laging umuulan sa maulang kapuluan

binasa ko ulit yung libro na hiniram ko kay mike, bago ko isauli sa kanya bukas. naisip ko lang i-post dito yung isa sa mga nagustuhan ko. wasak yung koleksiyon na to. mula sa Magdaragat ng Pag-ibig at Iba Pang Tula ng Pagnanasa - Reuel Molina Aguila



Ikaw Na Ba 'Yan?


Maulan ang mga buwang ito.
Nagnanaknak ang mga lubak
Na kalyeng binaha;
Buhol na trapiko
At mga di makauwing pasahero.
Nag-iisa sa dami ng tao,
Nanginginig sa lamig at dilim,
Naunang nakasakay sa panimdim
Ang aking gunita
Pauwi sa tahanan ng mga alaala.

Walang ulan noon at nakapayong ka
Sa init ng araw ako'y nasilaw
Sa pag-iisa mo.
Ay, kay laon ko nang hinintay
Ang araw na ito
Gaya sa paulit-ulit na panaginip:
Isang dilag na marilag
Ngunit walang mukha
May hawak na payong
Gayong hindi umuulan.
Nagkamukha ang panaginip.
Ikaw na ba 'yan?
Ang gusto kong idulog sa iyo.
Ngunit pinaghiwalay tayo
Ng dagsa ng tao at sasakyan.

Makailang ulit man akong magbalik
Sa lugar na ito, sa parehong oras
Wala, wala ang dilag
Wala ang payong
Wala ang mukha ng panaginip.
Ngunit lagi akong naririto
Sa init ng parehong lugar at oras
At ngayo'y nangangaligkig.
Nais kong mahiga sa malamig
Na bangketa ng pagnanasa;
Matulog at managinip.
Upang kahit doo'y makitang muli
Ang dilag na nakapayong
Kahit walang mukha.

At idudulog ko:
Ikaw na ba 'yan?
At isasagot mo:
Ako na nga ito.

babay summer

sabi na nga ba e. matatapos din.


...



Psychoanalysis: An Elegy
Jack Spicer

What are you thinking about?

I am thinking of an early summer.
I am thinking of wet hills in the rain
Pouring water. Shedding it
Down empty acres of oak and manzanita
Down to the old green brush tangled in the sun,
Greasewood, sage, and spring mustard.
Or the hot wind coming down from Santa Ana
Driving the hills crazy,
A fast wind with a bit of dust in it
Bruising everything and making the seed sweet.
Or down in the city where the peach trees
Are awkward as young horses,
And there are kites caught on the wires
Up above the street lamps,
And the storm drains are all choked with dead branches.

What are you thinking?

I think that I would like to write a poem that is slow as a summer
As slow getting started
As 4th of July somewhere around the middle of the second stanza
After a lot of unusual rain
California seems long in the summer.
I would like to write a poem as long as California
And as slow as a summer.
Do you get me, Doctor? It would have to be as slow
As the very tip of summer.
As slow as the summer seems
On a hot day drinking beer outside Riverside
Or standing in the middle of a white-hot road
Between Bakersfield and Hell
Waiting for Santa Claus.

What are you thinking now?

I’m thinking that she is very much like California.
When she is still her dress is like a roadmap. Highways
Traveling up and down her skin
Long empty highways
With the moon chasing jackrabbits across them
On hot summer nights.
I am thinking that her body could be California
And I a rich Eastern tourist
Lost somewhere between Hell and Texas
Looking at a map of a long, wet, dancing California
That I have never seen.
Send me some penny picture-postcards, lady,
Send them.
One of each breast photographed looking
Like curious national monuments,
One of your body sweeping like a three-lane highway
Twenty-seven miles from a night’s lodging
In the world’s oldest hotel.

What are you thinking?

I am thinking of how many times this poem
Will be repeated. How many summers
Will torture California
Until the damned maps burn
Until the mad cartographer
Falls to the ground and possesses
The sweet thick earth from which he has been hiding.

What are you thinking now?

I am thinking that a poem could go on forever.

unang ulan ng mayo

experiment ko to sa line cutting.


...


Kung bakit ayaw nating pag-usapan ang pagkahulog

Palalim nang palalim
ang walang hanggan

na dilim nang bigla kang magising
sa tunog ng nahulog

na porselana. Binabasag
ng iyong paghinga

ang katahimikan sa kalawakan.
Ang durog na buwan. Pinulot mo

ang nagsabog na bubog
sa iyong paanan. Dumaplis

sa iyong isipan: paano pa mabubuo
ang pira-pirasong puso?

Renga. April 17, 2009

Sapagkat ang lahat ng bagay ay likha sa apoy
na inakala ko noong napupuksa
ng hangin ngunit hindi
nauupos ang apoy sapagkat
ang lahat ay nilikha para rito. Marahil
malilimutan ko ang bawat pagkakataong
ibubulong ng hangin sa akin ang mga linya
ng isang tulang nagsisimula
sa "Sapagkat ang lahat ng bagay ay likha
sa apoy". Nadarama ko ang paglimot
buhat ng masabi ang mga linyang ito.
Malungkot. Maririnig kong muli sa hangin
kung paano susunugin ang lahat.

--- jc, jaja, ej

summer classes

sige lang. sige lang. matatapos din yan.

2 poems by Stephen Dunn:

Aesthete

A fire has started in the kitchen,
and is moving from room to room.
There's just enough time
to save Rembrandt, an original,
or the portrait of your wife.
You save the Rembrandt, of course,
but when you get outside
you think it might be possible
to save the portrait as well.
You dash back in, and rescue
the portrait just before the flames
would have it as their own.
You're half way out the door now,
you're going to be fine
when you realize, oh no, your wife
has been up in the attic sorting through
memorabilia of your lifetime together.
How stupid of me, you say to yourself,
the Rembrandt or my actual wife-
that's what I neeeded to decide between.
How did I get it so wrong?

To a Friend Accused of a Crime
He May Have Committed

We'll never know for sure now,
you in your garage with the motor on
and the tailpipe clogged and the door closed,
three days before the trial. Your wife
found you after she found the note,
and this morning the numinous beauty
of low fog in our fields has taken on
a strange gloom, a lone deer grazing there
with an alertness that you must have had
many days of your life, lest you be caught.

For twenty-five years we knew you
to be a man who could charm a room,
yet stand up at a faculty meeting
and press an argument, not back down.
When we dined with you, you loved
to tell us all the places you'd been.
How stupid of you to allow
your computer to be repaired,
the hard facts on the hard drive-
all those boys, girls, this other life.

What brilliance, though, to have concealed it
for so long. And how nearby desperation
always must have been. I'll remember your face
now as a thing with a veil, what I so admire
in poker players. You were not one of those.
When word first got out, we called you,
said we were there for you. In our minds
your remained a friend. We didn't call again.

When does a friend cease being a friend?
After which betrayal, yours or ours?
Or do we just go on in the muck and the mud
holding ourselves up the best we can?
That's what we're asking ourselves,
the fog lifting a little, the newspaper
with your photo in it open on our table.

Detour

Mahigit-kumulang dalawang oras na biyahe galing sa eskuwela, isang sakay ng tren, maghahanap ng kakilala o mananahimik sa isang sulok, mga libro ng tulang pampalipas oras, bababa sa Santolan station, fishball, kalamares, kikiam- sige kain lang habang nag-aabang ng dyip sa ilalim ng footbridge, isang sakay ng dyip na patok, 21 pesos na pamasahe, 18 pesos 'pag estudyante, bayad ho, Simbahan, estudyante lang, madalas nakatingin sa malayo, mga ilaw-posteng walang ilaw, pipiliting magmakata, hampas ng hangin sa mukha, pull the string to stop, isang mahaba-habang lakaran hanggang sa terminal ng tricycle, amoy ng french fries ng mcdo, saglit na maaawa sa taong grasa sa tabi, magkukrus pagdaan ng simbahan, sampaguita at iba pang bulaklak, gulay, karne at ang malansang amoy ng isda sa palengke, mahabang pila sa terminal, isang sakay na naka-backride sa tricycle, namamagang buwan at mga napupunding bituin sa kalangitan, titigil sa itim na gate, nananabik na kahol ni bantay, hahanapin sa bag ang susi ng bahay, didiretso sa kuwarto, sa lamesa, magkapatung-patong na libro, may nakaipit pang litrato sa isa, maghuhubad ng amoy-usok na damit, bubuksan ang bintana, hihiga sa kama, ipipikit ang mga...


...


...tatlong taon na rin akong naglalakbay
sa lungsod. tatlong taon ng pagsasanay
umuwi. ngunit, kung kailan alam na
alam ko na ang daan, mahal,
isang araw, bigla mo akong iniligaw.

i can't help fallin' in love with my new chocolava

chocolava. i'm in lava. -> ang corny ng patalastas na to. haha.

maiba tayo. heto ang isang wasak poetry.

To die in a poem

I didn’t know if it was possible

To live in a poem.

A friend sd he wouldn’t

Mind to live in a poem

I’d written.

Yet there were poems

He just couldn’t live in.

Based on this I didn’t know

If my poems were any good

Or if I were at least a good friend.

But if one could die

In a poem, I’d pick one

With only a few lines—

My life, short as these words,

Would end there just fine.

-mesandel arguelles