HARIBOL SURALISTA

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

TERMINAL X

sa katrangkiluhan kan mga nagkawaralat ni Jaime buda Cesar

Saro ining terminal kun sain may nag-aarabot buda may naghaharali. Magayon na kinaban ki mga tukawan buda basahon, igwang kaunan, mga tindahan ki kun ano-ano, mga telebisyon, gabos ini yaon ngani maging matrangkilo an paghalat.  Bako karaw-karaw an paghalat digdi sa terminal ta dai ki nakakaaram kan eksaktong oras kan byahe. Kaya ngani maaling, minahanap kitang makakahuron, o kun bako man minapurupasyar kita ngani mahiling ki ibang ta’nawon, nugad ngani kun ngana na an satong langkag minahanap kita ki kalwagan o kulugon, o nugad nakikiiwal kun nadidingkilan o kun may muyang umagaw kan satong tukawan, o nugad minahanap ki mamamaruan sa kasilyasan. An iba sato minabasa-basa kan mga basahon, an iba minakaon-kaon sa kakanan, an iba minatangka sa hampang kan darakulaon na telebisyon, an iba an kaogmahan sa pagbitbit ki mga magabaton na pinamakalan sa mga souvenir shops buda bazaars, ta masakit saparon an paghalat--makabua. Sa nganang takot tang ma-bore sa paghalat na-master ta an pag-arat sa sadiri. Tuminibayon kita sagkod sa nalingwan ta na kun nata kita yaon sa terminal: nag-abot kita para humali. Nalingawan ta baya ini dawa oras-oras man igwang naghahali, oras-oras igwang nag-aabot. An sabot ta sana gabos kitang yaon pa digdi, kaipuhan maghalat: an iba mas haloy kaysa iba, arog kaitong kuruba na sa saiyang tukawan na su gabos niyang kataning nagharali na lamang siya dai pa; an iba man minaabot pa sana, turutadtaod nakakahali na. Digdi garo sa terminal namukna an kaogmahan, sa pagkalingaw, digdi man nakrear an kamunduan, sa pakarumdom. Makangalas ngani kun nata naging makamundo an paghali kun ini mismo an minaparumdom sato kan rason kun nata kita anion. Ugaring makamundo baga mananggad kun sa tahaw kan magayon na huron kan ba’go mong kamidbid, aapudon ka na kan kunduktor; o mantang nagkauyon na kamo kan kataning mo sa channel kan telebisyon, oras niya nang sumakay; o mantang dakulon ka nang pinamakal na kaunon, mahungit ka na sana, yaon na su saimong lunadan. Sisay an dai mapupungaw sa sarong tawong matatapos na su nobelang pigbabasa, dangan man kaipuhan humali: Dai niya na maaaraman kun ano an katapusan kan pinu’nan. An iba ugaring na mga nakakasabot, mataram, arog talaga kaan digdi sa terminal: Bilang an oras. Sarong kabuahan an mamuyang umigad digdi, ta saro sana ining istasyon, sarong punto kun sain kita pipaghalat, baad pigpapaipos o pigtuturuan, ba’ go pumasiring sa sunod naman na dumanon. Dapat gayod hurop-huropon ta kun arin mananggad an mas nagkakanigong ipagrokyaw: an umabot digdi sa alanganin, sa daing kasiguraduhan, sa lugar na ginibo para bayaan o an humali?

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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.