Pinalancang Tabing

Corny the caption above. Cornier still is the collection (anthology, if I may) below, that forms part of the author's official entry to the 1999 Palanca (tagalog poetry category). Thus, the corny blog title, roughly translated, would read: "Palanca Screen." Most pieces in this tagalog compilation (as well as in the english collection) first saw print on cigarette foils and undelivered leaflets in the '80's -- I was freeverse-ing then, at no cost, so to speak. "Mga Tulang Tulala", re-awakened just in time to be inserted in this blog.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>:::::::::<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
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Pagmumuni-muning Marlboro Green

.

mainam na rin yaong nalusaw ka’t naging mahabang guhit,

marahang pumailanlang at dumuyan sa uyayi ng manipis

na hangin,

.

tahimik na inaapuhap ang panibagong hugis, pupusyaw

sa magkabilang dulo at sa gitna’y mapupugto:

manghang

.

ihahatid ng tingin ang indayog ng paglutang palayo

sa aking bibig, sakay sa malumanay na hibla ng aking

hininga’y

.

tutugisin mo ang kawalan: pagkat may sulok kang sisilungan;

di na papansinin ang mga inulilang pirasong mag-uunahan

sa sariling paglaho,

.

magdidiwang ka’t yayakapin ang tinagpong puwang,

hahalik sa lamig, uulayaw sa dilim, sasayaw sa ligaya ng

panibagong hangin,

.

magbabagong hugis at hihimlay sa hinahon ng sandali.

mainam na rin yaong nalusaw ka’t naging maikling guhit,

sumiping

.

sa kapwa mo puting hugis at itirik sa hamog ang kamatayan

mong sa kalauna’y maghahatid ng ginaw sa mga gabi kong

tahimik.

.
<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>

.

Sunshine Park, Baguio

.

Kinumutan ka ng lunti at sa ulap ikinubli. Hiyas kang ang ningning

sa magdamag ay umaapaw sa tanghali, at sa pusod mo’y pinagtagpo

ang mga nuno ng lamig at mga sanggol ng hangin -- liwasang binigkas

ng sanlaksang pawis ng sinaunang gabi.

.

Tahimik mong inampon ang mga ibong isinumpit ng langit, silang

naghahatid ng awit sa mga dahong tumitigib sa pawirin. Sa himbing

mong mga sanga lumalaya ang mga hapóng kaluluwang sakmal

ng tag-araw, habang ang amiha’y may hatid na ligayang himig

sa mga mangingibig. Damuhan mo’y palaruan ng mga ligaw

na taludtod ng mga umuusbong na tula, bawat kilos ng mga daho’y

talinghagang inukit sa palad ng gunita.

.

Lansangan mo’y duyan ng mga nagpipistang mga talampakan,

kahima’t may mga sulok ding kublihan ng mga malignong iglapang

susungaw sa payapang pagninilay. Hayaang magmuni ako sa hiwaga

mo’t bulong, habang marahang nililisan ng orasyon ang mga bato’t

mga pino -- sa ilang sandali na lamang ay lulukuban ng hamog

ang sabik kong pagmamahal: Sa pagitan ng mga bulaklak,

mag-aanyaya ang labi ng aking mutya.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

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Lukot na Katha

.

Tinagpo kita nang ang palubog na araw ay bihis ng iyong mga daliri.

.

Anaki’y mapagpaumanhing ngiti ang pukol mong pagbati. Sa simula’y

pumpon ka lamang ng mga titik, naging marangyang pangungusap

na hitik sa mga salitang hinugot sa malayong pinagmulan-- sabi ko

nga’y mumunting ilaw lamang tayo sa parisukat na salamin, alibatang

iniluwa ng mga puting tiklado ng mahika ng panahon –gayon nga’y

anino kang kapiling sa lungkot ng aking silid. Ilang dapithapon na nga

ba ang matyagang humimas sa mga inulit na mukha ng buwan: kahit

na may musikang balabal ang tahimik na mga gabi’y nanunuot ang lamig

sa kambal nating pisngi, kinasasabikang paulit-ulit ang mga katagang

bumubulwak sa parisukat na salamin, at amining kapwa tayo ligaw na

kaluluwang naghahagilap ng kwentong nilipasan ng magdamag. Tinig

nating sa himpapawid pinagyakap ng alon; diwa nating pinagniig ng

salamin ng ligaya't daing ng bagong panahon, sangkap ng makasariling

awitin. Huwag na nating iwasang mangusap ang nakaraan pagkat ang

gunita’y pilas na larawan ng lipas na kalungkutan -- ang magdamag ay

ating kublihan sa banta ng nagdudumaling liwayway. Tinagpo kitang

may pangako ng bagong karugtong ang winakasang mahabang simula:

.

Pawiin mo ng tula ang nangingilid kong kutya.

.

<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

.

Ugnayan

.

Sulyap mo’y naghatid ng

katiting na kilabot sa katauhan

kong kumakalam para sa ating nakaraan:

kapeng mainit ang aking kailangan.

Hindi ikaw ang inaasahan

.

sa sandaling itong ang alaala’y

nangangatal sa gunitang

hintatakutan kang kumakaway

nang ako’y lumisan. Ayaw

na ayaw nating magkawalay

.

ngunit ang mga tulad nating sumumpa

sa paroo’t parito ng kinahumalingang

sinta ay babalik sa tagpuang adhika

ng wakas at simula. Bakit nga

sana’y iwasan na nating gunitain,

.

saan at kailan ang kakilakilabot

na unang pagtatagpo.
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>

.

Edsa: Pebrero

.

Sumasaludo ang Sabado

sa maaliwalas na tanghali

ng pagsinta at pagsigla

ng lahat-lahat sa daigdig ng lahat.

Sa tahimik na harana ng hangin,

marahang yumuyukod

ang lunsod sa bisig ng takipsilim,

at ilang sandali na lamang sa kaylanman

isusugal ng aking dalamhati ang mga awit at tulang

inilaan para sa mga haring namumugad sa langit

ng aking himagsik.

.

Kaming mga bilanggo sa sariling salamin

Kaming mga tulog sa sariling panaginip

Mistulang mga duguang aninong

Gapos ang bait sa kawanggawang

Namumutla sa pait: Komedya itong

Sa kasaysaya’y inukit ng mukmok at hapis.

Palipas na ang maghapon nang kami’y

lumutang sa singaw ng di magkamayaw

na mga talampakang nagpipista

sa kahabaan ng lumang kalsada.

Himagsikan itong hinuhubog

sa malamig, sa-ma-la-mig,

gulaman at sagóng pamugto

ng unsyami.

.

Lamang ay papatapos na ang palabas nang kami’y sumbatan

ng mga sangganong hinatid ng serbesang handa ng bagong pista:

Pilipino ba kayo? Laban tayo!

.

Ngiti ko’y idinighay ang panis na tama ng itinumbang

tanduay sa gabing nagdaan:
Diyos ko, dyosko…

lasingin muli ako’t ibulong sa akin ang mga hugis ng mga kaibigang

pinaslang sa mahabang paglalakbay: buntis na inang ginahasa,

naghihilik na manggagawang itinirik ng isang bala,

kolehiyalang sa eskinita’y nawala.

Diyos ko, dyosko…

tagayan ako’t bigkasin sa akin ang litanya ng mga pasakit:

makinilya bang sa iyo’y inihagis? sipa sampal yantok bang pumunit

sa iyong bait? baril bang ikinasa sa iyong bibig?

.

Ah... kayhaba pa ng bangketang

aming gagaygayin sa kalsadang

may dulo nga kaya. Babalikan

pa ba ang pagawaang pinaghulmahan?

liwasang binihisan ng aming sigaw?

loobang inalingawngawan

ng kalibre ng kamatayan?

upang sa hinuha man lang ay magagap

ang kasagutan sa rebolusyon

ng tandang pananong:

hopya mani popcorn? hopya mani popcorn?

.<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>
.

Hiwalay


Ilalantad ngayon sa kulimlim ng umaga ang pinagkaipit-ipit na misteryo

sa tuwa: ngayong nagpipista ang mga dikitsalupa sa katumpakan ng
pagkamali-maling pasya. Ngayong tatalikdan ni San Himagsik ang ngiti

ng nagngangalit na masa. Ngayon na.

Halina’t tulain ang gusot ng dibdib at kantahin ang lupi ng isip -- kaya

nating tugtugin ang martsa ng mga poon at basagan ng mga garapon.

Ikukumpas ng walis tinting ang opus ng kapistahan ng patron

ng mga uhuging puso at iyaking damdamin. Bibigkasin ng mga kariton

ang obra ng makata ng taon ng hilaw na santol. Ididikit sa puwit
ng nag-iisang kandidata ang yupi-yuping takip ng hinimod na delata,

at sa perya ng mga bakla, makipagsapalaran sa karera ng mga batya,

mag-usyoso sa parada ng mga labada alang-alang sa mahal na patrong

dakilang halimbawa ng tunggalian ng mga wala --
maningning na inspirasyon ng  nahumaling sa wala nga.


Halina sa kulimlim ng perya sa umaga; ihanda ang rosaryo

at nobena para sa bagong monumento’t baclarang
pinagkalatan ng punit na maskara't nakalbong peluka.

Lao Write

. :reprint of an old blog:
.Please Don't Rush

Am on my third week in this ever-mysterious LaoPDR where Party-ists Delay Remuneration for working expats. Such an enigma this slow and sleepy place, where you see not the jeepney but the 100cc motorcyle taking the role of the king of the road, where suicidal youth race toward hell along poorly lit roads as soon as the sun comes down -- when that "PDR" that tenaciously clings to this country's name could only mean "Please Don't Rush". Such a paradox this impoverished and improvised socialist country -- where shining and glowing brand new cars (brand new benzes, hondas, toyotas, pickups, vans and 4wd’s!) almost outnumber 3-wheeler tuktuks (tricycles) in narrow one-way streets.

The Lonely Planet quotes the French who may have nothing good to say about this PDR, one of their former colonies (well, the whole of Indochina was once theirs): "The Vietnamese plant the rice. The Cambodians watch it grow. Laotians LISTEN to it grow."

Still from the Lonely Planet, this is even funnier: When the communists took power in the 70’s, they adopted "Peace, Unity, Indpendence, Prosperity" as the state slogan. In the late 80’s, they dropped the word "Prosperity" in favor of "Socialism". Funny really. Prosperity vs socialism? ... well, there’s the World Bank and ADB to ask. These two institutions may have even more ridiculous answers.

Here in Vientiane, the capital city which hosts the presidential palace and mansions of bureaucrats, almost every street corner is a spot for a Wat (Buddhist temple we call pagodas). And I guess, just like in Myanmar, Wats mushroom all over this country. Lotsa Wats and few policemen. But mind you, I have yet to see another cop who tote a gun. The "gun ban" must be in place here -- but don’t hope for any election to take place, huh. So what’s my drift here? There are few cops and you’d think no one’s watching you? Of course, aside from street-corner Wats, you get a feeling that everybody is Wat-ching you. Few policemen? Think again. In this garrison state, everyone must be a cop!

A badly designed poster splattered with id-size pictures of whom I think are officials of the hammered-and-sick(led) party here, you’d see no one among the many male faces (understated "many") and 2, yes two, women, smiling.  Seems they’re so afraid to show even a little white part of their teeth, what with Wats watching.

But I do smile everytime I see the hammer and sickle emblem hoisted, windswept on poles fronting buildings and the morning market. It's quite a sight for my camera. It's rare to see such flags, like the Swastika, visible to the public and tourists' lens. I rejoice being fence-sitting, video-shooting witness to what seems to be a Vietnamese-inspired societal improvisation. Or,  Improvs-inspired stand-up comedy?

++++++++++++++
My Kind of Town

Have just spent one week in Luang Prabang, a fantastic town 35 minutes by plane from Vientiane, unbelievable in its serenity with its lush green surroundings, a preserved old look punctuated by many ancient temples a block apart from the other (a couple sit atop separate mountains) -- a sight to behold from the air.

And yes the air! Despite the numerous road improvements and construction going on around the town, Prabang provides you a kind of retiree-tourist sense of safety, or gives you a stimulant for a meditative hippie-backpacker trip. That's an assurance without having yet to savor local delicacies such as Kam Peng and Chonboung! Luang Prabang must be your kind of town.

Am now in the Laotian south, in Thakhek, Koummon province. My effort to doze off thwarted time and again by what stares me in the face. Affected, I couldn’t help but pound on the keys of my pentium 4 ½ laughtop (intel outside) and key in verbatim the words written in the plastic-laminated bill posted on my bedside wall in this guesthouse called Thenkamchin hotel.

Read with me please:

FOR PRINCIPLES AND PROTECTION THE HOTELS-GUESTHOUSES.
.
FOR WARNING YOU AND PROTECTION YOUR RIGHT, SERVICE TO STAY IN THE HOTELS-GUESTHOUSES, THERE ARE DIRECTION TO THE FOLLOWING PRINCIPLES:

Article 1: TO FORBID THINGS THAT ILLEGAL, WITHIN HOTELS AND GUESTHOUSES.
Article 2: IN THE HOTEL GUESTHOUSES, DO NOT HAVE MAN AND WOMAN SLEEP TOGETHER, THE ROOM IF THEY HAVE NOT HUSBAND AND WIFE, FATHER, MOTHER, DAUGTHER AND SON.
Article 3: IN THE HOTEL GUESTHOUSE, DO NOT PLAY GAMBLE OR DOING OTTHERS.
Article 4: DO NOT BOIL AND I RON IN THE HOTEL GUESTHOUSE.
Article 5: DO NOT USE NOISE AND DISTRUB IN THE HOTEL-GUESTHOUSE
Article 6: IF YOU HAVE MANYTHINGS YOU HAVE TO REPORT WITH AUTHORITY OF HOTEL-GUESTHOUSE KNOWS, AND FOR SAFETY.
Article 7: BEFORE GO OUTSIDE YOU MUST LOOK AT YOUR THINGS FOR SAFETY
Article 8: BEFORE GO OUTSIDE EVERY TIME YOU MUST LOCK YOUR DOOR OR YOUR MUST TAKE YOUR KEY TO GIVE AUTHORITY WHEN YOU COME BACK YOU MUST IT AGAIN.
Article 9: LIMIT OF YOUR STAYING 12 HOURS ONLY. IF OVER THE HOTEL-GUESTHOUSE WILL COMPUTE FOR NEXT TIME OF NEW DAY.

MENU:
1) Vegetables top naked
2) Chicken baked
3) Fish boiled a minute
4) Cuttle fish boiled a minute
5) Bowel's pig boiled a minute
6) Lump of crab spicy boiled a minute
7) Shrimps in fish-sauce
8) Roasted fishs
9) Baked heels
10) Baked ray
11) Gai's maw a boiled minute
12) Mouse-fly's a boiled minute
13) Roe-deer a boiled minute
14) Minced boar with spicy and vegetables
15) Fried three appetites fish
16) Fried morning gory
17) Deep fried shrimps with powder
18) Deep fried egg
19) Three crispy with hot & sour salad
20) Snake fish with hot & sour
21) Five appetites snake fish soap

Did I say earlier on that Luang Prabang must be your kind of town? Well… this place called Thakhek is MY kind of town. Article 2 shall make me a sacristan; Menu number 5 will make me more human.

<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>
And in Leena Guesthouse, Savannakhet Town
Please read:
"Regulation to the guest who come to stay.
staying at hotel or guest house to attach guest include foreign and country guests. Come to stay
In order to tidy the sociality and safety -- peace to guest who come to stay also in sure to the way policy nation to the widest tourism in Lao PDR.
Leena guest house had to imposed regulation for acting acceptance as following:
1. Touris, visiting of the guard had to back the hotel or guest house before 12 o'clock.
2. When you check in the hotel or guest house, have to bring your passport, documents to the reception section or receptionist.
3. Guest house will not responsible for your valuable have left in the room if necessary please deposit to the reception section or receptionist.
4. Prohibit to bring any procession in the hotel or guest house that illegality. Including other weapons exception the officer authorities military who's allowed to get licence to hold a gun only.
5. Disallowed to apply any dopes or betting in the hotel or guest house.
6. Everytime you get in and get out please locked your room then bring the key room the receptionist before you leaving out of the room.
7. Checking out the guest house, hotel always before 12:00 oclock in the afternoon and inspected all your belongings before you get out of the room.
8. Forbid to get everything in the room that belong to hotel guest house, when you checking out the hotel, guesthouse.
9. Please meet your guests at the reception room before you get allowed from the staff of hotel, guest house.
10. If anyone not to perform the regulation, will get penalty to put on trial by law."
CHEERS!

Waking Up to a Wake

:reprint of an old blog:
.
(Two Deaths)


i.

Weakened by my own fears,
I heard the morning hysterics
of a girl bereaved,
outscreaming the banner
news of the day:

mother is dead.

My thoughts devoid of tears,
echoed against the mosquitero walls
and hummed lullabyes of one sunrise:
I, awake,cradled past in the bliss of a dead womb,
watched mysteries of orphaned dawns
unravel slowly to a twilight birth of a frightened youth
creeping away to a dark somewhere.

ii.

Unread in his eulogy for the dead
were prayers to bury his own guilt;
his eyes, evasive of glossy reflection from a casket
shooting at his face, lost focus on one triumphant
difference between his truth and a dead man's dreams.

He, curling up nouns, piecing up memories
only he can recall now recites stories
he should have written before, unconsciously yet
he begs for critiques his audience prepare to write:
as gossip news,
as editorial pieces,
maybe as verses.

Maybe like this.

But none was ever transcribed,
no words in black duplicated voice
prints of the rites of grief;
the curtains fell even before the clock ticked
to the mourning show of strange characters
lost in shuffled cards and dripping beers.

In my father's wake,
rituals got interred first.

3 poems away

):reprint of an old blog:(

i. arbitration on a sidewalk cafe

moment is split between the night and three souls.
fractioned more by two plates and a glass of unagreeable meal.
segmented stories are splinters shaming asparas.
sobs halve the sums; neartears stop every line.
words incise on fragmented words penetrating on flesh.

further focus on feelings,
memory atom-specific,
sub-particle subparticle is love.
until
the night dissolves on two souls.
trust is yet a stillborn synapse.


ii. view of her from a river raft

the silent sunset she wears on her back
blazing the early summer waters in abstract
pyschedelic suit abstracting organisms
underneath the stationary raft despite the waves.
mekong is floodwater on its banks
she wades through like a flowergirl
strewing petals of laughter
scents of which i thieve on
and secretly keeps in her backpack.



iii. lullabye in a rented flat

the bedroom tonight is a guitar away
tagalog uyayi won't put us to sleep
gma news on Phnom Penh cable
blares the story of silence turned into song

the bedroom tonight is a fight away
tagalog uyayi won't put us to peace
superbowl news on Phnom Penh cable
blares the touchdown that didn't count.

the bedroom tonight is a headache away
tagalog uyayi won't put us to dream
tomorrow Phnom Penh news is cabled
on a midnight love affair turned

into a daylong talk show.

Half Moon Over Kowloon

:reprint of an old blog:

i.

The night lurks
behind concrete hills
as the ground trembles
with roars of screaming
manganese underneath.
Moon is halved
by chinky eyes
and grinding teeth:
sixpiyem China rushes
like a nightlong series
of subway
waves.



ii.


Lama is looban.
the sky meets Hong
Kong here yet after
the hills stop before the
sea.

benzes&bmw’s are barbecued
dreams bearded bangladeshis
bury beneath the gutter --
as they are babies for
filipinas in their masters'
garage.

Fronting the Mekong

shocked silence overshadows your myth of
blood&beauty,
conduit to recycled mysteries of
death&dreams.

paradise by the river radical rosanna
captions her piece of eden, a chunk
of utopia breathing with
muses&marx.

the chapter this moment unfolds to where
your legend ends and reality painfully
begins: forever a misery?

when love is roused again, the silent breeze
in our eyes catches whispers of uncertainty.
tomorrow morning the current runs back with
rage&romance
.

Looking Through a Poipet Window

.
for the brickwomen in the Cambodian border

kror ma conceals your presence scaffolds notwithstanding.
tight fit peon long sleeved shirt announces breasts underneath.
the sheer weight of raw concrete threatens crack to a joint.

grabbing a cement bag just emptied,
the dust powders up your bare cheeks.
khmer lady of the country, woman mason of the border:

between this hotel room, this usual orgy den
of masseuses and thieves, bandits and bureaucrats
from both sides of the construction site,
freedom stands on the triumph of your labor.

the brick border fence awaits.