Ibig Kong Ika’y Payapa (Salin ng Me Gustas Cuando Callas / I Like For You To Be Still ni Pablo Neruda)

Ibig kong ika’y payapa, na parang halos isang puwang,
At nauulinigan mo lang ako sa kalayuan at hindi ka makalabit ng aking tinig,
At tila ang iyong mga mata’y pumailanlang,
At pawang sinelyahan ng halik ang iyong mga labi.

Kung paanong ang lahat ng bagay ay puspos ng aking diwa
Umuusbong ka mula sa lahat ng ito, puspos ng diwa ko.
Panaginip na paru-paro, kagayak ka ng aking kaluluwa
At kahawig ng salitang panglaw.

Ibig kong ika’y walang imik, na para bang kay layo mo,
Parang nananaghoy, mariposang tumatangis.
At nabobosesan mo ako mula sa kalayuan at hindi ka naaabot ng aking tinig:
Papasukin mo ako’t patuluyin sa iyong katahimikan

Dinggin mo ko sa iyong pagtahimik, mangusap tayong walang imik
Singlinaw ng sinag, singpayak ng singsing.
Tulad ka ng gabi, tahimik at binalangkas ng mga tala.
Ang hinahon mo’y buhat sa mga bituin, humahayo’t maaliwalas.

Ibig kong ika’y walang imik, na para bang hindi kita kapiling.
Malayo’t may kirot, na para bang ika’y namayapa.
Mangusap ka, kahit isang ngiti ay sasapat
At ako’y liligaya, maliligayahan sapagkat ito’y hindi ganap.

 

Isinalin ni Anj Heruela, Abril 2016

 

Intimamente

For all the eleven hours between us,

and all of the moments shared in between.

 

 

At breakfast, you tell me about dinner,

then you watch me make my way to work

while you wait for sleep to come.

Past midnight here and midday there

are our everyday hours: short,

too quickly greeted,  too soon ended,

but constant —

like birds that chirp all around us during humid Amazonian mornings

or the smell of bread that follows us from the boulangeries in the streets of Paris

or the tickle of the third glass of wine on the lips, in whatever continent we taste it.

The sound, the smell, the taste – it lingers, leaves a trace, constant, it remains.

 

Like an image of you in my mind—

Ever smiling, ever moving, ever vibrant,

Ever there and never quite.

 

I keep your memory there,

Where the seconds lose meaning

And the hours need no counting.

Because at midday here or past midnight there,

we are nowhere there yet everywhere we wish to be:

a good morning greeting

almost as if you were breathing

within the reach of my fingertips—

 

soon enough, buena onda, indeed,

soon enough, it will be.

 

 

 

Proximity

Across where you are, you’ll see,
We’ll meet where the sun meets the sea.

Like thread through a spread
of cloth coloured deep blue,
our fingers will weave through
the fabric of the Pacific, riding
the rise and fall and roll and
crash of waves that slip
into the palm of the shore.
Where changing sands mark the distance
between here and where you are–
nearness begins
where the ocean ends and expands.

it’s just another sunrise

When one begins to ignore universally accepted celebrations and rituals of mankind to comfort itself, we get to the core of what we truly think and feel. We begin to pay attention and learn that the word ‘essence’ actually means something. Another turn of the year, is it? Cheers.

 

I was reading myself to sleep (an unfortunately pointless activity when one’s reading through a page-turner) when a turn of the song from my sister’s playlist prompted me to put the book down and proceed to write these thoughts down immediately

I am gripped with that feeling again, a feeling that hasn’t visited me lately – for quite a few months already, alarmingly – that feeling that cannot be disregarded – the urge to just go ahead and write

it started three songs before the beginning of this entry. when i recalled how, a year and a half ago, i would leave my laptop on all night playing unfamiliar songs from foreign independent artists so that i could put myself to sleep or survive the night without succumbing to paralysis-inducing loneliness. those nights i stayed up talking to The Lawyer, and we would wait for sunrise and it was then when I got over my feelings of brokenheartedness caused by That Guy

tonight, the sensation is reincarnated in this quiet evening of music in moderate volume, filling up the dimly lit room. it was like just as it was before but now all the songs are familiar by virtue of Billboard-Hit-popularity. so there is a difference but still not quite.  the memory finds new life and the difference in this playlist’s dress is in the annoying reminder that listening to this kind of music actually falls starkly in line with the effort to keep buried a persistent sorrow shoved deep down beneath book chapters, to-do lists, and constantly rearranged activities of my everyday hours

the music that accompanied my waning nights and creeping dawns have faded, and now – the approach, though i did not intently try it – no longer works. it doesn’t. it won’t. maybe never. ever.

funny how we change constantly. and frequently.

am i sad? i guess. i miss him like shit. not as much as before, i guess. i am making progress, snail-pace peace with myself and with my issues, i guess. uncertain, definitely. but better than being in denial. at least now i don’t go into constant fits of breaking down in tears. without just relentlessly bawling out to the universe, whether in my howling screams of pain or silent breathless exclamations, truly understanding why why why. they are occasional bouts of crying instead. that occur to me in sudden pangs of memory and which i can now control relatively well

i guess i love him that much, yes, but i am learning to love myself more and live with the choice i made no matter how unfounded it could have been the moment that it crept up on me. and i will get into grips with the realities that i will face, now and tomorrow and in distant futures. more will be revealed and though i wish all will be out as soon as possible, there will inevitably be continuous weeks of drinking the self to sleep and wishing and hoping and praying that whatever is now is otherwise

it’s a new year and everybody, or most of everyone at least, aspire for new beginnings to make better continuations of their lives

a turn of the year could be both as profound and as meaningless as the next sunrise. so another minute passed, so the calendar changed dates. so maybe we are older by another planet’s revolution or maybe we didn’t

all i wish is that i could sleep better soon

that things will make sense. that these feelings and choices and deeds will matter more than the time that i seem to lose every other second

where does it go? why does it pass? why should it matter?

like another song played, forgotten too soon, echoed too late

tonight i realize i am learning to dance better in the silences that remind me how i am alone completely, that i am alone. and complete.

happy new year, indeed.

Pasasalamat sa Pamamaalam: Mahal Naming Lola Juana “Aning” Jose, 1927-2013

 

There is nothing easy about letting a loved one go.

We could fill our days with prayer and hope that the passage of time will slowly close that gap that has been left in us. We could also gather and recount all the best memories, including not only the joyful ones but also those with such intensity that gave us a life-changing kind of wisdom. Or we could look around, look at each other, and remind ourselves what our dearly departed left us with — these dear relationships, these precious ties of kin and friendship, and our braver selves now more in touch with being alive through this profoundly  enriching though difficult experience of death.

In these past days that we’ve laid our dear Lola Aning to rest, we draw our strength from all of you who stood by us. You who came to visit, you who prayed with us, you who wept with us, you who waited for morning with us, you who helped us cook and serve the food, you who ate and finished the food, you who cleaned the tables and washed the dishes, you who brought more food — yes, we have to mention this because our dear Lola is quite known for asking everyone she meets, whatever time of the day it is “Kumain ka na ba?” —  you who recalled her stories to us, you who listened to our stories about her, you who shared her memory with us, you who keep her memory alive in our minds and in our hearts. Thank you. Thank you to our dear family and friends, our neighbors, people we know well, people we may have never met but who keeps a special place for Lola Aning in their lives, thank you for being with us.

But most of all, thank you for being there with our Lola when she was alive. For sharing her days, all the good times and the hard times; for giving her reasons to live, to look forward to another day to get up; to those who never got tired of looking after her, to those who stayed with her until her final moments on earth, thank you. Thank you for being part of a life well-lived and worth every breath; because of all of you we know that our Lola is well-loved and that these all make up her wonderful life.

Now that we are about to take our Lola to the end of her mortal journey, though it will take time before our grief will pass over, let us now celebrate the beginning of her journey into eternity. She deserves nothing less than the glory of a life in paradise, and the memory of her life on Earth happily instilled and kept alive in all of us.

 We love you very very much Lola Aning. Thank you.

 

——————————–

Paanong ang ningning mong dati’y kayliwanag

Ngayo’y habangbuhay nang di masisilayan

At  bagamat hindi na maibabalik ang panahon

Ng rangya ng parang, ng rikit ng kasibulan

Hindi kami magdadalamhati,

Pagkat ang aming matatanto

Ay ang lalim at tatag

Ng pananalig na sa amin ay iniwan.

Pasintabi kay William Wordsworth,

                Salin ng bahagi ng tulang Ode: Intimations of Immortality (Lines 180-185)

 

Walang madali sa pamamaalam sa yumaong mahal sa buhay.

Maaari nating punan ang ating mga araw ng mga panalangin at hangaring sa paglipas ng panahon ay kusang mapupunan ang puwang na naiwan sa atin. Maaari din nating ipunin ang pinakamagagandang alaala – hindi lang ang masasaya kundi pati na rin yungmga tipong nagdulot ng masidhing pangaral sa ating mga buhay. Maaari rin tayong tumingin sa palibot, lingunin ang isa’t-isa, at alalahanin kung ano talaga ang siyang iniwan sa atin ng mahal na Lola Aning — higit sa anupaman ay ang ating mga ugnayan, kapamilya man o kaibigan, at ang ating mga sariling pinatatag ng bagong pagtingin sa buhay dulot nitong mapagyaman bagamat mahirap na karanasan ng kamatayan.

 Nitong mga huling araw ng pagkakahimlay ni Lola Aning, kaming kanyang mga kaanak at pamilya ay humuhugot ng lakas sa inyong nakiramay sa amin. Sa inyong lahat na bumisita, nag-alay ng dasal, umiyak at nakiiyak, naglamay at nanatili umaraw man o umulan, sa gitna ng bagyo’t malakas na hangin; sa mga tumulong na ibsan ang pasanin ng mga araw, sa mga tumulong mula sa pamamalengke, pagluluto, at pag-uurong, sa mga bumusog at nagpakabusog — at kailangan naming siguraduhing ang bawat isa’y nabusog sap agkat isa sa mga pinakamasayang alaala namin kay Lola Aning ay ang lagi niyang pagtatanong sa makakasalubong niya ng “O, kumain ka na ba?” — sa inyong sinamahan kami, sa mga nakinig sa aming kuwento, sa mga nagbahagi rin ng kanilang mga kuwento, sa mga nakibahagi sa paggunita sa aming Lola –kayo ang bumubuhay ng kanyang alaala sa isip at sa puso ng bawat isa. Taos puso ang aming pasasalamat.

 Higit sa lahat,higit sa pakikiramay sa kanyang pagyao, nais naming magpasalamat sa inyong pagiging bahagi ng buhay ni Lola Aning. Sa pagsama sa kanya noong siya’y nabubuhay pa, sa hirap ma’t sa ginhawa; sa pagbibigay sa kanya ng dahilan upang magpatuloy at bumangon sa bawat umaga; sa mga hindi nagsawang alagaan siya at bantayan, at naging kapiling nya hanggang sa kanyang pamamayapa. salamat at kayo ay naging bahagi ng mahaba at masagana niyang buhay. Dahil sa inyo alam naming minamahal ng husto ang aming Lola, na walang nasayang sa bawat niyang hininga.

At ngayong ihahatid na po natin siya sa dulo ng kanyang paglalakbay bilang isang mortal, bagamat mahabang panahon pa ang lilipas bago tuluyang matapos ang ating pagdadalamhati, kung maaari sana’y atin ring ipagdiwang ang simula ng kanyang paglalakbay sa buhay na walang hanggan. Wala nang mas nararapat pa para sa kanya kundi ang luwalhati ng buhay sa piling ng Maykapal habang ang alaala ng kanyang pagkabuhay ay nananatiling nag-aalab sa ating mga puso’t isipan.

Mahal na mahal ka namin Lola Aning. Maraming maraming maraming salamat.

365 for 2013: (7) when the loss is one you refuse to own

when the doors of the elevator open

my eyes will make its way through

dressed in amber and rose

looking back at the space 

of secrets only mirrors inside the box know 

you dont reach out

because i am no longer with you

i am no longer with you

 because i am within

i will be in the space you breathe

in the same rhythm you beat

in the same paths through doors that close

and open again

365 for 2013: (4) treasure hunting

i know where you should be but you refused to be found so i dipped the tips of my fingers in gold and settled for a version of treasure that your chest would not offer up; the sentences still go different ways and i try to chase them but you’ve put the commas in so many random places i’m forced to dot the end of my phrases and  each time another one of  your commas show up, a swoop beneath the dot, almost as if it says we should go back. but that messes up the map and then X is no longer the point to pursue but a footnote to the treasure that should now be dug up. not all that glitters is good for the soul, we offered a toast to that. we know where the shiny things are and we could have been led to that but the holes we fall into are much more interesting. and in the interstice between where we’ve fallen and where we’ll land, all your words come rushing through and i’m rushing just as fast. this is another terrain we’re traversing, another target we’re hunting. my compass points me to a direction which i reckon now defines forward, though it be pointing away from the pot of gold they’ve laid out for you and me, it is exactly where you didn’t tell me we have to be.  i will find you there. i have nothing else to seek.  the stardust from my fingertips have seeped into my veins, it has made my blood rich. while all these chests and troves, heavy as they may be, will never have enough to hold.

365 for 2013: (3) As I Stand With You

In reference to the poem ‘The Flag’ from Pablo Neruda’s The Captain’s Verses. Here is my pledge.

————————————————-

 

The truth is I would run with you.

 

These nights when no bed can hold us

down, these blankets uncover us,

bare, shivering

in our desires, quivering

as our hearts beat out our souls

ascending out of our skins.

The satellite of your gaze keeps me

locked in the orbit of your heat,

your passion. And I am in place,

surrounding  you. Moving. Still.

 

By you, without doubt,

no fear; with you, certain,

standing, constant as you

have taught me, faithful

as I have known. Steadfast.

 

We own the truths we know.

We will fight the battles that need to be won.

 

And if your fingers speak

Of fear, let them tremble

against my palm, with my own.

And if your body exhales

exhaustion, fall upon me

your back to my chest.

And I  will keep us upright;

our grasp, firm, our breath

steady, our eyes burn.

365 for 2013: (2) From the Leaf to the Lover

Meant as a gift. 

—————————–

In the fiercest of winds

and the most glaring of summers,

I may tremble, even wither;

but in the passing of seasons

and the changing weathers,

I will bloom in the dusk,

feed on stardust

and you will find me there.

In the scent of moonlight

and warmth of sunrise,

You will find me there. 

365 for 2012: (67) Resolute

It is not that one has not tried again and again to alter the course of the lines or the sound of the waves that bounce off the page. It is that there are stubborn thoughts that will not yield. It is that it already is what it should be as it was first conceived: as if  without beginning but with a definite end. 

——————————————–

And if my fingers find themselves

lost through your hair again,

if i take a whiff of you again

own you for one brief moment again

Then let go. And lose all these

that I’ve known. Will they say

it’s so wrong? Then set fire

to my soul. Nothing changes.

At the thought of your eyes alone

I burn. Again and again.

And from the ashes at your feet

I rise, again and again.

 

From the beginnings of the last quarter

October 16, 2012

 

365 for 2012: (65) A Note The Postman Lost

The same night whitening the same trees.

We, of that time, are no longer the same.

Tonight I Can Write The Saddest Lines, Pablo Neruda

Dear lover, there is no need

for you to tell me, again and

again that the night is

shattered . There are pieces

of it on the floor, the crumbs

of your leave heading for

the slam of the door. Shaking

the house, gently. Echoes, only 

a broken record: the voice

breaks, at that crack 

 

before the revelation: I no longer

love her, so suddenly, but maybe

I love her and again no longer — 

gibberish. There is dirt on the surface.

I could not wipe it off.

The poem could not end itself.

 

Dear lover, what nights we have

known: all the truths we have

thrown away to make way

for the ones we could own. 

Nothing about shivering

stars, pale moons, imagined

heavens , endless skies —  none

of those, only versions of hell. 

Where wars are lost

when heroes leave,

the white flag raised

then torn to bits. Oh, it is

 

all so simple: sometimes 

I loved, and then

sometimes I did not. 

When the rest of the world refuse to.

We held each other in our arms,

 blue stars shiver in the distance.

 

They lie when they say, dear

lover, I cannot have you.

 

The night is shattered.

Souls are not satisfied.

We are lost to this world, too.

we flipped my quarter

<p><a href=”http://vimeo.com/45360365″>That Fresh Feeling – EELS</a> from <a href=”http://vimeo.com/user12442079″>zondagzanger</a&gt; on <a href=”http://vimeo.com”>Vimeo</a&gt;.</p>

words can’t be that strong, my heart is reeling

this is that fresh , that fresh feeling

this is a love song. and this is dedicated to life.

because celebrating life does not end when the last party song is played or when daybreak signals the end of a birthday. not even when the late greetings stop coming at the end of the birthweek or birthmonth even.

you celebrate life  every single morning you wake up, acknowledging the mood of the sky for the day; you celebrate life with every sound you take in from the city and every sigh you breathe back; you celebrate life with every smile you accept and pass on,  every new flavor you discover, every scent you whiff, every sneeze that makes your heart skip a beat, every drip of sweat, every drop of blood, every dribble of drool, and every single blink and breath. you celebrate life with every ounce of love the universe allows you and you allow for the universe.

with every bit of yourself at every second that you can feel, then there is reason to live —  that is what you celebrate

i can only try so much to put the enormity of this joy into words, yet it will never be enough. (meron na ngang kanta, mamaya lalagyan ko pa ng image yan. medyo OA na pero di pa rin sasapat, i’m sure.) one more thing too bad is that i did not even bother to take pictures of that night myself. i was too caught up in the moment of being there with everyone that i failed to capture snapshots that  i could keep in a box to look back on whenever i feel the universe is playing some nasty game on me. but no matter. i can still feel, and will forever feel, with every pore of my body, that electric sensation of being superbly alive in each moment of that night. 

so. 25th birthday huh? and the best i could do is ramble, embed a music video into this delayed birthday-post (which can get me sued, by the way hahaha. but not really very funny.) and attempt (very lamely) to illustrate how much love i feel for life in this petty little corner of mine in cyberspace. 

but you know what? so what?

sometimes we forget how much love the universe actually allows us, showers us, drowns us in. yes, guilty as charged, more often than you could imagine. but now, it’s no longer just about accepting the love we think we deserve, it is knowing there is so much love to go around.  and if only every single person at every single minute is made to feel that love as well as is able to GIVE that love, then it will be a better world. 

in the last week, the people around me have successfully reminded me that it could indeed be a better world. and, yes, that i am loved. and i love you all back.

 so, therefore, let us all resolve to

i have faith that we will succeed. because we know how to actually live.

can i call you darling–

–and tell you how i am moved by the way your eyes caress me from that distance, two bottles of dark roast brew between us and a universe with seeming infinite possibilities in our hands on this table where the rest of the world is lost on us and the only people who know us are the waiters ever so loyal to bring us our elixir, make the night possible, permit us to prolong, stay

can i say, darling, lean closer, let the roll of the r elide into the curl of the l, the way tongues move – oh you know that well – and plant another kiss on your cheek, and another, and another. easy, it comes naturally. acquainted properly, our lips know where to go, what mark it will leave on the skin that anticipates, the body that craves, every inch that aches. we have imagined this so well. waited, so eagerly. darling, i whisper, and on your ear you will hear the blooming of a flower.

darling, darling daredevil slip your hands where it belongs, if you will. under the seat, behind the wheel and hold on, hold tight as we speed through the night. have we not always longed for dawn? to be bathed in the rays of a rising sun? finally, together, our morning no longer another typewritten daydream. there it is, don’t you see, at the turn of the highway, away from this city. or maybe, just maybe, under these sheets in a universe that knows only you, only me.

 

 

**a replica of this somewhere, lost in stealth

365 for 2012: (61) Sky, Blue

there is something amiss,

 

 you notice the colors of my nails twice

and reckon, ‘that’s a piece of heaven

right there at the tips of your toes

and where your touch begins.’ the sky, 

painted on the edges of my body. something

i stole from when i took the fall. now,

reaching for that piece of paradise 

across the table, your hand gets stuck–

 

between anticipated temptations and bad luck.

 

remember, keep in synchronous rotation 

with the body that keeps you in place 

yet in constant motion. these things can be

as bright as the sun, dark as your doubt,

round as your woe. we know how

these things work. if we remember at all.  

 

it only seems random. but the distance 

between this body and that is deliberate.

calculated with precision. we move

according to rules of the universe, irrelevant

whether understood, implied, or imposed. 

 

how do we approximate matter and space?

what occupies us? what is missing?

where do burning bodies go?

 

and the color of our skies, on surfaces 

we think we own. may not be

how heaven appears to be at all.

365 for 2012: (51)

Hear my body sigh:

I miss you like you were mine.

Always never here.

**This time, without title.

Five Hours Since The Last Call

It’s almost eight. Today I woke up with an anticipated sense of calm. Like, coming from my dreams, there was no other way to feel upon facing the morning in this realm.

I am gaining a sense of bravery here. Talking about the  way I feel in such exposure. But believe me when I say that this time I really didn’t know what the song meant. I just liked how it sounded and paid no attention to the words. I didn’t understand it. But after this morning, I wish I still didn’t.

This is deliberate, the act of stepping out from that shadow of a pseudonym nobody knows about. You will find these words duplicated in another backlit sheet. If you do find that, you must have probably deserved the privilege of access. Right now, not yet.

Right now, we maintain this distance. Let’s try to catch ourselves from stepping beyond the lines. While it is somewhere we’d like to be, it may not be something we need to destroy ourselves for.

Right now, I’ll write my stuff and listen to these songs. You, stay.

And if you no longer can, tiptoe quietly away. Because if I catch you drifting away, I might never let you go.

365 for 2012: (38) Left Unsaid

Don’t say anything.

We’ll let the universe speak.

It knows our heartbeat.

365 for 2012: (35, 36, 37) After Midnight

 

I.

Stay up to keep up

and converse while the world sleeps.

Darling and discreet.

II.

Only the dawn knows.

Our silly little secret:

Promises unkept.

III.

Conversations end

when words no longer suffice.

Lips, tongues cross the lines.

 

 

 

365 for 2012: (29) Unsaintly Reminder

Faultless flirtations

anticipate bad endings.

Woo with certainty.

365 for 2012: (27) Missed Call

 

Put the phone down. Don’t

let it tear open old scars

and create new wounds.

 

Black & Blue

The song sounds so delightfully painful, it makes me want to dance and do headstands. But for who? 😛

 

365 for 2012: (25) Sa Simbahan ng Iyong Pagsinta

**This poem is derived from my first translation of Shakespeare’s Sonnet 105. I totally soiled myself upon hearing the music composed for this poem because it had so much of the feel of Fitzsimmon’s Goodmorning which is my sort of anthem at the time. So I did a little tweaking here and there to really place the words with the sound. So here it is.

 

 

Pagsinta ko’y di basta-bastang pagsamba,

Dahil ang iniibig ko’y hindi isang diyos na bato

At lahat ng awit at pagpupugay ko ay takda

Sa kanya, nag-iisa, siya nawa.

 

Siya na nga.

 

Banal sa paggising, dalisay hanggang pag-idlip

Sa kahanga-hangang dangal, walang tinag, nananatili

Kung kaya’t salita ko’y tapat ring nakapinid

Ito’t ito lang, taimtim kong sinasambit

 

Marikit, mabuti’t totoo,

ang lahat ng aking katwiran

Marikit, mabuti’t totoo,

sa ibang salita ma’y nailalarawan

 

Ito ang layaw ng dila kong makata

Ang alay kong pagdarasal

Sa simbahan ng iyong pagsinta

Puso ko’y nangungumpisal

 

Marikit, mabuti’t totoo,

kadalasa’y hiwa-hiwalay

Itong lahat ay nagsanib sa’yo

Sa kabuuan mo’y nananalaytay.

Marikit, mabuti’t totoo,

Siya nawa,

Marikit, mabuti’t totoo,

Ikaw na nga.

So Shoot Me

Like what I said previously, it’s that little chubby winged creature’s day.

If he’s not tossing around our hearts —

–he may be releasing arrows towards unwilling targets. So please, duck.

And as for me, I’m still waiting for that arrow to come my way.

Say hello to my bullet.

365 for 2012: (24) Contact

Because we’re all suckers to this Hallmark holiday anyway.

Staring, you catch me.

Our two seconds of romance.

Here’s to more, more, more. 

That Red But Not Red Letter Day

Something significant is expected to take place here. And, actually, there is an attempt to live up to that expectation. I don’t know whether to smirk or shrug at that. Even I could surprise myself sometimes.

Is it because we are now adhering to the frenzy of the ever so ridiculously hyped day of hearts for which I’ve already offered a piece of my mind to, weeks beforehand? It is, after all, that day when the little chubby winged being is forgiven if not celebrated for all the arrows he let loose, often towards unwilling targets, and for the other arrows that, insert-pessimist-remark-here, he didn’t throw. The temptation to let out some dirge on the L word (oh wait, even I have my own archived dirt on that) is too scrumptious to resist.

Or maybe I just want to make up for the entire weekend that didn’t see a post from me. The established consistency renders me guilty for the sudden break. Not even a haiku, another blurtout, a catchy new tune, a video too good to miss, an awesome illustration. Nothing? Too sleepy or too tired or uninspired. Or just the changing tide? Whatever. Excuses, excuses. 

What is expected to happen here? In a rambling post written at 3am, the universe is waiting for the side to be chosen: to shit and fart rainbows and butterflies or to puke at the thought.  The choice between bitter and sweet. To pick up the broken pieces (ugh, gimme a better clause please) and attempt at putting it all back together or to inflict bitter revenge on  someone else’s heart with the shards.

We all go through phases of bad judgement. Choosing to believe in everlasting  forever is one of those. See, being born knowing that we’re going to die eventually should precede that assumption. The majority of us all seem to skip the logic and learn the practical wisdom of time only after we’ve been stood up, the rug pulled beneath our feet, and left listening to time tick away. 

But resigning to the thought that forever indeed is non-existent is worse. Forever may be equivalent to Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy but these are the very reasons we grapple with reality the way we do. Doesn’t mean we can’t go on inventing new fantastical creatures to believe in either.  In fact our creatures of choice actually customizes itself to our comforts. All you have to do, like when you could justify how St. Nick fit down that chimney and got through the blades of the exhaust fan unscathed, is believe.

If you allow yourself, you will actually be converted from being brokenhearted to  wholeheartedly brave. Now the world and the rest of the brokenhearted-brink-of-giving-up population is in bad need of more of those. All you have to do is choose.

While Nat King Cole coos to me a waltz about delusional impulses, I myself battle with my own convictions.

And now it’s four in the morning. Easier said than done when you’re still nursing the pain of anticipating an arrow that will never come.

In The City In February

—this is what it’s like, being out in the city, in the frenzy of the anticipation for the 14th of February. All around me are couples of all breeds and buds. They either rush ahead or trail behind. Others stay still. I strain to see their faces, decipher the codes in their looks, find a message there somewhere. In the distance, I listen to the movement of their lips and wait to hear the truth bounce from their skins towards me. I could make out some affection, some real love, some pure desires, and occasional lies. I look at the way their skins touch. My mind magnifies the movement of their pores, breathing each other’s scent. I try to see which ones are ready to take on forever. I shake my head at those I see who couldn’t. I pity them. I shrug. I permit myself these moments of judgement.

Today, I gain a sincere understanding for the cynicism of those who used to put a countdown timer beside the label of my own romantic undertakings. I’d do it myself right now but I’d really rather not engage in anything pretty stupid at the moment. Kidding.

There will be couples that will fail the meaning of the word the next time February comes. Some will be strong enough to withstand a few more years. And there are those, gifted by the universe with such honorable values and magnificent timing in every circumstance (the minute he walked into the room, the moment she dropped her phone, when the train doors closed, when the lights finally came on), who will persist. For the meantime, let them all cling to each other and litter the streets.

It’s a tricky thing, the way people commit themselves and lose portions of the self to that commitment eventually. Eventually, they will be left alone figuring out where everything else went during the times they were so immersed in the fever and frenzy of it all. And they will have their days of non-belief, too. They will have their questions, doubts, fears, anxieties, apprehensions, spite, disgust — they will nurse the inner cynic, even for just a while. There is no definite measure of how long it lasts or how short it should be. Or of how brutal the truth becomes, albeit sometimes unnecessarily so.

Don’t worry, the phase ends. It doesn’t last forever. Cause you know why? Nothing does.

I should be asleep.

And I am actually sleepy. Really sleepy. But a portion of my mind refuses to rest.

The reasons of unrest stem from: the inability to comprehend occurrences that influence daily thought too much, the unavailability of answers to questions poorly formulated and ridiculously considered, the unnecessary recollections the mind randomly taps into, the undisclosed truths that cannot be confronted, the accidental heartbreaker, the uninvited lover, the lacks, the hoped-fors, the ands and the sotheres.

I am hoping that by drawing them out and labeling it one by one, rest would actually come. That the mind would calm down and let me sleep. I hope, all the time. I am a hopeful person. And I usually will the hopes to actualization, too. Tonight, or in this dark morning rather, I supplement the hoping-for-peace-of-mind-to-let-me-sleep-already-at-2-am with a lullaby.

My lullaby is a song  meant for the day’s beginning. Oh but 2am is indeed morning. Fantastic.

It repeats to me the inevitable revelation of love. I will find it, the song tries to convince me. I know, maybe, perhaps, hopefully. Really? Oh I can be a little skeptical, too.

And now while I listen, I get fixated with the meaning of harvest instead — that the long wait, the patient investment on Earth and its natural processes, will bear fruit. The song repeats a prayer for me. Finally, a sense of peace.

365 for 2012: (21) Tuloy ang Sagutan

And we continue the game.

 

Sabi niya:

Tama, dapa

Hulog, untog

Pero iba ang nangangarap sa nahihibang

Iba ang naniniginip sa nababaliw

Iba ang nilalagnat sa inaapoy

Iba ang naghahanap ng langit

Sa tinakasan ng bait

Hindi pinipiling pikit-matang tumalon

O kagat-labing umurong sulong

Walang pinipiling lasa ang dila

Walang pinipiling tama ang tula

Matamis na ang lahat ng pait

Sa tinakasan ng bait

At pwede mo sabihing

Nahanap mo na ang sarili

Nahanap mo na ang pag-ibig

Dahil nawala na ang lahat…

 

 ——————————–

Sabi ko:

Kahit ang usok na naglalaho sa kalawakan

Sumasanib sa ulap, bumabalik bilang ulan.

Ito ang mga bagay na hindi natin napapansin:

Ang pagsuyong nakaipit

Sa paminsan-minsang ‘di pag-imik;

Ang tamis na nakapinid sa pagitan

ng mga labing nakailag sa pait;

Ang digmaan sa dugong pinapaikot

ng pagtibok ng pusong may sakit.

Ito ang pira-pirasong katotohanang iyong matitikman.

Masinop na itinupi ang mga hiwaga ng mundo

At ikinubli sa mga sulok ng kaluluwa,

ingat na ingat na inialay sa kalaguyo.

Ito lang ang katotohanang kinakailangang mabatid.

Ganito ang mga bagay na hindi natin namamalayan

Akala mo’y wala, yun pala’y nariyan.

Ang galos hangga’t hindi mo nakitang nagdurugo,

Kaiba man ang pakiramdam ay di pa rin kikirot.

365 for 2012: (Seventeen, Eighteen) Sagutan ng Nalipasan ng Gutom at Kulang sa Inom

This exchange started because a very cool guy sent in a very cool translation of Shakespeare’s Sonnet 17. The lines were just there staring at me, pulling out verses from my guts, prompting some wordplay. I just had to write back. So I did and he answered. So I wrote again. I’m still waiting to see if he’ll write some more. I hope the game never ends.

(Translation of William Shakespeare’s Sonnet 17 by Froilan Medina)

Sinong maniniwala sa isusulat ko

Kahit puro tungkol sa iyo

Kung gaano ka kaganda

Kung gaano ka katamis

Kahit ganda lang ng mata mo

Kung mailalagay ko

Sa salita, sa notebook, sa ipad

O sa palad

Hindi pa rin sapat.

At wala pa ring maniniwala

Sinong maniniwala?

Sinong maghihinala?

Sa tula sa dulo ng aking dila

Na wala kang kasingganda

Ikaw lang, ikaw na

At ang dalawang gabi ng iyong mga mata

Sasabihin nilang kalokohan

Sasabihin nilang nalipasan

lang ng gutom

O nasobrahan ng inom.

Isang imahenasyong

pumapalag at nagwawala

sa pagitan ng iyong hita

sa gitna ng isang tula

sa dulo ng aking dila.

Sinong maniniwala sa isusulat ko

Kahit puro tungkol sa iyo

Kung gaano ka kaganda

Kung gaano ka katamis

Kahit ganda lang ng mata mo

Kung mailalagay ko

Sa salita, sa notebook, sa ipad

O sa palad

Hindi pa rin sapat.

At wala pa ring maniniwala

Sinong maniniwala?

Sinong maghihinala?

Sa tula sa dulo ng aking dila

Na wala kang kasingganda

Ikaw lang, ikaw na

At ang dalawang gabi ng iyong mga mata

Sasabihin nilang kalokohan

Sasabihin nilang nalipasan

lang ng gutom

O nasobrahan ng inom.

Isang imahenasyong

pumapalag at nagwawala

sa pagitan ng iyong hita

sa gitna ng isang tula

sa dulo ng aking dila.

(Prompted Curious Compulsions by yours truly)

Paano naman ang hindi puwedeng uminom

at hindi puwedeng magutom?

Ang bagsik ng lagnat ng pusong ito’y saan hinuhugot,

Saan hahantong?

(Immediate Answer by cool person mentioned above)

Kung hindi pwedeng uminom

At hindi pwedeng magutom

Ang bagsik ng lagnat ng puso

ay huhugutin ng bilog na buwan

at hahantung sa likas

na pagtakas

ng bait.

At palalayain ka ng pagkahumaling

sa kahon ng iyong katinuan.

Sasabihin nila, kabaliwan

Pero hindi ka maniniwala

Dahil nagmamahal ka lang

Ng tama.

(And another)

Di ba ang tama ay bunga rin ng pagka-untog,

Ng mga humahalik sa sahig kapag nahuhulog?

Ng mga hindi nag-iingat at bigla-biglang napapatid,

Sa mga naliligaw sa paghahanap ng langit?

Tama din ba ang makukuha sa pikit-matang pagtalon?

Katumbas yata ito ng hilong dulot ng urong-sulong.

Ah, ang may sakit nga nama’y kung anu-ano ang sinasambit.

Ang lagnat na ito sa panlasa’y nag-iiwan lang ng pait.

365 for 2012: (Nineteen) And?

Send me another

witty remark. Don’t forget

to sign: ampersand.

*Sweet sixteen, indeed. One of those things that only matter to me, I guess. Harharhar.

365 for 2012: (Eighteen) Haikunnouncement

The poster is out.

Turn the calendar pages.

The love month is here.

———————————

**Yep, from the calendar series .  This is actually the original:

The poster is out.
Turn the calendar pages.
Valentines is here.

But because this was prompted by the sonnets concert project which actually opens after Valentines, I edited it. Para lang hindi tali sa katorse. And anyway, it’s the 15th of 365, not 14th. Blech.

So, yeah, it’s sort of a plug. With anticipation. And dread.

Lahat na lang ng puwedeng tulain itutula. Tsk.

365 for 2012: (Seventeen) Thee Na Natukso

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?

Di ko alam kung tutula o tutulala

So I, for fear of trust, forget to say

Kung putî man ang puto, suso niya’y kutsintâ;

Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust;

Sakdal-lahat ng alindog ng mundo’y kawangis mo

When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st

May lambot ng mamon ang puso mong sintibay ng bato

And so the General of hot desire

Dilang buhul-buhol bumubulong na lang sa hangin

Admit impediments. Love is not love

parang mga guhit sa dalampasigang binubura ng tubig

Fair, kind, and true, is all my argument,

Ano’ng silbi mo sa akin?

Millions of strange shadows on you tend

Kalaro kong aninag na di magbalik?

(Beat. Voices switch.)

 

Irog ko, paano na ngayon ito?

Love’s not . Time’s fool.

Istupido yata itong si Cupido.

————————–

**Yes, these are not my own words. (Yes, not?).  As a teaser for a project we’re doing right now, I was tasked to mash-up lines from Shakespeare’s sonnets and its translations. Meaning I had to read and re-read  (14 x 14  = –> ) 196 lines in Old English  as well as the corresponding translations and/or adaptations (196 ++) and find a way to make sense out of alternating select 14 or so lines from both original and translated sets. Apparently, I couldn’t keep it to the minimum.

Does it make any sense, then? And since it qualifies as a poetic exercise (excuses, excuses) I’m going to count it in the 365 for 2012 project. So there. And no, I’m not ranting. Hah.

365 for 2012: (Fourteen) Salin ng Sonnet 105 ni Shakespeare

**Salin ng Sonnet 105 ni William Shakespare, ang pangalawang sonetong kailangan kong isalin para sa darating na concert sa buwan ng Pebrero. Tinapos habang nagpapahinga sa lilim ng mga puno ng buko sa baybayin ng Guimaras. Walang katumbas ang puting buhangin at hampas ng alon para sa pressured na makata. Hahaha. The life indeed, the life.

 

Pagsinta ko’y di basta-bastang pagsamba

Dahil ang iniibig ko’y hindi diyus-diyosan

At lahat ng awit at pagpupugay ko ay takda

Sa kanya, nag-iisa, siya nawa, natatangi lang.

 

Mabut sa bukang-liwayway, hanggang takip-silim mabait

Sa kahanga-hangang dangal, walang tinag na nananatili

Kung kaya’t salita ko’y tapat ring nakapinid

Ito’t ito lang, walang pagliliwaliw mga katagang sinasambit

 

Marikit, mabuti’t totoo, ang lahat ng aking katwiran

Marikit, mabuti’t totoo, sa ibang salita ma’y nailalarawan

Ito ang layaw ng dila kong makata

Sa lawak ng saklaw ng balirala’y pag-isahin itong tatlong katangian

 

Marikit, mabuti’t totoo, kadalasa’y hiwa-hiwalay

Itong lahat ngayo’y magkakasama sa’yong kabuua’y nananalaytay.

 

365 for 2012: (Eleven) Salin ng Sonnet 20 ni Shakespeare

**This is my translation of Shakespeare’s Sonnet 20. Did this for a sonnets concert project we’re doing for February. This already sort of fails the traditional sonnet form, but oh well. 😛 Linguistic discrepancies. The more lyrics-for-song version follows after. You are such a challenge Bill.  

Sonnet 20

Mukha ng dilag sa’yo ay ipinintang likas

Ikaw na mayordomang kumander ng natitira ko pang lakas

May lambot ng mamon ang puso mong sintibay ng bato

Panay lambing ang pag-ibig na walang bahid ng pagkatuso

Talbog ang titig nila sa mga mata mong walang ligaw na sulyap

Nababasbasan sana kung hindi pinapangarap ang iyong pagkurap

Ang tikas mo’t dating, kumporme’t nakapanunukso

May suwabe kang hatak sa kaiba’t kapareho.

Nilikha kang babae sana, pero sa pagpeperpekto ay lumabis

Sa iyo ay may naikabit na sobra na nagdudulot sakin ng pagtangis

Ang kasaganaang bigay sa iyo’y para sa aki’y walang saysay

Ano’ng silbi mo sa akin, kung dapat akong umibig sa isang Inday?

Anu’t-anupaman, nilikha kang aginaldo para sa mga dilag

Kanila na’ng katawan mo, maliban sa puso mo’ng sa akin sana ipanatag.

365 for 2012: (Ten)

Uncontrollable

patterns of fall. Lives at risk.

How constant hearts beat.