bopis ref

Three UPLB students from the BACA program published literary works in magazines of national circulation during the last academic year.  This entry is for the twin purpose of filing and gratitude.

(a) Congratulations to Timmi Bandian for her short story, "The Blessing," which was published by The Sunday Times Magazine; (b) to Paul Fonte for three of his poems which were published by Pinoy Weekly and more recently by Philippines Graphic; and (c) to Sarah Crespo for her short story, "Hidden Gods (part 1 and part 2)," published by The Sunday Times Magazine.  Fonte and Crespo, congratulations also for the long-awaited and suddenly-incoming graduation. 

You three, thanks for allowing me the unnecessary and superfluous grace of accompanying you in your literal maiden voyage.

Poem published at Philippines Graphic, the April 21 issue.

Poem published at Philippines Graphic, the March 3 issue.

This exhibit of pencil drawings opens at 6pm on January 17, 2008 at Art Informal, 277 Connecticut St., Greenhills, San Juan.

i
rigodon as combinatoria

The series is an invitation to storytelling.  All by itself one image – a spoon or an ampersand, for instance – strikes as insight.  Taken together, the nine frames form a puzzle.  But it is a plural puzzle, informed by all the permutations of arrangement and movement within the eye: moving in line as a row or column, or in the zigzags of pairs, or in circles along the manifold possibilities of jumbling the tiles.

Pieced together every which way, the nine images generate stories.  The frames extend the dance between artist and medium to involve the whimsy and memory of the artviewer, the artseeker.  In the end – or insofar as such a project allows finality – the viewer becomes co-maker.

ii
rigodon as hydra

The heart as a vessel contains dream, object, sign.  Live with the ligaments of memory, the series traces the contours of a moment, the texture of fleeting experience.

The images flash in mid-throb.  But one image does recur, the headless runner.  Rid of much vertical baggage – vanity among them, we may conjecture – she leaps every which way, freed from direction or the need for intent.  Concern being the least of her concerns, we find, in the wake of her sprints, our own narratives told and retold, passed on, and thrown away.  Lost.  Yet always running: our stories, in all ways, regenerating.

iii
rigodon as wika

Speech, in the form of questions, springs from this decapitation.  Which story is expendable?  Which reading is least valid?  Which emotion is of the least significance?  Whose life is least worth living?  This device of the nine frames takes in all perspectives.  Yet, with grace, it refrains from boxing them in.  Instead, with contagious exuberance, the frames multiply and deepen human experience in a single visual gesture.

In a primal way, the series offers us idiom.  Arbitrary and framed, it carves a language off our lives.  The series is a myriad face.  Each cardioglyph is a mouth.

News say that, compared to last year,  this New Year caused less deaths, less wounds.  This is how we take stock.  For example, 2008 and there are still six of us.  A family.  The year of the five will come.  Will come.

I officially have more contacts than blocked people.  That's as good an index as any: I've gotten lazy.

My father celebrated his 61st birthday, December 23.  I've yet to get him a present.  I remember telling him about four years ago that his birthday was earmarked by those pioneers of the calendar, the Mayans.  They called their calendar the Tzolkin.  It's so accurate as ancient calendars go, and after all these centuries it's still only off by a few odd seconds.  According to the Mayans, the world ends with a cataclysm on December 23, 2012.  That would be Dad's 65th. 

I'm going to buy him a pair of pants and wish him a long life.

Department of Humanities
College of Arts and Sciences
University of the Philippines at Los Banos

presents

CREATIVE NONFICTION

a
General Education Professorial Chair Lecture

by
Dennis Andrew S. Aguinaldo

Venue : Multi-purpose Hall 1, CAS Annex 2
Date : December 7, 2007, 9am-12nn

Poem published at Philippine Graphic, the November 5 issue.

(e.e. cummings
aking salin)

maaaring di palaging ganito; kaya ko sinasabi
na kung ang ‘yong mga labi, na aking inibig, ay dadampi
sa iba, at kung ang ‘yong malalakas na daliri’y kakapit
sa kanyang puso, parang akin sa di nalalayong panahon,
at kung hihimlay sa mukha ng iba ang tamis ng ‘yong buhok
sa katahimikang wangis nitong alam ko, o sa katulad
na dakilang salitang kumikiwal, kayraming sinasatsat,
nakatayong walang laban sa tapat ng napipintong diwa.

kung magkakaganito; ang sabi ko kung magkakaganito–
ikaw ng aking puso, magparating ng kaunting pasabi,
nang matungo ko s’ya, at mahawakan ang kanyang mga kamay,
at sabihing, Tanggapin mo lahat ng aking kaligayahan.
At saka ako lilingon, at maririnig ang isang ibon
humuhuni sa sukdulang layo ng mga nawalang lupa.

It led a siege in my dreams. The bone giant. I had been training the folks of Quisao to protect their homes.(3) The giant rained stones on us so we had weave our way to the army. Our first wave was levelled.(8) I shifted stategies and instead of rallying a second wave, I decided to leave the villagers to man the defenses against the army. I had to prevent the giant from rejoining its horde. I ran, bouncing from one spike to the other.(14) The giant regained its stature and spat at me. "Just one? What is this an insult? Well then, allow me to throw you a pebble." A boulder, of course, but I evaded that so he showered me with stones. I withstood them somehow, gained its back, and severed the leash that held its body together. So it toppled. And the head seemed to me a nipa hut. The very first.(18) It was not much bigger than a dog house. I intended it as a gift to my toddler. I entered its mouth to inspect if it remained a threat. When I was sure it was safe, I motioned for my son to take it. Come, you can carry it, I told him. So my son did. We walked the grove of Los Banos, right along the red tapsilog place and the convenience store and the big chicken place. The people greeted us. But my ears belonged to my boy, with his happy nipa burden, bent and exclaiming all the way: I am a turtle. See? I am a turtle.

Mga sipi:
3—A baranggay of Pililla, Rizal. The birthplace of my parents. The patron saint is San Diego de Alcala and, in fact, before Quisao was reduced to the biggest baranggay of Pililla, it was itself a town called Bayan ng San Diego.
8—Although my memory of this episode was choppy (or it was a choppy dream sequence to begin with and no lucidity would be able to retrieve what never existed in this subtle realm), the first wave was destroyed more or less in the following manner. We had successfully separated the leader from his horde. Yet the leader was only playing along, using our strategy against us to create a ruse. I had no way of knowing if my wave was driving the giant away or being lured by it. The giant rolled, shrinking into itself, until it was a rock. Then it stopped. When the wave had gathered to break it's shell open, bone spikes rose from the ground, impaling every villager groin to brain. It was a sky of white and red spikes.
14—This seemed the most clever way to get to the monster alive. I was confident of heroic success.
18—Yes. I was aware of the hut sprouting as "legend" during the dream.

(Gorillaz)

I ain't happy, I'm feeling glad
I got sunshine, in a bag
I'm useless,but not for long
The future is coming on
I ain't happy, I'm feeling glad
I got sunshine, in a bag
I'm useless, but not for long
The future is coming on
It's coming on
It's coming on
It's coming on

Yeah... Ha Ha!
Finally someone let me out of my cage
Now, time for me is nothing 'cause I'm counting no age
Now I couldn't be there
Now you shouldn't be scared
I'm good at repairs
And I'm under each snare
Intangible
Bet you didn't think so I command you to
Panoramic view
Look I'll make it all manageable
Pick and choose
Sit and lose
All you different crews
Chicks and dudes
Who you think is really kickin' tunes?
Picture you gettin' down in a picture tube
Like you lit the fuse
You think it's fictional
Mystical? Maybe
Spiritual
Hearable
What appears in you is a clearer view cos you're too crazy
Lifeless
To know the definition for what life is
Priceless
For you because I put you on the hype shit
You like it?
Gunsmokin' righteous with one token
Psychic among those
Possess you with one go

I ain't happy, I'm feeling glad
I got sunshine, in a bag
I'm useless,but not for long
The future is coming on
I ain't happy, I'm feeling glad
I got sunshine, in a bag
I'm useless, but not for long
The future is coming on
It's coming on
It's coming on
It's coming on

The essence the basics
Without it you make it
Allow me to make this
Childlike in nature
Rhythm
You have it or you don't that's a fallacy
I'm in them
Every sprouting tree
Every child apiece
Every cloud you see
You see with your eyes
I see destruction and demise
Corruption in disguise
From this fuckin' enterprise
Now I'm sucking to your lies
Through Russ, though not his muscles but the percussion he provides
with me as a guide
But y'all can see me now cos you don't see with your eye
You perceive with your mind
That's the inner
So I'm gonna stick around with Russ and be a mentor
Bust a few rhymes so mother fuckers
Remember where the thought is
I brought all this
So you can survive when law is lawless
Feelings, sensations that you thought were dead
No squealing, remember
(That it's all in your head)

I ain't happy, I'm feeling glad
I got sunshine, in a bag
I'm useless, but not for long
The future is coming on
I ain't happy, I'm feeling glad
I got sunshine, in a bag
I'm useless, but not for long
My future is coming on
It's coming on
It's coming on
It's coming on
It's coming on
My future is coming on
It's coming on
It's coming on
It's coming on
It's coming on
My future is coming on
It's coming on
It's coming on
It's coming on
It's coming on
My future is coming on
It's coming on
It's coming on
My future is coming on
It's coming on
It's coming on
My future is coming on
It's coming on
It's coming on
My future

(Ricky M. De Ungria
salin ko mula sa orihinal sa Ingles)

Saan pa magsisimula

kundi mula sa labi ng sugat
na hindi tumatanda?

Ngunit ano mismong sugat
anong bituin, anong sinapupunan,
ang huhubaran
at iinuman?
Anong ipauusal dito
na hindi pa kailanman nasasabi?

Walang mga salita ang mga salita para rito
ni mga kahulugan ang diyos
na mananaog at dadagundong kasama nito,
o ng katotohanan, o isa nitong bersyon.

Anong yelong espasyo ang naririto
upang ikiskis sa rayos ng mga araw ng tag-init,
anong mga katahimikan ang tatabihan sa pag-upo
dito sa lumagapak na dilim.

My sister asked me what I had planned for the endsem. I had no answer, and this surprised me. I thought of sem-end of course, and how that word held within it a liquid promise that I caught though most probably will never use, verbal viscosity aside. Punning remains a low-level technique, Finnegan notwithstanding. What I find curious is how I have been playing with the word without my eye on the clock. All this time. I have dog-trained myself away from the awareness of a break. People think they need it. I can't.

I made a blanket out of your pictures
This has been many years in the making
It has been needles and it has been pins
It has been thread across thread across thread
Out of all your photos /See my blanket

Your smile is a thing that’s warm and fluffy
Flat and floating the expanse of your skin
How black the cotton of your scattered eyes
Warm and fluffy how your smile is a thing
Yes I have cornered your face /See how softly

Oh I’m off to the place
Where sands and dreams and salts are framed
And where I’m headed
The moons are square and so are faces
Oh where I’m going
My oceans are always kept in

It has been needles and it has been pins
It has been thread across thread across thread
Warm how your smile is a thing of the past
From all your years I spun out a blanket
It still is needles /Love it still is pins

Oh I’m off to the place
Where sands and dreams and salts are framed
And where I’m headed
The moons are square and so are faces
Oh where I’m going
My oceans are always kept in

(Cesar Vallejo
aking salin)

Mula sa lahat ng ito ako ang nag-iisang umaalis.
Mula sa bangko lalayo ako, mula sa aking pantalon,
mula sa aking dakilang kalagayan, mula sa aking mga kilos,
mula sa aking bilang na hinati mula gilid hanggang gilid,
mula sa lahat ng ito ako ang nag-iisang umaalis.

Mula sa Champs Elysees o habang ang katakatakang
eskinita ng Buwan ay kumikilo,
umaalis ang aking kamatayan, lumalayo ang duyan,
at pinapaligiran ng mga tao, nag-iisa, pinawalan,
tumalikod ang aking anyong tao
at isa-isang dinispatsa ang mga anino nito.

At iniiwan ko ang lahat, sapagkat ang lahat
ay nananatili upang lalangin ang aking alibay:
ang aking sapatos, ang mata nito, pati ang putik
at maging ang kurba sa siko
ng aking kamisetang nakabuton.

(Sonic Youth)

time takes its crazy toll
and how does your mirror grow
you better watch yourself when you jump into it
'cause the mirror's gonna steal your soul

I wonder how it came to be my friend
that someone just like you has come again
you'll never, never know how close you came
until you fall in love with the diamond rain

throw all his trash away
look out he's here to stay
your mirror's gonna crack when he breaks into it
and you'll never never be the same

look into his eyes and you can see
why all the little kids are dressed in dreams
I wonder how he's gonna make it back
when he sees that you just know it's make-believe

blood crystalized as sand
and now I hope you'll understand
you reflected into his looking glass soul
and now the mirror is your only friend

look into his eyes and you will see
that men are not alone on the diamond sea
sail into the heart of the lonely storm
and tell her that you'll love her eternally

time takes its crazy toll
mirror fallin' off the wall
you better look out for the looking glass girl
'cause she's gonna take you for a fall

look into his eyes and you shall see
why everything is quiet and nothing's free
I wonder how he's gonna make her smile
when love is running wild on the diamond sea

This is how it came
How I earned the dance
Someone had to slip
A boy jumping jacks
Never had the chance

I saw how he stepped up

This is how it came
How I learned to kiss
Someone had to lie
A man mouthing love
When he won my lips

I did not hear him sigh

This is how it came
The how of music
How the song arrived
A tear was whistling
A tune down my cheek

I heard how it survived

All nightingales are false
Parrots are blasphemers
The true bird of sorrow
It has no throat for song

Hunger, always and always
I shall never taste your name

The lady of the night?
Or the sweetly sick rose?
That loneliest petal
It spits out no perfume

Hunger, always and always
I shall never taste your name

Neither the salt of tears
Nor the bite of syrup
For the saddest water
Is much too pure to flow

Your eye, your skin, your shadow
Your scent, your spirit, your voice
These, what I shall never know
Here, what I shall never know

Hunger, always and only
I shall never eat your name

(Prof Gemini Lozada, 33, Psychology teacher)

must’ve been a storm of swerves
on a hot night
needing no sirens
on dry screech asphalt

only a van to Veterans’
hospital, AM, one
a freshly dead
a body arriving from bodies in hiding

alive
must’ve been a run
of tire and turbine and eye
of night to night to night

heeding no dawn break
just a long black rolling

must’ve been out and away
from a panic of fingers and hair
of so many small wars within the ribs
of the wet butts of cigarettes

away
from the hailstorm of dreams it must’ve been
bludgeoning scalps down to skulls

swerves of
testosterone and sweat tendon muscle
testosterone and pus

must’ve been a conspiracy of boys
a societal envy of menses
with the cigarette smoke that clings to the hair
of slap happy boys hungry boys becoming

smoke
of a van delivering
up and away
a long gone van to Veterans’
where the mothers shall arrive

and many tiny boys

must’ve been