dili tanang matagak mahagbong

Reviews

2009-02-01T10:38:00.000-08:00

by Juaniyo Arcellana

If he reads this good in English how much more in the original, which we assume to be very Cebuano and with that unmistakable southern feel, even we who haven’t been down to those provinces in years can revel in the local color courtesy of this son of the sea-swept islands, it’s like tasting the old binakhaw and balbacua again. (Philippine Star, January 26, 2009)

FULL TEXT HERE

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"Not everything that falls lands"

by Lawrence Ypil

What Durado more significantly brings in is not only a change in language, or a change in image, but an introduction of a whole new uncharted (at least by poetry) sensibility. For here is a city of words, (and of hearts), where love is not always requited, and where marriages do not always turn into the happy unions we bid farewell to bride and the groom at the end of their kiss. (Sun Star Daily Cebu)

FULL TEXT HERE

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"Believe It Or Not: Not All That Drops Falls"

by Maria Victoria Beltran

A great book of poetry, apart from being a beautiful thing in itself, gives readers an insight into the poet’s passions. Without meaning to, it tends to be autobiographical. Adonis exposes himself to his readers and gives evidence that while he is walking on our planet, he is also flying in the universe of ideas. (Cebu Gold Star Daily)

FULL TEXT HERE

2008-09-07T01:11:00.004-07:00

(Click the image to see bigger size)

Cover artwork by Radel Paredes

BOOK DETAILS

2008-09-07T01:11:00.003-07:00

T I T L E

Dili Tanang Matagak Mahagbong

(Not All That Drops Falls)

A U T H O R

Adonis Durado

T R A N S L A T O R

Merlie Alunan

P U B L I S H E R

ASTEISMUS

B O O K S I Z E

130mm x 200mm

P A G E S

188 pages

P R I N T E R

Optima Typographics

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SAMPLE PAGES

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Title Page

Contents Page

INTRODUCTION AND TRANSLATOR'S NOTE

2008-09-07T01:11:00.001-07:00

Here Everything Is Still Floating

by Vicente Vivencio Bandillo

Habalhabal Express

Ang unang balak ni Adonis Durado nga akong nabasa mao ang Balaki ko, day, samtang gasakay tag habalhabal. Kay dugaydugay na lagi kong nadestino sa Hamburg (Germany) adtong panahona, nabag-uhan ko nga gitawag nag “habalhabal” ang motorsiklo nga pamasaheroan. “Skylab” pa man to pagbiya nako. (Dili gyud hinuon makwestiyon ang pagwani sa “skylab” kay kini kuwang sa kablit ug pingis ang pakang, mintras ang “habalhabal”, aw, eksakto pas tukma.)

Mao nga daku ang akong kahimuot nga kini maoy gipili sa tagsulat nga pangpainit para sa una niyang koleksyon sa mga balak. Yamat, mao pa gani atong pag-ilhanay gipasakay man dayon ta sa gwatsinanggong habalhabalakero.

Balaki ko day
Samtang gasakay tag habalhabal.
Idat-ol og samot
Kanang imong dughan
Ngari sa akong bukobuko
Aron mas mabatyag ko
Ang hinagubtob
Sa imong kasingkasing….

(Ako nga nag-angkas luyo ni Inday, katagakon. Ay, habalhabal!)

Simang sa ka Imang

Sa mosunod nga 59 pa ka balak mosuot ta sa kabugangan, mosuong sa imburnal, magpatisoy sa mga eskinita, ug mamuso sa mga kwarto sa buhilamang Bisaya nga maoy kapital sa kalibutan ni Durado. (Nagkaila mi sa pag-uli nako sa Sugbo. Unya nadestino ko sa Dubai, UAE diin bag-o pud siyang nabalhin og trabaho gikan sa Saudi Arabia. Duha ra mi ka tuig nga nagkauban diri kay nasakpan na man pud siya sa corporate headhunters ug gidagit sa Bangkok, Thailand.)

Makapahingangha ang iyang kahanas sa pagpanimhot og materyal sa balak diha sa bantawan o kaha basurahan sa inadlawng panghitabo. Moapung siya sa usa ka esena unya sa dili pa mobiya iya nang nahurot og suyop ang kahumot (o kalang-og) nga nahitaligam-an sa ubang usisero nga hayan baradog mga ilong.

Pananglit, kinsa man guy dili sinati sa bilbil? Samtang ang uban nato igo lang sa pagpislit-pislit o pagpaak-paak ining gitawag sa Iningles og love handle, si Durado nakatagik og balak (Ang babayng way bilbil) kansang mga linya motapot sa lingagngag, morag sebo sa lansiao:

Ang babayng way bilbil kay morag baybay nga way kimba.
Morag sigay nga way bukobuko, tabugok nga way ata....

Apan:

Ang babayng bilbilon morag sugilanong puno sa pasumbingay:
Sa gaawas-awas nga bilbil, may kaunlanan akong pauraray.

Sa balak nga maoy gingalan ining libroha, Dili tanang matagak mahagbong, gituki niya ang kahulogan (he-he) sa konsepto sa hinungdan ug sangputanan. (Pero nagtuo ko nga sa samang higayon buot niyang guntingon ang simod sa nagdumili paggamit sa ilang utok, kadtong modayon lag nganga unya lamoy kon unsay ihungit nila.) Gikan sa iyang dawiraw nakaumol siyag kamatuoran — nga ni John Keats pa, sa iyang Ode on a Grecian Urn, way kalainan sa katahom:

Dili man tingali ang tanang matagak ba mahagbong;
dili tanang mahulog adunay padulngan —
nga ang mga butang nga nakabuhi sa atong kamot
(o natagak gikan sa wanang) adunay tugpahan….
Gani, buot kong hunahunaon karon, nga ang mga kalag
niadtong managtratong gahikog sa pangpang,
kay naungot ug galutaw lang gihapon sa wanang.

Makapahiyom si Keats ining mga linyaha, ilabi na kay maingon nga mas “buhi” ang imortalidad nga naangkon sa managtratong naungot sa wanang kaysa sa managhigugmaay kansang mga luspad nga bayhon gikulit sa lungon nga iyang gihubit.

Apan bisan tuod klarong nalingaw si Durado sa iyang pagsirko-balintong sa malamatong kalibutan sa iyang imahinasyon, wala siya mapakabuta-bungol sa reyalidad sa iyang palibot. Daghan siyang nakita ug nadungog nga wa niya kahimut-i, apan ang iyang pagpamadlong gipaagi sa sitsit o tistis, dili singhag o siyagit-siyagit. Ang Kining babaye tumoy sa kahilom, nga nagsugod isip hinagawhawng pahinungod sa kamingaw ug pag-inusara, misulbong lapos sa iyang kasubo unya mihapos og usa ka idlot nga komentaryo nga mora lang kintahay og obiter dictum batok sa panlupig ug inhustisya:

Nganong kung sud-ungon niya ang nangunot niyang dagway nga nalumos sa lawod sa kangitngit, buot niyang magpaanod? Hilabi nag madungog niya ang pagpangawot sa timos nga natastasan sa iyang paku, o ang inagunto sa katabang sa silingang kwarto nga gikamang na sab sa iyang amo.

Patapsing lang, pero makaangol baya.

Sa Kagutom, ang namulong nga wa intawoy ikapalit og makaon, nagyamyam sa kaugalingon nga ang kuraw naa ra sa hunahuna, unya mideklarar (iyang nawong nahibat sa usa ka yam-id nga nakapasamot kapiyahok sa iyang aping):

sum-ol na man nang manok ba.
kanang lansiao natugdunan man
nag usa ka batalyong langaw.
ug kanang unod sa hamburger
iring man na!

Liko sa ka Iko

Sa paggambalay ni Durado sa iyang balak, estrikto ang iyang sukod. Dili sa paggamit sa kinaraang berso-berso. Akong ipasabot nga gimatngunan niya ang pagbalanse sa mga elemento sa balak aron kini makabaton og hapsay nga porma nga parehas, por ehemplo, sa lawas sa babaye.

Ang resulta? Hugot ug bus-ok nga komposisyon. Morag makaingon ta nga gipahamtang niya sa iyang mga mugna ang prinsipyo sa sudoku o magic square, nga dunay kahingpitan ang obra bisag tuwad-tuwaron. Basaha, pananglit, ang Lapis, o ang Sa pagpanaw sa balakero. O ang Panlimbawt, diin ang balak, nga linangkob sa 16 ka mugbo nga linya, morag banig nga huot ug tupong ang pagkalalik:

Dakung ngiob nga lasang
Ang ulo sa tawng nalisang….
Sa kalabirang sanga namalikus
Mga higanteng sawa sa nerbyus….
Ug kanang matag mulo sa lawas
Pagsikdol sa malditong aliwas.

Sa hapit tanang balak ining libroha, gipadayag ang lamdag sa magbabalak ginamit ang timgas nga pinulongan sa sanglitanan. Sa Kalipay, ang usa ka amahan nga nagsud-ong sa nahinanok niyang anak nakaamgo nga diay ang kalipay

kay ingon sa usa ka timba:
ang gitas-on sa pisi
gahisgot kung unsay
gilawmon sa tabay.

Makailad ang pagka-inato sa tingog ni Durado. Dili dayon mamatikdan nga ang iyang mga mugna naglup-it og daghang literary devices. Hiyungi pagtan-aw di ba makita nimo ang bakyano niyang paggamit sa allusion, antithesis, apostrophe, enumeratio, irony, parable, paradox, parallelism, prosopopoeia, pun, oxymoron, stream-of-consciousness, understatement, ug unsa pa diha. Naa pa gani siyay epistrophe ug anaphora.

Tungod kay ang palita sa iyang lingwahe mao man ang inadlaw nga instrumento sa kadaghanan, kalma kaayong nagpasalipod ang kutihan nga mason sa gikamada niyang mga linya.

Ang akong pagdayeg sa disiplina intelektuwal sa tagsulat wa magpasabot nga kulang sa emosyon ang iyang mga balak. Au contraire, and iyang disiplina maoy nakapasamot kaespeso sa iyang mga mugna. Mao kini ang abilidad nga gihisgotan ni Ezra Pound sa iyang komentaryo sa kang T. S. Eliot nga Prufrock and Other Observations:

[T]he supreme test of a book is that we should feel some unusual intelligence working behind the words. By this test various other new books… go to pieces. The barrels of sham poetry that every decade and school and fashion produce, go to pieces…. There is no intelligence without emotion. The emotion may be anterior or concurrent. There may be emotion without much intelligence, but that does not concern us.

Ang Pansit — nga maoy ikaduhang balak ni Durado nga akong nabasa — matawag og uylap sa dughan ug dili sakdap sa utok, apan ang nagdul-it sa kahapdos sa gihubit nga sitwasyon, nga daw lab-as nga samad nga wa pa kadapatig tambal, mao ang way kampat nga pagbahig sa mga detalye:

Mahadlok ko sauna
kung gutumon si Papa, Ma.
Dili na siya mokaon.
Ang platong gisudlan nimo
sa sud-an mokalit lag hagtok
sa imong bagulbagul.

Unya, human niyag pasiplat sa mga sahog sa pansit nga nanab-it sa buhok sa iyang Mama — repolyo, hebe, ug pinakupsang tambok — ang persona nakakita nga:

… sa nagkamantika
nimong danguyngoy
gipuga sa atong bintana
ang limonsitong buwan.

Tan-awa, napiskan hinuon akong mata. Sa akong paminaw, kuwanggol ray di kahilak ining balaka.

Gawas sa yanong mga pulong nga gigamit, nakabig ang akong pagtagad sa buot sa persona. Kinsay namulong? Bata? Hingkod? Tataw nga karon hamtong na siya, apan ang tingog nga mabati sa magbabasa iya sa usa ka gamayng bata, nga way ikasulti, way ikasukol, nga gihakop sa kaluoy nga nagtan-aw sa sinakit niyang inahan. Ang iyang nasaksihan maoy nagluba sa iyang pagkabata apan sa samang higayon mao say nagsalamangka kaniya nga magpabiling bata hangtod sa iyang ikamatay.

Para!

Oops, oras nang motungtong ko sa gapas.

Bweno, himuon kong kuoton nga pasumbingay ang akong panapos pinaagi sa pagsabat na sab ni Pound. Akoy sabat, kamoy sabot.

Mr. Eliot is one of the very few who have given a personal rhythm, an identifiable quality of sound as well as of style. And at any rate, his book is the best thing in poetry since... (for the sake of peace I will leave that date to the imagination). I have read most of the poems many times; I have read the whole book at breakfast time and from flimsy proof-sheets: I believe these are ‘test conditions’. And, ‘confound it, the fellow can write.’

Daghang salamat.

Hulyo 2008, Dubai, United Arab Emirates

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Translocating Durado

by Merlie Alunan

When Adonis Durado requested me to do the translation of Dili tanang matagak mahagbong, I yielded to the temptation with hardly a tweak in my conscience. I had been carefully watching out for this book over the years. I say, Butch Bandillo, who introduces the book and who is the first, and possibly the foremost bilingual poet in Cebuano, probably has prior rights to do the translation of this great collection. I acknowledge the fact that Cebuano is not my first language, that I would always remain a humble student of this language, looking over the shoulders of such major writers as Ernesto Lariosa, Pantaleon Auman, Don Pagusara, Rene Amper and Lam Ceballos to name a few. Nevertheless, for Adonis, whose progress as a poet I have watched most intently, I am pleased to do the honors. I hope I have done justice to his works.

Multilingualism is the evolving scene in Philippine Literature today. Collections of poetry appear in multiple languages. A few in my book shelf: Victorio N. Sugbo’s Inintokan (UP Press 2008); Voltaire Q. Oyzon’s An Maupay ha mga Waray ug Iba pa nga mga Siday (NCCA 2008); a volume of Ani, Vol. 33, entitled Nature and Environment (CCP 2007); Virgilio S. Almario’s Sansiglong Mahigit ng Makabagong Tula sa Pilipinas (Anvil Publishing 2006). Back in the early 1990s, I pioneered a collection of works of Southern women writers in the languages of the Visayas, Fern Garden, published by the NCCA. I tried to follow this up with an Anthology of Visayan poetry, also multilingual and with English translations, but this endeavor met with rejection — perhaps its time had not yet come. Today, such redoubtable anthologists as Herminio Beltran of the CCP, and the National Artist, Virgilio Almario, are coming out with multilingual collections of Philippine poetry. This is an affirmation of the Philippine Literature as multilingual; that writing in the many languages of the countryside is mainstream and not just “regional”, a highly disputed terminology which we will not be putting away yet for the next decades; and above all, that the art of translation is here for a long time to come, enriching our literary traditions, and perhaps, brokering the entry of Filipino Literature into the global scene.

Up to the 1990s, I wrote almost exclusively in English. But working with such poets as Adonis Durado, Myke Obenieta, Temistokles Adlawan, and the late Rene Estella Amper in the Cornelio Faigao Creative Writing Workshops of the USC Cebuano Studies Center encouraged me to try my voice in Cebuano. As I accumulated a body of works in Cebuano, I saw the need to translate them into English. Thus I first came to grips with the trials of translation in my own works.

A crucial element of my poetic technique is voice. Writing in English, to my mind, involves “translocating” — my own terminology — a set of reality conceived or experienced in the native language into the alien ground of English. Poetry is essentially speech or utterance. Speech is seldom a pure detached phenomenon — it is the product of a convergence of circumstances, and it covers attitudes, emotional shades, social class, intellectual quality, courtesies, time, purpose, given or implied — all of which the poem must adumbrate, for which the term “translation” hardly seems adequate. It may be possible to translate prose statements from one language to another, but a poetic expression is much too complex for such a direct treatment. Reading the voice by which the poem speaks involves perceiving the complex universe in which a human being addresses another or speaks to himself, or laments, or rejoices, or yells in anger and despair. Translation is not sufficient for poetry as much as “translocation” is, collocating the poem in a voice closest to the universe of the original language, in which, possibly, the new language would not even yield its equivalent.

Herein lies the challenge of this piece of job. For Adonis Durado, to his credit, speaks in a Visayan idiom that has no equivalent at all in English. Thus the English language has to be bent and recreated (or reinvented, if one prefers) into what might imaginably be the English of the bisdak himself or herself, depending on what “voice” he has chosen to invent his utterances. It’s risky business, and for such efforts, the translator (or translocator) takes chances with the audience. It is true that the translation is almost always a pale shade of the original. Be that as it may, it is the translator’s responsibility to retain the poetry in the new language, as true to the mode and intention of the original as he or she can do it. There are, unavoidably, passages of discomfort all over this effort. But we have endeavored to keep true to the poetic idea, and we have not taken liberties with the poet’s vision, which are always, always, unerring as a shaft of arrow piercing the very heart of death.

July 2008, UPV Tacloban College, Leyte, Philippines

POETRY SAMPLING

2008-09-07T00:50:00.000-07:00

Pagpangga

Kung duna kay panggaon,
tigumon mo diha niya
ang imong kaugalingon.
Iakob mo ang imong palad
diha sa iyang palad,
susama sa pagtak-om
sa duha ka nabuwag
nga kabhang sa kinhason.
Hipuson mo tuod
iyang pahiyom ug tutok,
diay aron iuli nga tibuok
pinaagi sa halok.
Mahimong itugot mong
isum-ok ka niya
ngadto sa lasang
sa iyang gibati ug hunahuna,
tungod sa utlanan niini,
nasayod kang ang mga sulog
sa busay sa iyang handumanan
kay misteryusong matigom
nganha sa lawod
sa imong dughan.
Ug kini ang rasun nganong
may kamingaw ka
nga masabtan diha sa anino
sa nag-inusarang kahoy.
Nganong may kasikas
sa kabalaka nga mamukaw
inig bukot sa kadlawon
dihang mialimungaw kanimo
nga wa siya sa imong kiliran.
Apan sa pagkaplag
nga nahinanok ra diay
siya sa imong luyo,
gakson mo siya uban
sa kalipay nga nasinati
sa umang nga nakakaplag
og bag-o niyang bayanan.

Love

If you love someone
put all of yourself
in her.
Press your palm
over her palm
the way the two shells
of a clam
connect.
Keep kindly
all her smiles, her looks
that you may return them whole
with your kisses.
You could
allow yourself to be thrown
into the jungle
of her feelings and her mind
because at their edges
you know there are whirlpools
springing from her memories
which will gather mysteriously
into the ocean
of your heart.
That’s how you’ll sense
the huge sadness seeping
from the shadow
of that lone tree,
why bad dreams
waken you as dawn
wraps still the world,
an omen warning you
that she’s no longer by your side.
But when you discover her
peacefully sleeping
at your back
you’ll embrace her with
the joy of the hermit crab
who has found for itself
a new shelter.

(Translated by Merlie Alunan)

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Pagkaugdaw

Makapaig ang kainit sa alas-dos.
Samtang gapasilong ilawom
Sa landong sa poste sa kuryente,
Mingislo ang nawong sa bata
Nga gahangad sa iyang tabanog.
Kay nakuwangan sa hilig,
Mitahirig kini, mitulilik
Ngadto sa gabagang adlaw.
Ug kalit, nalantaw niya sa langit
Nga ang nagkabus-ok nga panganod
Hinayhinayng gitugot sa itom,
Nangisug nga asung nagagikan
Sa sikitsikit nga mga atup.
“Sunog! Sunog! Su——————nog!”
Kalit nagkatibulaag ang mga istambay
Nga gaduwag dama sa may tindahan.
Ang mga naghingut-anayng inahan
Sa pantawan midalig saka, sakmit
Sa ilang mga anak nga giduyan
Sa katagpilaw sa udtong tutok.
Ang lalaki sulod sa kasilyas mipugong
Sa ga-ung-ung niyang tubol,
Ug milargog sutoy, ambak sa paril.
Pagkaguliyang. Dunay mga siyagit.
Mga tiyabaw. Pagpangita. Pagkadagma.
Madungog ang sunod-sunod nga siren
Sa trak sa bomberong nagpangabot.
Samtang dali-daling nangahabwa gikan
Sa ilang puy-anan ang mga tagbalay
Nga gainiyahayg pas-an sa bisag
Unsang mapunit nga kabtangan.
Kimpang nga gapas-an og pridyider.
Magtiayong gasalbar sa ilang sala set.
Mga batang gakarakarag, gasikwat
Og plato, kaldiro nga nawanihan og takob,
Sinina, sapatos nga di mao ang paris.
Dayon mapamati ang pag-iwigik
Sa mga nalitson nga baboy,
Hasta ang pagpakiluoy sa mga iro
Ug iring nga nangapriso sa balayng
Gihabhab, gilamon sa dilaab sa kayo.
Karon, diha sa pagkaugdaw, mopuli
Ang kahaw-ang sa galamhan.
Mobakho ang byudong nalimtan
Ang lungon sa gihayang minahal.
Samtang matanga ang babayeng
Tungod sa iyahang karatol, kalisang,
Pulir ra sa kilay ang nabitbit.

After the fire

Scorching two o’clock sun.
Trying to find shade
In the thin shadow of an electric post,
The child grimaces,
Looking up at his kite.
Losing slack,
It dips and spins
Towards the blazing sun.
All at once, he sees the sky
Filling with a fat white cloud
Rising from a black rope
Of angry smoke mounting
From the packed roofs of houses.
“Fire! Fire! Fi——————re!”
The bystanders playing checkers
Beside a store quickly disperse,
Mothers cootie-hunting
In one another’s hair in the back porch
Go in and grab their babes
Rocked by sleep in this siesta hour.
The man inside the toilet
Stops his crap before it could
Drop and shoots off,
Leaping over the fences.
Bedlam! So much screaming!
Shouting! Looking for the lost. Falling.
Wailing sirens rising high
As firetrucks arrive one after another
Houses quickly disgorge
Their inmates, each one of them
Lugging anything they can.
A cripple hauls his refrigerator.
A couple tries to save their sala set.
Panicking kids clutching
Plates, pots and pans without lids,
Clothes, shoes which are not paired,
Listen to the pigs squealing
Roasting alive, the dogs and cats
Trapped in the houses, pleading
As the blaze gobbles everything.
Now after the fire, the senses
Fill with a sudden emptiness.
The widower weeps,
Remembering his beloved wife
Whose coffin he forgot to save.
And one woman, too rattled
To think properly, saved
Only a hair puller.

(Translated by Merlie Alunan)

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Alang kang Yana
Sa pagpaabot sa adlaw sa imong pagkatawo

Mobutho tingali ka uban sa katapusang
hapus sa balud nga misuwayg dunggo
sa gapnod gikan sa wa hiilhing isla,
ug tugbang sa igmat nga pagtidlom
sa mga hinlilitik ug tamala nga natugaw
sa lim-aw niining gilaay nga aya-ay.
Tingali, iatul kini nimo dihang gibugsay
sa mga hagok ang kagabhion, o kaha
sa higayong miutong ang dag-om,
ug mibuhagay ang daman nga uwan.
Dili — sa imong pagtunga, dungan kini
sa paghunong sa gahadyong nga unos,
diin kalit nga mopuli ang pagpugtak
sa mga sunoy nga gihapak sa kabalaka
dihang napuwak ang mga lubing lahing,
ulahing buwakaw sa bag-ong kadlawon.
Kaha, mokuyog siguro ka sa pagpamukhad
sa mga paku sa alindahaw ug kabakaba
nga gakat-on paglupad — sa unang higayon!
O moduyog ba ron sa awit sa galansiyang
nga gapundok ug nahinangop sa isig usa.
Sa imong pagbutho, dungan ba sab kahang
hikaplagan sa himungaan ang gapiyakpiyak,
nagkatibulaag niyang mga pisu — kini,
sa wa pa gidahik sa mananagat ang baruto
nga gituya sa sulog sa bag-ong taub?
Pinangga, angay kang masayod karon,
nga sa di mo pa malitok ang unang uha,
uban sa ngisi sa unang hinog nga bunga
nga namituon sa ngiob nga punuan,
iapung ko kanunay ang akong mga palad
aron paabuton ang imong pagkapunggak.

For Yana
The day I waited for your birth

You could come with the last wave
lashing in, trying to land onshore
the flotsam from some unknown isle,
startling the mantis shrimps and octopodes
to sink down their nead-tide pools.
Or you might time your coming
while the sleepers paddle through the night
with their snores, or it could happen
when the clouds, bearing down at last,
release their rainy dreams upon us.
Or it could be — that you’d come,
when the whipping squall stops,
and the roosters, hearing the thud
of ripe coconuts falling from the tree,
cluck in alarm, or, as the last meteor
streaks across the early dawn.
You might show up as dragonfly wings
blossom, and moths try flight —
for the very first time! Or you may come
when the bright-feathered starlings
flock together in joy of their kind?
When you appear, will the hen
find at last all her peeping chicks
that had scampered away — this
happening before the boatman drags in
his boat rocking in the surf of a fresh tide?
My darling, now you must know this,
that even before you utter your first cry,
along with the splitting grin of the first
ripe fruit hanging like a star on the dark tree,
my hands are already open, palms up,
waiting to catch you as you fall.

(Translated by Merlie Alunan)

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suwat sa sugarol

parts, musta na? nakabuno
kuno atong hiniktang ugis?
idublada akong parte
ugaling itari ni joker
iyang sinyalang buwanting.
debuynason gyud lagi nang
naay gasabak sa panimalay, no?
uy, ni-tip nako si jack
nga kwadro karon iyang chicks.
gisyapulan gyud diay niya
ang kalasera nga sauna
gisuwayan sad nimog dega?
hapit baya to nimo ma-kang,
kung wa pa ka hisakpi
sa financer nimos mahjongan.
pustaanay, matutyo ra na siya?
lisod man nang upat imentin,
labi nag gamay ra kag stopper,
ug imong alas imo rang hitsura.
ang sikreto gud sa pagpangabit
kay naa sa pilde-gana:
dakung dimal kung daghag dama.
maong tagsa-tagsaa og pug-ok
ang baraha aron di dali hisakpan.
likayi sad ang queen diamond
kay ang selosong bana gadalag atsa.
taym pa, niantog kuno nimo
ang ulcer? tabla na diay ta ani:
may lunggong sa kutokuto
kung ugaling masul-an.
barawa na — imni pirmig gatas —
mao nay hirit ni doktora.
mao na nay dibidendo, parts,
kung kita magkatiguwang na.

p.s. damgo nako gabii:
gaturotot nga rayna natikangkang —
4-1-7. irambol lang.

letter from a gambler

howdy, pardner. heard our white

cock won. put my winnings in too
in case joker plays the grey,
that one’s got the marks of a winner.
well, a pregnant woman
in the family brings good luck, eh?
hey, jack tipped me off about
his chicks: he’s got full house, man.
he shuffled, got in good terms
with the lady tip-keeper
you tried yourself before.
almost got her too, i know,
if not for your lady financier
who stalled your mahjong affair.
bet his game plan won’t last.
keeping four mistresses together
is hard to maintain, especially
when you’ve got few stoppers,
and your only ace: your good looks.
the trick of keeping an affair
lies in the game of pilde-gana:
the more you got queens,
the more you lose. so play
your cards well — one at a time,
so you won’t get caught easily.
and stay away from queen diamond
who got a jealous axe-wielding
husband. wait, heard ulcer’s
got you too? that’s two of us now:
shaken dice in the stomach
when it attacks, that’s how it is.
fight it — drink lots of milk —
my lady doctor’s sweet advice.
that’s the pay-off of aging, pardy.

p.s. dreamed last night:
the queen blowing a horn fell on her butt —
4-1-7. just ramble it.

----------------------------------------------------------------

stopper — the highest value in the card game of “chikitcha”
pilde-gana — a game of reverse checkers; whoever lose is declared the winner

(Translated by Merlie Alunan)

LIFE IS TOO ABSURD NOT TO BE MOCKED: A POET'S INTERVIEW

2008-09-06T22:51:00.000-07:00

The following is an excerpt from the forthcoming book, "KULOKABILDO: CONVERSATIONS WITH CEBUANO WRITERS", Edited by Hope S. Yu. The book is part two of the series. The interview was conducted by Gretchen Janice E. Cañada (left), a member of USC-English Majors Association and currently a senior AB Linguistics and Literature student of the University of San Carlos, Cebu.

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Gretchen: When did you start writing poems?

Adonis: I seriously started writing poems when I was in college – back in 1993. I was involved in the campus publication, Today's Carolinian, where I was introduced by Radel Paredes (who was my editor at that time) to Tonton Kintanar. Tonton then, was a campus literary figure, as a young poet whose poems often glossed the back cover of Today's Carolinian. Tonton and Radel invited me to their informal weekly literary gathering which took place at Mister Donut in Mango Avenue. Over coffee, tea and donuts, we hung out until midnight to discuss and critique poems and short stories of fellow aspiring writers. To cut the story short, these people introduced me to the wonders of literature and ideas. But it was Tonton who encouraged me to write poems in Cebuano, when at that time writing poems in the native language was considered "baduy." I used to write poems in English, but Tonton, whom I considered my mentor and whose poems I greatly admire, saw my inadequacy in the language and had suggested to try my cut in Cebuano, the language where I'm most comfortable with. I remember him saying that one cannot write if the language one chooses is alien to one's heart. What he said still echoes in me until today. Since then, I continued to write in Cebuano.

What inspires you? What motivates you to write poems?
Everything inspires me. I find it amusing that the task of every poet -- or artist -- is to find beauty in every aspect of life and the world that surrounds him. He may be moved by an instant experience, by the beauty of an idea from the book that he just read, by the shape of an object that he finds connection with, or by the sheer texture of a word that evokes his thought and feeling at that moment.

How long does it take you to write a poem?
I haven't seen any pattern – a poem can be born in just a few seconds, others require days, months, even years. There is even a poem so demanding that every time I read it, I could see a word or line that needs tweaking. Out of frustration, I muttered to my poem: "Should you be written forever?"

Do you have any writing habit?
I don't have "writing habit", but I do have this "writing stages." The birth of a poem comes to me in three stages – composing, writing, and rewriting. The first stage is when I gather or construct a poem in my head – this usually happens when I am commuting or sitting in the toilet bowl, where I am provided with the opportunity to think. Most of the poems are finished before I come to the next stage – that of writing. So I don't sit and write poem, but I compose a poem first then write it. Then the third stage is rewriting, where I let my poem sleep after it's been written or revised, and go back to it with fresh eyes.

Do you produce poems when you are sad and lonely?
I have this little theory that poets can write good poems only when they are sad and lonely – but this little theory of mine is nothing new at all. Proust and Nietzsche had already written essays about the nature of creativity in relation to sadness and the feeling of being in pain. I have also noticed that those writers or artists who were persecuted (politically or personally) were the ones who achieved greatness in their craft.

When you write, do you have a target audience in mind?
I don't have a target audience in mind. But when I write, I often ask myself whether a person living in a very remote island – cutout from civilization -- would still be able to appreciate my poem. If one does, then I consider my poetry a success. I always aspire for a poem that achieves universal quality.

What do mean by "universal quality"?
By universal quality, I mean that when I write a poem, say, about a buffalo, I want the person reading my poem – who hasn't encountered a buffalo in his entire life – to see and feel what a buffalo is, in his mind. That is why I invest so much on images and metaphors rather than playing with sound. I am more of an imagist than a lyric.

What are the usual themes you write about?
I don't think "consciously" about themes when I write. As poet, I am more concerned with "how to say it" rather than "what to say about it." On writing with a theme – I will leave that task to the novelist and essayist.

Being a graphic designer, what can you say about writing and designing?
I believe that all arts are related. My work as a publication designer (or visual journalist) has to some extent influenced my poetry, and vice versa. A reader may notice that my poetry is very visual. That is because I'm trained as a visual artist. And there are certain principles of design that I apply when I write – like balance, proportion, contrast, harmony, etc. I feel uneasy if I see irregular lines in a stanza – the designer in me would instruct to prune all lines to an almost equal length.

What keeps you busy (and inspired) right now?
Same as usual – reading. I'm currently hooked with the books of Alain de Botton. My favorite past-time is hunting for second-hand books.

In your poem "Ngano ang pamalak kay sama ra og kung fu", you juxtapose the power of poetry with kung fu. The poem reads as a natural progression into the experience of mastering the self. But that mastery also evolves into a heightened awareness. It is almost like a meditation. Can you comment on this?
Every poem I write, I always strive and seek its architectonic quality. By architectonic quality, I mean fashioning your content to its truest form – having its structure and its language shape the experience of what a poem is about. If I write a poem about water, I want readers to feel the surge of the words – to feel the texture of water. In this case, since this particular poem touches the subject of kung fu, I want it to be written like a meditation – or as a spiritual instrospection, if you will.

Apan kung gamitan na kag kusog / Ug ang ngisi sa hanting gapungasi / Sa iyang kamot, kini ang higayon / Nga molikom kas imong nakat-unan. / Dinhi ipakita kung unsaon pagpildi / Sa kaaway pinaagi sa tulo ka lihok, /Pinaagi sa tulo ka metapora, linya, / O kaha pinaagi lang sa tulo ka litok. The actual process is really irreconcilable, is it not? The pen against the sword or the force, rather. Is there a danger that in bringing language to an experience, you'll sacrifice the very quality you wanted in the first place?

The said stanza is simply suggesting that a poet will put on a fight if he's put on a life-threatening situation. But he is cautioning the transgressor/oppressor to remember that the poet has mastered the world, that even uttering a three-syllabic word is enough to kill him.

You present us with a no-nonsense view of the circularity of our existence. I wonder if you see people as the Taoists and Buddhists do – that is, not to react with force, because one is always related to the world.
I do believe in the teaching of non-violence. But let me remind you that the poem "Nganong ang pamalak kay susama ra og kung fu" is most importantly about patience, persistence, and perseverance in the craft of writing and poeticizing. In life and in writing, patience is the greatest virtue.

You said that your design motto is "Bribe beauty with a pinch of absurdity." Do you also apply this motto to your writing?
I do. We live in the world full of contradictions – that's why I consider absurdity an essential ingredient to my art. And life is too absurd not to be mocked.

There is a curious freshness to "The Magician's Wife" that addresses a social as well as gender issue. It is the seeing and your awareness of her multiple roles that makes the poem very successful. It should have been titled "Magician Wife" since she is the one casting magic.
I am happy that you read it like that. The idea of the poem is really to show the ironies in life. In the eyes of the audience, she is just an assistant to the magician, but the different roles she played as a spouse, as a housekeeper and as a mother, and the little miracles she conjures at home are no match by any magician. In her own right, she herself is a magician, but I don't want to give that away in the title. Ha!

Any advice for aspiring poets and writers?
Read philosophy. Die for an experience. Breathe art.

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ARTWORK PREVIEW:

RADEL PAREDES

ARTIST STATEMENT:

TRAGEDY MEETS IRONY

by Radel Paredes

This series of artworks came as a reaction to the string of tragedies that we saw recently on TV: the storm in Burma, the earthquake in China, the terrorist bombings in Baghdad, the sinking of a ferry and the massacre of civilians by armed groups in the Philippines.

As Picasso realized after the bombing of Guernica, the faces of the victims show common rage and terror. In fact, my own works are directly influenced by Picasso’s obsession to translate the profundity of human suffering into abstract imagery, as was demonstrated in the “Weeping Woman” series, which continued even after it reached a climax with the “Guernica” mural.

The famous antiwar mural was rendered in black and white, but most of the drawings and paintings in the “Weeping Woman” series were composed with the brightest colors. The most famous version of this theme shows the subject “dressed as for a fete,” as one critic noted, while her veiled face, painted in black and white, looked like it had been stripped to the bones.

We saw the same irony in Stanley Kubrick’s “A Clockwork Orange,” where the most violent scenes were shot in day glo colors with upbeat music in the background. Much earlier, in “Psycho,” Alfred Hitchcock also shot the famous shower scene in blinding overexposures. As a personal tribute, I intended to continue this tradition in my own portraits of terror.

Incidentally, while in the middle of doing gouache studies for these paintings, I was asked by my friend Adonis Durado to illustrate the cover of his first book of Cebuano poems. After reading the manuscript, I was struck to find the same penchant for irony in his verse, which portrays human suffering in grotesque humor.

Adonis also reacted to the earthquake in China in the poem “Sichuan”. Like the Bangkok-based Cebuano poet, my own exposure to the art community in Asia has deepened my sense of solidarity for the peoples in the region, particularly the artists. When I heard of the typhoon that devastated Rangoon, I immediately recalled our friend Thant Sin, a Paris-trained painter who we, his fellow ASEAN art jurors, called the “Chairman.” Likewise, I feared for our friends in Guangxi, China, after hearing the earthquake that struck neighboring Sichuan.

Finding all these fortuitous, I immediately emailed photos of my gouache drawings to Adonis and in the next couple of days he would send me his design of the book cover featuring one of them.

The exhibit organized for the book’s launching is thus the culmination of a collaboration, which extends to those years when we worked together as part of the design collective of the student publication and in many other earlier projects.

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ARTWORK PREVIEW:

JOSUA CABRERA

ARTIST STATEMENT:
GAKATAWANG MGA PULONG
SA DAGWAYNG GADAG-OM
by Josua S. Cabrera

Nagsugod sa balak ni Adonis…

Iyang kong gihangyo pagbuhat og huni sa iyang balak, unya ako lang kunoy bahala kung unsang balaka niya akong pilion isip liriko sa mugnaong kanta. Ug Ang Pinakamalipayong Balak sa Tibuok Kalibutan ang ulohan sa akong gipilian. Gipili nako ni kay lagi mubo ra. Sayon duwaan. Pero payter pud.

Morag usa ka juggler si Adonis nga iyang giitsa-itsa ang mga irony sa wanang unya pagtugpa, nasawo lang gihapon niya og tagsa-tagsa. Lingaw kaayo ug simple ra ang mga hulagway ug pasumbingay sa hahisgutang balak. Mga hulagway nga atong makita, makawhat diha sa daplin-daplin sa kadalanan. Mga hulagway nga manuktok sa atong hunahuna ug kasingkasing aron tultolan ta sa atong paglaroy-laroy sa mga dagkung iskina o iskinita sa atong pagkabisaya.

Kay usahay masaag ta -- sama adtong usa ka inahan nga among silingan nga iyang giayu-ayo og latos ang iyang otso anyos nga anak kay lagi iyang nadunggang miistorya og binisaya. Nitiyabaw tawn ang bata apan nadugay nakog tan-aw niya mora man hinuon nagbuhahak siyag katawa.

Usahay mauwaw sad ta -- kay usa ka higayon diha toy makililimos nga gitagaan nako og piso kay wala pa kuno siyay paniudto. Apan pwerte niyang katawa kay piso ray akong gihatag. Unsa kunoy mapalit ato… nilakaw nga pwerte niyang katawa pero iyang tingog morag gitarang buak, gahilak.

Nagkalawom, nagkangiob

Ug samtang nagbuhat kog tuno sa balak ni Adonis, bitbit ang akong hinulman nga gitarang karaan, mora kog misawom sa gamay nga lim-aw sa akong handurawan. Nalingaw kog patungod sa gamayng busay nga nitaguktok sa akong ulo. Nagpaanod ko sa sulog, naglangoy-langoy hangtod nakuyawan ko, kay dili na nako matugkad ang gilawmon. Mao nga akong giutong sa pamasin nga akong mahikapan ang salog sa maong lim-aw. Hilom ang palibot. Bugtong kong mabati ang ritmo sa akong dughan.

Sa akong pagkapa-kapa, maoy nitabo sa akong panan-aw mga isdang gagmay sa unahan nga gilamoy sa mga dagkung isda. Ug sa dihang ilang nabantayan nga ako nagkaduol nila, daw nikurog sa kahadlok, nisutoy silag langoy palayo luyo sa kangitngit. Adunay mga langub-langob sa ilawom. Nagkalawom, nagkangi-ob. Sa dihang ako nang nakita ang salog sa lim-aw nakurat kos akong nakita. Nagtipun-og ang mga basura sa ilawom. Nidali kog langoy aron mokawas. Pag-abot nako sa daplin sa lim-aw, nibuhakhak kos kakuyaw ug nitibi ang gitara sa akong huni.

Tintang naluha sa ngislit sa papel

Ang pagpadayag sa hunahuna ug kasingkasing, daghang paagi. Isulti, isyagit, ikanta, isulat, ibalak, idrowing, ipintal, ipaagi sa lihok -- mobalitok, moligid, maghubo, magpa-opaw, pwede sad ihilak, ikatawa… apan ang pagpadayag gagikan sa panginahanglan. Niining higayona, akong gipili ang pagdibuho. Nigamit kog watercolor paghata og bulok, bolpen ug tinta sa akong pagwiris-wiris.

Nagsugod ning akong wiris-wiris, dugay na. Nagsugod sa insomia. Maghilak na lang kos una kay magbuntag na lang, wala pa ko katulog. Dugay nakong antos ani. Hangtud akong nabasa sauna (ambot kung unsa tong magasina), nga ang wiriswiris tambal sa insomia. Mao tong akong gitestingan, nagsugod sa short size bond paper. Malukop nakog wiris-wiris. Hangtud tabloid size na.

Malukop nakog wiris-wiris hangtud makatulog ko. Epektibo tuod. Hangtud nga ako lang sang porma-pormahon ang wiris-wiris. Pormahon nakong mga tawo. Hangtud nga nahimo nakong paagi sa pagpadayag kung unsa ang naa sa akong hunahuna. Ug di nako kalikayan nga kung unsay akong makita sa akong palibot mao say mogawas sa akong wiris-wiris. Mao nang pagbasa nako sa mga balak ni Adonis naka-abli dayon kini sa pultahan sa akong hunahuna ug kasingkasing aron paluparon ang akong handurawan ngadto sa matag atup sa mga kabalayan nga naglibot kanako.

Kini magpataka og panglili, mangolekta og mga hulagway aron tanggungon sa iyang kwardong panumduman ug ibitay sa bungbong sa mga alimpatakan ug kasingkasing sa manan-away.

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ang pinakamalipayong balak

sa tibuok kalibutan

milayat gikan sa ngislit sa bintana
ang gatingsing iring nga gatangag
og gapahiyom nga tinap-anan.
milabay kini luyo sa gangising labandera,
sa banang galigid og buhakhak sa kahubog,
sa kainom nga puros namuwa sa kahimuot.
ug milatay sa talidhay sa gubaong paril,
sa kasadya sa mga buslutong atup.
miagi sa kaalegre sa gamayng sugalan,
sa bahikhik sa mamusuhayng istambay,
sa tsimosa, usyuserang ga-inagik-ikay,
ug dayog huong sa malipayong silong.
sa unahan, gakatawang misawp ang adlaw,
gadalig uli batang gikomedyahan sa gutom.

-- Adonis Durado

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ARTWORK PREVIEW:

ADONIS DURADO