Haribol Suralista: January 22, 2012

DOMINGONG AGA

Posted by Jai Jesus Uy Borlagdan Saturday, January 28, 2012 comments (0)

Domingong aga. Magmata kang amay. Baluon mong otrohon an mga aga kan aki ka pa. Bulawan an sildang sa burak kan awot, bilog na kina’ban na sa dai pang pagkaaram. Dai ka magpadaog sa guyod kan hingalo. Baluon mo, asi balua. An kaitong mga balak. Mawara sa dai pa naduman na lati. Buda baluon kun makua pa gilayon an dalan pauli.

Enero 27, 2012. Tayhi.

PAGBASOL/PAGSISISI

Posted by Jai Jesus Uy Borlagdan Wednesday, January 25, 2012 comments (0)

PAGBASOL

Makaulok kun pano an pagmukna

imukna an saiyang sadiri.

Sa sarong libro ki gibo

narumduman ko su ginibo ko man na libro.

Sa libro kan sakong mga gibo

narumduman taka na nagbasa kaito.

Saimo parabasa, narumduman ko kitang duwa.

Sa giromdom kan sarong banggi, su dai ko nasabi.

Sa dai ko nasabi, an pagbasol.

Makaulok na sa pagbasol sa sarong dai nagibo

dakol an namumuknang libro.

1/6/12.Tayhi.

PAGSISISI

Kakatwa kun paano ang paglikha

linilikha ang kanyang sarili.

Sa isang libro ng mga likha

naalala ko ang nilikha ko ring libro.

Sa libro ng aking mga likha

naalala kitang nagbasa nito.

Sayo, mambabasa, naalala ko tayong dalawa.

Sa alaala ng isang gabi, ang hindi ko nasabi.

Sa di ko nasabi ang pagsisisi.

Kakatwa na sa pagsisisi sa isang di nagawa

marami ang librong nalilikha.

D. O'H.

ATAKE

Posted by Jai Jesus Uy Borlagdan Tuesday, January 24, 2012 comments (0)

Maabot an aldaw
na dai mo pigpinsar
an kudot sa buot
daplos na malipot
hangos na napiot
garo apod kan kalot
an pulso mabubutsan
garo mautsan
sa duon sa daghan
liog, likod, panga pakamang
an badol na garo sangsang
mapara-para an mata
mapatud-patod an utnga
an tuhod mapalya sa nganang luya
maulpok an lapit, o gari pigpiripit
masibog an dila, tadong wara-wara
sadiri rawa-rawa, isip muyang humaya
dai maaraman kun ano na
uminagi, uminabot, o kun kaya,
sain maduman, sisay makatabang
daing sarig sa kina’ban
na mapapangaputan
rumpag dawa anong kontra
sa puro kan pagtios
an pugol mahuros
gabos marusdos
pag-abot kan signos
tadok sa kalag, maburabod an luho
muraway na kalibangbang, bulawan na ruso
igwang uminatake sa saimong puso.

1/24/2012. Karangahan.

AN DAING HERAK NA KUGOS

Posted by Jai Jesus Uy Borlagdan Monday, January 23, 2012 comments (0)

Igwa pa kitang mga kudal.

Nakalingaw ka gayod.

Mukna ini sa mga huna.

O nalingwan mo su saimong sadiri.

Na baad an huna mo laen man sakuya.

Sain haman an ruso?

Sarong sakayan sa kaawagan kan dagat,

haloy paturutaririk sa tubig,

dangan an enot na hiling, sarong isla sa harayo.

Sa saimong kaogmahan

muya mo ako halunon.
Iluwang arog saimo, naulakitan.

O kaipuhan mong may pumugol

ta baad dai mo kayanon

an gian, muya mo may makaptan.

Dai mo aram an winalat mo sako.

Huna mo imbong, sako nganang paglaom.

Sa higot buda piot huna ko
sumalak kita sa lambang saro.

Garo mo sana ugaring ako binalo.

Kun pa’no mo ako winalat pagpugtas:

Kudal na nakatindog, pero dai makasayuma.

1-23-2012. Tayhi.

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.