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.

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--andoy
15 April 2006