HARIBOL SURALISTA

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

Ospital X

Posted by Jai Jesus Uy Borlagdan Saturday, July 14, 2012



Sa ospital, sa terminal ward, sa tulong magkataraning na kama:

Pasyente 1: Ssst! Padi, nag-agi na su magayon na nurse?

Pasyente 2: Inda. Iyo na garo. Minamata pa man sana ako. Haputa na si Santos.

Santos: (Pinundo su pag pangadyi) Iyo na. Tururugon kamo.

P 1: ‘Tang lapa! Dai ko na naman nahiling!

P2: Lapaon man si Santos! Pag arog ngani kaan pukawon mo kami. Isadiri mo man ugaring.

Santos: Nata ano man kun mahiling nindo?

P1: Ano pa man. May pig-isip-isip lamang. Kaysa man pagparaisipon ining sitwasyon ta. Ikakabua ko!

P2: Matigmaok na ngani kita, anas pa sakit pigsasapar ta.

Santos: Matigmaok na ngani kita, anas pa basura pig-iisip ta.

P2: Nata ano man palan dapat isipon? Na mapaiton an kastang bulong? Na simpleng pag-ti’ris kaipuhan pa iniksyunan ngani dai mamati na garo pigpiripit an kastang ayot?

P1: Ini kaya si Santos habo ki siram, santos ngani. Su pigpaparako baga an sa krus. Haputa daw ngani an Diyos mo kun nata dawa uru-aldaw ka ki ngurob-ngurob diyan dai ka lamang ibulong!

Santos: O sige. Sabihon tang nagkamilagro buda nakatindog ka diyan sa nahihigdaan mong solo. Buda sabihon tang grabe su milagro ta napatindog mo su lapit mong dai ki tabang ki dawa ano. Buda sabihon ta nang labi-labi su milagro na apisar kan bata kan helang na nagsasangaw diyan sa ngaspak mo, sa lambang hangos mo,  sa likido na nagdadalnay sa kada posibleng luho kan nalalapa mo nang lawas, napatugot mo su nurse na kayuon ka, mababago mo daw an katotoohan na dawa anong oras pwede ka nang magadan?

Silensiyo.

P2:  An mga kriminal ngani, ba’go bibitayon ipakaon ki masiram.

P1: Huni kaya si Santos an trip kaini sakit.

Santos: Iyo baga, ibadat an kriminal, pero nata, pag-ipatukaw na baga sa silya elektrika, gabos na siniba niya, isuka man sana. Sa takot magadan.

P2: Dai mo man mahahali an takot na magadan. Sisay man an bakong takot magadan? Ika?

Santos: Takot ako magadan, pero mas takot ako mabuhay digdi gilayon...(Nagbukas su pinto) O, huyan na su nurse nindo...


 

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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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