I also realize I cannot just cater to the demands of such culture. Not right now, at least. I understand I cannot do much to change such culture as I know I am even the object of generosity of the ruling class [my scholarship tells me I am a recipient of their being able to provide for others].

I ride along. There is nothing for me to do. According to literary theorists preoccupied by their presuppositions on the experiencing self, or the subject, I am only a subject.

In fact, I have many subjectivities. I am also a graduate student at the Ateneo de Manila University, an academic institution run by Jesuits that, in more ways than one, have always allowed all kinds of human beings to thrive and live, the dominant ruling class whose names are carved in its buildings, the struggling middle-class who compose the Ph.D. faculty members, and the white-collar workers belonging to either the canteen cooperatives, the maintenance personnel employed by their respective agencies, or the job-hire construction workers hammering at the scaffolds being built for the new social science hall named after a Chinese benefactor. Such culture where I am right now just allows people to live. Yes, live.

That is the essence of life. To live. The purpose of me [read: I] as another subject.

Every single day I get opportunities to study and learn new concepts from reading at the library, attending campus lectures, or sitting in my teachers’ classes. And here I am learning and getting to read many things about my presently being a subject of different social structures, from the traffic rules in Katipunan Avenue to the undergraduate class schedules to the terms of use of computers in the Rizal Library.

My graduate studies are not in vain. While a graduate degree will help me land a university slot in teaching or related work, there is much to savor as I finish it. One of the payoffs is being able to realize and understand some terms in my studies that parallel or reflect the things in my present circumstances.

For instance, there is class mobility, a phrase I caught from sitting in my professor’s undergraduate class, figures in the Marxist reading of Charlotte Bronte’s Jane Eyre. The Marxist train of thought reads that Jane Eyre’s marriage to a wealthy man rather helps her attain class mobility.

The then orphan girl who struggled her way through the social ranks to become a governess and worked her way up the social ladder is sadly just appropriated by her marriage to the dominant ruling class. Class mobility, vulgarly translated or appropriated, refers to people’s ability to further on with how to go about their lives in a society that is ruled by the dominant class.

There is much truth when I realize that literary theorists--classic or modern, recognized or unacknowledged, mainstream or recalcitrant--have really something to say whenever they claim that to study literature as it relates to social structures is to help define life itself.

I feel relieved at the end of this lament because bit by bit, my ideas are being put into paper. Thoughts become my words, and they become truths, at least my truths. I feel justified and lucky because I am learning beyond what books say or what I understand in books--or maybe I am just learning what the books, indeed, say--I am living a life that goes beyond what can be taught, beyond what can be thought.

Classical Theory and Criticism

C

lassical theory and criticism starts off with Plato and Aristotle.

        While both Greek philosophers were preoccupied with the concept of poetry as imitation, or representation of nature, it is interesting to note how their ideas collided, which started the ball rolling for the classic/al clash between poetry and philosophy, or rather which allowed for more beneficial concepts in the study of literature.

In his dialogues Republic, Ion and Phaedrus, Plato banishes poets from his ideal state, based on several grounds. First, according to Plato, the poet’s works are an imitation, twice removed from the Ideal World of forms. Second, poets are said to compose under inspiration, or even divine madness, and without using reason, which is instrumental in finding Truth. Next, poetry is considered to be ignorant of what it teaches and therefore teaches the wrong things. And last, poetry is dangerous to the soul, producing the wrong emotions in the audience, and interfering with the striving towards pure reason which is the proper conduct of the good soul. Plato did not see the importance of poets in the Republic because they are said to just evoke such pleasures and emotions in the audience and not at all benefit the state as a whole.

From these attacks on poetry— two challenges arise. First, Plato raises the question why representations of people [who are] suffering is a pleasurable experience. Second, because he considered the poetic pursuit as irrational, Plato has issued a challenge to those who would argue for a rightful place for poetry in his philosophical utopian state.

Now, taking off from what his teacher laid out, Aristotle comes to the defense in his Poetics. Like Plato, Aristotle believed that imitation is the basis of pleasure derived from all forms of art. But unlike Plato, Aristotle says poetry is more than a simulated representation of reality.

First, Aristotle considers poetry as a skill, with rational rules (like shipbuilding), and not really a process of inspiration.

In Poetics, Aristotle attempts to explain 'poetry' through 'first principles' and by discerning its different genres and component elements, with an analysis of tragedy constituting the core of his discussion. Such principles of poetic composition demonstrate that poetry is not simply inspired. It is rather a skill which can be learned, and has rules that are comprehensible by reason.

      Second, for Aristotle, poetry represents reality in a useful way from which we can learn. While Plato says poetry does not teach practical wisdom, and—since the poet does not understand horse bits and reins—he is two removes from the truth, Aristotle counters that the poet is [even] the one who approaches the truth more directly because he focuses on what is universal—rather than incidental or particular—about human experience. While history represents particulars, poetry represents universals.

Then, while it is true that poetry evokes pity and fear in the audience—more important, it also arouses these emotions in such a way as to increase our ability to control them. Aristotle’s concept of catharsis—either purgation cleansing, or even now, intellectual clarification, rather validates why poetry is a more interesting pursuit because of its ability for moral instruction.

What follows is a graphical representation of their arguments and/or counterarguments.

PLATO vs. ARISTOTLE
·        Poet’s works are an imitation, twice removed from the World of forms.	·        Poetry is a skill, with rational rules (like shipbuilding), and not really a process of inspiration. The principles of poetic composition demonstrate that poetry is rather a skill which can be learned, and has rules comprehensible by reason.
·        Poets compose under inspiration, without using reason.
·        Poetry is ignorant of what it teaches—it teaches the wrong things.	·        Poetry represents reality in a useful way from which we can learn—the poet is the one who approaches the truth more directly because he focuses on what is universal.
·        Poetry elicits in the audience emotions that are not in accord with reason.	·        Poetry arouses emotions in such a way as to increase our ability to control them.

With these two giant figures of the period, classical theory and criticism has mapped out two directions for consideration in the literary study—it emphasized, if not deliberately campaigned on understanding literature as a mode of representation; and it also highlighted didacticism, the property of literary works that seek to teach important tenets of life, hinged on its ability to render moral instruction to the audience.

Photo Credits
Wikipedia.org

Naingas Si Kulas

Nauranan siya maghapon.
Pigparahapag niya an damulag na sa uma
tuminandayag. Papuli na sa dalan, inawitan
niya an mga manok na naghaharapon;
uni na an sinárom.

Naum-om siya kan diklom.
Udo kan damulag na natu’makan niya
sa dalan mayong parong. Daing salugsog
an hibo kan gugon; an tunok kan turog-
turog bakong hararom.

Naumangan siya kan bituon.
Dawa sain maduman siya karon; ilusyon
sa Ilawod papasyaron; baylihan sa Katangyanan
dadayuhon; sa diklom kan dalan, paduman
sa Kasiraman, mapahalon.


Ki Tomo, Pangkoy, Ronaldo, Zaldo, Paulo.

Epikong Ibalong

A long, long time ago, there was a rich land called Ibalong. The hero Baltog, who came from Botavora of the brave clan of Lipod, came to this land when many monsters were still roaming in its very dark forests. He decideed to stay and was the first to cultivate its field and to plant them with gabi.

Then one night, a monstrous, wild boar known as Tandayag saw these field and destroyed the crops. Upon knowing this, Baltog decided to look for this boar with all his courage and patience. At last, as soon as he saw it, he fearlessly wrestled with it, with all his might. Baltog was unafraied. He was strong and brave. Though the Tandayag had very long fangs, he was able to pin down the monstrous, wild boar and break apart its very big jawbones. With this, Tandayag fell and died.

After this fight, Baltog went to his house in Tondol, carrying the Tandayag’s broken jawbones. Then, he hung it on a talisay tree in front of his house. Upon learning of the victory of their Chief Baltog, the people prepared a feast and celebrated. The very big jawbones of the dead boar became an attraction for everyone. Thus, came the tribes of Panikwason and Asog to marvel at it.

The second hero who came to the land of Ibalong was Handyong. Together with his men, he had to fight thousands of battles, and face many dangers to defeat the monsters. As warriors, they first fought the one-eyed monster with three necks in the land of Ponong. For ten months, they fought without rest. And they never stopped fighting until all these monsters were killed.

Handyong and his men made their next attack against the giant flying sharks called Triburon which had hardy flesh and sawlike teeth that could crush rocks. They continued fighting until the defeat of the last Triburon.

They tamed the wild carabaos. They even drove away the giant and very fierce Sarimao which had very sharp fingernails. And using their spears and arrows, they killed all the crocodiles which were as big as boats. With all these killings, the rivers and swamps of Ibalong turned red with blood. It was at this time that the savage monkeys became frightened and hid themselves.

Among the enemies of Handyong and his men, the serpent Oryol was the hardest to kill. Having a beautiful voice, Oryol could change its image to deceive its enemies. To capture it, Handyong tried different ways. But Oryol escaped every one of it and disappeared.

So, alone and unafraid, Handyong decided to look for Oryol in the heart of the forest. He followed the beautiful voice and was almost enchanted by it in his pursiut. Days and nights passed until Oryol came to admire Handyong’s bravery and gallantry. Then, the serpent helped the hero to conquer the monsters, thus restoring peace to the entire Ibalong.

In one of the areas of Ibalong called Ligmanan, Handyong built a town. Under his leadership and his laws, slaves and masters were treated equally. The people planted rice and because of their high regard of him, they named this rice after him. He built the first boat to ride the waves of Ibalong’s seas. Through his good example, his people became inspired and came up with their own inventions. There was Kimantong who made the plow, harrow, and other farming tools; Hablom who invented the first loom for weaving abaca clothes; Dinahong, an Agta, who created the stove, cooking pot, earthen jar, and other kitchen utensils; and Sural who brilliantly thought of the syllabary and started to write on a marble rock. This was a golden period in Ibalong.

Then suddenly, there came a big flood caused by Unos, with terrifying earthquakes. The volcanoes of Hantik, Kulasi and Isarog erupted. Rivers changed their direction and the sea waves rolled high. Destruction was everywhere. Soon, the earth parted, mountains sank, a lake was formed, and many towns in Ibalong were ruined.

Then, appeared the giant Rabot, half-man and half-beast, with awesome and terrifying powers.

People were asking who will fight against Rabot. So, Bantong, the third hero was called. He was a good friend of Handyong. He was ordered to kill the new monster in Ibalong. To do this, he took with him a thousand warriors to attack Rabot’s den. But using his wisdom against Rabot, he did not attack the giant right away. He first observed Rabot’s ways. Looking around the giant’s den, he discovered that there were many rocks surrounding it, and these were the people who were turned into rocks by Rabot.

Bantong also learned that Rabot loved to sleep during the day and stayed awake at night. So, he waited. When Rabot was already sleeping very soundly, Bantong came hear him. He cut the giant into two with his very sharp bolo and without any struggle, Rabot died, So, Ibalong was at peace once more.

From www.albaytourism.gov.ph

Encanto

 

An pagkaaki sarong lumang agihan pakadto sa may dating molinohan kun sain ka nagtago para dai mahiling ni Ruping, si kakawat mo kaidto. Dai ka niya nakua pagka-kamang mo sa may baliti kun sain, sabi ni Lolo Kanor mo, nag-iistar an engkantong si Primitibo.

 Dai ka na nagtunga kaya huminabo na sana  an kakawat mo. Pag-sinarom, nakua ka ni Manoy mo harani sa kamalig. Pagal-pagal ka, haros dai naghahangos, mu’singon. Dai ka naggigirong,  bara’ba an kalson.

 Mayo nin naghapot kun nagparasain ka. Mayo nin naghapot kun napa’no ka. Pagkabanggi, hinanap mo sainda si Lolo mo—pag-abot niya, mga sanggatos na beses kang huminadok saiya. Sabi kan kabuhan mo, na-ingkanto ka daa.

 Tapos na an taraguan nindo, pero poon kadto bisan sain ka magduman, gusto mo na lang magparatago, garong pirming takot kang may makahiling o makakua saimo—sa libod kansa may baylihan; eskwelahan pag-urulian;

 Sa laog kan mapa’raton na sinehan sa siyudad; minsan nahiling nagrarabay-rabay sa Naga—hali sa Calle Ojeda asta sa Abella. Sabi ninda, hinahanap mo daa si Primitibo,    an tawong lipod na nagkaraw saimo.

    

Enchanted in Iligan

I do not really like nature trips very much.

I always feel that elementals roam the hills and mountains and going there in droves—like we Iligan fellows did on our last day of workshop—always surprises them. And If I am exhausted in a trip going to a destination, it is enough reason for me not to rave about it.

Then, I saw Tinago falls.

I did not express much enjoyment upon seeing the white waters falling off a very high cliff. I respected the sight more than I was awed by it. So I uttered “Tabi, Apo” a number of times as if to seek permission for us to pass through from the unnamed encanto and elementals dwelling there.

Later, I could not get enough of the view of the falls, so I swam.

But I swam alone, using a lifesaving jacket. I wanted to breathe away from the company of the fellows. I sought the part where the water did not overwhelm much. In the side of the major falls, I enjoyed the water falling down on me inasmuch as I enjoyed myself frolicking for a while with some of the local children.

I swam and explored the water myself. I wanted to unwind and relax after days of overloaded critiques and evaluations of our talent or the lack of it, as in the words of panelist German Gervacio, our own senses of angas and duda.

In the water, I seemed to have forgotten the fact that I swam. I nearly dozed off floating. And when I sort of woke up, I just realized it was time to go.

ON OUR WAY to Mimbalot Falls, the next stop for us, two local boys saw our car and ran after us. The boys did not stop until they caught with the car and perched themselves at the back of it. Upon seeing them, some fellows said, “Uy, Brokeback!”perhaps thinking they were Ennis del Mar and Jack Twist in Ang Lee's gay epic, Brokeback Mountain. I thought writers really have a peculiar way of making up and recreating realities for or about themselves.

But I also began to be curious of the children—they just looked too sad to be going there with us for a swimming, I thought. No one talked with the boys. They were just quietly perched in the rear of the car until we reached the falls.

I did not swim with the group. I was exhausted rising from the deep elevations of Tinago.

They now frolicked more openly in the shallow, more accessible falls. Instead I took their pictures. I hardly took pictures of the trees or woods without any human subject. I took pictures of people who posed before the falls, rocks and bridges. I just did not want to discomfort other beings in the place.

I felt too empty being in such a solitary place. I saw that there were very few people there. The place looked more sacred than entertaining—quaint rather than relaxing. I could hardly hear the frolicking swimmers as they did in Tinago; here, their voices were muffled by the falling waters, and even insulated by the rocks that covered them.

So I went back to the car. Hearing the duliduli from a distance, I hardly had the words to say. It was like my turn to listen to Nature and not to disturb it even with my presence. So I slowed down.

Then I saw the two boys again. They sat on the rocks near the area where washing clothes was permitted. They were munching pieces of fruit or something which they must have found in the woods near the river. They looked hungry.

I approached them and started to talk to them. I spoke to them in Filipino, hoping they would understand me. They did. I came to know that they were brothers. One was a year older than the other, but both of them are in grade one, they told me. They just looked too old to be in grade one. Their eyes were lonely, but when I talked with them, it is as if there is not too much energy in them. They really looked hungry.

We were already leaving when the two boys perched up again at the back of our car. In the car, the snacks were shared among the fellows. After every fellow was given their share, some of us shared the carrot with the two boys. Instantly, they took the bread, while balancing themselves at the tail of the car. Both of them smiled, now prancing like two little happy things at the back of our car.

Approaching the city, I seemed to have lost my interest to relax and unwind. I felt utterly empty. And lonely. And I sensed things were just beginning to happen to me as soon as we left Mimbalut. In the car, the carrot cake looked very much like a Goldilocks bread to me; but it didn't taste very good at all.

Iloilo City, June 2008