Pag-antos

Napoon ini sa baskog na pagtubod na an kada kadipisilan igwang kalutasan; oras sagkod kapas sana an kaipuhan mo ta ngani na mapangyari ini. Naaagód kan ibang tawo ano man na kagabatan, an kada kadipisilan, mantang an iba nariribongan dangan naluluki-luki kan mga bagay na nungka ninda mina’wot o inasahan na mangyari. 

Ta ngani kang maka-antos, dai kaipuhan na matali ka, basta igwa kang sentido kumon sana—asin kusog na makagurapay sa mga pangyayari o bagay-bagay na saimo minaparatay. Ta ngani kang makaantos, kaipuhan maisog ka, magian an disposisyon, manginisi, nahihiling an gayon asin oportunidad sa gabos na bagay, pirming igwang diskarteng magpangyari an mga bagay na kaipuhan gibohon. Ta ngani kang makaantos, urog na kaipuhan na maisog ka. Idtong mga tawong nagtutubód na katabang ninda an Diyos o naggigiya sainda [an ano man na dyinodiyos ninda]  mas orog na makakaantos kaysa mga tawong an pagmate ninda garo mayo nang pag-asa o naghuhuna na pinabayaan na sinda. Likayan mo an mga tawong matalaw, o matapo’ sa kasakitan—apwera na sana kun ika doktor, padi o social worker. 

Dai nanggad paglingawi—an pagturog, an pagdiskanso, an pagkamoot sa ibang tawo, an interes na mabuhay sa kalibutan sagkod an pangamuyo amo an saimong pansagang, iyo an mapahapos sa tiempo nin kadipisilan, sa panahon nin kasakitan.

Susog sa “Coping” na yaon sa Worldly Virtues: A Catalogue of Reflections ni Johannes Gaertner [1912-1996], Viking Press, 1990.

Pag-antós

Minapoon ini sa baskog na pagtubod na an kada kadipisilan igwang kalutasan; oras sagkod kapas sana an kaipuhan mo ta ngani na mapangyari ini. Naaagód kan ibang tawo ano man na kagabatan, an kada kadipisilan, mantang an iba nariribongan dangan naluluki-luki kan mga bagay na nungka ninda mina’wot o inasahan na mangyari. 

Ta ngani kang maka-antos, dai kaipuhan na matali ka, basta igwa kang sentido kumon sana—asin kusog na makagurapay sa mga pangyayari o bagay-bagay na saimo minaparatay. Ta ngani kang makaantós, kaipuhan maisog ka, magian an disposisyon, manginisi, nahihiling an gayon asin oportunidad sa gabos na bagay, pirming igwang diskarteng magpangyari an mga bagay na kaipuhan gibohon. Ta ngani kang makaantós, urog na kaipuhan na maisog ka.

Idtong mga tawong nagtutubód na katabang ninda an Diyos o naggigiya sainda [an ano man na dyinodiyos ninda]  mas orog na makakaantós kaysa mga tawong an pagmate ninda garo mayo nang pag-asa o naghuhuna na pinabayaan na sinda. Likayan mo an mga tawong matalaw, o matapo’ sa kasakitan—apwera na sana kun ika doktor, padi o social worker. Dai nanggad paglingawi—an pagturog, an pagdiskanso, an pagkamoot sa ibang tawo, an interes na mabuhay sa kalibutan sagkod an pangamuyo amo an saimong pansagang, iyo an mapahapos sa tiempo nin kadipisilan, sa panahon nin sakit.

Susog sa “Coping” na yaon sa Worldly Virtues: A Catalogue of Reflections ni Johannes Gaertner [1912-1996], Viking Press, 1990.

35

Tolong dekada kag lima nang taon kang buhay. Daw yara ka na sa tungâ sang bilog mong buhay. Mga 35 pang Biernes Santo, o kapistahan ni Santo Desiderio, tibaad mayo ka na; hilingon ta. Treinta y cincong taon ka nang sigeng obra. Haloy kan na man palan sigeng gama-gama. Tibaad 35,000 nang beses kang pinapangadie ni Manoy mo ni Mente ni Manay mo ni Nene. Dai mo lang aram. Waay ka lang kasayod. Pirang ribong beses na daw nagsimbag sainda an Ginoo? 35,000 nang Santa Maria an naingayo-ngayo ninda guro para sa imong indulgencia—poon kan aki pa si Maria, hastang namundag na si Tamara. Dai mo nariparo haloy na pala. Dai mo namangnuhan sana.

Tibaad 35,000 nang liwanag an nakalihis na. Anong hinalat mo, pasabong o kikilat? Dakulon ka nang nakilala, ni sarong anghel mayo kang nakita.

Treinta y cinco. Kun bibilangon kan Mabuhay Miles, dai man daw 35,000 nang kilometro an nabiyahe mo—pakadto padigdi; pasíton pasadi; pahali papuli; parayo parani? Manila-Iloilo, Roxas-Kalibo. Davao-Manila, Ali Mall-Naga. Ortigas-Philcoa, Pasay-Laguna. Camaligan-Canaman, Calauag-Cararayan. Bagacay-Mananao, Manguiring-Magarao? Atulayan nadumanan na; an Caramoan dai pa. An Boracay mayong siram, sa Palawan ano daw an maabtan? Dakulon mo nang hinalian, dakulon mo nang binayaan. Ano an saimong naabutan; ano an papadumanan? Dawa nagsain-sain sa kalibutan, kamalig na namundagan pirming napapangiturugan.

An 35, garo man pitong lima. Ano daw gustong sabihon? Tibaad, 7 mga kanigoan sa lima-lima mong buhay kaipuhan nang isuhay. Tibaad, 7 kagabatan na 5 beses mo nang namatian dai pa nanggad nahinggustuhan. Tibaad, 7 kalag an haloy haloy nang naghahalat para mamisahan ta nganing an 5 mong kasalanan mapagaran. Tibaad 7 maninigong tawo an 5 beses nang nag-agi sa buhay mo paoro-otro dai mo lamang nariparo. Tibaad 7 sakramento kan pagtubod mo 5 beses mo dapat iseryoso.

Kun limang pito, 35 man giraray. Ano pa daw gustong sabihon? Tibaad—an 5 tawong saimong inidolo kadto, 7 semana kang naanáyo. Sa pirang ribong tawo dai mo sinda mabibisto; ta an mga arog ninda bakong ordinaryo. Sainda mo kaya nahiling kaidto an puwede mong magibo.  Kan dai ka ninda napatíso, naribong an saimong payo. Daog mo pa an nagkakan apdo. Tibaad an 5 mong tugang 7 beses mo dapat mamo’tan. Tibaad, an 5 babaying saimong nabisto, nakaulay, pinahalat, kinaputan, pignamitan, pinahibi, huminali dangan ngonyan giraray naghahalat, sa 7 buhay mo man pagbabayadan.

Poon kan kamo nagkakilala, 35 miliones na beses kang naogma. Kaiba si Anna, kaiba si Maria.  O tibaad, labi pa. An 35ng toneladang ogma na nadama sagkod pait kaining kaiba, sa laog kan sarong aldaw sana, dai ngani 35 segundos nadulâ na. Ngonyan maano ka?

Ki Emma, na sobrang namoot

Some 15 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 carried a notebook where I wrote verses for my mother Emma, who passed away in January 1996.

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.

At the time, 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] and tearfully loved after her death [after college graduation, there was not much to do aside from job-hunting and freelancing]. And there was not much reason to hunt for jobs at all because there would be no one to offer my first salary.

Pride, Not Prejudice

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.

With this, the tribute to my mother was 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

about which I will not anymore hear.

I know the trees are good 

for they survived many typhoons

in the past that uprooted many others

and which made others bend, and die.

I hope they become bright lamps

along the road where I will pass

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 silence. 

And the others can listen.

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—translated it to Bikol, rendering a rather old, Bikol archaic 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 mga 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.

Nungca na aco mahanap 

Nin caribay ninda, nin huli ta aram co

Na sinda mga marhay.

Alagad atyan na banggui, 

Hahagadon co na sinda

Magserbing mga maiimbong 

Na candila cataid co.

Asin cun aco naca-uli na

Sigurado aco na sa aga

Iguwa na aco nin harong 

Sa cadlagan harani sa dagat

Cun sain aco na sana

An macacadangog 

Can sacuyang catranquiluhan.

Asin an iba macacadangog.

My Brother, My Executioner

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

Wanting to relive for himself the memory of our dear mother, 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 the best

Because they have overcome many storms, 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 it wouldnt matter 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.

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 were 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. 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.

Nothing writes so much as blood; 
the rest are mere strangers.

—corrupted from Lawrence Kasdan’s Wyatt Earp, 1994

Mayon Unlimited

Certain dimensions are altered

by chance height or

deliberate distance.

On this slope at 25 hundred feet

rivers and roads,

hills and houses

Shrink. Even the sea is changed,

becomes a kitchen plate of blue—

so empty, so new.

And this proud breast-mountain

turns into a fulcrum

for the universe—

Brings us to the company of stars:

beyond its graveled

bouldered peak,

We hear the arguments of suns,

the briefs of planets,

judgments of galaxies.

We hear the relevance of men questioned:

our politics and terrors,

our many gods and treasures

into awesome absurdities reduced.

"The View from Mt. Mayon"

by Luis Cabalquinto

The Literary Apprentice 47:2, November 1974, 74.

Suddenly, last summer

Back then, we had a hundred and one ways to spend summer, if only to while away the absence of friends in April or survive the heat of May.

Once we set up a table borrowed from the grade school library to serve as our table tennis court. Not long after, the table tennis table burned in the whole days with my brothers all bent on mastering the newfound skill of ramming down a small ball into the brown board so the opponent goes off the court with the ball clueless where the ball went or wherever he himself went.

Not long after, the table tennis pastime became an addiction that Mother saw there was problem with it—we were glued to each other’s “performance” as if all we had to do was to prepare for some “tournament”.

I wonder whether the table tennis “tournament” materialized. Perhaps Mother said the school library already needed the table sooner than the first enrolment week in June. So I think the table tennis table had to go as we also had to prepare to go back to school—but not our newfound acumen for precision or skill for timing which we learned from each other or together. Talk of quality time in those days.

"...I have felt for many years that if I had children and a television set I would insist on putting an empty box next to the set; for every hour my children watched television they would have to spend an hour creating their own play with the empty box…

We would go visit our cousins downtown to watch the nightly feature on our aunt’s Betamax movie (ware) house. But the nightly feature was more of a bore because we watched films with the rest of the barangay who paid for their nightly entertainment of Bruce Lee films and Ramon Revilla flicks. What I looked forward were the times we would rather spend time for ourselves after or before watching a film on their Betamax set.

Once, my younger cousins and I watched Gary Valenciano’s Di Bale Na Lang perhaps a hundred times in a short time, say, a week or a month. The elder cousins always watched the same tape, so watch the same single film we younger cousins did, too—twice, five times, ten times, perhaps indeed a hundred times, now and then telling the same story to ourselves, laughing at the same funny scenes for a number of times and memorizing the actors’ lines in the long run.

It was not that our cousins had no other tape to watch. But that was how we chose to entertain and please ourselves. Imagine watching the same show through the days of the week—or sometimes many times a day. We perhaps internalized some of the characters from the flick that we even eventually behaved like them in our own persons. Characters which we, through the years, would later become.

"…We need to take up activities that truly engage us with ourselves and others—music, painting, poetry, dance, massage, cooking, hiking in nature—not to pursue prizes or with a mentality of judgment but rather as we would approach prayer itself, for that is what these actions are—acts of meditation and art as meditation."

In the year, we would climb the kaimito and santol trees even before they started dropping fruits on our open yard. Or we would fly airplanes made from scratch papers after our studies were over. 

When it rained, we would make paper boats and roll them into the small river that flowed from the foot of the hill where our house stood. Or where today it still stands.

These days I find myself standing still, taken aback by days of old, helplessly enchanted by the empty spaces that these and other such memories always create in the mind. After so many years, the colors are as vivid, the air as fresh as with childhood. Everyone then, regardless of where we went or what we did, seemed uncomplicated. It was as if every single thing was in place. Then, we did not bother so much where and when and how we would want to be. If at all, then, we were always happy and free.