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