Nonfiction by Cely Bacani Abad | May 8, 2011
When Gertrude phoned me that I was to say something nice about my sister-her mother-I protested, not because I had nothing nice to say, but because I had too many.
“No, no, Gertrude, please. Huwag mo akong bigyan ng trabaho na nakakanerbiyos, please lang. Pwede ba magpaseksi na lang ako?”
“Auntie,” Gertrude scolded. “Multi-award ka na sa kaseksihan. I want the guests to see your inner beauty.”
I insisted, “Ikaw na lang ang mag-display ng inner beauty na minana mo sa akin.”
Nonfiction by Jo Bacani Angeles | May 8, 2011
A warm surge of love and gratitude wells up from my being as I realize that these rejoicing and celebration are happening on my behalf. Never have I been the center of such attention. Never in my wild imaginings have I received tribute so salutary that I can hardly believe it is for me. Thank you, dear sisters mine! As you spoke about this wonderful character to this captive audience, revealing her wisdom, integrity, and goodness, I could not believe such an ideal creature could exist! Well, apparently, she does! And she is me! And I am she! I want to believe this. Really, I do! Let this be the magic moment when it all comes true!
Poetry by Nemesio Baldesco | May 8, 2011
Aga, kulop,
Umuran, umadlaw,
May bagyo o wara,
Ginlalaoy ka,
Ginhahahangkupan,
Ginsasaklang,
Ug ginlilingkuran,
An im palwa,
Agad aparon,
Adton nalabaw,
Nga sasaluron,
Adton duga,
Nga naabid,
Siton mananggite.
(Hunyo 6, 2010)
—
Morning, afternoon,
Rain or shine,
Storm or no storm,
He visits you,
Embraces you,
Then climbs up,
And sits
On the palm frond,
And slices the tip,
Of the coconut flower bud,
The juice
That flows
Is then collected
By the tuba gatherer.
(June 10, 2010)
—
Si Nemesio “Totoy” Baldesco sakop sa Calbayog Literary Arts Organization (CALAO) sa Samar. Mitambong siya sa Taboan 2011 sa Dabaw.
Poetry by Nonoy Narciso | May 8, 2011
Nagtuyatuya nga baruto sa kawakatan
Pino ang lutaw sa tayam
Kamingaway kini nga lugar
Gamayay nga bakatay
Naglutayay sa tayam
Nagbarog uban sa tungki
Giugbok nga kawayan
Samtang gakinto ang bakhaw sa tayam
Hagdan–hagdang panganod
Latayan sa mga damgo
Padulong sa buwan
Landong na unta
Abogon pa dyod sa hangin
(Dec. 26- 29, 2009, Hinatuan, Surigao del Sur)
—
Si Noy Narciso uska magtutudlo sa Ateneo de Davao University. Daghan siyag talento: musikero, aktor, direktor, pintor, eskultor.
Poetry by Jondy Arpilleda | May 1, 2011
Inig takdol sa bulan,
Andama ang tanang hiramintas:
Ang kalabasa, uling
Ug ang dumalagang manok
Sa tugkaran, isip mga paon.
Unya ayaw kukatulog,
Likayi ang pagduka
O katapol ba intawn
Dayon kuhaa ang muta
Sa iring ug inusnos sa imong mga mata,
Paabota, paniid sa kasikas o palak-palak
Kay sa iyang pagtungha,
Kalit niya kining tukbon,
Aw, kon di ka abtik,
Ang tanan kaanugon.
Ug inig abot, ayawg padas katalaw
O kakulba ba hinuon,
Atubanga siya unya tuwad dayon.
Ayaw kahibulong kon walay imong makit-an,
Kay naay gahom kining mopalibog kanimo.
Ug kon kunohay, imo siyang masakpan,
Ablihi ang lana ug isablig kaniya!
Unya sampongi ang dunggan
Kay basig mabungol ka!
Kay kini magkisi-kisi,
Mosiyagit sa hilabihang kasakit.
Nan karon, simbako manimalos kini
Ug hasmagon ka!
Kapti gyod taman ang iyang dagkong dalunggan,
Hinumdomi nga mangtas kini kon masuko,
Manlimbarot, mangalisngag ang mga balahibo,
Mosiga ang pulang mga mata,
Mag-ikwad-ikwad, maglukso-lukso –
Aron ilampurnas ka!
Paakon sa iyang mga tango,
Kawrason sa iyang mga kuko.
Apan, kon imong mapuypoy ang iyang kasuko,
Kalit kining modanguyngoy sa kapildihan,
Unya moyukbo sa imong tiilan,
Magpasabot nga ginuo ka
Putla dayon ang iyang ikog, ug tagoi
Aron sa matag karon ug unya
Kon imo siyang tawgon-
Hangyo bisan unsa,
Kay dili ka niya pakyason.
—
Si Dr. Jondy M. Arpilleda uska magtutudlo sa Holy Cross of Davao College.
Poetry by Hannah Lira Sanchez | May 1, 2011
Gisulod ko sa bag
Ang tanan kong panibugho
Ug kasuko sa pakig-uban kanimo.
Gidam-ok kog taman sa sulod
Ang mga panyong gipahid sa mga luha
Ang mga bildo sa buak nga mga saad
Ang mga hikot sa mabudhiong pasalig
Ug ang baraw sa pagluib
Nga mitaop sa kasingkasing.
Nagtipun-og ang mga butang
Sulod sa bag sama sa akong
Nagsagol-sagol nga pag-antos,
Hangtod mibusikad ang zipper
Dungan sa pagbuhagay
Sa akong tiyabaw.
Nga nagpuot sa akong dughan
Ug kalag.
—
Si Hanna Lira Sanchez bag-ong gradweyt sa BSEd English sa Ateneo de Davao University.
Fiction by Vida Mia Valverde | April 24, 2011
The couple living across the street in the suburban village of Royal Hills seemed perfectly at home in the idyllic middle-class environment of American log cabin-themed homes on manicured lawns. Except for one thing. Well, two things actually. But the first thing that stands out is that at 8 AM, it is the wife who takes the car and goes to the office while the husband dressed only in plain brown house shorts waves goodbye to her while carrying and shushing their tearful one-year old daughter. I only know the wife’s first name, Sally. In my head, I go, “Sally, that girl,” from the song with sexually explicit lyrics popularized by 2 Live Crew many years back. I have not talked to the husband nor do I intend to. He is a scrawny slant-eyed man who is fond of wearing nothing but short pants perfect for displaying his unappetizing bony body as he putters around in their unfenced yard. He reminds me of the stereotypical characters in classic Chinese movies, like the distraught cook or the manager of the bar where the fights usually take place, so I named him Wang-fu. The other thing that stands out about Sally and Wang-fu is how odd they look together. In the mornings, Sally, with full breasts, slight belly fat, and generous hips and buttocks straining against her form-fitting office clothes, would kiss a practically skeletal and half-naked Wang-fu goodbye at their doorstep. From Monday to Friday, variations of this same scene would play out before Sally gets into her silver 1.3 Toyota Vios that is decent enough for a bank employee except for its cheap dull magwheels. When Sally steps out in her three-and-a-half-inch patent leather heels and still wet rebonded hair reaching the middle of her back, I see a woman with a parochial air that cannot be shaken off even as she takes the wheel of her car. Her corporate attire screams department store and belies the sophistication she wants to project. The epitome of a grim and determined worker who rose from the ranks, Sally hardly smiles, if at all.
Nonfiction by Ruel Soriano | April 24, 2011
Minsan naitatanong ko sa sarili ko at sa Diyos: May dapat ba akong ipagpasalamat sa buhay?
Teka, meron nga ba?
Kung sa bawat sikat ng araw sa umaga, ang dapat mong isipin ay kung paano ka kikita at mabubuhay. Na kahit anong paghihirap mo ay parang pinaglalaruan ka lang ng tadhana ng buhay. Na sa lahat ng hirap na iyong dinanas mula pa pagkabata ay wala man lamang ginhawang natamo. Nagtagumpay ka nga, pero sobrang pagtitiis naman!