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
outside the words themselves
Friday, April 13, 2007
“Though the poet may trust to inspiration, it is extremely difficult to choose words correctly. If he manages to use words with a fresh skill and to achieve some effect that no one has ever achieved, then he may consider that he has done well. He must be able to paint some scene that is difficult to depict, in such a way that it seems to be right before the eyes of the reader and has an endless significance that exists outside the words themselves.”
- Mei Yao-Ch’en
from Burial Songs T'ao Ch'ien
Boundless-- in the boundless, weed-ridden wastes, white poplars moan in the wind.
In bitter ninth-month frost, come to this distant place-- it's farewell. All four directions
empty, not a house in sight, looming gravemounds peak and summit. Wind
moaning to itself in the branches here, horses rear up, crying out toward heaven.
Once this dark house is all closed up, day won't dawn again in a thousand years.
Day won't dawn again in a thousand years, and what can all our wisdom do about it?
Those who were just here saying farewell return to their separate homes. And though
my family may still grieve, the others must be singing again by now. Once you're
dead and gone, what then? Trust yourself to the mountainside. It will take you in.
translated by David Hinton
"He was a wine-lover by nature, but he couldn't afford it very often. Everyone knew this, so when they had wine, they'd call him over. And when he drank, it was always bottoms-up. He'd be drunk in no time; then he'd go back home, alone and with no regrets over where things are going.
"In the loneliness of his meager wall, there was little shelter from wind and sun. His short coat was patched and sewn. And made from gourd and split bamboo, his cup and bowl were often empty. But he kept writing poems to amuse himself, and they show something of who he was. He went on like this, forgetting all gain and loss, until he came naturally to his end.
"... Ch'ien Lou said: 'Don't make yourself miserable agonizing over impoverished obscurity, and don't wear yourself out scrambling for money and honor.' Doesn't that describe this man perfectly? He'd just get merrily drunk and write poems to cheer himself up. He must have lived in the most enlightened and ancient of times."
- from the autobiography of T'ao Chi'en (translated by David Hinton)
"Oh, Mr. Rosewater--" she sobbed, and she sagged against the bus, "you're my only friend."
"You can make more, surely," Eliot suggested hopefully.
"Oh God!" she cried.
"You could join some church group, perhaps."
"You're my church group! You're my everything! You're my government. You're my husband. You're my friends."
These claims maid Eliot uncomfortable. "You're very nice to say so. Good luck to you. I really have to be going now." He waved. "Good-bye."
- Kurt Vonnegut, from "God bless you, Mr. Rosewater"
Rest in Peace
Tulang Tugon sa Mensahe ng Isang Kaibigang Makata
Matagal na kaming hindi nagkikita ng makatang si Mitch. Malungkot din kaya ang huni ng mga kuliglig sa bayan ng San Pablo? Hindi ko mailarawan ang kagandahan ng mga ilog sa San Pablo sapagkat hindi pa ako nakararating doon. Kanina, nabasa ko ang kaniyang mensahe: “Masigasig ang kalikasan sa iyong mga tula ngayon, kaibigan.” Hinaharaya ko siyang nakangiti, kamay-sa-tiyan, habang sinasabi ito. Sa labas ng aking bintana, umuugong ang mga sasakyang tumatahak sa Kalsadang Nakasilong sa Dambuhalang Riles. Naglalako ng sampaguita at ilang-ilang ang mga paslit sa paanan ng Labingwalong Istasyon ng Tren. May mabibili kaya ang isang pirasong baryang pilak na nakasabit sa kalangitan? Maalinsangan sa sinapupunan ng Maynila. May mga pananahang hindi kayang lunasan ng pag-uwi. Sa susunod na buwan, pupunta ako sa San Pablo at magdadala ng isang boteng alak. Mapilit ko kayang uminom si Mitch? Pakikinggan namin ang tinig ng mga nalalagas na dahon. Magkukuwento ako tungkol sa bundok na nakasiksik sa aking dibdib. Sakaling malasing siya, tiyak ko, tatanungin niya ako, “Paano kang nakauwi?” At tutugon ako, “Hindi naman ako umalis.”