HARIBOL SURALISTA

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

PASYANTE X

Posted by Jai Jesus Uy Borlagdan Friday, July 30, 2010

Sa sarong klinik:

Pasyente X: Nagngangana na naman baga tabi dok. May mga bagay akong nagkakamaratean na darai man kan enot.
Dok: U-hmm. Tapos, ano pa?
Pasyente X: Dawa sa pangiturugan ko yaraon na an mga pigkakatakutan ko pag muklat.
Dok: U-hmm.
Pasyente X: Arog kasubanggi. Napangiturugan kong haranihon daa ako sa Mayon. Maasuhon ini, buda berdehon. Nakatindog ako sa bukana nanggad kan kali na pig-aagihan kan lahar.
Dok: U-hmm. Tapos.
Pasyente X: Tapos masakay daa ako sa bus pero dai ko kaya.
Dok: U-hmm.
Pasyente X: Ginibo ko na man su mga sabi mong breathing exercises pero dai nagtatalab. Namimiss ko su mga bulong mo.
Dok: U-hmm. Tapos.
Pasyente X: Muya ko sana garong kasiguruhan. Na pagnagdrive ngaya ako o naglaog sa trabaho dai ko ito magkamaratean.
Dok: U-hmm. Tapos.
Pasyente X: Dai pa talaga dok available su Zoloft? Baad pwede mo na ako tawan. Dai ko na kaya.
Dok: U-umm.
Pasyente X: Sabi mo kan enot mag-tiwala sa Dios mantang dai pa su bulong. Pero iyan an saro ko pang problema. Dai ko narurumduman an Dios. Pirmi sana kagadanan. Kua mo dok?
Dok: U-hmm. Tapos.
Pasyente X: Pero aram mo, sa gabos na nadevelop ko lugod kan pakakua ko kan helang na ini. Aram mo kun ano dok? Subterfuge. Aram mo an?
Dok: U-hmm.
Pasyente X: Dakol na an naghuhuna na rahay na ako. Matibayon ako mag-cope up pag nag-aabot na an mga attacks. Matibayon na ako mag-parasite.
Dok: U-hmm.
Pasyente X: Pero nag ngangana na siya dok. Nasusupog naman ako sa sadiri ko. Nugad muya ko nang isaradong dagos an mata ko pag i-abtan ako ki sarong pirot na dai mo aram kun sain hali. Garo tinukawan ki sarong banwang sarabayan nagtataram an saimong agimadmad buda muya mo sanang lumubog. Mawara. Plop!
Dok: U-hmm.
Pasyente X: Pero nugad naiisip ko. Ano pa an pighahalat kong kagayunan kan buhay? Baad saro ko sanang ideya an. Maparahay ako para sain? Sa aga? Sisay makakataram na yaon pa ako sa aga? O ika dok. Baad tadtaod mabagsakan ka kan book shelf mong an na kulang ki sarong turnilyo.
Dok: U-hmm.
Pasyente X: Bako sana halipot an buhay kundi nagpupuon sana ini sa hangos na pinunan mo buda natatapos pag ibinuga mo na daing kasiguraduhan kun tawan ka pang sunod.
Dok: U-hmm.
Pasyente X: Pigsasayang ko an oras ko digdi dok. Bako sa ika—ta pigsasayang mo man an oras mo sako, apwera kan 300 na ibabayad ko sa sekretarya mo pagluwas ko digdi—kundi ako. Nagpapara reklamo ako digdi saimo manungod sa buhay na garo baga may fireworks display akong pighahandaan sa katapusan kan sakong buhay na dai ta man ngani aram kun nuarin. Na sierto akong dai mang nganing fireworks. Maluwas na ako dok, pighahalat na ako kan mga kumpromiso ko.
Naghali na su pasyente. Nagburad su duktor sa mayumok niyang tukawan. Hiniling niya su orasan na napatahawan kan mga kinwadrong mga papel na nagpapatunay kan saiyang kaaraman buda naginibuhan. Alas-otso singkwenta kan pagkabanggi. Ma-kinse minutos man su nabawas sa oras niya. Hinuba niya su puti niyang roba, buda isinabit sa laog kan sarong kabinet. Nagi na siyang kaarog satuya sa ordinaryo niyang polo buda slacks. Pinalsok niya su ilaw sa klinik. Nawalat sa diklom an luminos na kamot kan relo na nagsasabing limang minuto an nadugang sa edad kan kagabsan.

Hunyo 12, 2010. Karangahan

 

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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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