abo sa dila

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Dahil makulit ka
Kilala kita. Oo, ikaw 'yun: Nagkasalubong na tayo minsan, sa LRT, sa Gotohan, sa kanto ng Aurora at Katipunan. Nagkatinginan tayo. Hindi mo ako kinausap, pero alam ko, nakilala mo rin ako. Kaya ka narito, di ba? Para sabihing, Oo, oo, ikaw nga 'yun. Naaalala kita.
O, ha, Plurk, o, ha!
Radyo? Radyo?
Libreng humirit

Mag-exercise tayo tuwing umaga
Tambay ka muna
Lokal Kolor
Ano'ng hanap mo?
Basa lang nang basa
Tropa ko

    na, mula noong 24 Enero, 2006, ang nakitambay dito

o, kay tulin ng araw
Wednesday, December 28, 2005
1.

Nagyoyosi ako sa tapat ng bahay namin nang may dumaang mama. May karga siyang papag sa likod niya. "Papag! Papag!" 'ka niya. Itinanong ko kung magkano. Seven-fifty daw. Hindi ako tumawad kasi hindi ko naman bibilhin. Walang paglalagyan ang papag sa makipot naming tahanan. Wala na akong pambili ng papag kasi katatapos lang ng pasko. At unang-una, aanhin ko naman ang papag?

Hinahanap ko ngayon ang tula ni Doc Cirilo, 'yung "Third World Geography." Wala akong makitang kopya. Hinahanap ko, partikular, ang linyang nagsasabing: ganito sa bayan namin; lahat nagagawang talinghaga.

2.

Heto ang isang listahan ng mga pangyayari mula sa 2005 na habambuhay kong gugunitain:

Teka, sandali. Sa totoo lang, ililista ko ang mga ito dahil gusto ko silang gunitain balang-araw, at alam kong kung hindi ko sila ililista ay malamang maglaho lang sila; mahirap pagkatiwalaan ang kalawangin kong memorya. Okey.

Muli, ito: mga pangyayari mula sa 2005 na ayaw kong maglaho, kaya ko ililista ngayon, dito:

2.1. Pagpunta sa UP Fair pagkatapos ng gig sa Purple Haze, nang lasing at luhaan.
2.2. Pagbi-videoke sa Baguio kasama ang ilang bayaw.
2.3. Pag-inom ng (at least) dalawang boteng beer sa may seawall ng Dumaguete pagdapo ng takipsilim.
2.4. Masigasig na inuman tuwing Lunes.
2.5. Itong paskong kadaraan lang.
2.6. At marami pang iba.

3.

Ako: O, class, sino sa inyo ang narinig na ang salitang "Hybridity?"

Estudyante 1: Ser, di ba 'yan 'yung parang sa makina ng sasakyan? 'Yung puwedeng de-kuryente at de-gasolina?

Ako: Okey, puwede, puwede. Sa klase natin, ang ibig sabihin ng hybridity ay...

Estudyante 2: Ser! Ako, ako-- di ba 'yung hybrid e 'yung anak ng shitzu at ng bulldog?

Ako: Ano 'yun? Di ba aso pa rin 'yun?

Estudyante 2: Ser, hindi! Bullshit!

Hwooooooooooookeyyyy.

4.

May nadaanan akong kanto kung saan nakapila ang maraming dyip. Ang sabi ng barker: "Remedios! Remedios! Aalis na, kaunting usog lang po!"

Sa loob-loob ko: Alam mo ba kung ano ang ibig sabihin ng sinasabi mo? Talaga bang madadala mo ako diyan?

Magkano ang pamasahe?

5.

Third Person Neuter
Heather McHugh

Is God mad? Was Christ
crazy? Is the truth
the legal truth? (Three PhDs who swear

the human being God who believes
a human being God
is what, in fairness, speaking

clinically, we call
a nut.) No jury,
given sacred laws

of science and democracy, would now
forgive so big a claim as Christ's-- a claim
for good. (The wounded get

their settlements in millions, not
worlds-without-end.) We think of bliss
as ignorance, and heaven as naivete: the doctor's

a philosopher, the priest a practicing
apologist. Not one of them
will let me see

with my own eyes my friend again.
When experts gave him time, it made
his luck and language die. What good

was love? It was the ultimate
authority to quit.
He had no use

for flesh at last
and, Christ,
I'm made of it.

6.

Gets n'yo? BULLdog, SHITzu. Bullshit.

7.

Ang sabi ng nanay ko, kapag daw nagreregalo ka ng sapatos, tsinelas, doormat, o kahit anong tinatapakan, dapat manghingi ka ng barya sa pinagbibigyan mo. Para raw hindi matatapakan ang pagkatao ng nagbigay.

8.

Lahat nagagawang talinghaga.

Kaya?
posted by mdlc @ 6:47 PM   1 comments
e ano kung di ko i-memorize, kahit kailangan?
Monday, December 19, 2005
Sabi ni Adam Zagajewski, sa kanyang memoir na Another Beauty:

Try to imagine a time when the Divine Comedy had not yet become an awe-inspiring monument of world culture but existed only as a work in progress. Dante's busy writing, say, the Fourth Canto and anything could happen; he could catch pneumonia and die before the end of the Inferno. He's already got a vision of the whole in his head, but there's still a long and treacherous road to tread before it's safely down on paper. Bacteria and viruses don't sleep-- to say nothing of political opponents.

I like to think of that moment, and not just for the philological reasons. In some sense the world is always in the position of this unfinished manuscript, even if we don't see any masterpiece in progress at the moment.


***

At isa pa, galing pa rin kay Zagajewski:

A writer who keeps a personal diary uses it to record what he knows. In his poems or stories he sets down what he doesn't know.

Salamat kay Naya sa pagpapahiram ng aklat.

***

Muntik ko nang malimot: kung wala kayong gagawin mamaya, may 30-minute set kami sa MagNet Katipunan. Daan kayo. Di ko alam kung sino ang ibang bandang tutugtog, o kung may entrance o wala. Pero dahil kaibigan kita, at dahil huling gig ito ng Los Chupacabras para sa taon, at dahil lunes na naman, pupunta ka. Di ba?

***

Last, kay Zagajewski pa rin:

Moments of revelation are like boundary stones, separated by several hundred yards of no-man's-land. The poet experiences an epiphany in setting down the key line of his latest poem. But days, weeks, even months of shadow stretch between these moments of majestic clarity. And here the poet plays the historian's role, sharing not just his ecstatic humanity with his readers but his dull, dreary, doubting humanity as well.

Narito yata ako ngayon sa "days, weeks, even months of shadow." Pero ano ngayon? Masarap makisama. Marami akong kaibigan. Tahimik ang Disyembre, maligayang tahimik, tahimik na tahimik. Paminsan-minsan, dumaramay sa walang-hupang bagabag ang mga anino; oo, paminsan-minsan, kahit papaano.
posted by mdlc @ 12:48 PM   0 comments
di mo ba ako kilala? anak ako ng congressman!
Tuesday, December 13, 2005
Renga Ysabela

We had wanted so much

from this world. We had wanted
at least some quiet. Some hardwood wall
to protect us from the elements,
persistent distractions. We had wandered
too far. Now this absence. Empty things.
None of this foolishness,
magic or gimmickery.

Only this space, vacated now,
remembering when.
I tell you that under the sea,
a hermit crab leaves

its borrowed home,
ceramic boundaries too small
for its loud hunger.

Inside, desire
extends its pale fingers,
persistent as its sister elements.
We are pressed into shells,
resound with incantations
of need.

But now there is only this empty shell.
This emptiness. This wild beginning.

-Mikael de Lara Co, Joel Toledo, Javier Bengzon, Rafael San Diego, Arkaye Kierulf

***
Sige na bai, piktyur piktyur na, minsan lang tayo makarating sa Maynila, 'ba!
(Wazzzakan sa Writers Night)















Kasama si Sir Vim Nadera: 'Nakantokwa, Ser, nakikinig ka ba?
posted by mdlc @ 5:49 PM   1 comments
...
Friday, December 09, 2005
1.

At bakit kaya kanina ay nahuli ko ang sarili kong tumitingala, nagtataka kung nariyan ka, kung mayroon ngang ikaw? Bakit ko nahuli ang sarili kong bumubulong: "Kung sa akin lang, wala akong pakialam sa iyo. Pero may mga pagkakataong gusto kong maniwala, kailangan kong umasang tumatawid lang kami, at sa kabila ng kung anumang ilog ng abong ito ay may mapayapang pampang. Hindi para sa akin." Tang-ina. Dapat nariyan ka. Dapat totoo ka.

Oo, sige, ngayon, sa iyo na. Tama. Sige. May bahagi sa aking sumusuko. Hindi para sa akin.

2.

May kaibigan ako. Wala na siya ngayon.

3.

Eyes Fastened With Pins
Charles Simic

How much death works,
No one knows what a long
Day he puts in. The little
Wife always alone
Ironing death's laundry.
The beautiful daughters
Setting death's supper table.
The neighbors playing
Pinochle in the backyard
Or just sitting on the steps
Drinking beer. Death,
Meanwhile, in a strange
Part of town looking for
Someone with a bad cough,
But the address somehow wrong,
Even death can't figure it out
Among all the locked doors...
And the rain beginning to fall.
Long windy night ahead.
Death with not even a newspaper
To cover his head, not even
A dime to call the one pining away,
Undressing slowly, sleepily,
And stretching naked
On death's side of the bed.


4.

P're, ingat ka, a. O, puwede rin: sumalangit nawa.

5.

Father Death Blues
Allen Ginsberg

Hey Father Death, I'm flying home
Hey poor man, you're all alone
Hey old daddy, I know where I'm going

Father Death, Don't cry any more
Mama's there, underneath the floor
Brother Death, please mind the store

Old Aunty Death Don't hide your bones
Old Uncle Death I hear your groans
O Sister Death how sweet your moans

O Children Deaths go breathe your breaths
Sobbing breasts'll ease your Deaths
Pain is gone, tears take the rest

Genius Death your art is done
Lover Death your body's gone
Father Death I'm coming home

Guru Death your words are true
Teacher Death I do thank you
For inspiring me to sing this Blues

Buddha Death, I wake with you
Dharma Death, your mind is new
Sangha Death, we'll work it through

Suffering is what was born
Ignorance made me forlorn
Tearful truths I cannot scorn

Father Breath once more farewell
Birth you gave was no thing ill
My heart is still, as time will tell.

6.

In memoriam, A. L. (198?-2005)
posted by mdlc @ 5:51 PM   0 comments
huwag kang maingay, may nag-... aahit?
Tuesday, December 06, 2005
Kagabi ko lang natsambahan 'to, pero napabilang na siya kaagad sa mga pinaka-- gusto ko sanang sabihing, "pinakawazzzak," pero hindi yata makatarungan 'yun. sapat na yata 'yung salitang "maganda." Ayun. Isa ito sa mga pinakamagandang tulang nabasa ko:

A Letter
Charles Simic

Dear philosophers, I get sad when I think.
Is it the same with you?
Just as I'm about to sink my teeth into the noumenon,
Some old girlfriend comes to distract me.
"She's not even alive!" I yell to the skies.

The wintry light made me go that way.
I saw beds covered with identical gray blankets.
I saw grim-looking men holding a naked woman
While they hosed her with cold water.
Was that to calm her nerves, or was it punishment?

I went to visit my friend Bob, who said to me:
"We reach the real by overcoming the seduction of images."
I was overjoyed, until I realized
Such abstinence will never be possible for me.
I caught myself looking out the window.

Bob's father was taking their dog for a walk.
He moved with pain; the dog waited for him.
There was no one else in the park,
Only bare trees with an infinity of tragic shapes
To make thinking difficult.

***

Poo-tang-ina. Galing, 'no?
posted by mdlc @ 2:45 PM   2 comments
wazzzak, wazzzak!
Monday, December 05, 2005
December
Adam Zagajewski

December, herald of destruction,
takes you on a long stroll
through the black torsos of trees
and leaves scorched in autumn’s fire,

as if to say: so much then for
your secrets and your treasures,
the fervent trill of small birds,
the promises of summer months.

Your dreams have been dissected,
the blackbird’s song now has a rationale,
plants’ corpses clutter the herbarium.
Only the laboratory’s hard stone remains.

Don’t listen: they may take everything away,
but they can’t have your ignorance,
they can’t take your mysteries, strip you
of your third homeland.

Don’t listen: the holidays draw near
and frozen January, snow’s white paper.
What you’ve waited for is being born.
The one you’re seeking will begin to sing.

***

Teka, teka.

(Alam ba ninyo kung ano 'yung teka-teka? 'Yun ang tawag sa baril na hindi automatic, 'yung dalawang araw para maikasa dahil sasalsalin pa ng tingting ang nguso. 'Yung sinaunang baril. Parang, "Teka-teka, huwag ka munang magpapaputok, nagkakasa pa ako.)

Pero dehins tungkol sa baril ito. Teka, teka, may revised gig sched:

Hindi pala siguradong makakatugtog ang Chupacabras sa Writers Night. Sabi ni Sir Vim basta magdala na lang ng gamit, isisingit na lang daw kami kung sa'n puwede. Ha? Labo, 'no? Pero punta pa rin kayo, masaya naman palagi ang Writers Night, e. Magbaon na lang kayo ng sariling alak.

Pero tuloy sa Sabado, sa Haze. At mayroon pa: sa Maskipaps, ang annual concert ng College of Engineering ng UP. December 13 'yun, Martes.

Ang Gapos naman, naurong sa Enero ang Saguijo gig. Ewan kung bakit, itanong ninyo kay Mic. Pero tuloy din sa Sabado, sa Haze. At mayroon din sa Sabado ulit, December 17, sa Conspiracy, para sa anibersaryo ng Matanglawin. Sana lang hindi pumalya, kasi talagang isinumpa yata ang lugar na 'yun pagdating sa akin.

Okey, linawin natin:

Los Chupacabras:
December 7, Miyerkules, UP Writers Night. Faculty Center, UP Diliman.
December 10, Sabado, Purple Haze Bar and Cafe.
December 13, Martes, Maskipaps. Ang alam ko, palaging sa tapat lang 'to ng Melchor Hall ('yung Eng'g Bldg ng UP Diliman.) Kung wala du'n, hanapin na lang ninyo kung sa'n ang maingay.

Gapos:
December 10, Sabado nga, Purple Haze.
December 17, Sabado ulit, Conspiracy. Sa Visayas Avenue.

***

Refugees
Adam Zagajewski

Bent under burdens which sometimes
can be seen and sometimes can't,
they trudge through mud or desert sands,
hunched, hungry,

silent men in heavy jackets,
dressed for all four seasons,
old women with crumpled faces,
clutching something a child, the family
lamp, the last loaf of bread?

It could be Bosnia today,
Poland in September '39, France
eight months later, Thuringia in '45,
Somalia, Afghanistan, Egypt.

There's always a wagon or at least a wheelbarrow
full of treasures (a quilt, a silver cup,
the fading scent of home),
a car out of gas marooned in a ditch,
a horse (soon left behind), snow, a lot of snow,
too much snow, too much sun, too much rain,

and always that distinctive hunch
as if leaning towards another, better planet,
with less ambitious generals,
less snow, less wind, fewer cannons,
less History (alas, there's no
such planet, just that hunch).

Shuffling their feet,
they move slowly, very slowly
toward the country of nowhere,
and the city of no one
on the river of never.

***

Poets & Writers, Inc.: You have written that "Only in the beauty created / by others is there consolation, / in the music of others and in others' poems." What is beauty? What writings and artwork do you turn to for consolation?

Adam Zagajewski: What is beauty? I think you don’t need to define it; the issue is rather what does beauty do to us. I think it catapults us to a higher layer of atmosphere. The other part of your question concerning my personal preferences is impossible to answer; the list is almost endless and changes for me every month or so. Once in a while it vanishes—in the sense that I become deaf to beauty for a week or two or three. This coming and going of the inner life—because this is what it is—is a curse and a blessing. I don’t need to explain why it's a curse. A blessing because it brings about a movement, an energy which, when it peaks, creates a poem. Or a moment of happiness.
posted by mdlc @ 2:05 PM   1 comments
magtanim ay di biro
Friday, December 02, 2005
Variations on a Text by Vallejo
Donald Justice

Me moriré en París con aguacero...

I will die in Miami in the sun,
On a day when the sun is very bright,
A day like the days I remember, a day like other days,
A day that nobody knows or remembers yet,
And the sun will be bright then on the dark glasses of strangers
And in the eyes of a few friends from my childhood
And of the surviving cousins by the graveside,
While the diggers, standing apart, in the still shade of the palms,
Rest on their shovels, and smoke,
Speaking in Spanish softly, out of respect.

I think it will be on a Sunday like today,
Except that the sun will be out, the rain will have stopped,
And the wind that today made all the little shrubs kneel down;
And I think it will be a Sunday because today,
When I took out this paper and began to write,
Never before had anything looked so blank,
My life, these words, the paper, the grey Sunday;
And my dog, quivering under a table because of the storm,
Looked up at me, not understanding,
And my son read on without speaking, and my wife slept.

Donald Justice is dead. One Sunday the sun came out,
It shone on the bay, it shone on the white buildings,
The cars moved down the street slowly as always, so many,
Some with their headlights on in spite of the sun,
And after a while the diggers with their shovels
Walked back to the graveside through the sunlight,
And one of them put his blade into the earth
To lift a few clods of dirt, the black marl of Miami,
And scattered the dirt, and spat,
Turning away abruptly, out of respect.

***

Tutugtog ang Los Chupacabras sa Miyerkules, December 7, sa Writers' Night na gaganapin sa UP, sa Faculty Center (tentative pa yata ito, di ako sigurado.) Sa totoo lang, kahit hindi kayo mahilig sa tugtugan namin, pero nagsusulat kayo, pumunta pa rin kayo. Writers' Night nga, e.

Pero acoustic set lang 'yun, at kaunting kanta lang. Kung gusto ninyo ng full set e pumunta kayo sa Sabado, December 10, sa Purple Haze muli. Du'n magfu-full set ang Los Chupacabras. Inom tayo.

Du'n din sa Purple Haze, sa Sabado rin iyon, tutugtog ang Gapos. (Nga pala, salamat, salamat talaga sa lahat ng pumunta sa Haze nu'ng i-launch ang EP namin. Napuno ang Haze, astig. Kung wala pa kayong kopya nu'ng cd at gusto ninyong bumili-- P50 lang-- mag-iwan na lang kayo ng comment sa ibaba.) Nasaan na 'ko? Ayun-- may set din ang Gapos sa Haze, sa December 10 din.

At mayroon din sa December 23, sa Saguijo naman. Sa totoo lang, hindi pa ako nakakapunta rito. Pero ayun, pumunta kayo, a.

Muli: Los Chupabras sa Writers Night, December 7, at sa Purple Haze, December 10. Gapos sa Haze, kasabay ang Chupacabras sa December 10, at sa Saguijo, December 23. Ayuz.
posted by mdlc @ 3:37 PM   4 comments
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