C U L8r

back to work as soon as the sun comes up. so early morning paalala lang. from sarge lacuesta--tonight's the Philippines Free Press Awards night at the Mandarin Oriental Hotel, Makati. starts at 730pm. taralets! kitakits!

***

Fragment

The glass does not break because it is glass,
Said the philosopher. The glass could stay
Unbroken forever, shoved back in a dark closet,
Slowly weeping itself, a colorless liquid.
The glass breaks because somebody drops it
From a height — a grip stunned open by bad news
Or laughter. A giddy sweep of grand gesture
Or fluttering nerves might knock it off the table —
Or perhaps wine emptied from it, into the blood,
Has numbed the fingers. It breaks because it falls
Into the arms of the earth — that grave attraction.
It breaks because it meets the floor's surface,
Which is solid and does not give. It breaks because
It is dropped, and falls hard, because it hits
Bottom, and because nobody catches it.


A. E. Stallings
Hapax
TriQuarterly Books
from Poetry Daily

***

and from the hallowed pages of the onion:

Area Oddball Prefers God Over Girls




Jerome O'Shea


***

The Boy With The Thorn In His Side

yeah, yeah, sue me if i keep raving about (and wearing shirts with album covers by) The Smiths.

But there's really something in their unique collaboration, particularly Morrissey's lyricism and how his pained sense of imagery and la-la-las eeriely complement Johnny Marr's haunting, jangly guitars. something lost, i guess, when the band broke up and morrissey decided to go solo.

consider the lines in this one, from the album, Hatful of Hollow:

This Night Has Opened My Eyes

In a river the colour of lead
Immerse the baby's head
Wrap her up in the news of the world
Dump her on a doorstep, girl
This night has opened my eyes
And i will never sleep again

You kicked and cried like a bullied child
A grown man of twenty-five
Oh, he said he'd cure your ills
But he didn't and he never will
Oh, save your life
Because you've only got one

The dream has gone
But the baby is real
Oh, you did a good thing
She could have been a poet
Or, she could have been a fool
Oh, you did a bad thing
And i'm not happy
And i'm not sad

A shoeless child on a swing
Reminds you of your own again
She took away your troubles
Oh, but then again
She left pain
So, please save your life
Because you've only got one

The dream has gone
But the baby is real
Oh, you did a good thing
She could have been a poet
Or, she could have been a fool
Oh, you did a bad thing
And i'm not happy
And i'm not sad

And i'm not happy
And i'm not sad

---

this song was covered recently--and horribly, if i may add--by At The Drive-In. but The Smiths are really hard to cover; i've yet to listen to a good rendition of any of their songs that really captures that elusive Smiths' feel. i guess "not happy/not sad" is really the way to describe most of The Smiths' songs, the conflicted-ness between Morrissey's sad concerns and Marr's happy guitar riffs. a fine balance between craft and subject matter that happens very rarely in pop music.

Everyday Is Like Sunday

Easter

And I am doing my grocery and there are these onions,
calling to me boldly with their bright, purple bulbs,
multiple layers of skin, fresh and seemingly just risen
from the ground. There is something about the idea of peeling
one that reminds me of how certain things are meant to be
displayed, as the expected gloom and silence before Easter,
the cross promising eternal symbolisms. Funny to think
all this should be so normal: the burden of an onion in the hand,
the flesh, a grown man crying over the loss sometime
later, that divine force that drives man or god to surprise himself
with grand displays of emotion over a given vanishing.
Because it is Sunday once again, filled with new faith,
vegetables, common market duties, old grieving. And eggs.

Music and Lyrics

ever heard that song by Cliff Richard when he had decided to sell out? it's a disco crap called "Stronger than That" and it features just about as much horrendous lyricism as that of his other and more popular '80s (s)hit, "Ocean Deep". notice the cliche, the forced rhyme, and the mixed metaphors:


from Stronger than That:

"My love is stronger than that
My love is poetry in motion
My love is deeper than that
My love is deeper than the ocean"

from Ocean Deep:

"Ocean deep I'm so afraid to show my feelings
I have sailed a million ceilings"

The first one might as well be called "Ocean Deep 2: The Horrible Return of the Cliche Monster".

***

below are some more of these funny forced rhyming and profound metaphorizing that get most pop and standard songs really spinning in our heads:

"gotta write a classic
gonna write it in an attic
babe i'm an addict"

--from "Classic" by Adrian Gurvitz

"i'm not an actor i'm not a star
and i don't even have my own car"

--from "The Actor" by Michael Learns to Rock

"with an ironclad fist I wake up
and french kissed the morning
while some marching band keeps
its own beat in my head
while were talking"

from "Bed of Roses" by Bon Jovi

"this romeo is bleeding
but you can't see his blood
it's nothing but some feelings
that this old dog kicked up

it's been raining since you left me
now I'm drowning in the flood
you see I've always been a fighter
but without you I give up"

from "Always" by sino pa...hehe.



***

mas malala 'yung sa mga "songhits" nung araw, long before the advent of the internet and the googling of lyrics. consider these:

"i follow the mouse rat
down to donkey park..."

from "Winds of Change" by Scorpions

"there were voices down the corridor
i heard the horses say..."

from, syemps, "Hotel California" by The Eagles



puro kaanimalan yung mga lyrics.








eto pa, medyo mas '90s. paborito ko rin to dahil may sense naman:

"alone, restless,
break this table it's otherwise empty..."

from "Daughter" by Pearl Jam. sobrang panalo 'yung pagkabitin. hehe.

lastly, and i still remember Jessica Zafra writing about this years back, ang pinakawasak na lyrics sa balat ng kanta:

"when you need a friend
that you can depend"

from "You're My Best Friend" by Nelson Del Castillo

buti na lang "you're" at hindi "your". wasak na wasak na talaga kung ganun pa naging title n'yan.

***



this is what i like so much about the new wave scene of the '80s--the return to good lyricism. never mind the dominant synths and the weird fashion sense people had then. i used to wear neon blazers, creepers with "baston" pants, my sleeves folded, scouring the urban pastures of Cubao during my early college days for bootleg cassette tapes of favorite local and foreign new wave and punk bands in places like Shambhu and Khumbmela.

***

contrary to what many people think, '80s new wave is really better known elsewhere as the "new romantics" era, thus a return to the Victorian age of sorts, which should explain in a way the "glamour" (para Brit spelling) of '80s fashion, dance moves, melodies, etc.

but the lyricism is a totally different thing. the redeeming grace of that post-punk age is the inherent poetry in the songs from more popular bands like Tears for Fears, Depeche Mode, The Cure, and Spandau Ballet to more obscure or less played tracks by the likes of The Blue Nile, The The, New Order, The Smiths, and The Waterboys.

not to say, as this entry quite bluntly kicked off with, that there weren't cheesy lyrics during the '80s (Cliff Richard is not part of the new wave scene). and of course, there are (or were) a lot of good lyricists who wrote before, in the latter decade, and up to this new millennium. yet for some reason, whenever i sit down to listen to my new wave albums, most of the acts that belong to this really sweeping and umbrella-like category continue to surprise me with their vivid, anthemic, and poetic lines.

i think i know by now that is not just out of melancholia or because i associate so much fond memories with '80s music (like the perennial nights of 2nd or 3rd year high when i would stay up all night discovering and recording songs from the attic, our TV antenna detached discreetly and connected to the cassette player just to get a better signal of "the station that dares to make a difference", XB 102). in the end, we must remember that a song is a kind of poem. and even in this era of complex techno, hiphop, and ambient beats and innovations, etc, the lines and the stanzas and their respective sense and meaningfulness must continue to endure in any song. no matter how beautiful the music that coats it is.

***

The Whole of the Moon

I pictured a rainbow,
You held in your hands
I had flashes,
You saw the plan
I wandered out in the world for years,
While you just stayed in your room
I saw the crescent,
You saw the whole of the moon,
The whole of the moon

You were there at the turnstiles,
With the wind at your heels,
You stretched for the stars
And you know how it feels
To reach too high,
Too far,
Too soon,
You saw the whole of the moon

I was grounded,
While you filled the skies
I was dumbfounded by truth,
You cut through lies
I saw the rain-dirty valley,
You saw brigadoon
I saw the crescent,
You saw the whole of the moon

I spoke about wings,
You just flew
I wondered, I guessed, and I tried,
You just knew
I sighed,
But you swooned
I saw the crescent,
You saw the whole of the moon,
The whole of the moon

With a torch in your pocket,
And the wind at your heels,
You climbed on the ladder
And you know how it feels
To reach too high,
Too far,
Too soon,
You saw the whole of the moon
The whole of the moon

Unicorns and cannonballs,
Palaces and piers,
Trumpets, towers, and tenements,
Wide oceans full of tears,
Flag, rags, ferry boats,
Scimitars and scarves,
Every precious dream and vision
Underneath the stars

You climbed on the ladder
With the wind in your sails,
You came like a comet
Blazing your trail
Too high,
Too far,
Too soon,
You saw the whole of the moon

The Waterboys

lyrics by Mike Scott
from the album, This Is The Sea

This...Is...Spartan!!!

sabay sipa. tara, mag-sipa tayo gamit ang ating "tatak spartan, tibay spartan" tsinelas. pero habaianas yata yang nasa piktyur eh. hehe.





***

pwede rin namang roman. by now most people are outside the metro, having their "holy day" vacation, lending to this welcome peace and quiet. makes me think of how ironic the whole observance of lent has "evolved" here in the philippines. when i was growing up in a remote barrio in silang, this used to be the saddest and gloomiest of days. lahat bawal. bawal maglaro, maligo. bawal man lang ngumiti. even after the family finally "got the power!" (when my grandmother died; we needed electricity for the wake), i wasn't even allowed to listen to the radio or watch tv (when my ama finally got one; i was around 12 then).

the nights were horrible, especially during the years when the only comfort we had came from the poor vision of gas lamps, filled with the unseen and eerie wailing from nearby and faraway sinakulos. it seems to me now that this is because people in rustic provinces villages like ours are really much more superstitious than they are religious. patay si kristo ngayon, anak, my mother would warn me and my sister.

a horrible thing to say, really, to children. it equated to something like the temporary but annual triumph of all things evil. my ama once said this is the one day in the year when all the arbularyos and salamangkeros would go down to the distant brook to brew their potions and recharge their powers.

nowadays, my holy week routine really feels more like a "borrowed" or--at the risk of being redundant-"lent" time.

yet what we are really "observing" here is probably one of the most cruel way of giving criminals the perfect roman holiday--that ancient law that allows for crucifixion. ah, again the irony: the romans--after persecuting, hunting down, and crucifying all the disciples, peter's in the upside down manner (save for paul, and only because he was a roman citizen)--discarded their pagan beliefs and converted to Christianity. and dogma-wise, the Philippines became "baptized" by the spaniards, turning out and ending up to be a primarily Roman Catholic country.


where does Christ figure in all this? His most dominant image is that of the cross, and all the symbolisms that come with it--salvation, redemption, sacrifice, faith, God. and if we are to really meditate on his "death" today, then just look around. he resides everywhere: on that intersection before the winding road that curls up to cold baguio, in the horizontal, dipping line of the small letter "t", in the many tangles of antennae and wires that cover the entire city.

or even inside your houses, as you look out the window to stare at the figure above that still unvisited church, the skeletal grids that often get in the way of the scenery providing a grander, fuller view. if only for this day.

it's 3:55pm, notes the bottom right clock of my pc. have a good friday, everyone.

Imp Possible

from Federico Garcia Lorca's The Duende: Theory and Divertissement:

"The duende that I speak of, shadowy, palpitating, is a descendant of that benignest demon of Socrates, he of marble and salt, who scratched the master angrily the day he drank the hemlock; and of that melancholy imp of Descartes, little as an unripe almond, who, glutted with circles and lines, went out on the canals to hear the drunken sailors singing.

Any man - any artist, as Nietzsche would say - climbs the stairway in the tower of his perfection at the cost of a struggle with a duende - not with an angel, as some have maintained, or with his muse. This fundamental distinction must be kept in mind if the root of a work of art is to be grasped."

***

personally, i agree that the so-called "muse" who's supposed to provide the medicine for all writerly melancholy does not exist. inspiration itself is a highly overrated construct. people like to think a work of art is inspired or "charged" because of something, an image that must concretize the abstract symbols. the most common is that of the literal muse, or as far as Lorca's concerned, the duende.

nowadays, the reading of poetry for example, seems to be dominated by a favoring not so much for the poem's content as the poet’s style, this whole business of intellectualizing and second-guessing the poet's intentions in regard to the usage of language. it's a highly academic endeavor, and often, by implication, necessitates a certain "IQ prerequisite".

the message (or content, if you will) is therefore lost in the meticulous study of craft, a task most people who want to write poetry must first get a firm grasp of.
this is why an important "rite of passage" in our small country for all would-be writers is the workshop. ideally, most emerging writers get accepted because their works show the so-called "potential", which loosely translates to a good understanding of, if not already a blossoming mastery, of craft. thus, subject matter seemingly isn't as crucial as the familiarity with the conventions, or conversely, the experimentations with language.

poetry is often not realized through actual experiences, anyway. cliché as this may sound, writers are not born but made. the "making" of a writer, however, has everything to do with the balancing of two things: chance and intention. in a word, risk--a thorough understanding of the dictates of craft and that sublime re-presentation of the subject matter.

my little issue about this matter is that whenever certain poetics favor the "intellectualizing" of language, there emerges then a very constricted room for that "charge" that all poems must aspire for. if just further elevates the "artfulness" of the poetic task to ivory tower discussions from people in the academe.

the main problem, methinks, is that there are but a few dedicated or "pure" critics of poetry in the country. most of those who claim to be critics are poets themselves just in it to promote their own brand of poetics.

this doesn't help anybody, given how tiny and archipelagic our literary circles are. and especially because the writing of and reading of poetry are two very different undertakings. as far as the writing of aspect is concerned, i believe poetry doesn't settle for the sure; it only aspire for the possible (call it verisimilitude, if you must).

the reading of poetry is where the bigger problem rests. is there really no way of "negotiating" in such a way that poets would to have a "knowable reader" and not write just for the already knowledgeable ones, mostly composed of seasoned readers of poetry, "critics", and fellow poets? is it possible to be not deliberately difficult or obscure? is it not literature's ultimate duty to be understood by the masses? shouldn't the reading of poetry also be about the possible?

many people hate poetry enough, as it is, if only for its heightened use of language. but that is not the problem of poetry. it is, in fact, its beauty. however, since most of our teachers since grade school have ingrained in us the idea that we must understand poetry first--like an elaborate riddle with an equally elaborate punchline--most readers don't want to read the lines. they just want to read between the lines, dive quickly into the meaning, like all poems are tests of their intellect. if the students don't get it, then they feel they're just ignorant. this is sad, to say the least, and just further alienates more and more young people from poetry.

all in all, i think poets should admit that they began writing poetry because of that one poem that really touched them, that one poem whose meaning pierced them sharply with its pointed heart. maybe because of the convincing tone, the way it was read, etc. maybe even by the mere diction, the little they know of similes and metaphors. but certainly not by the line-cutting, the indentions, the italics, etc. these are learned after. that is, if you happen to be willing enough to indulge literary criticism, take a course in creative writing, teach the craft, read. and then read some more. be a writer. or be a critic.

or, you could just sit back and relax on that old chair in the backyard this holy week and read a book or two of poems, totally carefree, frolicking with the duendes, enjoying the sheer pleasure of a "felt" poem's seeming truth that passes through you like a prayer.


***

UPDATE: please scroll down to the april 3 entry for newly-uploaded photos re: happy mondays poetry nights in mag:net last, well, monday.

William, It Was Really Nothing

"the rain falls hard on a humdrum town,
this town has dragged you down,
oh the rain falls hard on a humdrum town..."
-- The Smiths


but it's friggin' blazing here, and no rain. for some reason, though, heavy clouds outside qc this morning. And since it's the 4th of April, from Wikipedia, some of the most memorable events in the annals of history that took place on this fateful day. i'm not posting everything on the list (for some reason, dominating the entries listed were "important" events from the US). so here are just the ones i feel seem funnily interesting, eeriely grave, and disturbingly sublime:

1581 - Francis Drake completes a circumnavigation of the world and is knighted by Elizabeth I.
1814 - Napoleon abdicates for the first time.
1818 - The United States Congress adopts the flag of the United States with 13 red and white stripes and one star for each state (then 20).
1841 - William Henry Harrison dies of pneumonia becoming the first President of the United States to die in office and the shortest term served.
1949 - Twelve nations sign The North Atlantic Treaty creating the North Atlantic Treaty Organisation.
1964 - The Beatles occupy all top five positions on the Billboard singles chart in the United States.
1968 - Martin Luther King, Jr. is assassinated at a motel in Memphis, Tennessee.
1968 - Apollo program: NASA launches Apollo 6.
1973 - The World Trade Center in New York is officially dedicated.
1975 - Microsoft is founded as a partnership between Bill Gates and Paul Allen in Albuquerque, New Mexico

the latest entry is da best:

2001- Local Philadelphia wrestling promotion ECW files bankruptcy

***

i'm wondering now why the last entry there is already 6 years old. had there been no events "historical" enough these past few years? (well, in fairness, maybe the guys over at wikipedia have simply not "refreshed" the site yet).

so to refresh our collective memories, here follows a list of "highly important" events that have happened today, from the headlines of some of our local papers. (let's just say i'm doing this "in the name of love" (I know, baduy U2 reference). at dito lang sa pilipinas lahat to. di na natin kailangang lumayo pa.

the thing is, echoing much of history (or news, i guess), some of the headlines are serious, redundantly obvious, and some still sounding profoundly hilarious, both syntax- and context-wise. para ka na ring nagbasa ng the onion:

April 4, 2007

-- Satur freed on P.1-M bail
Climate change threatens 700 M square meters of RP land
Meralco assures enough power during Holy Week
What’s the plan for the college-unfit graduates?

source: The Philippine Star

-- Military mulls raising alert even without terror threat
Activists’ birthday wish for Arroyo: ‘Retire’
Opposition asks Comelec to stop Pacquiao ads
Nigeria asks RP to explain Foroozan fake kidnap case

source: The Philipine Daily Inquirer

-- Why students drink coffee when studying
Comelec declares voters’ list ‘99.63% clean’
22-year-old woman eyed in killing
Pag-IBIG set to sell P15b worth of assets

source: Manila Standard Today

-- GMA, pushing 60, thinks young
President names new printing office head
Pimentels: Graft charges an act of revenge
Where every Visita Iglesia must end

source: The Manila Times

-- GO demands baring of 45-M voters’ list
GMA taps Cabinet to push TU campaign
Erap to undergo medical tests, may go under the knife
‘You can take a bath after 3 p.m. on Good Friday’

source: The Daily Tribune

-- Holy Wednesday recalls betrayal of Jesus by Judas
Alcano gets P1-M Guinness deal
Baguio City now ready for Holy Week visitors
Is Thailand avoiding clash with Pinoy fighters?

source: The Manila Bulletin


***

now, something william (wengster bayaw, hehe) and i have been mulling about for a few days now. in one episode of our recent favorite tv series, Heroes (disclaimer: like i've always insisted i don't have a tv; i just pester torrent-unafraid friends to burn episodes for me), one character (Mohinder) stated that there are 36 "gifted" people in the story, all waiting for Sylar's sharp skull-cutter.

anyway, what we did was to list down all the characters who have appeared in the series who do have powers. so far, below's what we've came up with. btw, important note! we've only seen up to episode 17. if someone new came out in that episode, or if we've missed anyone, kindly put the name(s) down in the comment box. for those who've yet to see this series, the spoiler angle ends with the names; don't worry, i won't list down their respective powers.

hehe. sensya na kung sobrang geeky ang dating.



1. Nathan Petrelli
2. Peter Petrelli
3. Nicky Sanders
4. Micah Sanders
5. D.L. Hawkins
6. Matt Parkman
7. Hiro Nakamura
8. Isaac Mendez
9. Claire Bennett
10. that Haitian guy
11. Claude
12. Hana Gitelman
13. Ted Sprague
14. Claire's Mom
15. yung labs ni Hiro na waiter (i forget her name)
16. the Indian kid
17. Eve
18. Sylar
19. Sylar victim # 1 (first appearance of Matt)
20. Sylar victim # 2 (in his watchshop)
21. Sylar victim # 3 (that guy will all the aluminum/metal/steel appliances)
22. Sylar victim # 4 (that lady mechanic)
23. not sure, but did Mohinder's dead sister have any power? if this is true, the implications on the story arc will be more interesting)


so, there you have it...the number 23. kulang pa yung lucky 13. sinu-sino pa kaya?

Cheers for Peers

muchos gracias to all those who came last night and lent their support to the launch of the "Happy Mondays" poetry nights in mag:net, katipunan. since this is a biweekly event, the next one is slated for april 16 (another monday, of course). the same gratitude goes to all who came to watch los chupacabras' reunion gig. we hope you'll continue to support us. also, to all the friends and co-bayaws who dropped by, said and "kissed their hellos" (from suzanne vega), had a few bottles, and stayed till the end for our birthday boy bayaw, maraming salamat po! hanggang sa susunod na kabanata.

and most importantly, heartfelt thanks to all of last night's readers (everyone came save for "the lourd" who had to attend to something). to the brockas who played after us (khavn, john, tengal, arvi), gelo suarez, sir cesare, sir butch, at maraming pang iba. baduy na at pilit, pero thank you for "sowing the seeds of love" for this great new thing to look forward to after our manic daytime mondays.

UPDATE: here are just some photos from the reading, courtesy of the world is my sandbox


















itong huling larawan ang panalo. hanapin si yol yamendang! hehe.


btw, if you want to join the upcoming readings, even if only for the open mic segment, please do inform me of your intentions by emailing likeentropy@yahoo.com. thanks!

Prins Stardust

from yesterday's PDI article, "A Passion for Books", this was included in the recommended summer reads by Ruel S. De Vera. salamat, Ruey!

Caracoa 2006: The Silver Issue
Edited by Lourd Ernest De Veyra and Joel M. Toledo
Philippine Literary Arts Council

"After a ten-year absence, the PLAC's poetry journal again gathers the powerfully polished voices of poets both established and new. This all-English compilation features the work of 25 poets, among them Luis Cabalquinto, Frank Cimatu, Luisa Igloria, and Paolo Manalo. In their introduction, the editors point out that much has indeed changed for Filipino poets over the last decade. On the occasion of PLAC's 25th anniversary, this volume is intended to "reflect how our poetry in English has achieved, in that span of time, a state of maturity and luminous grace." Experience that grace by partaking of this poetic banquet, done up in glorious silver."

congrats also to bayaws imo quibilan and ramil gulle whose books were likewise on the list.

eto nga pala si prins stardust, just in case you're wondering.



*spoiler* kapatid 'yan ni little dyan, big berd, and medium steeve.

***

okay. now back to irregular programming....

from sir butch's very moving column today on the past week's 46th UP National Writers Workshop:

"(Today, when some writers all-too-stridently denounce these contests and their joiners as a sell-out and swear never to join them—or join them again, in the case of at least one perennially loud whiner—I want to tell them to put on some shorts, take a walk, drink some buko juice, and get back to their own writing.)...

"Ultimately, every literary life follows its own trajectory. You can take the safe and proven path by going to writing school and maybe taking an MA or an MFA in creative writing abroad; you win a few Palancas, publish a couple of books, teach a course or a workshop in creative writing, and then one day you wake up to find someone asking you to write a blurb for the back of his or her first book. You have arrived—somewhere, somehow—slightly dazed, vaguely unhappy, but gratified to have a family, a house, and maybe a car you can call your own.

"Or you could choose the rebel’s way, slaying every literary father and every literary dragon you encounter, piling on the inevitable welts and bruises, refusing to accept a peso you didn’t bleed for, embracing struggle and suffering with a martyr’s passion. And then you wake up alone, embittered and unloved, wondering if anything you ever said made a difference to the world, or even to someone else."

It's International Poetry Month

well, it's at least national in the US and Canada. world poetry day was last march 21 (interestingly, at the onset of equinox). heck, we might adopt it as well.

late post, but well, better late than later. and believe me, this is no last minute april fool's day post--and as far as ivy is concerned, april's full of poetry (corny pun intended), as it is likewise the month for napowrimo, a collective and seemingly herculean task of writing one poem a day for the entire month. whew. i'm not even sure anybody can readily join this "dare", much less finish 30 poems without a dextrose-laden seriousness, Über-focus, or settling for mere drafts. but the idea is really commendable. after all, we all begin as "amateurs".

incidentally, i just found out that the word amateur comes from the French term, "one who loves." and if we do love poetry, eh di testingin na rin natin to. nothing to lose, really, and a whole lotta love to gain. so what do you say? :)

update: this is the link to the official napowrimo (or intpowrimo) site, if you are interested in trying it out.

***

some quotable quotes from books i'm currently reading:

"It remains true that we attend to the image by focusing on it, and when it falls out of all focus, we cannot attend to it. We get the fringe items by looking out of the corner of our eye; or we turn our eye straight on them, but not for long. Such a technique is probably the one employed by poetry; a way of indirection, but perhaps the only way on earth of realizing the vividness, magnificence, and beauty of the world."

-- John Crowe Ransom from "Poetry as Primitive Language" from The Writer and His Craft, edited by Roy W. Cowden




"In the sense that there was nothing before it, all writing is writing against the void."

-- Mark Strand, quoted by Susan Shaughnessy in her book, Walking on Alligators




"It has to be said that they (The Smiths) were a real group, the only true immortal group of the '80s, but their lyrical vision was of course Morrissey's alone."

--Nick Kent, describing one of the best poet-lyricist ever in the essay, "Morrissey, the Majesty of Melancholia and the Light That Never Goes Out in Smiths-dom" in his book, The Dark Stuff: Selected Writings on Rock Music




"The different and the novel are sweet, but regularity and repetition are also teachers. Divine Attentiveness cannot be kept casually, or visit only in season, like Venice or Switzerland."

--Mary Oliver, from her book, Long Life: Essays and Other Writings


"Asking someone what his or her Top Ten books are is a very 21st-century question. Writers from the past were unlikely to be sympathetic to the current thinking that shapes such a question: the desire not to take the time to delve but to know someone at a glance...In the end, the Top Ten list does not give us a full picture of a person, but rather ten slices of his or her life, as viewed optimistically by him or her at the moment of compilation--say, October 1, 2004, at 11:30 A.M."

--Tracy Chevalier, in her essay, "Lying to the Optician" from Bookmark Now: Writing in Unreaderly Times, edited by Kevin Smokler





***



now about that poem...

Pointillism

We begin with an empty something.
Call it wall if you want; call it canvas,
vacant and spotless, begging for that first
stroke, somebody carving a deep X on it,
the grave stain of one letter. And we cannot

help it; we are drawn to collaborate,
inputting our own swift curves and lines,
that fine art of intrusion eventually forming
a pattern: We were here, the finished work
insists. Romel went home na. And somebody loves

Lorna. There’s no denying it. It is written,
once crude sketches now as final and precise
as the scriptures. No amount of paint can cover
this hallowed assortment of letters, numbers,
symbols. Especially that one oversized heart, dipping

heavily in the middle, occupying the biggest space,
mattering the most. And in spite of the blanket
absence of periods, an I not only knows a you.
The bottom point of the heart is sharp and piercing,
making perfect sense, the perfect finishing touch.

Precaucion, Precaucion!

what : Los Chupacabras/Poetry Reading
where: mag;net katipunan
when : april 2 2007 (monday), 8pm up






sir rock drilon of mag:net has come up with this great idea: to have the first and third mondays of every month "happy mondays poetry" nights, which should ideally fall between 7 and 9pm. the whole thing kicks off this coming monday. on april 16, another set of poets will be reading, and so on. it's a grand gesture on the part of mag:net and a great opportunity for established, young, and upcoming poets to read their works.

at eto na. more or less the final list of readers
who'll be reading their works in-between our sets:

1. Jimmy Abad
2. Krip Yuson
3. Marne Kilates
4. Lourd De Veyra
5. Mookie Katigbak
6. Conchitina Cruz
7. Ken Ishikawa
8. Andrea Teran
9. Lope Cui, Jr.
10. Pancho Villanueva
11. Allan Pastrana
12. Jonar Sabilano
13. Darwin Chiong

The others yet to confirm their participation
are Larry Ypil, Arkaye Kierulf, Angelo Suarez, and Mark Cayanan.

at kaarawan 'yun ni kael. so wasakan! punta kayo lahat! we're arranging for cheap beer and cheap entrance. may open mic pa 'to. bring your stuff!

sow kam on, let's joyn as!


Heroic Secret Service Agent Takes Question Intended For Bush

from the onion. full story here.

Bring That Sheet In!

from sarge lacuesta, literary editor of the philippines free press. please come.



and from ma'am marjorie evasco, this lovely quote she forwarded me this morning:

"the only courage that is demanded of us: to have courage for the most extraordinary, the most singular, and the most inexplicable that we may encounter." -- RM Rilke


A Walk

My eyes already touch the sunny hill.
going far ahead of the road I have begun.
So we are grasped by what we cannot grasp;
it has inner light, even from a distance-

and charges us, even if we do not reach it,
into something else, which, hardly sensing it,
we already are; a gesture waves us on
answering our own wave...
but what we feel is the wind in our faces.

translated by Robert Bly

Rainer Maria Rilke

Humanatee

from this interesting site that talks about the extinction of the Steller's Sea Cow:

"Georg Wilhelm Steller, the naturalist and physician on a Bering Sea expedition, recorded the first, and best, descriptions of the sea cow:"

These animals, like cattle, live in herds at sea, males and females going together and driving the young before them about the shore. They are occupied with nothing else but their food. The back and half the body are always seen out of the water.They eat in the same manner as the land animals, with a slow forward movement. They tear the seaweed from the rocks with the feet and chew it without cessation... During the eating they move the head and neck like an ox, and after the lapse of a few minutes they lift the head out of the water and draw fresh air with a rasping and snorting sound after the manner of horses.



Seacow, Si Ako, Dugong
Pilipino. I am the other
walrus. Toothless and kind,
paddling away to safety.
Yet calling to you, sirenian.
Breaching the surf, beaching.




***

Below are some other "manipulations" by up and coming painter and web designer Emman Acasio (who made the Makahiya photo on the right bar of the blog).