[Poem] 20 Senryu (Call Center Series), Andoy Castellano, 18 September 2006

20 Senryu (Call Center Series)
Andoy Castellano, 18 September 2006

Stepping out into the night
a virtual world of phone calls
the call center agent

wondering what to eat
lunch break at two in the morning
counting eating places

grinning TCPA [1]
after a hurried disclosure [2]
lang bang disposed [3]

"That is good to hear," agent says
about the latest high-end camera model
and clueless user

"Dispose!" coach shouts
agent jumps
woken from sleep

english as a common language
spanish-speaking agent
and italian caller

"Do you speak the Queen's English?"
"No sir, only the King's spanish"
the spanish-speaking agent

Energy drink
and then a cup of freshly-brewed coffee
palpitations, to the clinic!

at end of shift
walking straight to a lamp post
a bloody ear

sweater and shorts
alone at the office receiving calls
weekend day shift

fifteen minute break
hurrying out the office
for a nicotine fix

a glance and a wink
mic adjusted to eye-level [4]
another sale

talking rapidly
to hang-up phones
TCPA close [1]

talking slowly
to irate cardmember
DNC verbiage [5]

veteran agents
standing up like ostriches
ogling newbies

clients on the floor
jackets with hoods answering phones
freezing agents

"yes sir, you are free to complain
to the Better Business Bureau"
-- about the free software

5AM break
for irate female agent
a chocolate sundae

shaking head
agent quietly listens
another irate caller

complaining on break
"my ears hurt from listening to calls"
and increases iPod volume

Notes:
[1] TCPA, "Telemarketing Consumer Protection Act", an exit spiel where
the telemarketer has to state the toll-free number of the company he
represents whenever he makes a call and introduces himself by name or
the company he is representing; this verbiage is stated even if the
other person at the end of the line has hung up;
[2] Disclosure, recorded part of the telemarketing call where the
seller discloses the pertinent parts of the product or service being
sold, including a short summary of features and the cost;
[3] Lang Bang, a language barrier sale, where the buyer does not
understand english enough to know that he is buying a product or sale;
[4] some telemarketers change the mic volume, adjust the mic, or
otherwise slur their words so that the buyer would not understand some
parts of the script;
[5] DNC, short for "do not call", a list of phone numbers which a
telemarketer is not supposed to call; if the other person on the line
requests this (including the answering machine) the telemarketer is
supposed to add the phone number to the DNC list, and to read a DNC
script as well; this verbiage is stated even if the other person at
the end of the line has hung up;

---

This was first posted with Pinoy Poets groups.

--andoy
18 September 2006

"Disjointed Images, Unfinished Poems", andoy castellano, 31 August 2006

Disjointed Images, Unfinished Poems
Andoy Castellano, 31 August 2006

I

I could not write the poems in my head
vivid images, negatives turning to light
whispers blasting out of drums rousing me from sleep
baby powder scent pressing recent memory to fore

II

Pendulums oscillating
keeping time
like a door's creaking
gently closing and opening
to the gathering breeze
and closing the door on its own

III

A faucet leaking
slowly dripping
loud echoing in the silence nobody hears
playing with straw and frostee
waiting to pour out, spew and shower
globs turning to drops
thick turning thin
with each succeeding instance

IV

tweaking and twiddling knobs
trying to find the music playing in your ear
of softness laced with grunts
moans and whimpers

V

wooden toy tops bouncing against one another
spinning in tandem like dance sports competitors
always pushing the other on
to keep up
in hard tapping against each other
nail head drilling incessant in play with urgency

VI

a tiny bead, a trickle, not even a rivulet
from nape rolling slowly down
tracing kiss-hungry skin, under shallow sleep
sweat-drop travelling
following where a finger traced
contour-like lines on a map
to where everything starts and ends
a finger tracing a path on a map nobody reads

VII

masked moans layered under laughter
whimpers and grunts as white noise
under blaring radio rock
and clocks ticking moments passing by
and vehicle traffic plying trade
and children playing, laughing and crying
whispers, whimpers, moans and grunts
hidden in plain hearing

VIII

the tree shakes in the gentle wind and shower
a drizzle falling to a downpour
a slight breeze growing to a gale
and like a leaf clinging precariously to branch
you gasp holding on to your breath and inhale deep
the leaf sways
eyelids flutter and your breath catches
the leaf snaps of from the tree taken by the wind
your eyes grow wide, tense
the leaf falls in slow motion corkscrewing down
flying up with the wind and rain
in stormy chaos, down and up, at random
till it dips into the mud
sopping wet, still and resting on water
floating downstream
you catch your breath as the storm subsides

IX
memories flashing past
like a basin of water down the drain
swirling faster and faster
tighter and smaller
to a singularity of moment and meaning
of nothingness

X

like an album closing on itself
pictures are hidden
to be reminisced with friends at leisure
and behind closed doors

-------------------

Note: I doubt if I can finish this poem (or poems). But the images
have been there for a while. And there are more images where these
came from.

-----

First posted with Pinoy Poets yahoo groups.

--andoy
31 August 2006

[poem] Lost Roses, Andoy Castellano, 19 August 2006

Lost Roses
Andoy Castellano, posted with Pinoy Poets 19 August 2006
written 2 December 1987

Days passed
I don't remember when
Though
Black roses
linger
for me
in misty dreams

Roses I see
In
every day
red and red
but I gasp
puzzled
of roses black
lost

lost and lost
in hapless
time
merciless
time

I cry

I have forgotten you

=====

This was written December 2, 1987. I present it as it was. "Pining"
is a tough word, but after twenty years, it's the only word I know to
describe it. Admittedly, the poem is not tight (enough). Again,
another of the poems which I cannot edit.

Regards,
--
--andoy
19 August 2006

[poem] White Roses, Blue Roses, Andoy Castellano, 19 August 2006

White Roses, Blue Roses

I

White roses
never fade

Rather
wilting
but naturally
turning to gray
Dying
pure

II

Blue roses
Blue
pristine blue

Wilting
becoming
blue
bluer
Dying unchanged

III

Blue roses
Childish
babyish
enchanting blue

White roses
forever
white
comely
immaculate white

IV

Which then
shall it be

Enchanting
Enthralling
Enticing blue

Immaculate
Immortal
Imaginary white

Roses are roses
not blue
not white

V

Roses
held in a bunch
Wrapped
Gauzy
gaudy

Roses in tender hands

Roses
Blue
White

=====

Another of the Roses series of poems I wrote. This one was from
September 12, 1985. No edits or revisions. I don't know how. hehehe

Regards,
--
--andoy
19 August 2006

[poem] Black Tears and Dark Blood, andoy castellano, 19 August 2006

Black Tears and Dark Blood
Andoy Castellano, 19 August 2006

Black are tears of uncommon pain
Dark blood of deepest anger
Heavy colors of brooding

Closed shut and wincing are my eyelids
over empty glazed orbs
pushing out of their sockets

No joy, I shake my head, no joy and none
All is sadness
trying hard to forget and not trying
and not forgetting

I close myself
shaking my head and remembering
and walk off
to where all tears are black
and blood are deepest dark

============

The original poem was written September 14, 1991. One of the last
poems I wrote before I went on hiatus. I edited this for posting.
Been a while since I posted a poem.

--
--andoy
19 August 2006

[poem] Black Roses I Remember, Andoy Castellano, 19 August 2006

Black Roses I Remember
Andoy Castellano, 19 August 2006

I remember
Roses are black though others are of a color
wild roses, innards of meaningless thought
from alleys smoky in air-vented steam
glorifying mist but emptiness of color
rising to forever but clouding the words
of instructions and directions
Digression in another media of stilled figures
Dark memories I gather
With roses gone
Weeds

Red roses of vague time and memory
from borrowed being
Drying to wind-blown rained-out gutted charred dust
fading from red to black

Chinese tea I serve in momoriam steep slowly
like walking past walls with picture-frames
passing one by one ominously tortously slow
like petals floating in the garden pond

Rose petals floating on shadow screen
like the brown-dark tea dregs
staining fragile porcelain of untarnished white
bone china
Hard words as I had always known

Iron floating butterfly mobile
hanging side by side with wind chimes
taunting teasing daring forgetfulness
like an opium haze

Though remembrance remains as roses stand on
vases green poised on every visible corner
of the round-eye world
Of roses black roses
Now only these
I remember

=======

The original poem was written June 1, 1986. This is part of a series
of Roses poems. I might not post all of them. I edited and cleaned
it up somewhat. Still too verbose I think. Maybe I can re-edit it
sometime soon. In another twenty years maybe.

----
--andoy
19 August 2006

[poem] Night Life, Andoy Castellano, 12 May 2006

Night Life
Andoy Castellano

Crickets chirp in the cold air outside
and there is silence
save for the radio kept on till morning
The sun has long set
and it is near and coming
walking outdoors there are no shadows
no wind but it is getting cold
Moths dance with the light
The lizards stalk prey
still the silence could not be put off
there is a variety of sounds
and there is a texture to the silence
Not eerie, but almost quaint
The night is a demure and almost prudish
This is such a time when one wonders why
man sleeps
and not make love to such beauty
as the varied silence of the night

-=0=-

I wrote the original some twenty plus years ago. I did some editing
but kept as much of it as possible.

--andoy
12 May 2006

Fwd: [poem] Tanka: Sack Cloth Bags, Andoy Castellano, 12 May 2006

Tanka: Sack Cloth Bags
Andoy Castellano

Derriere-shaped sack cloth
hanging loose from the shoulder
college coed chic
ethnic status symbol
swaying with every step

-=0=-

I edited an old poem and came up with this tanka. hehehe
It was a really old poem.

--andoy
12 May 2006

[poem] tanka, Andoy Castellano, 12 May 2006

Tanka
Andoy Castellano

Echoes of colors
Flowers light up the drab night
tickling the senses
bright hues and verdant smell
like vines creeping out to me

-=0=-
The tag line was from an old poem I wrote. I created the poem around
"echoes of colors".

--
--andoy
12 May 2006

[poem] Bolinao Vignettes 2: Lolo Agoy, Andoy Castellano, 11 May 2006

Bolinao Vignettes 2: Lolo Agoy
Andoy Castellano, 11 May 2006

I never saw Lolo Agoy get mad,
he had this lop-sided grin
which becomes a smile and a laugh
A kindly man, named after the town's patron saint
elementary school janitor he was
also, a carpenter by trade
he taught himself radio electronics
and fixed transistor radios
and quartz clocks

There's not too much to tell
about my paternal grandfather
save for one story

Lolo Agoy once walked from Bolinao
the westernmost tip of Pangasinan
to fetch his son who was with his sister in Pasay
The lad needed fetching
as there was a little problem
called a war going on at that time
Because of a fuel shortage
there were no vehicles about
and he walked
and he came back to Bolinao with his son, he did

He was a school janitor
He also helped at Church, assisted the Priest at Mass
as long as he lived
Seeing Lolo Agoy,
shrunken, wrinkled and burned by the sun
You'd never think he could have walked to Pasay
and back to Bolinao to fetch his son
with a little problem called a war going on

--
--andoy
11 May 2006

Rengga Senryu: Recipes for Suicide,Andoy Castellano and Steph Cruz, 5.10.06

Rengga Senryu: Recipes for Suicide

 

Andoy Castellano and Steph Cruz

 

May 10, 2006

 

 

suicide by coffee—

five, six mugs a day

heart palpitation by 80

 

crossing the street

thinking of hall of mirrors—

shaking stumbling

 

excruciating pain

7-11 slurpee---

blood curling brain freeze

 

bright burning ember

a very slow poison—

cigarette stick

 

daily fare of gin

balut cholesterol and alcohol—

heart, kidney, liver

 

 

man without hope

swallows several wishbones—

death by lechon manok

 

each night, a toast

to guardian angels—

death by San Miguel

 

bloodsucker

hangs himself in guilt—

death by mosquito net

 

washing first heartbreak

out of her hair—

death by shampoo

 

after the bestman

makes a monkey out of you—

death by banana peel

 

-=0=-

 

This was written as an exchange of text messages.  The haiku/senryu format lends itself well to SMS poems because if forces the writer to write in a very short format.  Each complete senryu was written on the spot by either Stephanie or me.  It was a fun exercise.

 

--andoy

10 May 2006

 

[poem] haiku: UPLB Summer, Andoy Castellano, 10 May 2006

Haiku: UPLB Summer
Andoy Castellano, 10 May 2006

under the canopy
owl silent on the ground
feasting past midnight

atop the hill
in the tree house and shouting
I hear no echoes

rain falling before dawn
thirsty thousands celebrate
frogs spawning

captive light in jars
set loose in the dorm room
fireflies dance free

wearing school shirts
"How is the carabao?"
Manila friends ask

--
--andoy
10 May 2006

(poem) Hall of Mirrors, Andoy Castellano, 9 May 2006

Hall of Mirrors
Andoy Castellano, 9 May 2006

Closing my eyes in a hall of mirrors
images leap out, alive, pictures
that grab my consciousness, pulsing and throbbing

I turn round seeing no corners but curves
seamlessly flowing one into another one atop the other,
erecting, building up to an avalanche of memories
silent, then swelling to a cacophony
on layered screens, gossamer projections
of snapshots, trailers and full-length features

Like waves on a pond these keep coming and coming back
Volumes upon volumes beyond cataloguing, sorting or indexing
out of senseless reach of the here and now
the past catches up and I am back to the then and there

Sleep does not stop the torrent, it haunts my dreams
reliving each and all the accumulated moments
I find myself immersed, surrounded in the mimetic deluge
My moans, whimpers, grunts and screams wake me
shaking and twitching, warm, hot, sweaty, wet

With open eyes I touch the mirrors
fingers on the glass tracing my shadow and all my desires

--
--andoy
9 May 2006

[tula] sayaw ng dahon, andoy castellano, 8 May 2006

sayaw ng dahon
andoy castellano, 8 May 2006

Sa gitna ng ingay
sa lansangang mainit
ang mga dahon ay nagsasayaw

mumunting buhawing mula sa lagas na luntian
nagbibigay korte sa ihip ng hangin
nagbibigay kulay sa init ng umaalingasaw

luntiang alaala ng buhay
unti-unting natutuyo
sa horno ng batong kagubatan

--
--andoy
8 May 2006

[poem] Bolinao Vignettes 1: Lolo Perting, Andoy Castellano, 7 May 2006

Bolinao Vignettes 1: Lolo Perting
Andoy Castellano, 7 May 2006

Lolo Perting died ages ago (I don't remember when)
He's my lola's cousin on this side
and his wife Lola Idiong
(who was my lola's cousin on the other side)
greeting everyone who walked by the busy street
It was a small town back then

A Knight of Columbus
he lived a short walk form the church and plaza
in a house of two stories
with two rocking chais on the veranda fronting the street
A hearty laughter Lolo Perting had
and wearing a pith helmet wherever he went
And I remember he had two children
proudly smiling from photographs prominently displayed
Lived long he did

Visiting, I remember I read there old magazines
of pre-Martial Law rallies on Mendiola
where a student from Philippine Science died

Once there was that time Lolo Perting
brought me along fishing one night
We walked from Luciente to Picocobuan,
but not to the wharf and breakwater
instead, we turned at the road to Guiguiwanen
past the cemetary,
and on past deserted lots, with tall grass and trees
and isolated tombstones
and on down a steep slope to a fishing village of huts on stilts

Now, years after, of the house once so clean and tidy
only the posts stand
And of the fishing village on the dusty road
dilapidated empty huts remain on an quiet cove
Lolo Perting had two children
I never saw them save from pictures framed
and fading long before the rocking chairs stopped
their gentle creaking

--
--andoy
7 May 2006

[tula] Inglis Brosia (Pasintabi kay Pol Medina), Andoy Castellano, 7 May 2006

Inglis Brosia
(Pasintabi kay Pol Medina)
Andoy Castellano, 7 May 2006

"...tandaan mo lang na 'byuti is onli iskin deep'...
sa tagalog, ang masarap lang sa lechon e 'yung balat."
-- Brosia, Pugad Baboy ni Pol Medina, Jr.

Pinaghalong kalamay ang mga katagang nauso na ng tuluyan
Kalokohang nadampot sa bawat bukas ng bunganga
"butter knife" ang tawag sa asawang nabubugbog
toyong mukhang imported ay "Kikkorin"
tsokolate naman ay "Toblerin"
"apple pie" orig naman at gawa sa sayote
at turon pinangalangang "Banana Langka Pie"
Sa lalaking hindi makapagpasya:
"wake up your mind"
sa babaeng tumitingin sa paninda payo naman ay:
"chicken out"
Nahawa na pati Atenistang sosyal-jologs: "may tama ka!"
at isa pang usong salin: "maliwanag at kasalukuyang panganib"

Habang binabasa ang librong komiks
hagalpak sa tawa ang kanina lang na tahimik
na nakaupo sa isang sulok
Nagagalak at umiiyak na parang baliw
sa katotohanan ng pinagtatawanan
pangkasalukuyang panahong
saling inglis-pilipino at pilipino-inglis

--
--andoy
7 May 2006

Fwd: (tula) ang pasyente, andoy castellano, 4 May 2006

ang pasyente
andoy castellano, 4 May 2006

Dumating ang ambulansiya
para dalhin ang pasyente sa ospital

mahina na, nakatirik ang mga mata
lubug ang pisngi at batak ang balat

"Ano po ang nangyara sa kanya?" tanong ng doktora
habang masusing tinitingnan ang mata, pulso at paghinga

"Tumigil nang kumain kanina," sagot ng ina,
"at ayaw na bumangon, nagpatawag na kami ng ambulansiya
nang tumirik ang mga mata niya."

"Bakit po siya nagkaganito?"

"Kinulam kasi siya noong bata pa,
sa elementarya. Ng ka-klase niya."

"Anong edad na po niya ngayon?"

"Singkuwenta'y sais."

"Napa-hospital na po ba siya dati?"

"Ay hindi. Ni minsan ay hindi pa siya nao-ospital.
Malakas naman siya kasi."

"Malnourished po siya," wika ng doktora
habang tuloy ang pagtingin sa pasyente.

"Hindi siya malnourished!" sigaw ng ina,
"Malakas pa nga siyang kumain!"

-=0=-

--
--andoy
4 May 2006

(tula) Haiku sa Pilipino, andoy castellano, 4 May 2006

Haiku sa Pilipino
andoy castellano, 4 May 2006]

munting globo
lumulutang sa lawa
perfecto ang sandali

-=0=-

--
--andoy
4 May 2006

[tula] Beer House Classic, Andoy Castellano, 3 May 2006

Beer House Classic
andoy castellano, 2 May 2006

Tutulog na lang at nakahiga
sa kama sa cuartong madilim
habang ang boses
ng lasing sa pondohan
sa kanto sa baba ng gulod
ay nagsisisigaw ng pilit na abuting
"Bed of Roses"

Ikot ako ng ikot
sa init ng katre, ng dingding,
ng hanging galing sa ventilador
Hindi mapakali sa
tililing ng walang pangalan,
walang katawan,
walang karapatang tinig
Hindi ko alam kung magsisisigaw din ako
sa galit sa pag-aalipusta
sa magandang katahimikan ng gabi
O sa kapangahasan ng
baliw sa kalasingang kanta

Sa kapuyatan kong ito
ay hindi ko alam kung
ako'y nagngingitngit sa galit
O mauuutot sa katatawa
sa walang humpay na parusa
sa isang beer house classic

-=0=-

First posted with the Pinoy Poets yahoo groups.

--
--andoy
3 May 2006

[poem] haiku, andoy castellano, 3 May 2006

haiku
andoy castellano, 3 May 2006

dry leaf falling
splattering dust on ground
breaking the silence

wan red feeble rays
sunrise breaking daunted dawn
leaf twitching in fear

under the acacia
belly up on dusty earth
cat in resltless sleep

-=0=-

First posted with the Pinoy Poets yahoo groups.

--
--andoy
3 May 2006

[poem] Empty Page, andoy castellano, 1 May 2006

Empty Page
andoy castellano, 1 May 2006

Flipping through the pages
from one half-written page
to the other half-empty leaf
Pen to paper while thoughts flit
from page to poem
to stanza, line and back to thought
Treating empty paper
like blank windows, text pads on the computer

Jumping from concept to thought
while sitting in bed
swimming with half-dozen
poems and more rushing out
of mind born without conscious deliberation
words atumult, cascading
an avalanche

Floodgate closed this long time
with stares on non-moving
hand and cries of drought
and entreaties on the muse to smile and favour
with writer's hand poised
Ready and waiting for nothing
but half-rendered thoughts
on half-thought out ideas.

-=0=-

Posted with the Pinoy Poets yahoo groups, 1 May 2006.

--andoy

Rengga/Haiku, Andoy, Kenneth and Darwi Castellano

I asked my kids to do a rengga with me last week. Kenneth is an
incoming third year high school student and Darwi is a sophomore in
the same high school. We had fun with this exercise.

-=0=-

Rengga/Haiku
by Andoy, Kenneth and Darwi Castellano

thin cloud draped sunset
pretty orange painted sky
always there at dusk

fresh wind blew at dawn
evergreen trees are sweeping
reaching dark wet clouds

roses are blooming
standing tall by the road
gives inspiration

cockroach on the floor
walking alone wandering
sometimes at top speed

hungry elephant
goes to the wild for some food
tired of bland zoo fare

grass are sometimes wet
waking and reaching high
seeking for sunlight

cat lounging in dust
looking lonely in the dark
wants to be in peace

good smelling flower
fragrance swooping everywhere
dama de noche

naughty little bee
dark against a bed of blooms
flying with his friends

-=0=-

I posted this with the Pinoy Poets last week.

--
--andoy
30 April 2006

[poem] wake up call, andoy castellano, 28 April 2006

wake up call
andoy castellano, 28 April 2006

Opening my eyes to two clocks
ticking in syncopation
echoing in mid-morning silence

the mat drenched in sweat
half-naked I end up slithering
to get up and out
of the drowsy morning's clasp

taking stock, my arms, my legs
my head, my ears, eyes and fingers
Me, my world

as I open my eyes
I'm thankful the world is not spinning in vertigo today
no retching belly-ache
no mountainous migraine
and nothing to do
but stare at the door, the ceiling
the twin clock facing one another
keeping time only to one another

-=0=-

Posted with the Pinoy Poets yahoogroups.
--
--andoy

Comments on "May Batang Umiiyak Habang Kumakain ng Pancake" by Edwin Padillo

Thoughts on "May Batang Umiiyak Habang Kumakain ng Pancake"

"May Batang Umiiyak Habang Kumakain ng Pancake" is a prose poem which is a vignette or a snapshot of a moment. At the same time it poses a question of emotions. Mother and baby, with their own reasons for crying. The child is hungry and the the pancake cannot fill up the hunger. The mother, too is despondent, being thrown out of house, perhaps; being more despondent because her child's crying, definitely; and of not being in control, or of having no control of her situation. The poem presents a scenario, and poses the question, which is sadder: the mother's situation or the child's need? Which is more immediate? Which fate is worse?

The poem succeeds on several levels. If it were structured with rhyme and meter, it would be longer, and might not have the same impact compared to what the poem presents right now. As a "snapshot" it is sufficient to show multiple levels or layers to a "story." And depending on the readers' bias, various stories could be told. This is not prose, as it leaves a lot to the reader to interpret; without introduction, denouement or climax, there is the crisis and the implied story, without telling the story.

Where the poem fails is in the cursory manner of presentation and the almost cavalier attitude to the (implied) problem. There is a picture presented, but it does not pull at the heartstrings. Or it does not have enough emotional appeal. I could be wrong, but the reader does not feel empathy or sympathy to the story. For this scenario the emotional appeal is important because that is what is being expected from this "snapshot." I cannot help but compare this with one of the chapters in "Like Water for Chocolate." Almost the same image, but from a different angle.

It is not very often that Edz writes a poem which professes to be of limited dimensions. Two of his earlier poems, "Halik" and "Bagyo", for instance, creates a scene then makes this an allegory for something else entirely. He does this cleanly with his poems, leaving you to wonder whether the "real" subject is the reference or the allegory. Contrary to what he usually does, or did, in this poem he does not appear to redirect the reader's attention. He writes a scene, a partial story, a framework, a snap, and leaves it there. And the reader is left to decide where the allegory is, or if there is any. (Hint: this is a poem by Edz, so if you know how he writes, you know where to find the reference. And if you read it twice, you'll find both of them.) Make no mistake, this is a poem by Edz, it has the same deliberate pace, attention to the proper word -- showing enough but never telling what it is; same multi-level of interpretation. But there is the hesitancy maybe borne of the different (or newer) format. Where others would have more action and detail to the background, Edz pulls back and limits the poem to the bare essentials.

With regards revisions, I have no idea where to start. And if I had written this, I wouldn't even begin, and I won't even try. Truth is, I'm not even sure I'm qualified to give a critique of this work from a poetic viewpoint. I am not an academician or a literary theoretician. I wish that the concept of the specific person of "Aling Josie" be expounded a bit. Maybe repeat the name another time. And may I suggest another line or sentence be added to "Kaya ngayon umiiyak ang anak mula nang inihanda, niluto at inihain ang pancake. Tuluyang umalat ang lahat."

If I were asked about a shortlist, sad to say, I might not include this. Aside from the lukewarm emotional appeal, this is not within Edz's comfort zone.

This is the first time Edz has posted a prose poem. His former posts ("Kasi Daw Valentine's" in particular) had always been clear with the images used. In this instance, it seems that he tried to cut back on describing the scene down to its bare essentials, and I think this parsimony was due to the poem format. Good description of the action, though. Another point to consider is that with this poem, he's trying to move outside of his comfort zone. Few writers are brave enough to do that. And for me it's refreshing that he has taken to challenging his own self.

All in all, this lives up to what I'd expect from a poem by Edwin Padillo. Maybe, as a matter of taste, it needs just a little more empathy. But that's just me.

--andoy
PS: Edz, maraming salamat sa tula.
--same

-=0=-

Above was first posted in the Pinoy Poets' Yahoo Groups.

--
--andoy
15 April 2006

[SHARE] May Batang Umiiyak Habang Kumakain ng Pancake, Edwin Padillo

May Batang Umiiyak Habang Kumakain ng Pancake
Edwin Padillo

Umaalat kasi ang lasa ng pancake gayung itlog, arina at gatas lamang
ang laman nito. Paano kasi habang niluluto ni Aling Josie, umiiyak ang
anak.

Iniwanan sa daan ng kasintahan. Naki-angkas kasi walang pamasahe o
wala lang talagang sariling masasakyan. Nuong nakita ng may-ari ng
sasakyan, tinadyakan pa sya nito kasama ng ina pababa.

Kaya ngayon umiiyak ang anak mula nang inihanda, niluto at inihain ang
pancake. Tuluyang umalat ang lahat.

Hindi maibsan ng hikbi ang pagtangis ng ina para sa anak, anak sa ina.
Hindi maitanging ang alat pala'y pumapait sa kalaunan.

Kaya walang tigil ang pag-iyak ng anak. Habang ginagamot ng pagkain ng
pancake ang puso niyang nasugatan sa pag-angkas sa kakarag-karag na
sasakyan.

-=0=-

This was first posted in the Pinoy Poets Yahoo groups.

--
--andoy
15 April 2006

Comments on Gracia Perdiguerra's "Half is and Endless Extra"

Comments on Gracia Perdiguerra's "Half is and Endless Extra"

I was reading and rereading this poem. And I couldn't start to write about it. Whatever thoughts I had were in the middle of the comment. No beginning and no ending. Maybe because Gracia has a totally different style from what she offered last year. In that case, congratulations are in order.

Though this started out as a question of grammar, I find nothing wrong with the grammar used here. In fact, the grammar really IS terrible in a very literal sense. From the dictionary, one meaning of "terrible" is "very serious or extreme." And this is terrible indeed, it is very serious and very extreme. It does not push the envelope of what "correct" grammar is, as it stays well within boundaries, but the use of certain words give it gravity where needed: "had separated today from yesterday"; "hid behind the curtains of animosity"; "wanted to close your eyes, but heard whimpers" (was she spacing out?); "dryness of the light/on wet bodies"; "you disabled feelings and reverted to what is tangible"; "materiality of experience"; "fragment of light from a daunted dawn." This is extreme use of language, like haikus colliding with one another on a japanese metro train during rush hour – in winter; where you have attandants in white gloves pushing and packing the passengers into the trains. It's like hail falling down on a summer day in Baguio, refreshing but frightening if you're just visiting. I see nothing wrong with the grammar, only that it is terrible indeed.

Reading this feels like a peregrination. A long extensive journey, where the scenery looks more entertaining than the destination. There is the window, which image the poem keeps going back to. The sorry excuse of a clock which gave the extra half-hour like a time warp. The monitor which is not differentiated from a TV screen or a computer monitor. There is the concept or poetry as well as of love and logic. For all of that the scenery was almost random, and not giving an indication of where it was going. Save one: "We hid behind the curtains of animosity."

I ask, is this anger? Not in the sense of anger being a permanent feeling, but a mask, of something and hiding behind it. Outwardly, there may be nothing there for others to see, but this poem gives the lie to that thought. There is no animosity in the poem.

For a while there, I thought that with all these images, it was like being lost in the woods but still following a well-worn trail. You walk the trail, but have no idea how long till it ends, or where it's
going. And then you see clues, or hints. There is ambivalence, and there is a search for logic. There are tell-tale signs of personalities clashing and of questions raised.

For all the rambling, this is a question on logic in a relationship. And like all questions, it is it's own answer: there is no logic in a relationship, or there is no need of logic in this relationship. In the end the poem can serve as a thank you note for that half-hour, or half a minute, or half of anything. It may not say "I love you", not in so many words, but in more words. It is that extra: the light after the sun sets, the feared dawn breaking signaling the morning after. It is the "little things" which make a relationship worth it.

Most journeys, like life and love, are long extensive walks. Where the destination doesn't really matter. This is an enjoyment of that journey. If you notice the dinghy water, the sunset and the dawn, the clock separating days, then you are probably enjoying that moment. The journey is the destination.

Why do I like Gracia's poems? I like them because her socially conscious poems are deliberate, multi-faceted and thickly layered works. And all these layers are hidden or intertwined with the personal. There is empathy.

However, this is not one of those socially-conscious poems. But the empathy is there. This is a personal non-political poem of digressions which bring meaning to a relationship. It is thick with questions, and even thicker with answers. And can serve as a grammar lesson to boot.

This poem reminds me of the first time I tasted sangria, the spanish wine. It felt thick, like heavy juice, not like wine as I knew it, thicker than merlot, but in a different way. And, surprisingly, it smelled and tasted of apples. Years later, I still space out on that experience, thick and fragrant, forcing me to ask questions and finding the answers in the questions.

Maraming salamat po.

----

--andoy
15 April 2006

[SHARE] Half is an Endless Extra, Gracia Perdiguerra, 041006 [Rev.1]

Half is an Endless Extra
Gracia Perdiguerra, 041006

The alarm clock, strangely, had knocked its short arm, wound the
thin line until it drooped on its oval chest. It had separated today
from yesterday.

The glass window had recorded the night's portrait on reel. It had
light circling on the surface of the stagnant, greasy water. The
images had wallowed in dirt.

The morning had shared half an hour of the day. Extra. That was, if
there is Extra. Shades of gray had flinched on bawdry images—

wanton touch of dots, of networks— of networks of dots. I could not
count the lines from a small screen; how much had it sent in the
ruthlessness of our game?

still, we managed to put a little love in it, a little glitter, a
little of everything, like a B movie, seemingly, third rate but
entertaining.

So, the next evening— I was still hoping of a show, that would make
the minor glitches connect; that energies would pull up and make
strings from hyphens,

relieve estrangement from smileys, touch the hub from the surface,
unplug all illusions, and direct satellite links in the hearts--
yield in time. But there seemed to be

no concept of time— Time was space ticking somewhere in our bodies:
wounds counted in seconds, coagulating with the minutes, a scar of
an hour that won't heal

in the crevices of virtual walls. We hid behind the curtains of
animosity. Praised each performance on the plane of benevolence:
until you realized, there was a mistake in the float—

this was not the dance of light that you had expected. You wanted to
close your eyes, but heard whimpers— small moans that could not ease
the dryness of the light

on wet bodies. Skin dries with the persistence of light in
continuity, seething without the sun: a memory melding in space.
Science knows nothing of these things.

But, how you disabled feelings and reverted to what is tangible.
This is insane, you said. Then, turned your back on it. Insane as it
was: it was its logic.

I believe that there were no contracts, really. Just signs. There
was no need to agree, or continue to agree on the materiality of
experience. Non sequitur.

Love is never logical. It doesn't need contracts. It is not for the
mind. It is not its philosophy, or politics, or governing body. It
persists

even if it ceased on half a step. Extra. It clings to the word, a
phenomena. So, what is it? Really? A story of an hour? A fragment of
light from a daunted dawn?

A mind slipping from the pages of poetry? Or just plain poetry, that
I couldn't write, for it is always incomplete. Imagined but not
written.

Written but not realized. Realized only when imagined in such
inconclusiveness. Or, it is its own relief. The dread of uncertainty
is its meaning.

A touch on the forehead of the cloud could mean the sun smiling
without complaint— There is logic in the rising and setting of the
sun:

there is no logic in seeing light after the sun goes down. And
looking down, even if its just the moon peeping, looking through
your glass window,

I was dejected by the opaqueness of light. Still, I'm smiling half:
your extra. Counting endless dots, networking towards oblivion,
waiting for the dark

to commence. So that I may see light, once again, in the mind's eye.
Minor glitch of a major impulse. Light stays brightest tonight, my
élan vital— light of life.

--

This was first posted on the Pinoy Poets yahoo groups.

--andoy
15 April 2006

Seed: Getting Physical

From Seed Magazine. Another way of viewing things. And I've always thought that physicists and mathematicians lead boring sex lives.

--andoy
-=0=-

Seed: Getting Physical

Physics & Math

Email Print

Getting Physical

Einstein, Feynman and other famous swingers.

by Joshua Roebke • Posted March 1, 2006 12:21 AM

Credit: Sam Weber

Late last year, researchers in England published a study purporting to establish a link between creative output and number of sexual partners. As the lead author (under)stated, “Creative people are often considered to be very attractive and get lots of attention as a result.”

The theoretical physicists of the 20th century were no exception. Promiscuous chasers by profession, physicists ever-pursue objects that lie partially hidden to the immediate senses, but are evidently there behind nature’s many layers. The best physicists are able to tease a peek beneath all that partially-covered exterior, as any pickup artist would: with a mix of cleverness and straightforward arrogance. This is hardly just simple metaphor; for many of the greatest physicists, this libertine modus operandi also fueled their private lives.

Schrödinger, Curie, Einstein, Feynman, Oppenheimer…the finest names of pre-Cold War 20th-century physics, some of whom gave us the most concise theories ever posited, form a roster of lamentable philanderers. Albert Einstein was completely “given to flirtation” and had legions of affairs. Caltech professor and bestselling raconteur Richard Feynman was probably the only Nobel Prize winner to befriend porn stars, claim a foolproof manner for bedding women and do his calculations on napkins in strip clubs. And it wasn’t just the guys: Marie Curie was relentlessly hounded by the press for seducing away her late-husband’s former student from his wife and kids.

“Libertines, both male and female, have always been around in math and physics,” says Jennifer Ouellette, who writes on physics history and is associate editor of the American Physical Society’s newsletter. Yet today, while physicists still spend day and night chasing nature, the era of chasing skirts — or knickers—seems to have passed. Where have all the physics playb—er, sociable persons gone?

Between the world wars, physicists hunted the big ideas and had the big personalities—and sex drives—to match. They worked and played under a unique confluence of circumstance. The sexual norms of the time, their status, the sexiness of their projects and achievements all conspired to make the top physicists supremely desirable.

The most shameless cad of the group was Richard Feynman. When he once nearly crashed his car while eyeing a passing beauty, his only excuse was, “I only see the women, the rest is all a blur.” He even kept a picture in his office of one acquaintance, buxom adult film star Candi Samples, signed, “To Big Dick, Love from Candi.”

Remarkably, some physicists’ trysts seem to have actually led to physical insight: While once floundering on a problem, Erwin Schrödinger shacked up in an alpine villa for an extended holiday with “an old girlfriend” and, in the “late erotic outburst” that followed, produced the eponymous equation that would net him the Nobel.

At the atomic bomb project in Los Alamos, the assembled brain trust was as hard-partying as a troop of college kids on spring break. Weekends with the physicists were “big and brassy,” replete with poker and booze. They played so hard that the program tried to quarantine the women’s dorms; as one boss euphemized, “The girls had been doing a flourishing business of requiting the needs of our young men.” So many babies resulted that Robert Oppenheimer (or his boss, nobody’s really sure), himself having tried to run off with the wife of Linus Pauling and bed the wife of another colleague, was told to halt the extracurricular activities. (Oppenheimer didn’t.)

So what’s happened since? Not to bemoan the loss of machismo, but today’s physicists seem to lack that same rat-pack panache that old-school physicists brought to the blackboard. Considering the unparalleled prestige that the Atomic Era physicists enjoyed, it’s hardly astonishing that sexual power plays —like those that often transpire between an executive and assistant, or even a president and an intern —could have resulted. And though modern theoreticians still pursue big ideas, their intellectual forebears revealed so many of nature’s broad physical features that, now, only the finer areas are left to explore.

Ouellette points to another possible explanation: “This stuff still goes on, we just don’t hear about it. The history books on the great physics personalities of the late 20th century have yet to be written.” She points to a famous professor whom “everyone knows ditched” one woman for another: “it’s gossiped about, but you never read about it [because] the science is what really matters.” There’s also Stephen Hawking, whose affair was detailed in the British tabloid. Perhaps there are others.

And perhaps, with the new Large Hadron Collider ready to go online next year—if physics is now “just another discipline,” as Nature recently editorialized—its time will come again. In the meantime, it might help to remember Richard Feynman’s truth-laden maxim, “Physics is like sex: Sure, it may give some practical results but that’s not why we do it.”

[POEM] isang pintig ng alaala,andoy castellano, 3 February 2006

isang pintig ng alaala
andoy castellano, 3 February 2006

sa bawat kisap ng laman
nararamdaman at naiipit
ng ala-alang nararanasang muli
at humihinto ang panahon, mundo, mga tao at sasakyan
habang ninamnam
ang nakaraan
bago tumawid ng daan

sa pagpikit ng mata
biglang buhos ng mga sandaling pagkabilis-bilis
dala'y lahat ng tibok at pintig
ahon at alon
ng dagat, kidlat at ulan
sa gitna ng dilim
sa harap ng salamin
isang baha ng emosyon dala ng bagyong umaanod
at nagpapanumbalik ang halimuyak at lasa
ng tamis ng nectar ng gumamelang sinisipsip ng bata

at pagpatuloy ng kasalukuyan
dumadagundong ang puso
sa lakas ng ingay ng ungol
ng nakalipas

at nawalan ng saysay ang init ng araw
ingay ng sasakyan, at rami ng mga taong
tumatawid ng daan

--

There are days when you just space out.

--andoy
3 February 2006

SHARE: ga-daliring kaligayahan, jen macapagal, 02/03/06

ga-daliring kaligayahan
jen macapagal, 02/03/06

singhaba ng gitnang daliri
ang kaligayahang natatamo
ng aking katabi- ngayon -
ko natanto na wala sa [sukat
ng] haba ng panahon
ang pag-iibigan, pagtitinginan,
(maging) ang paglalandian
upang masuma ang kahalagahan
ng isang ga-daliring kaligayahan.

--
Posted with the Pinoy Poets yahoogroups.

--andoy
3 February 2006

SHARE: Kung Paano Kita Naisulat Sa Aking Katawan, gracia perdiguerra,020206

Kung Paano Kita Naisulat Sa Aking Katawan
gracia perdiguerra, 020206

(pasintabi kay Jeannette Winterson)

Tumutulay ako sa mahabang linya
ng salitang itinutulak ng daliri

mula sa laman ng aking laman

iniuukit ang ikaw sa kamalayang
nananalamin sa magkadaop na dibdib

tinatahi ang dilang maglalapit

sa kaluluwa, sa pagtatalik ng diwa
at malayang pag-iisa sa ating kalawakan.

--

Reminds me of "Undertones".

--andoy
3 February 2006

SHARE: You Fit Into Me, Margaret Atwood

You Fit Into Me
Margaret Atwood

you fit into me
like a hook into an eye

a fish hook
an open eye

--
This was shared as a post with the Pinoy Poets mailing group. Nice
sentiments, great sense of humor and a great way of stating the pain.

--andoy
3 February 2006

POEM: Thinking about what is unsaid, notes to self on Khalil Gibran's "The Prophet": where is "On Sex"?

One of those days when I just want to write something which means
nothing. I was having a bad day yesterday, Feb. 2.

-=0=-

Thinking about what is unsaid, notes to self on Khalil Gibran's "The
Prophet": where is "On Sex"?
Andoy Castellano, 2 February 2006

Reading and not reading
for twenty-five years
and now I wonder what did Khalil Gibran write about sex?

Not reading and scanning
it was all there:
Friendship, Love, Marriage, Children,
Giving, Clothes, Joy and Sorrow,
Freedom, Reason and Passion,
Talking, Time, Pleasure, Beauty,
Prayer, Religion, Death
The Farewell

Reading but not learning
I gasp and sigh.

-=0=-

--andoy
3 February 2006

Share: You And Me, Lifehouse

"You And Me"
Artist: Lifehouse

What day is it? And in what month?
This clock never seemed so alive
I can't keep up and I can't back down
I've been losing so much time

Cause it's you and me and all of the people with nothing to do
Nothing to lose
And it's you and me and all of the people
And I don't know why, I can't keep my eyes off of you

All of the things that I want to say just aren't coming out right
I'm tripping on words
You've got my head spinning
I don't know where to go from here

Cause it's you and me and all of the people with nothing to do
Nothing to prove
And it's you and me and all of the people
And I don't know why, I can't keep my eyes off of you

There's something about you now
I can't quite figure out
Everything she does is beautiful
Everything she does is right

Cause it's you and me and all of the people with nothing to do
Nothing to lose
And it's you and me and all of the people
And I don't know why, I can't keep my eyes off of you
and me and all of the people with nothing to do
Nothing to prove
And it's you and me and all of the people
And I don't know why, I can't keep my eyes off of you

What day is it?
And in what month?
This clock never seemed so alive

-=0=-

Lifehouse were guests in one of the Smallville episodes. This song was playing while Clark Kent was dancing with Lana Lang, while Lois Lane and Chloe were watching on the sidelines.

--andoy
5 January 2006

tabulas.com: I Dance With Abandon

tabulas.com: I Dance With Abandon


The link above is to my poem, "Undertones." It was included in the first Pinoy Poets' Chapbook. And then it got picked up by AmyBecca and posted on her MySpace welcome page.

It's a weird Tuesday.

--andoy
3 January 2006

www.myspace.com/amyinatx

www.myspace.com/amyinatx

My friend Stephie, posted my poem, "undertones" on her blog page. And this was later picked up by a lady in Austin, Texas, USA. And it's now posted on her MySpace page.

The original posting is through this link: "undertones".

Thank you.

--andoy
3 January 2006