3. Speaking in tongues
Frank Peñones
Pagkakakan nin Tinuktok
Kabilugan nin saiyang hawak sa simong palad:
luway-luway ngona siyang kargahon, ibugtak
asin sa tsinang plato pahigdaon.
Dangan an mata ipirong
mantang pinaparong
nagbuswak na olor
nagpapagiromdom
nin gata, doros-dahon.
Atyan, magian na hubadon
gakod sa gubing niyang natong.
Sunod, ibiklad,
garo nagbabalad,
an puting tipong niyang laman.
Alagad, pugulan an kahidalian.
Huling bunga man siya nin pasencia
kaya tama sanang taan man siya nin seremonya
siring sa mga Hapon sa tsaa.
Giromdomon si nagguno kan bunga,
an langkaw na sinakat niya.
Siring man si nagpino, naggabot
kan hilom ka'ning hamot
garo tanglad na pinulpog.
Pakatapos dilaan nin dikit,
lipotok niyang sarsang mahamis,
maalsom, maharang an namit.
Dangan, magsibnit nin sadit
mation an saiyang lumhok
asin magkurahaw:
Viva la virgen!
Eating Tinuktók
Its fullness in your hand,
lift it slowly and lay it down
on its porcelain bed.
Then, eyes closed,
inhale its perfume
carrying memories
of coconut cream
and wind among leaves.
In a moment, lightly untie
the ribbons of its taro leaf dress.
Then unfold,
lay bare,
its white flesh.
But not with haste.
Mark: it too is Patience’s fruit,
deserving of ceremony,
like the Japanese to their tea.
Remember him who picked the nut,
the height he climbed.
Too, those who minced and refined,
drew out its secret scent
of crushed lemon grass.
Afterwards, lick
daintily with the tip of your tongue
its cream: sweet, sour,
not a slight bite.
Then, take the smallest pinch,
feel it melt on your tongue,
and scream:
Viva la Virgen!
Eating Tinuktók
Its fullness in your hand,
lift it slowly and lay it down
on its porcelain bed.
Then, eyes closed,
inhale its perfume
carrying memories
of coconut cream
and wind among leaves.
In a moment, lightly untie
the ribbons of its taro leaf dress.
Then unfold,
lay bare,
its white flesh.
But not with haste.
Mark: it too is Patience’s fruit,
deserving of ceremony,
like the Japanese to their tea.
Remember him who picked the nut,
the height he climbed.
Too, those who minced and refined,
drew out its secret scent
of crushed lemon grass.
Afterwards, lick
daintily with the tip of your tongue
its cream: sweet, sour,
not a slight bite.
Then, take the smallest pinch,
feel it melt on your tongue,
and scream:
Viva la Virgen!
*Viand popular in the Rinconada area of Camarines Sur in Bicol with the common ingredients of minced young coconut meat mixed with either river crab or shrimp; and local spices like lemon grass, pepper, garlic and onion, all of which are wrapped in small rectangular packets of taro leaves then boiled to tenderness. Once cooked, they are topped with thick and spiced coconut cream.
Fidel Rillo
Bintana
May mga sandaling ang paningin natin ay hinahatak
Upang magsiyasat,
Bumabâ at umakyat
Sa kuwadrado o parihabang sukat
Ng mga durungawang nakapikit o nakadilat.
At mag-usisa sa sarili o ilarawan sa hinagap
Ang anumang tagpong hindi nakahantad
O misteryong nag-iingat-
Ingatang huwag mabilad.
Kuwadradong bugtong iyong naghahanap
Ng sagot na katapat.
Kayâ’t madalas na táyo’y nakamulagat,
Nag-iisip, ang diwa’y lumilipad,
At nagnanasàng ang bintana’y mapasok at magalugad.
Halimbawa’y ang malalaking bintanang ang nakapahiyas
At matitibay at maadornong mga rehas.
Naiisip nating iyo’y mga ahas
Na nagtatanod sa gusi ng alahas.
Pagkat ang araw ay lumilipas
Ngunit bintana iyong hindi bumubukás.
Kayâ’t walang dumudungaw maliban sa tumakas—
Sa siwang na amoy ng isang naaagnas.
Maliban sa pagak na pagaspas
Ng hangin sa pasamanong pagás
Ay wala nang ibang maririnig o maaaring mawatas
Sa katahimikang gumagasgas
Sa kabila ng bintanang ang misteryo’y hindi malutas.
Madalas ding ang paningi’y mapatuon
Sa bukás na bintana ng mga barong-barong.
Iyo’y kuwadrado ng patong-patong
Sa sawali, pawid, kahoy, o kayâ’y yerong itinapon.
Ngunit iyon ay hindi dekorasyon.
Pagkat walang rehas na magsisilbing proteksiyon,
Marahil ay wala ring maaaring samsamin doon.
Marahil iyon ay sinadya’t itinaon
Upang ang hangin ay malayang magparito’t paroon
Katulad marahil ng hinagpis na kinuyom
Ng mga naroon
Na namimintana sa maghapon.
Inuusisa ang paligid at sa hangin ay nagtatanong
Kung bakit ang palad nila’y nagkagayon.
At may bintanang ang nakapaligid
Ay mararahas na rehas at alambreng may tinik.
Bintana iyong siya lamang maaaring masilip
Upang pagsawain ang paningin sa sandipang langit.
Bintana iyong naging saksi sa pagmamalupit,
Ngunit búkas ng liwanag ng paglayang dapat makamit.
Iba’t iba ang larawang
Maaaring matunghayan
Sa kabila ng mga durungawan.
Ngunit ang bintana ay may sariling salaysay na dapat pakinggan
Ito man ay laging nakapinid o kayâ’y binubuksan.
Ito man ay malaya o nirerehasan.
May bintanang nagiging payak na durungawan,
At may bintanang nagiging piitan;
May bintanang nagiging daluyan
Ng malayang diwa at katotohanan;
May bintanang nagkukubli ng kasinungalingan,
At may bintanang binubukalan ng kalayaan,
Katulad na katulad ng ating isipan.
Window
There are moments when our eyes are enticed
To investigate,
To scan from top to bottom
The square or rectangular frames
Of windows open or closed.
And probe the self or conjure
A scene
Or hidden a mystery pretending
To conceal itself.
These are four-sided riddles
Looking for matching answers.
So we keep our eyes peeled,
Our mind intent, our imagination taking flight,
Lusting to enter and explore windows.
Take, for example, the huge ones adorned
With wrought-iron grilles.
We think of snakes
Guarding pots of gold.
Because the day ends
And those windows remain shut.
No one looks out but to escape—
A whiff of decay wafting from a crack.
Except for the hoarse rustling
Of the wind on the worn sill,
Nothing can be heard or sensed
From the scuff of silence at the other side
Where mystery continues to hide.
Often, too, our gaze might stop
At the open windows of shanties.
These are framed by piece upon piece
Of sawali matting, thatch, wood or discarded tin.
But these are not adornments.
Because there are no protective grills,
Nothing, perhaps, may be seized or stolen there.
It was intended and timed, perhaps,
So the air may move freely,
Perhaps like the sighs withheld
By those living there
Who look out the window all day,
Scrutinizing the surroundings and the wind
For how and why their lives got that way.
And there’s a window hemmed in
By harsh iron bars and barbed wire.
That is a window that excludes any view,
But the surfeit of a small square of sky .
That is a window witness to violence,
But the promise of tomorrow’s freedom.
There are different scenes
To be seen
Behind windows.
But the window has a story of its own that we must hear,
Open though it may be or shut permanently.
Barred or free.
There’s a window simply to look out,
And a window that becomes a prison;
There’s a window becomes a passage
For imagination and truth,
And a window that conceals a lie;
There’s a window where freedom springs,
Because it is so much like our mind.
(tr. MLK)
May mga sandaling ang paningin natin ay hinahatak
Upang magsiyasat,
Bumabâ at umakyat
Sa kuwadrado o parihabang sukat
Ng mga durungawang nakapikit o nakadilat.
At mag-usisa sa sarili o ilarawan sa hinagap
Ang anumang tagpong hindi nakahantad
O misteryong nag-iingat-
Ingatang huwag mabilad.
Kuwadradong bugtong iyong naghahanap
Ng sagot na katapat.
Kayâ’t madalas na táyo’y nakamulagat,
Nag-iisip, ang diwa’y lumilipad,
At nagnanasàng ang bintana’y mapasok at magalugad.
Halimbawa’y ang malalaking bintanang ang nakapahiyas
At matitibay at maadornong mga rehas.
Naiisip nating iyo’y mga ahas
Na nagtatanod sa gusi ng alahas.
Pagkat ang araw ay lumilipas
Ngunit bintana iyong hindi bumubukás.
Kayâ’t walang dumudungaw maliban sa tumakas—
Sa siwang na amoy ng isang naaagnas.
Maliban sa pagak na pagaspas
Ng hangin sa pasamanong pagás
Ay wala nang ibang maririnig o maaaring mawatas
Sa katahimikang gumagasgas
Sa kabila ng bintanang ang misteryo’y hindi malutas.
Madalas ding ang paningi’y mapatuon
Sa bukás na bintana ng mga barong-barong.
Iyo’y kuwadrado ng patong-patong
Sa sawali, pawid, kahoy, o kayâ’y yerong itinapon.
Ngunit iyon ay hindi dekorasyon.
Pagkat walang rehas na magsisilbing proteksiyon,
Marahil ay wala ring maaaring samsamin doon.
Marahil iyon ay sinadya’t itinaon
Upang ang hangin ay malayang magparito’t paroon
Katulad marahil ng hinagpis na kinuyom
Ng mga naroon
Na namimintana sa maghapon.
Inuusisa ang paligid at sa hangin ay nagtatanong
Kung bakit ang palad nila’y nagkagayon.
At may bintanang ang nakapaligid
Ay mararahas na rehas at alambreng may tinik.
Bintana iyong siya lamang maaaring masilip
Upang pagsawain ang paningin sa sandipang langit.
Bintana iyong naging saksi sa pagmamalupit,
Ngunit búkas ng liwanag ng paglayang dapat makamit.
Iba’t iba ang larawang
Maaaring matunghayan
Sa kabila ng mga durungawan.
Ngunit ang bintana ay may sariling salaysay na dapat pakinggan
Ito man ay laging nakapinid o kayâ’y binubuksan.
Ito man ay malaya o nirerehasan.
May bintanang nagiging payak na durungawan,
At may bintanang nagiging piitan;
May bintanang nagiging daluyan
Ng malayang diwa at katotohanan;
May bintanang nagkukubli ng kasinungalingan,
At may bintanang binubukalan ng kalayaan,
Katulad na katulad ng ating isipan.
Window
There are moments when our eyes are enticed
To investigate,
To scan from top to bottom
The square or rectangular frames
Of windows open or closed.
And probe the self or conjure
A scene
Or hidden a mystery pretending
To conceal itself.
These are four-sided riddles
Looking for matching answers.
So we keep our eyes peeled,
Our mind intent, our imagination taking flight,
Lusting to enter and explore windows.
Take, for example, the huge ones adorned
With wrought-iron grilles.
We think of snakes
Guarding pots of gold.
Because the day ends
And those windows remain shut.
No one looks out but to escape—
A whiff of decay wafting from a crack.
Except for the hoarse rustling
Of the wind on the worn sill,
Nothing can be heard or sensed
From the scuff of silence at the other side
Where mystery continues to hide.
Often, too, our gaze might stop
At the open windows of shanties.
These are framed by piece upon piece
Of sawali matting, thatch, wood or discarded tin.
But these are not adornments.
Because there are no protective grills,
Nothing, perhaps, may be seized or stolen there.
It was intended and timed, perhaps,
So the air may move freely,
Perhaps like the sighs withheld
By those living there
Who look out the window all day,
Scrutinizing the surroundings and the wind
For how and why their lives got that way.
And there’s a window hemmed in
By harsh iron bars and barbed wire.
That is a window that excludes any view,
But the surfeit of a small square of sky .
That is a window witness to violence,
But the promise of tomorrow’s freedom.
There are different scenes
To be seen
Behind windows.
But the window has a story of its own that we must hear,
Open though it may be or shut permanently.
Barred or free.
There’s a window simply to look out,
And a window that becomes a prison;
There’s a window becomes a passage
For imagination and truth,
And a window that conceals a lie;
There’s a window where freedom springs,
Because it is so much like our mind.
(tr. MLK)
Juan Rafael Belgica Jr
Panô an Duláy
mmmmmEnot sa gabos,
mmmmmMay itaram ako o magkaduwa
mmmmmAram ko, masabi ka na dapat na dai ka man kaiba
mmmmmPero an totoo nanggad iyo.
mmmmmmmmmm —Peter, Paul and Mary, “The Song Is Love”
Dating masaguso an lating iyan
Kinanapan ki gogon, may adgaw
Na nagtubo, sa hibog, kadlagan
Na piglungiban kan sarimaw;
Marhay ta nahale na, naawanan
Napungkat na su gahong palabaw;
Mabalik ang tubang sa pag-ataman
Pati na burabod, bulos malinaw.
Haman na su bangon, may igatong
Nang naagonan, mamara na sana
Pag nadangdang. Igwa nang tinutong
Pagbangon sa aga, initon na sana.
Pagdulom, sundang saka na isarong.
Kung tigiinom, an dulay pano na.
The Jar is Full
mmmmmFirst of all,
mmmmmI would like to say a word or two,
mmmmmI know you won’t be thinking this applies to you,
mmmmmBut it’s true, and it do.
mmmmmmmmmm—Peter, Paul and Mary, “The Song Is Love”
That field over there was once wilderness
mmmmmI know you won’t be thinking this applies to you,
mmmmmBut it’s true, and it do.
mmmmmmmmmm—Peter, Paul and Mary, “The Song Is Love”
That field over there was once wilderness
Smothered by cogon, overrun with wild grass
So dense, a forest was formed
So dense, a forest was formed
And provided a lair for the ancient monster.
It’s good the brush is now gone,
The shoulder-high carabao grass mown;
With care, the crops will be lush and green
The shoulder-high carabao grass mown;
With care, the crops will be lush and green
And the spring will flow crystal clear.
The stove now sits ready.
Firewood That had shriveled over smoking embers
Will provide the flame for the toasted-rice coffee
That I heat as I rise at break of dawn.
Will provide the flame for the toasted-rice coffee
That I heat as I rise at break of dawn.
By sunset, my bolo will rest quiet its sheath.
The jar brims full, and I will not thirst.
Translation by Dan Pinto
Translation by Dan Pinto
Rafael Banzuela
An Lalaki sa Poon kan Bulkan
Anas na lapak an saiyang mga palad
Dai na mati an gabat kan mga unsag
Sa buhay kan asadol asin minasbad.
Turog sa tanglay, pukaw sa daplos
An lalaki sa poon Bulkan Mayon
Dusay sa daga, daing tunong an igos.
Igos tios, ogak tigbak iyo man giraray
Sa sumada kikaabotan daing pagka-iba
And pagkakan aro-aldaw maluto, gulay.
Kung magtangad, langit; dumuko, dugi
Mangalagkalag man mahiling awot,
Pananaw abot sana sa hahaleon na ati.
Niyog, paroy, batag, doma, mga gulayon
Dolot sa banwa tanganing dai magutom,
Kan lalaki sa poon kan Bulkan Mayon.
Mga palad na pano ki lapak dai na bati
Dagos an angos sundo sa sunod na uson,
Sa unsag kan buhay ngorol na an mati,.
Man on Volcano Slope
All rough callus is the palm of his hand,
Numb to the weight and fall of the strokes
Of a life spent toiling with bolo and hoe.
Asleep, dog tired, he is wakened by sweat
The man on Mayon Volcano’s slope;
Intimate with earth, he never shuns toil.
Toil and suffer, idle and die, is all
It adds up to: each day no different
As he feasts on green vegetables and rice.
Look up, there’s the sky; look down, mud,
Gaze around and all there is weeds,
Horizon is a pile of dirt he must clear.
Coconut, paddy, banana, root crop, green leaves:
Gifts to the town to keep hunger at bay,
From the man on Mayon Volcano’s slope.
All the callus on his palms he no longer minds,
He lives between each surge of sulfur and mud,
Each stroke of a life dulled at the edge.
Fidel Rillo
Anas na lapak an saiyang mga palad
Dai na mati an gabat kan mga unsag
Sa buhay kan asadol asin minasbad.
Turog sa tanglay, pukaw sa daplos
An lalaki sa poon Bulkan Mayon
Dusay sa daga, daing tunong an igos.
Igos tios, ogak tigbak iyo man giraray
Sa sumada kikaabotan daing pagka-iba
And pagkakan aro-aldaw maluto, gulay.
Kung magtangad, langit; dumuko, dugi
Mangalagkalag man mahiling awot,
Pananaw abot sana sa hahaleon na ati.
Niyog, paroy, batag, doma, mga gulayon
Dolot sa banwa tanganing dai magutom,
Kan lalaki sa poon kan Bulkan Mayon.
Mga palad na pano ki lapak dai na bati
Dagos an angos sundo sa sunod na uson,
Sa unsag kan buhay ngorol na an mati,.
Man on Volcano Slope
All rough callus is the palm of his hand,
Numb to the weight and fall of the strokes
Of a life spent toiling with bolo and hoe.
Asleep, dog tired, he is wakened by sweat
The man on Mayon Volcano’s slope;
Intimate with earth, he never shuns toil.
Toil and suffer, idle and die, is all
It adds up to: each day no different
As he feasts on green vegetables and rice.
Look up, there’s the sky; look down, mud,
Gaze around and all there is weeds,
Horizon is a pile of dirt he must clear.
Coconut, paddy, banana, root crop, green leaves:
Gifts to the town to keep hunger at bay,
From the man on Mayon Volcano’s slope.
All the callus on his palms he no longer minds,
He lives between each surge of sulfur and mud,
Each stroke of a life dulled at the edge.
Fidel Rillo
mula sa “Mga Soneto ng Buhay”
1.
Kay dalas mong masugatan noong tayo’y naglalaro;
Tuwing aking sinasadyang magkatinik pati lubid.
Nilalanggas mo sa luha ang puso mong nagdurugo
Habang ako’y nagdiriwang sa musmos mong pagngangalit.
Ngayo’y laging hapdi’t kirot ang kusa nang lumalapit,
Mapait kong dinarama ang tahimik mong pagharap
Sa pasakit. Naglaho man sa mata mo ang mainit
Na ligalig, may pataw kang sa puso ko’y bumibigat.
Sa niluksong mga tinik ng tadhanang tinatanggap,
May agwat ng pagkabatid na di pantay kung itakda
Ang balakid. Habang ako’y humahakbang sa tagsalat,
Marami kang iigpawang alambre ng mga sumpa.
At sa dami ng dapat kong matutunan at magawa,
Ang una kong bubunutin ay ang tinik ng pagtuya.
from “Sonnets from Life”
1.
When we played you easily bruised,
As I wove barbs even into the skipping rope.
Tears washed your wounded heart
As I rejoiced in your childish hurt.
Now that all pain and anguish visit me,
I taste the bitter quiet with which you face
Your grief. Though from your eyes tears
May vanish, my heart is ever laden with guilt.
As we jumped the spines of fate we found
Life’s uneven rules and unfair twists.
As I traverse my fields of drought,
You still must leap over your own curse.
Though there is much that I still must learn
And do, it is the barbs I must first undo.