The Spider and the Poet

Poetry by | January 20, 2013

He locates his heart along the span
From arm of chair to my leg
Propped on this ottoman

It must be aerodynamics
And instinct for the best
Hunting ground that makes him

Oblivious moving from the axis
Then round to buttress
His precarious choice

And when he is done with
The framework of his master plan
It is to the details then

The radial tracking of each thread
Spaced equal and filaments tight
Measured as the perfect lure

If only he considered
Human traffic like this poet
Cross at being roused

Leg lassoed to a first line
The poet’s signal-snare
Prey prompt poem

—
Nino Soria de Veyra currently serves as Chair of the Department of Humanities in UP Mindanao. His nonfiction and poetry have appeared in the Silliman Journal, The Dumaguete We Know, Caracoa, the Philippines Free Press, National Midweek Magazine, Solidarity, A Habit of Shores, and The Other Voices International Poetry Project.

Prayer

Poetry by | January 20, 2013

What exactly did you see, Pablo, when–ripped 
–the sky opened and revealed to you its bowels
of planets and plantation? What precisely
did you find, Allen, the day it rained of sun
-flowers and Bill spoke to you of tigers burning 
and thundering? What was it like to stop
hearing Love’s voice, Villa, and wrestling 
with God head to head? To question accuracies
of visions, hallucinations, talking to the dead,
do words, their true grave, have the answers?
I went back to the basics of prayer: the bible,
a black book of verses fat with loosened leaves, 
sweet angels of Ramadan, an empty room save 
for a bed and a glass of water. Walter learned 
in the dark the secrets of atoms and of grass,
of love, of boys, and of marching drums. Am I
doing this right? Kneeling before rosary, 
saying my Hail Mary fifty times a day, six days 
in a week, asking her, hey, holy mother of god, 
is this prayer poetry, or every poetry a prayer?

—
Jeffrey Javier received his BA in English (Creative Writing) from UP Mindanao. He was a fellow for poetry at both the Silliman University National Writers Workshop and the Iligan Writers Workshop.

To Her Father

Poetry by | January 13, 2013

English translation of the poem Salaam Bapa, also by the author

Salaam bapa, I have only one niyat in my heart and mind before presenting myself to you.
I come courageously to you, seeking your permission to wed your daughter.
As my parents, Datu Abdul,
Have asked me to do.

Bapa, I would take care of her, feed her, shelter her, and guide her in the straight way to Allah,
For I know that it is the responsibility of any faithful Muslim,
Even if I don’t know her well,
Even if she doesn’t know me well.

Bapa, I know about Az-Zawjan, that we should love each other like the moon and the stars,
Like Prophet Muhammad and Khadidja, or Aisha, or Zaynab did under Allah’s grant,
That we should not allow hunger
Or harm to embrace us.

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Salaam Bapa

Poetry by | January 13, 2013

A Kalagan poem. See To Her Father for the English translation.

salaamSalaam bapa, ‘sambok gayd yang kanakon niyat sang pangatayan sang pagkadi kanmo.
Yakadi ako ng way pagduwa-duwa untak pangayu’n yang kanmo pagtugot sa pagpakawin sang kanmo da’ga.
Sabap yang kanakon ama na si Datu Abdul,
Na idto yang isugo kanak.

Bapa, ako yang magabu’y, magapaka’n, magapa-uya, aw maga-indo kanan sang maturid na da’n,
Sabap ikatigaman ko ng madyaw na idto yang dayt na inangun ng Muslim na magunawa ko.
Agad wa ‘ko pa yan akila’ ng samporna,
Agad wa pa uman yan akila’ kanak ng samporna.

Bapa, ikatigaman ko yang pantag sang Az-Zawjan, magsikawyay kami magunawa ng buwwan aw bitu’n,
Minang ininang ng Nabi Muhammad aw Khadidja, atawaka Aisha, o Zaynab sang kahanda ng Allah,
Na di nami atugotan yang kagutum
Atawaka fitna kumupkup kanami.

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The Feud

Fiction by | December 30, 2012

feudIf you must know, The Feud began because of the mango tree, the mango tree that stood between our house and the Lopezes’ house. Well, not quite in between. You see, if old lady Mameris — from whom we had bought the houses — had only planted the tree right smack along the property line, then there might not have been any trouble to begin with. I think that might have been her plan. As things turned out, the tree took root a few feet inside the Lopezes’ garden.

Now, if it weren’t for the tree, our properties would have been perfect twins. Mrs. Mameris had built the houses for her children, and so they looked exactly alike, only built in reverse, as in a mirror: a spacious garden; a two-car garage; dining room, living room, and hobby room on the ground floor; four bedrooms on the second floor; exterior painted darkwood and teal. Sadly, the Mameris children preferred life in Canada, and so their widowed mother had no choice but to sell, and a good bargain we got for them, too.

Come to think of it, like the houses we lived in, the Lopezes and my family also mirrored each other in uncanny ways. Henry Lopez and I both worked as area managers (I in softdrinks, Henry in detergents); his Sally and my Diane had put their careers on hold to be stay-at-home wives; and their Westley and our Bridget had both just entered the third grade. We bought our houses within weeks of each other. While no one could say that we were close, we maintained friendly relations with each other. Friendly, that is, until the Feud.

Continue reading The Feud

Clearing Out Negative Chi

Poetry by | December 30, 2012

Disbelieving the bad luck from this afternoon’s mahjong
my Chinese stepmom clears out negative chi.
Burn them—it’s tradition, she says. Burn
disappointments and bad memories, like
papers long forgotten left to rot in their shelves
that finally deserve their repose. Can’t blame her,
she’s a pack rat born in a Rat year. Should be enough to char
the coal she got from a whole day selling refreshments
outside school. It takes time
clearing those out, she adds, and also letting go.
She throws in pamphlets of some fake healing water
from Lourdes, France,
and Grandpa Cheung’s numerologies
she forgot to burn with his clothes.
Those numbers never came true, she says.
We’re out of paper, so I do some clearing out too:
the failed exams, the abandoned poems,
and such scraps of stories I swore to finish
but didn’t. It helps enough
to produce embers
with enough applied heat
to drive hard noodle into maddened water,
to soften it, to mix the seasoning,
and to feed to three hungry children
(whose father had died)
and a dog about to be put out of his misery.
Sheer luck we still have such dinners.
She thinks it’s easy
asking Grandpa Cheung’s and Father’s
faded photographs for good luck and prosperity.
I’m tempted to offer them some dumplings and incense
to ask them for Chinese noodles with meat toppings,
and the new Eng Bee Ten hopia with tikoy filling. But
I can’t demand too much of dead people.
Maybe I should owe all of them instead
what we have for tonight—instant mami noodles.

Sa Barya'y kumakapit

Poetry by | December 30, 2012

Sa bawat hakbang,
sikmuray kumakalam.
Sa bawat sayaw ng lata’y
minimithing barya ang inaasam.

Sa kalagitnaan ng daan,
silay nagmamanman.
Kung sinong may alam
na silay nangangailangan.

Sa sira-sira nilang damit.
ay nakasuot ang minimithi.
Na silay mapawi
sa kahirapang kay sakim

Hindi sila inutil,
kung sa barya’y sila nakatingin.
Sadya lang mapait
ang pagkakataong marikit
kaya sa barya sila’y nakadikit

Sa mga may barya,
na winawaldas ng pa sadya.
Ang walay gumiginhawa,
sa baryang itinapon sa kanila.

Kaya hanggang ngayo’y
latay inaaliw.
Nang mahulugan ng pasadya
ng barya’ng may kaya.

Candles

Poetry by | December 23, 2012

(Salin-wika mula sa Singlish na tula ni Alvin Pang)

Oy, bantay ka lang pag malaman ni papa na nagkuha ka na naman ng mga candle sa church.

Sige na lang gud kuya, uy. Ibalik ko lang pagkatapos mo mag-study. Hindi man niya malaman kung hindi ka magsabi. Madilim kaya masyado, pa’no ka makabasa?

May moon man din, makakita ako konti. May ilaw din kila ankel Leon, nagakuha ako ng konti sa mirror. Pwede na ‘to. Ibalik mo yang mga candle. Ayaw ko makasab-an dahil sa iyo.

Gi-uwian na gani kita, na kalayo-layo nitong bahay, ipabalik mo pa? Good Friday bitaw ngayon, dami masyadong candle sa church, hindi na yan nila mapansin na wala ang nine, a.

Mali pa rin kahit hindi nila mapansin uy! Ibalik mo na yan.

Ayoko.

Continue reading Candles