Haribol Suralista: March 29, 2015

Summer

Posted by Jai Jesus Uy Borlagdan Wednesday, April 01, 2015 comments (0)

Nadadangog ko sa luwas, sa tinampo may mga aking nagkakarawat. Darakupan garo. Yaon si Kris, si Harry, buda sarong an bansag Palago.

Nag-erempoyan. Garo si Harry an enot na taya. Sabi na Kris buda Palago:

"Harry habol! Harry Habol!" Bakasyunista garo an Harry haling Manila.

Kan nadakop si Kris. Suriyaw ni Harry kay Palago:

"Si Kris na! Si Kris na an taya!"

Nagburukudan pa sagkod nadakop si Palago. Siya an murumundaya; dai makabukod. Pigkantyawan ini kan duwa:

"Go Palago! Go Palago! Go Palago!"

Napikon si Palago mala duman, kaya sabi kaini:

"Ba'la daw kamo! Mauli na ako!"

Mantang nagngunguyngoy pauli si Palago daing tunong su sugot kan duwa:

"Go Palago! Go Palago!"

Hali digdi sa de ridang tukawan--digdi sa kwartong madiklom buda pano ki saradit na karton, botelya, tubo, dagom buda parong ki alkohol, an duwa kong paang dai na nagigimata, an mata kong sinukluban na kan katarata--may kun anong kamawotan sa sakong daghan na dumalagan man, mantang pighehemati an mga boses kan mga aki buda an mga pangaran ninda, sa puso kong makina na an nagbubumba, sarong kaakian na dai naggurang.

3/31/15 K.

Nityananda

Posted by Jai Jesus Uy Borlagdan Monday, March 30, 2015 comments (0)

Jaya Nityananda

an tataramon

mataklang alahas

kun isasamno

sa Saimong lawas.

Selestyal na halas

na minabugkos sa gabos,

napupundi an silyab

kaining brilyanteng arte

pag Saimo minarani

siring an luha kan banggi

na napapara sa pisngi

kan burak na ihadukan

kan daliwawa.

An tanog solamente

kan Saimong ngaran

na ipaknit an unit

kan kagabsan

pauli sa kamurawayan

an makakahaman

ki nagkakanigong

atang para sa Saimong kaomawan.

Kaya akua man Kagurangnan

an napagwani-wani

kan daing kamugtakan.

Nityarama an dagat

sa sakong puso

bulawan na dugos

na pinahamis kan tagdo

kan Saimong luha

dulot kan higot Mong kugos

sa pagkamoot sa Diyos.

Hain nakasaray an perlas

hali sa lotus Mong mga mata,

yaon baga sa mga ngaran

Hare Krsna, Hare Rama.

Ika si Balaram na makalwagon

nagbaba sa maribok na panahon

para iwaras an orog na bendisyon

Emptiness Bar

Posted by Jai Jesus Uy Borlagdan Sunday, March 29, 2015 comments (0)

Sa isang ilaw mula

Ang silaw na umaapaw

Sa usli ng lagusan

Papasok sa kwartong

Sa totoo'y madilim.

Sa kwarto ng salamin

Pakitang ngipin ang ligaya

Ng bungong nagtabing ng ngisi

Habang sa labas ang oras

Nakapila sa haba ng pasensiya

Kahit maulan, walang payong

At ideya kung kailan

Ang panahon ng pag-uwi.

Nagkatawang usok ang ngawa

Ibinubugang walang bigat

Pauwi sa ugong ng makina ng ginaw.

Alipin ng magdamag

Ang tagasalin ng lamig

Sa basong puno ng bula

Habang humahagilap ng mapapala

Ang bawat ako

Sa pusong puno ng wala.

2/12/15

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.