A tough life needs a tough language

When people say that poetry is a luxury, or an option, or for the educated middle classes, or that it shouldn’t be read at school because it is irrelevant, I suspect that the people doing the saying have had things pretty easy. A tough life needs a tough language — and that is what poetry is. 

-- Jeanette Winterson, on a recent interview for Why Be Happy When You Could Be Normal?

Be the sky

The Problem
Richard Siken


The problem (if there was one) was simply a problem with the question. He wants to paint a bird, needs to, and the problem is why. Why paint a bird? Why do anything at all? Not how, because hows are easy, series or sequence, one foot after the other, but existentially why bother, what does it solve? Be the tree, solve for bird. What does that mean? It’s a problem of focus, it’s a problem of diligence, it’s supposed to be a grackle but it sort of got away from him. But why not let the colors do what they want, which is blend, which is kind of neighborly, if you think about it. Blackbird, he says. So be it. Indexed and normative. Who gets to measure the distance between experience and its representation? Who controls the lines of inquiry? He does, but he’s not very good at it. And just because you want to paint a bird, do actually paint a bird, it doesn’t mean you’ve accomplished anything. Maybe if it was pretty, it would mean something. Maybe if it was beautiful it would be true. But it’s not, not beautiful, not true, not even realistic, more like a man in a birdsuit, blue shoulders instead of feathers, because he isn’t looking at a bird, real bird, as he paints, he is looking at his heart, which is impossible, unless his heart is a metaphor for his heart, as everything is a metaphor for itself, so that looking at the page is like looking out the window at a bird in your chest with a song in its throat that you don’t want to hear but you paint anyway because the hand is a voice that can sing what the voice will not and the hand wants to do something useful. Sometimes, at night, in bed, before I fall asleep, I think about a poem I might write, someday, about my heart, says the heart. Answer: be the heart. Answer: be the hand. Answer: be the bird. Answer: be the sky.


*Italics, mine

The Sun Never Says

Even

After

All this time

The sun never says to the earth,

“You owe

Me.”

Look

What happens

With a love like that,

It lights the

Whole

Sky.

- Hafiz

The song of the bum & the cry of the yuppie

Once upon a time, I used to write for the Metakritiko section of the Philippine Online Chronicles. I wasn't very diligent at it and I haven't always been proud of every end product (often, there's the compulsion to edit & edit & edit long after it has been published), but there's one particular feature which I will always have a soft spot for, "Dylan and Dylan: the Poem as Compass and the Song as Road Map," if only because it was about how a song (Bob Dylan's) and a poem (Dylan Thomas') got me through two different points as I grappled my way through the 20s (why are you so complicated, 20s?). The involvement of the two Dylans was pure coincidence, too. That it was quite personal made me really hesitant to publish it at first. Anyway, just thought it'd be a good time to blog about the link after that Haruki Murakami quote in my earlier post. That Murakami's character describes Bob Dylan's voice as being "like a kid standing at the window watching the rain" brought me back to the first time I heard the man. That day at the beach, Dylan's voice was like gunshot and his song ("Like a Rolling Stone") pierced through my life (not an original idea, Greil Marcus says as much, but does it more eloquently & sociologically). To be dramatic about that first encounter with Bob Dylan, I was forever changed.

Hey Universe, I know you're listening, throw a new song and poem my way soon? <3, Me

Two Soft Steps Backward through Alvin Yapan's Ang Sayaw ng Dalawang Kaliwang Paa

Most of the time, you manage to do well. You're able to function as usual; there are even days that turn out exceptional. But a line, a scene, a musical note, a lilt in someone's voice while singing; these things could unsettle. They remind you that what once was was beautiful and essential.

While things may have taken a sour note between the two of you, you are certain you will never wish you could take those 7 years back. Ever. A rib may feel like it's missing from time to time, but it doesn't overshadow the fact that for 7 years you were significant in making each other feel more whole.  

---

Watch Alvin Yapan's “Ang Sayaw ng Dalawang Kaliwang Paa” and think about saying goodbye, falling in love, crossing over, and surviving. Don't expect a straight narrative, lose yourself in the poems of Merlinda Bobis, Ruth Elynia Mabanglo, Joi Barros, Rebecca Anonuevo, Ophelia Dimalanta and Benilda Santos (a bonus: all were meticulously-delivered, pogi points to our beloved wikang Tagalog), and the moving choreography (watch out for the audition dance) by Eli Jacinto (with assistance from his lovely daughters, Joelle and Jacqui). Alvin Yapan handled the material so well, practicing restraint when, given the powerful literature and dance at his disposal, it was easier to fall into the trap of overly-dramatizing things. This film is a winner. Plus, it dared to go beyond itself and showcase Philippine literature and dance. IMHO, we need more films like this so more people would appreciate and seek out Philippine art. :)

I wish someone would come up with a special edition book on the poems featured in the film or a CD with readings from the cast, plus that haunting song. While that's not yet tangible at the moment, here's my favorite from the selection:

PAGLISAN 
ni Joi Barrios

Sinasalat ko ang bawat bahagi

Ng aking katawan.

Walang labis, walang kulang.

Sinasalat ko bawat bahagi

Ng aking katawan.

Nunal sa balikat,

Hungkag na tiyan.

May tadyang ka bang hinugot

Nang lumisan?

Sinasalat ko bawat bahagi

Ng aking katawan.

Sa kaloob-looban,

Sa kasuluk-sulukan,

Nais kong mabatid

Ang lahat ng iyong

Tinangay at iniwan.

Nais kong malaman,

Kung buong-buo pa rin ako

sa iyong paglisan.

(*emphasis, mine. Thanks, the scud, for a copy of this poem.)