May iniisip ka?
Ayaw kong sabihin. Baka magkatotoo.
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.
na, mula noong 24 Enero, 2006, ang nakitambay dito
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.
(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.