Reflections Before a Waterfall

Poetry by | March 19, 2017

From the pulpit crag,
the waters rush to the rocks below
where they churn and foam
like Styx boiling.
Dead leaves and broken twigs
and the carcasses of dogs and cat
plunge likewise in the maelstrom,
engulfed by the angry swirl below.
And the waters clash and seethe
against the stuboorn rocks
clipping off their defiance
bit by bit,
in a slow and painless death.

Even the rocks will someday crumble
to the furious persistence
of the waters.
Can I hurl myself
into the swirling depths below
and emerged unscathed,
unbruised?

 

Teresita V. Guillen taught in UP Los Banos and UP Mindanao. She is also busy with her five dogs and one cat.

Lupad, Langgam sa Kalinaw

Poetry by | March 19, 2017

(2.24.2017. Poet-activist Don Pagusara  sang the lyrics of the poem Lupad Langgam sa Kalinaw during a unified call to resume peace negotiations. Photo by Jhoanna Lynn B. Cruz)

 

Lupad, langgam sa Kalinaw
Ipamukway ang mga pangindahay
Lupad, dumdoma ug subaya
Ang tanang dalandalan
Sa langit ug kahanginan.

Lupad, langgam sa Kalinaw
Tultola ang mga suok sa langit
Dugmoka ang tanang mga dag-om
Nga naghasi ug nagsalimbong
Sa dalisay nga kahayag.

Lupad, langgam sa Kalinaw
Sum-oka ang tanang mga panganod
Lupad, ipabuhagay ang damgo
Nga dugay nang gitan-ogan
sa kasingkasing sa katawhan.

Lupad, langgam sa Kalinaw
Ipamukway ang mga dalisayng mithi
Lupad, isabwag ug isangyaw
Ang mga hamiling binhi
Sa hardin sa kasaysayan.

Lupad, langgam sa Kalinaw
Ikapakapa ang putling pangandoy
Nga gihuni sa imong mga pako —
ang huni sa tiunayng Kalinaw.

Lupad, langgam sa Kalinaw Lupad! Lupaaaaad!

 

Don Pagusara is an award-winning poet and playwright. He has been an awardee of the Unyon sa mga Magsusulat sa Pilipinas and the Don Carlos Palanca Memorial for Literature.

History Matters

Nonfiction by | March 19, 2017

In August 2016, I finally submitted the approved manuscript of my PhD thesis. In the weeks after my final defense, I took a deep breath of relief, knowing that at last I can finally return to a normal life. Now I am able to sleep at normal hours, watch my favorite HGTV or do whatever fancies me without the guilty feeling of an impending deadline dominating my every waking moment.

To take advantage of this new status, I decided to resume reading fiction and picked up George Orwell’s 1984. Some people, who have been in similar circumstances, would understand the need for some time away from any scholarly undertaking.

I have been acquainted with Orwell’s writing, but it was a mistake on my part to plunge into his landmark novel at this time. Just a few pages into it, any conception of light reading flew out of the window. This book was dark, to say the least. It is a tragic illustration of what can transpire if we do not guard our democratic freedom to speak and think.

The novel is set in 1984, in the state of Oceania, one of the three super-states fighting for global dominance while engaged in harsh, domestic suppression. Where individual thought is forbidden and only Big Brother, the totalitarian leader, is allowed to reason and make decisions. The story revolves around Winston Smith, an employee of the Ministry of Truth, which operates in keeping with its motto that “Ignorance is Strength.” His job is to search old newspapers and other records for facts, then delete or “unfact” those that are politically inconvenient in the eyes of Big Brother. Winston is well-skilled at “doublethink,” which he defines as being “conscious of complete truthfulness while telling carefully constructed lies…consciously to induce unconsciousness.” Completing the political realities of this society are the Thought Police – secret police that monitor and punish any “thoughtcrime” rejected by the Party. The citizens of Oceania know they are being watched, but no longer know how to care. Except for Winston, who starts to question these actions and writes down unauthorized information in a diary.

Thinking about the recent celebration of EDSA, it was not much of a leap to imagine a similar situation of “doublethink” working in some version of Oceania’s Ministry of Truth, gliding through the fake news that circulate through social media in our time.
Continue reading History Matters

Sabang

Poetry by | March 12, 2017

Ali, ambak diri sa Sabang.

Naghulat ang tubig-parat
sa dagat,
mahimuot ang isda
sa bula nga mokisiw
sa imong pagtugpa apan,

ang imong kalipay
sa pag-ambak
dali ra mahanaw,
sama sa pagkawala
sa bula, taod-taod
mubalik napud kag katkat
sa kabatuhan,
aron bation usab
ang samang kalipay.

Public school teacher Jan Vernix M. Atix is a fellow of Ateneo de Davao Writers Workshop. He integrates local color in  his writings  to promote Samaleño culture. Sábang, which also means river mouth,  is visited by local and foreign tourists for a diving thrill and cliff jumping.

On Separation

Poetry by | March 12, 2017

Your parting kiss fell
like a mote of dust leaving
a bruise in my heart.

~ ~ ~
I still dare not move
the empty cup of coffee
you marked with your lips.

~ ~ ~
Her fragrance lingers—
dancing in the room, bottled
by the falling rain.

~ ~ ~
Years on, I’d still flinch
from hearing the song she sang
on the night we met.

~ ~ ~
A room full of stillness

Like volumes upon volumes of books—our words,
the ones we left unsaid—in a beautiful, lost library.

Gabriel is a graduate of UP Mindanao’s Creative Writing Program. He currently works as a web content writer.

 

Water Lilies of Tukanalipao

Poetry by | March 5, 2017

Under lilies’ round leaves
He hides
From bullets racing,
Left and right.

His pistol
Firm in his fist. The fiendish
Water stifles his breath.

The sun slowly ascends
Despite a spoilt slumber.
He rises

From the refuge
Of the river,
Witnessing fallen,
Armored comrades.

A revengeful morning!

In the mosque, he shoots
Presumed foes. Four
Defenseless carcasses
Floating
In their blood.

The water
Lilies in the river
Unmoving, but living.

Nassefh Macla is a Kaagan-Moro from Panabo City, Davao del Norte. He is a Creative Writing graduate from University of the Philippines Mindanao. This is in commemoration of the January 25, 2015 Mamasapano incident.

 

Tilamsik ng Dugo

Play by | March 5, 2017

(Unang Bahagi)

Tagpo: Isang lugar sa Mindanao

Mga Tauhan:

John: sundalo, may asawa.

Elaine: asawa ni John.

Abdul-Malik: nagnanais sumapi sa rebolusyon, may asawa ‘t anak.

Noraisa: asawa ni Abdul-Malik.

Farida: rebolusyonaryo, pangalawang asawa ni Abdul-Malik
(Magbubukas ang dula sa pamamagitan ng pagpapakita ng mga magsisiganap sa anyong pagdarasal – Muslim at hindi Muslim.)

KORO: Nanunuot sa kalamnan ang lamig ng hanging dumadampi sa pisngi lalo na sa may mga buhanginan sa isang isla ng Mindanao. Tumatarak, sumusugat ang mga kutsilyong mandi’y hawak ng dilim na bumabalot sa naghuhumiyaw na katahimikan ng lupa. Sumisirit ang sariwang dugong may mga katagang sumasabay sa pagbulwak ng mapulang likido. Binabaybay nito at niyayakap ang mga katotohanang pilit ikinukubli sa likod ng mga hungkag na pangarap. Ang dugo ay nananambitan, naghihinagpis, nanunumbat, humihiyaw. Ang bugso ng galit sa katahimikan at ang dugo ay iisa.

Elaine: Lagi na lang kasi yang uniform mo ang inaatupag mo. Pakiramdam ko ‘yang baril mo ang pinakasalan mo e.

John: Tama na Elaine ano ba? Kung anu-ano ang pinagsasasabi mo. Lagi na lang ba tayong ganito?

Elaine: Oo nga John. Lagi na lang ba tayong ganito?

John: Tama na, Elaine, pagod na `ko.

Elaine: Pagod na rin ako (katahimikan). Gaano ba kasarap haplusin ang baril? Ga’no nga ba ito kasarap hagurin nang hagurin? (Patlang) Paano ba maging baril?

John: Ilang taon na tayong magkasama.

Elaine: Oo nga, yun nga ang problema. Ilang taon na tayong magkasama. Dalawa tayo no’ng nagsimula, hanggang ngayon dalawa pa rin tayo.
John: Iyan na naman ba ang pag-uusapan natin? Siguro hindi pa ta tayo handa.
Continue reading Tilamsik ng Dugo

Haplas

Poetry by | February 26, 2017

Haplas or liniment in English
reminds me of my Nanay
from Vicks to Efficascent
from White Flower to Betet
she always had a stock of them
hidden in her brown colored box.
Whenever I travel
from our place to Davao
she would always hand me
the latest of her Haplas
telling me to use them just in case
and I would remember thanking her
and instantly see her face lit up.
So nights like this
when I lay in my bed
chest hurt from coughing
or legs sore from prolonged standing
like instinct I would grab a Haplas
and it works most of the time
Thanks to Haplas.
Thanks to Nanay.

—
Abi Andoy is an alumna of Ateneo de Davao University. She’s a “haplas user” for as long as she can remember.