Kristian Cordero
Pagpasaluib kan Liwanag*
Itinukdo kita kan liwanag: ining espasyong yaon satuya,
ining hawak na kaipuhan gadanon, ining dagang kaipuhan bubuon
kan satong dugong susupsupon kan daga, asin magiging uran na paabot.
Hilinga an kadikloman na naghihilig sa simbahan,
pigtatabyun an daan na bagtingan kan duros na nakamudong
sa mga pandok na gagadanon. Mapapauntok daw kan uran an kagadanan?
Nangangaki nin kadaihan. Naimumundag an mga pangangaipuhan:
may mga inulnan na nagluwas na daing omboy, mga paroy na gapo an laog,
mga kuykoy sa diklom na naghuhuron-huron asin ngonyan uya sa atubangan ta,
daing pandok, pitong payo, itum na bitis, ikog, dangan an puro kan bayoneta
na nagkikilyab, nakakasula, nakakabuta an siring na liwanag.
Nakatukdo satuya an liwanag, linalaog an satuyang mga lalawgon,
sa saindang mga mata mahihiling an tinipon na anino kan gabos na panahon.
Itinukdo kita kan liwanag pinapaluwas kaini an saray tang diklom
asin an ngirhat nagiging manlain-lain na kolor siring na an pagkamoot pula,
an kagadanan, itum asin an kamurawayan, liwanag na mapanas, mangilo.
Betrayal of Light
The light pointed us out: the space that is us,
this body that must be killed, this soil that must be watered
by our blood, which the earth will suck to become the threat of rain.
Look at the darkness heavy upon the church,
swinging the hundred bells of the wind staring
at the faces of those about to die. Can rain stop death?
Light begets nothingness. It gives birth to need:
placenta without infant, husk whose seed is stone,
parasites of the dark muttering, now before us
faceless, with seven heads, black feet and tail, the bayonet tips
glinting, making us squint, such light blinds.
The light pointed to us, entering our faces,
in their eyes we see gathered all of time’s shadows.
The light pointed us out and let out our kept darkness
and fear became multicolored so that love is red,
death, black and peace, piercing light that sets our teeth on edge.
(translation by Marne L. Kilates)
*Inspired by Francesco Goya’s The Third of May 1808: The Execution of the Defenders of Madrid. (Image courtesy of Wikipedia)
Detail from City by Arturo Luz
Rodrigo V. Dela Peña Jr.
Whitewash
1. City, Arturo Luz
Where are you hidden among towers
And spires, labyrinthine buildings scraping
The sky, obelisks, citadels, pyramids erected
On the rough concrete ground, where are you
In cross sections of shoebox malls, gilded forts,
Astrodomes and coliseums, condominiums
With antennae zigzagging through the smog,
Where could you be amidst a colossal tangle
Of palisades and pillars, in streamlined
Geometries of transnational empires?
Look
No more:
I am perched
On the roof
Of a ramshackle shanty
Piled on the peak of a mountain range of garbage.
Untitled, from Black Series, by Fernando Zobel2. Castilla VIII, Fernando Zobel
This is the instant:
Thought exploding
On the canvas of the mind:
Eye meeting the sharp
Point of a knife.
This is the split-
Second moment of full-
Blooded truth: thought
Imploding as it eludes
The eye: eye meeting
The sharp point of a knife.
Now when the eye meets
The sharp point of a knife:
The canvas ruptures,
The mind ignites:
Blooming fireworks
Frozen in still-life.
Kinupot by Edgar Talusan Fernandez
3. Kinupot, Edgar Talusan Fernandez
No wonder we can’t break free
No matter how long, how wide, how
Deep we reach. We live in the ruse
Of space. The air is a cage.
And so is the page: words don’t spill
Beyond its pale perimeter. All
Over us, all around us
Is the weight of whitewash.
Marne L. Kilates
Rousseau’s Jungle
Out of trunks of sinuous ebony,
Bananas grew, their bunches heavy;
Among jade foliage that was always
Blades or tongues of cactuses
He knew that lotuses were blue.
In the humid air of the Jardin des Plantes,
He divined a sudden tropic, where
A lady in a tea gown might promenade
Under globes of pomegranate, and she
Might stop to gossip with a nude Botticelli Eve
Lounging in divan lined with velvet.
Among the lush shadows might lurk
The Noble Savage, eyes shining, a hairy
Aborigine playing his reed, charming
Serpents and a duck-billed crested egret.
Death was its savage self as it sank its fangs
Into buffalo or antelope, but the tiger
Itself cringed wide-eyed as it slinked
Under yellow leaf and blade bowing
Under sudden storm and lightning hiss.
With “no teacher other than nature,” he entered
The heart of a different botanical dream,
And shaped a paradise where apples were mangoes
And oranges mangosteen, and behind
Pineapple spines sank a sun that was tangerine.
May 16, 2008
