Who links to me? the journal of a semi-insane man: 2007

Friday, September 07, 2007

I won an Honorable Mention in the Gawad Komisyon 2007!

Hey, 4th place isn't bad. :) Other winners in Binalaybay include Ms. Vievs Asenjo, a mentor in both Fray Luis and Iyas workshops and Dax Dequito, an elementary school buddy. Visit wika.pbwiki.com for other winners.

Wednesday, September 05, 2007

Our Exgirls, Astronauts and Herpes

Our Exgirls

Rodelen Paccial


In the long run,
Our ex-girlfriends will marry the astronauts,
While we wonder,
Which part of “I promise you the stars”,
They didn’t understand.


They will run happily, skimpily naked,
On the white, private beaches
Probably with their kids,
All set to be honor-dressed
At some mere Ivy League school.

In the meantime,
Let us toast with the drinking buddies,
In some pub which mice have long abandoned
All set to be honor-dressed
At some merry Ivy’s Legs.

I mean, run happily, skimpily naked,
With private, white bitches
Probably with herpes,
Who understand that “I promise you the stars”,
Meant astronauts in the long run.

Our exgirlfriends will marry the astronauts
While we wonder, where we got the herpes.

Tuesday, July 17, 2007

For Ana Escalante Neri

I was looking forward to meeting the Ana Escalante Neri, her poems, her photos, her stories. I believe she was at Iyas one year before me and I didn't make it to Dumaguete. Something about her fascinated me, something about the stories about her made me wanna meet her. Everytime there is talk of diving, i remember her stories about the sea, her beautiful photos. Her pictures of her Dumaguete fellows make me regret that I missed that workshop that year. They are beautiful and looking at a group of young writers having a blast made me green with envy. I am pleasantly surprised by the number of people, who like me, didn't know her personally, and yet was touched by her in a profound way. She had good poetry inside her and its such a tragedy to have lost her at such a young age. Its sad to hear that she was battling depression despite being so full of life. Maybe that's why her portraits seem so mysterious, a certain depth behind her beautiful face that we see, we feel, unfathomable, dark, mysterious, and yet there she is in a picture, almost palpable.


I know Ana from other people. from the stuff written by her and about her. And yet it feels like we have been friends all our lives. Deep in the back of my head, I am thinking that maybe anti-depressants instead of homeopathy would have been a better treatment for her. But all is lost, what is lost cannot be regained. I will miss the opportunity to meet Ana again, but maybe in some other place, in a place called heaven, which may actually be the bottom of a wide sea or an expanse of sky. maybe there she and I will meet and be friends.


Sa mga nagakalamatay nga lamharon nga mga manugdilambong
(Para kay Ana)

Indi ko pagbuksan ang akon nga ginatagu-an sang mga balatyagon.
Ang ini gintigana ko na sang kamatayon sang akon mga kapamilya.

Por ehemplo, ining luha,
Ining asin nga halin sa mga mata nga magaluha kung pagabalikan sang asin.
Indi ko guid pagbuksan.

Indi, Dili guid.

Imo nga ginsuroy ang maasin nga kadagaton,
Kag sa kaidadaluman sang sining mga madulom nga bahin
imo ginbuksan ang imo mga mata.

Sa subung nga maga tinion, wala mo madala ang imo kamera.
Sa subung nga katigayonan, imo nabilin ang pluma
Wala ka nakasuksuk sang panapton pangsuyod sang mga kabalasan kag ang antipara pangdagat.

Indi mo kami buot masugiran kung
Anu ayhan ang imo mga nakita,
Kung ikaw ayhan nagaluha
Samtang ang asin nagasulod sa imo mga mata
Dira sa mga bahin nga indi ka namon masundan.

Halin sa malayo, isa lamang ako ka manuglantaw,
samtang ikaw nagalutaw kag nagakapaykapay.

Sa akon lang, ang imo mga kamot nga daw kapay sang kaisdaan,
daw nangin pakpak sa kalangitan nga nakapaslak sa kadagatang
ikaw ang may kahimuan.

Indi ako magpatulo sang luha, pero nagasakit ang akon kasingkasing,
nagapait ang akon mga mata, nagapin-ut ang akun dughan,
ang akun ulo daw mabuka.

Ang paguntat sang hilibion gali pareho man sa paglumus
Sa mga kaidadalman
Sang sining mapait nga kadagatan.


For the dying young poets
(For Ana)

I will resist opening my safe where I keep my wailings
These I already reserve for the future deaths of my own family.

For example, these tears,
These drops of salt from eyes which would flow with tears when whisked with salt.
I resist opening it.

I will not, I will not.

You scoured the salty seas
And in the deepest of these dark parts
You opened your eyes.

Only this time, you didn’t have your camera,
Only this time, you left your pen,
And you were not in your dive gear meant for combing the sandy floors and no diving mask.

And so you couldn’t tell us
Whatever it is you are seeing,
If ever you are crying,
While the sea’s salts sting your eyes
In those parts we couldn’t swim after you.

From afar, I was a bywatcher
While you float and you paddle.

For me, your arms that were like fins of fishes
Became like wings in the heavenly carpet reflected in the sea
Of your own creation.

Resist, I will, the coming of tears, but my very heart is aching
My eyes sting, and my chest is tightened,
My head feels like breaking apart.

Stopping one’s tears, I realized, is actually like drowning
In the depths
Of these salty seas.


Friday, May 25, 2007

The 5th San Agustin Writer's Workshop






This year, the University of San Agustin had a Screenplay writing workshop. I'll exponud later, but here are some pics...

Monday, March 26, 2007

Filipino translation of "Desafinado"!

From Butch Dalisay's Penman Column comes this superb translation of Antonio Carlos Jobim's Desafinado by Pete Lacaba.

I've heard english translations of the song but never quite heard the words since the music seems to put me, in a trance.

Disintunado
Music: Antonio Carlos Jobim
Original Portuguese lyrics: Newton Mendonça, 1962
English lyrics: Jon Hendricks and Jessie Cavanaugh

Pagsinta ay awit na walang-hanggan,
Tila ba harana sa kalangitan,
Isang haranang gigising sa puso’t diwa mo,
Pero tayo’y medyo wala sa tono.

Dati ang halik mo ay bumibirit,
Ngayon ay tila tinig na naiipit.
Ibang tugtog na ba ang nasa labi mo,
Nilimot ang kundiman ko sa ‘yo?

Noon ang tiyempo natin ay akmang-akma,
Ngayon ang mga letra ay hindi nagtutugma.
Hindi na maalala’ng himig na kinakanta,
Wala sa tono tayong dalawa.

Pagtugmain muli ang ating damdamin,
Indayog ng duweto ay muli nating buhayin.
Babalik na tayo sa wastong tono,
At di na disintunado
Ang kundimang ating inaawit,
Magiging awit ng anghel
Ang ating pag-ibig!


Superb!

Monday, March 19, 2007

On Rachanee

My new crush. :) She has a great voice and I believe she'll be big in the future. (www.rachanee.net)

A critique of Michael Andrada's Ascaris lumbricoides

Michael Andrada's "ASCARIS LUMBRICOIDES": a case of mistaken worm?
Rodelen C. Paccial

First, here is a link to Michael Andrada's poem
http://www.panitikan.com.ph/poetry/ascarislumbricoides.htm

I first talked about this poem to my dagyangpulong colleagues down at a manokan/watering hole near our spiritual home of University of San Agustin and our meeting place Coffeebreak at Gen. Luna St., Iloilo City

To my pleasant surprise, the two younger poets in the group were very much appreciative of Mr. Andrada's poetry (Pure San Diego and Laurence Bernabe), and one actually was a co-fellow at the 2nd Iyas (Rey Salem). It actually means that the younger ones are reading contemporary Filipino poets (and this would bode well for the country's literary future). So as you can see, my next comments on Mr. Andrada's poetry were very much discussed.

As in the 4th Iyas, of which I was a part, there was a lot of discussion on poetry and science, as we had a lot of writers with science backgrounds (Andrea had a postgrad on Chem, Arkaye is studying Chem, Bebang was working for IRRI, Rex is a Mathematics/Lit teacher, and myself, am a medical graduate). The discussion was very interesting when it came to poems with scientific frameworks. There were poems which relied heavily on the science to bring about its poetic effect and maybe in the future I could quote some works from that workshop. This, for me, was problematic when the poet didn't get the science right!

My view on poems tackling issues with science in it, is that it should get the science right. The poems which would rely on the science to bring out its poetic effect should get the facts right. I remember Dr. Evasco talk about a poem as a "world" on its own. The reader gets into the world and gets himself lost in it, experiences it, and hopefully is affected by it and takes meaningful thoughts with him. Hopefully, this makes him a better person, for the experience of a poem is a real experience and as meaningful as the lessons that we learn from travels maybe, or from the idle time inside the bus while travelling.

A poem with scientific discrepancies, if not designed by the author (for example, a poet may talk of flying cows and talking fish), would come out as a defective poem. If the poem was a "world", an author then is selling a False world, and the readers who gets into it gets a false experience. If the author is ignorant of his mistakes, then he is selling ignorance, and the reader who is ignorant then, will take the falsehood as truth. Therefore, it is a situation of ignorance begetting ignorance.

Let me put a qualifier however, lest this comes out as a mere negative critique of an excellent poets work. I have read some of Michael Andrada's poems (mostly those published in the internet, in Panitikan. com and Makata) and I've found his poetry to be good. His knowledge and experience of what good literature is, his tastes, his skills, are definitely better than mine, and if ever I develop to be as good a writer as he is, it would be as if I have reached my own dreams. I will however use a poem of his to illustrate my point, that the poet must be sensitive to the facts that he sells. We must be merchants and pedants of truth when it comes to this.

The second to the fourth stanzas of the poem presents one such problem:

Pansinin mo ang magkabilang dulo
Ng aking patpating katawan.
Alin sa tingin mo ang aking ulo?
Alin ang puwitan?

Alinman sa dalawa
Ang ituro mo,
Pasensiya na Ginoo,
Ngunit nagkakamali ka.

Nasa tagiliran ko
Ang labasan
Ng sama ng loob,
Ng dumi ng katawan.

These stanzas involve the persona (the "ascaris") asking the man pouring the salt, where his head or his ass is. When read in isolation, the second stanza has no problem, as it is probable that a layman who pours salt on "ascaris" would not know any better (as a layman who watches ascaris, which would've come from human feces i'd presume, he really doesn't know any better; it is possible to point the head and the anus of the ascaris grossly). but when taken with the third and fourth stanza, it becomes problematic. The real "ascaris" seems confused with his own anatomy, in two ways:

1) It is true that the Ascaris has an excretory pore on his so called "side" but this is most of the time, except in a few natural variations, located near the head (ulo). Therefore for an imaginary thinking ascaris to think that his excretory pore isn't near the head when the man points at it is absurd. (We will use head here instead of "anterior end" because a poet can call any part of the anatomy any name, that is his creative discretion. Anterior end if translated to Filipino should read as "ulohan")

2)Since the adult nematode is cylindrical, the ascaris cannot possibly point to any side "tagiliran" of his body.

These three stanzas also follow a non-sequitor flow of thoughts. After the ascaris asked the salt pouring gentleman where his head or ass is, and presumably after the gentleman has pointed to either end of the ascaris, the ascaris then said "nagkakamali ka", The gentleman at this point would have asked why? The ascaris answered "Nasa tagiliran ko/Ang labasan/Ng sama ng loob,/Ng dumi ng katawan." This reply is non-sequitor to the first question which was where do you think my head or ass is? Take note, the question of where the ascaris head or ass is wasn't a question of where his excretory pore was. This ascaris then is an illogical ascaris, and we should be careful of him.

The first and second stanzas of the second part I think presents the central problem in science, or facts, of this poem:
Ngunit ano ba'ng marumi?
Lupa ang aking agahan,
Tanghalian, minindal, hapunan.
Ito rin ang aking tahanan.

At kapag umulan, ang mga butas
Na ginagawa ko sa ilalim
Ng lupa - ang aking lagusang-
Tahanan - ang siyang dinadaluyan.

You see, the life cycle of the ascaris is such that it only becomes a worm almost exclusively inside the human body, although in pig and dogs, they might also. An ascaris worm will not survive the environment outside the human body for long, for several reasons: one, as a parasite, it has evolved to live mostly in the optimal conditions of the human intestine; two, as a parasite, it will have no food source outside the host; three, it has no adaptations for living as a full grown worm outside the human body, meaning it can't burrow under the ground, it can't make tunnels, etc...

The ascaris doesn't eat dirt for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. It can only gain nourishment from the blood supply of the intestinal mucosa. The earth isn't its home (as an adult, as eggs the earth serves as its home) The Tahanang-lagusan then cannot be the ascaris worms doing.

In fact, I have a great suspicion that the poet was talking about the earthworm when he wrote the poem, which could be any of a great number of species around the world... There are many more instances in the poem which would indicate that indeed this is an earthworm and not ascaris. See them for yourself...

So the poem suffered a loss of "believability" and some "error of facts" because of this. There are some facts in science that one can overlook, when this is not the central symbol/metaphor of the poem, one may as well read beyond it and give the poem a chance to "speak its utterance". But in this case, in my humble opinion, the wrong worm drove the poem into dangerous "semento na pumipigil sa (kanyang) paghinga."




ano ang kinain ni Bobby Vilassis sa umaga na papunta siya ng Bacolod para maging panelist sa Iyas?
Rodelen Paccial

Pansit.

Kumain siya ng pansit;
mahaba, nakakabwisit.

nasa kanyang isip,
maiiwan niyang mag-isa
ang bote ng san mig,
sa dumagueteng
lupang hinirang
ng mga magigilyong
bayani sa wikang Ingles.

kanyang sinipsip ang pansit,
na bwisit na bwisit
dahil ito'y di maputol
ng kanyang huna-huna.

tapos sopdrinks.
iyon, kanyang ininom,
at ang itim na likidong
nakakasunog kung laplapin
ng mabilisan
ay nagkasundo
sa modo
ni Bobby Vilassis
ng papunta siya ng Bacolod.

Siguro, maayo din doon.
sa isip niya
at inisip niya
ang mahabang sakay
ang amoy ng asukal
sa loob ng mga puno ng tubo
na tumubo
sa lupang hinirang
bayang magilyong
land of the morning,
child of the sun returning,
dumaguete.

at nabwisit ulit siya.
bwisit na bwisit,
na parang pansit
na niluto pa nung isang araw
at di maputol-maputol
sa kanyang isip
ang mga huna-huna
ng gabing naiwan siyang mag-isa
sa bahay nila
nung bata pa siya
at wala ang kanyang mga magulang.

at siya'y gutom na gutom.
at ang naiwang ulam lamang
ay ang dilaw na pansit
na nung isang araw pa niluto
ng ama niyang mandirigma
sa ikalawang digmaang pandaigdig,
bilang guerilla,
isang english-spokening type,
who fought the damn Japs,
through the forests of actual trees
and mountains of metaphor,
in my dear beloved,
land of the lovely beach,
dumaguete.

at di niya maputol-putol
ang pansit,
naalala niya ulit
kaninang umaga
at pagbaba niya sa bacolod,
bumili siya ng sopdrinks,
green at malamig.

at iyon ay di sumang-ayon sa modo
ni Bobby Vilassis at lumabas
siya ng carinderiang
naghahanap
ng yosi, at kanyang nakilala
si Maria
na taga-La Salle.

at ito'y sumag-ayon sa kanyang modo.
at naging mahinahon ang panahon
at mga pangyayari,
pumasok siya ng La Salle,
nakangiting may baong pakete ng yosi
at lipstick ni Maria
sa kanyang leeg
sa ilalim ng kuwelyo
ng orange at dilaw
niyang polo;
parehong hindi nakita ng guard,
na okyupado sa pagkain
ng pansit
sa huling gabi niya sa bacolod
bago siya umuwi ng dumaguete,
kung saan dumuduyan
ang mga magigiting
na heroes.

the poem tells of a fictional Bobby Vilassis and a reference to the Dumaguete Workshop's preference for English works only. I personally think that they have their reasons. Anyways, the paralellism of English/Dumaguete/Nation in the poem was a reflection of what the writers in Filipino thought of the workshop. But beyond this it is a tribute to Bobby Vilassis who in my opinion was one of the better panelists to Iyas.
gay day
Rodelen Paccial

If you were gay,
and we met on the street,
near the park,
where there are green trees,
and the breeze is cool,
and you said "Hi", and asked me how i was,
i'd tell you "I'm fine, and thank you",
and if i have some money,
i'd ask you to join me at the outdoor cafe
and have coffee,
where maybe,
on the street,
near the park,
where the green leaves can be seen,
sweeping the sky of its memories of rain,
you'll tell me about your summers,
and me, you, my research on sleeping disorders,
we'd part maybe,
after fifteen minutes,
after a handshake,
and a thought
of how pleasant this day has been.


this poem was a part of the intense discusion me and my friends had over the issues raised in the Isagani Cruz/ Manolo Quezon columns. It was a heated one to say the least and this poem didn't do its job with its message of tolerance towards those in the group who were for homosexuality. Oh well, the poem isn't half-bad i think.

Monday, January 29, 2007

Ars Poetica (ala Cirilo Bautista)

Ars Poetica

Rodelen Paccial


Halfway through Cirilo Bautista, I felt

a knife plunge into my heart. It was

a tiny thing, not a foot long, black. And white

and bony man clutched at my thumb that pressed

page 18 where Bautista spoke of


Just another ordinary day, in the life of a

poet. The street lamp threw a thin sheen of light

on his beard. “… A poet, after all, has no right to live/

except as a metaphor/ in a tyrant’s dream;

The blade encounters dried blood;/

And reopens/ the wound./ How sweet/ suffering can be/”


Felt, because he twisted it after it has sunk deep

Which he thought was fun, and when he has done enough

Dropped the knife on the printed words; felt the warm rise

Of blood from my abdomen, the struggling air

I exhaled, the space the knife carved between my eyes

And the book, this deadly blade

Which came from nowhere to offer me tyrant’s love.


I crawled and agonizingly reached for the book,

Page 5 was all smothered with red ink except a few,

“This sonofabitch poet/ is gonna croak.”