HARIBOL SURALISTA

HARIBOL SURALISTA
Pag-omawon an Kagurangnan, an pursang minabusol kan sakong pluma. Haribol.

Pagsiblag/Pagwalay/Parting

Posted by Jai Jesus Uy Borlagdan Wednesday, December 03, 2008


Pagsiblag

Nakatalikod na siya kaito (su babayi). Nakahiling na sa dalan pasiring sa siya sana an nakakaaram. Buda duman sa saiyang padumanan, tibaad may naghahalat, ta ininutan na siya kan saiyang kaogmahan na makaabot duman.


Su saiyang kahampang (su lalaki) nakahiling sana sa talikod niya. An kawaran ki pakiaram pinamati saiya kan kinaban. Naghahanap kuta siyang tabang-- mas dulo pa kaiyan, naghahanap siyang katanosan. Pero dawa ngani kamot niya dai siya tinubod na dawa hapruson an likod na nagpupuon nang rumayo.


Sa likod kan kampanaryo, pigtatamong kan maluway na aldaw an itom kan mga kahoy. An mga traysikol, sa gabat, nagsasagyad an lubutan sa daga, nagkakamang na pauli. Gabos naghahali, sagkod an matada sana saiya, siya.


"Kun pwede niya sana kutang suluton an gayon kan saiyang kalag--imbes ining lawas na kinaaatian mo--tibaad mamumutan mo man siya."


Pero nagtalikod naman su nabayaan. Inda ngani kun su ngimot niya an nagtaram ta ini pirit niyang pigtatahuban, sa pagpuon kan takig na nagyuyugyog sa saiyang daghan. Sa totoo, dai ako mangalas na an mga taramon na ini, sinawod mismo kan kamunduan na iyo man an suminugo sa mga alang na dahon na tambunan an mga dalan kan daing herak.



Pagwalay

Nakatalikod na siya nuon (ang babae). Nakatingin na sa landas patungo sa siya lang ang nakakaalam. At duon sa kanyang patutunguhan, marahil ay may naghihintay, dahil naunahan na siya ng kanyang galak na makarating duon.

.

Ang kanyang kaharap (ang lalake) nakatingin sa talikod niya. Ang kawalan ng paki-alam pinaranas sa kanya ng mundo. Humahagilap sana siya ng tulong--mas pa diyan, naghahanap siya ng katarungan. Ngunit kahit nga kamay niya di siya sinunod na kahit yapusin ang likod na nagsisimula nang lumayo.


Sa likod ng kampanaryo, kinukumot ng mabagal na araw ang itim ng mga kahoy. Ang mga padyak, sa bigat, sumasadsad ang puwitan sa lupa, gumagapang pauwi. Lahat lumilisan, hanggang ang matira lang sa kanya, siya.


"Kung maaari niya lang sanang isuot ang kagandahan ng kanyang kaluluwa--sa halip itong katawan na kinadidirian mo--marahil mamahalin mo rin siya."


Ngunit tumalikod na rin yung naiwan. Hindi ko alam kung yung bibig niya ang nag-usal, dahil pilit niya itong binubusalan, sa pagsimula ng nginig na yumuyugyog sa kanyang dibdib. Sa totoo, hindi ako magtataka na ang mga salitang ito'y binigkas mismo ng kalungkutan na siya ring nag-utos sa mga tuyong dahon na ibaon ang mga daan ng di nahabag.




Parting


She was already turned away, looking at the path leading to she alone knows where. And there perhaps someone is waiting, for her joy was already there even before she was.


The man just looked at her turned back. The absence of feeling, of concern was inflicted to him by the world. He was seeking aid--more than that, he was seeking righteousness. But even his hands disobeyed him, to at least touch the turned back, moving away.


Behind the belfry, the slow day blankets itself with the darkness of the trees. The tricycles, in heaviness, scratch their ends to the ground, crawling home. Everything is leaving, until all that remains in him is himself.


"If only he could wear the beauty of his soul--instead of this flesh which sickens you --perhaps you would learn to love him too."


But the one who was left also turned away. It's not even sure if these words came from his mouth, which he tried to cover, as shivers begin wracking his chest. In truth, I will not be surprised if these words were spoken by Sadness itself, which was also the one who commanded the dry leaves to veil the path of the wicked.


painting: "Separation" by Edvard Munch

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Karangahan Online

Karangahan Online
Karangahan: Pagranga sa Panurat Bikolnon. Kagibo: Jimple Borlagdan. Pinduton an ritrato para makaduman sa Karangahan

On Borlagdan's Poetry


A Rush of Metaphors, Tremor of Cadences, and Sad Subversions
By Tito Genova Valiente
titovaliente@yahoo.com

The first time I read the poems of Jesus Jaime Borlagdan, Jimple to those who know him, I felt immediately the seething movement of the words. There was a rush of metaphors in his works. I immediately liked the feeling that the rhythm caused in one’s reading for poetry, in my book, should always be read aloud. I was hearing the voice. It was a voice that happened to sound from afar and it was struggling to link up with a present that would not easily appear.

It was heartbreaking to feel the form. I felt the lines constricting. I saw the phrases dangling to tease, breaking the code of straight talk and inverting them to seduce the mind to think beyond the words. Somewhere, the poems were reverting back to direct sentences, weakening the art of poetry with its universe of ellipses and nuances, but then as suddenly as the words lightened up, the poems then dipped back into a silent retreat, into a cave, to lick its own wounds from the confrontation that it dared to initiate.

For this column, I decide to share parts of the longer paper I am writing about this poet.

In Karangahan, the poet begins with: Bulebard, ikang muymuyon na salog/ki gatas buda patenteng nakahungko,/ako ngonian kahurona. Borlagdan translates this into:Boulevard, you forlorn river/ of milk and downcast lights/ speak to me now. Savor the translation, for in Bikol that which is a dialog has become an entreaty.)

The poet is always talking to someone but in An istorya ninda, an osipon ta, he talks about a the fruits of some narrative: Ta sa dara nindang korona kita an hadi/ sa krus, kita su may nakatadok na espada./Naitaram na ninda an saindang istorya./Punan ta na man su satong osipon./This I translate as: For in the crown they bear we are the King/ on the cross, with the embedded sword./ Marvel at this construction, as the poet cuts at the word “hadi” and begins the next line with “krus” and the “espada.” Marvel, too, at how he looks at conversion and faith, a process that made us special but also wounded us with ourselves stuck with the sword.

Finally, the poet says those lines of the true believer: They have already spoken their story, now let us begin with our tale. The poet does not have a translation but will the istorya in this line be “history” and osipon be “myth.” Shall these last four lines in the first stanza be both a subversion of our faith embedded in a foreign culture or a celebration of what we are not, and what we have not become?
Puni na an paghidaw. Puni na an pagluwas/hali sa kwartong pano ki luha, puni na/an paghiling sa luwas kan bintana./Puni na an paghidaw para sa binayaan./Puni na an pagsulit sa daluging tinimakan./Puni na an paghidaw sa mga sinugbang utoban. Terrifying lines as the poet calls us to begin the remembering and also begin the moving out from the room full of tears. In the poet’s mind, the lacrimarum vale or valley of tears had become an intimate area for instigating his own release.

The rhythm is there as in a prayer. But it is no prayer. There is the repetition but it is not a plea. There is the self but it is one that has turned away from itself into something else. That self is one that shall face the recollection of the faith that has been burned.

And yet the poet, resolute when he wants to, loves to sing and hint of fear and anxiety. Even when he is merely observing children playing in the rains, he summons images of terrible beauty. The skies become diklom na pinandon na “may luho” (with hole). From this hole, comes the sarong pisi ki sildang/ tisuhon na buminulos. The poet stays with this metaphor with such intensity that the silken thread coming from the hole justifiably becomes luhang garo hipidon na busay/paluwas sa mata/kan dagom. Dark wit and a penchant for the horrifying are tandem graces in these lines.

This is the poet who can, without self-consciousness, tell us of the …haya/kan mga ayam na namimibi/nakakapabuskad ki barahibo/nakakaulakit ki lungsi. He whispers of “halas na rimuranon, malamti/sa hapiyap kan mga bituon.”
This is a startling universe, where dogs pray (and bay), and where fears bloom and paleness afflicts and infects, and serpents are caressed by the stars.





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