Maligayang Pagdating
ni Reya Bato
(salin sa Welcome Here ni Liam Wilkinson)
Ika-7 ng Mayo 2010
Pakinggan ang aking pagkasuklam
sa mga bersong lumitaw noong
gabing nagdaan. Hangad nila’y
mangkok ng aking pagkalugod
habang ginagawa nilang kubeta
ang pilas ng papel na inilabas ko
sa kanila. Hayaan ninyong
ibida ko ang alibadbad na
aking nadama sa magdamag
na pag-iiskoba ng duming naiwan
sa sala. Sa bawat singit-singit
ng mga palugit, may mga nakasingit
na hulagway at pagwawangis.
Dinggin ang aking pagdusta
sa aking mga bwisita, sa bahay
ko ay ni wala silang itinira
kundi ang umaalingawngaw
na aliw-iw at nakakaaliw na
mga salitain na animo’y alingasaw
na naiwan sa pahinang palikuran.
Orihinal na Teksto:
dito
Sabado, Mayo 8, 2010
Huwebes, Abril 22, 2010
A Story
A Story
by Reya Bato
22nd April 2010
It is said that in death, all the memories you have flash back before your eyes.
It is true.
As I clutch my chest helplessly trying to suck air to fill my lungs, all the memories come rushing before my eyes. It seems that somebody has pushed the rewind button of a movie projector and I am watching the images frantically appear then disappear on an invisible monitor.
There is the two-year old me running from room-to-room of our ancestral house in Tagaytay.
My Mother giving me a huge kiss when I was three years old because I could read the children's book given by my Auntie.
My first day in school, I was about to cry because I could not find my school bus when I saw my brother standing beside me holding a can of soda. Nevertheless, I cried on my way to the bus - tears of joy for the feeling of safety and security.
My elder sister and I playing pirate while riding the cradle in front of our house. The red-gold light of sunset was flowing across the horizon.
I, in a white gala dress, walking in a queue for my first communion.
The image of our house in Pasig also appears followed by the beautiful figurine clock given by my eldest sister. We had a huge fight the night before. I read the note on the card posted on the wrapper: "Sorry. Always study hard. I love you."
The day when my brother-in-law asked for the hand of my eldest sister also flashes on the invisible monitor. He was narrating the first day he met my sister -- he heard chimes of bell when he saw her.
The scene changes. I was in my college auditorium; it was two weeks before the graduation. They were announcing the list of honors. I was fidgeting on my seat. My heart jumped out of my chest when I heard my name. Later that afternoon, I called my Mom crying giving her the good news – tears of joy for the job well done.
The day when you invited me for a dinner seems a very recent past. You rang the bell hanging beside the door on our way out. I recalled the story of my brother-in-law that time.
The next image shows the time I visited an old church. Somebody told me that if it is your first visit to a church, you must knock on its door and make a wish. I prayed for you. I also asked for a sign - a white rose.
The images continue to change rapidly. Most of them happened inside the classroom. The face of my students flashes transiently on the invisible monitor. The fast shifting of each scene does not give me chance to feel nostalgic.
Then, it is you again. We were eating in a cozy restaurant when you handed me a book. I looked at the cover -- a white rose was printed on it.
It is followed by the moments I had with you. Our endless talk on the phone, the contagious laughter that we shared, our leisurely short walks to my house, fancy dinners where you would always hand me a book and I would give you a poem in exchange.
The delightful images are erased by the scene in our backyard. The smoke coming from the burnt paper stung my eyes. I was burning the poems I composed for you. There was a cold, thin feeling growing inside me and it was slowly consuming my heart. It made me hard to breathe.
I cannot breathe. It seems somebody is squeezing the life out of me. I try to gulp air. I even open my mouth wide to suck in air but there is an obstruction in my airway. I try to clutch my chest struggling to remove the tightening pressure on my chest. The numbness starts spreading in my limbs and my palms start to sweat. There is a freezing coldness on my feet. I open my mouth wider and hastily gulp air. I cannot draw in air.
People appear -- my mother, my two sisters, my brother, nurses, doctors -- hovering over me, trying to help.
The doctors and the nurses are like apparitions pacing swiftly back-and-forth. They start giving me life support including defibrillation (that is the administration of an electric shock to the heart).
It is said, too, that in death the last sense to malfunction is the sense of hearing.
Maybe, it is true.
Just before I lose my consciousness, I hear you calling my name.
I cannot make out if you are in the room, though. I read that lack of oxygen in the brain causes tissue death which brings to brain damage. Is my brain already damaged because I can clearly hear you calling my name? I am certain you will not be there. You are not there.
You are calling my name over and over again just like in the last image that is still flickering repeatedly on the invisible monitor.
You were standing near the shadow of the tree. You were waiting for me. You invited me for a walk to my house. The crisp sound of the dried leaves as our feet trampled on them became our parting song as we passed by. The warm ray of the sun bathed our body. Nobody wanted to speak. Halfway to my house, you cut the silence between us. You told me you were sincerely sorry and you begged for my forgiveness. I did not want to hear them. I did not say a word either -- no words would bring you back. I ran away from you. You called my name over and over again. I ran as fast as I could. The short distance seemed never-ending.
by Reya Bato
22nd April 2010
It is said that in death, all the memories you have flash back before your eyes.
It is true.
As I clutch my chest helplessly trying to suck air to fill my lungs, all the memories come rushing before my eyes. It seems that somebody has pushed the rewind button of a movie projector and I am watching the images frantically appear then disappear on an invisible monitor.
There is the two-year old me running from room-to-room of our ancestral house in Tagaytay.
My Mother giving me a huge kiss when I was three years old because I could read the children's book given by my Auntie.
My first day in school, I was about to cry because I could not find my school bus when I saw my brother standing beside me holding a can of soda. Nevertheless, I cried on my way to the bus - tears of joy for the feeling of safety and security.
My elder sister and I playing pirate while riding the cradle in front of our house. The red-gold light of sunset was flowing across the horizon.
I, in a white gala dress, walking in a queue for my first communion.
The image of our house in Pasig also appears followed by the beautiful figurine clock given by my eldest sister. We had a huge fight the night before. I read the note on the card posted on the wrapper: "Sorry. Always study hard. I love you."
The day when my brother-in-law asked for the hand of my eldest sister also flashes on the invisible monitor. He was narrating the first day he met my sister -- he heard chimes of bell when he saw her.
The scene changes. I was in my college auditorium; it was two weeks before the graduation. They were announcing the list of honors. I was fidgeting on my seat. My heart jumped out of my chest when I heard my name. Later that afternoon, I called my Mom crying giving her the good news – tears of joy for the job well done.
The day when you invited me for a dinner seems a very recent past. You rang the bell hanging beside the door on our way out. I recalled the story of my brother-in-law that time.
The next image shows the time I visited an old church. Somebody told me that if it is your first visit to a church, you must knock on its door and make a wish. I prayed for you. I also asked for a sign - a white rose.
The images continue to change rapidly. Most of them happened inside the classroom. The face of my students flashes transiently on the invisible monitor. The fast shifting of each scene does not give me chance to feel nostalgic.
Then, it is you again. We were eating in a cozy restaurant when you handed me a book. I looked at the cover -- a white rose was printed on it.
It is followed by the moments I had with you. Our endless talk on the phone, the contagious laughter that we shared, our leisurely short walks to my house, fancy dinners where you would always hand me a book and I would give you a poem in exchange.
The delightful images are erased by the scene in our backyard. The smoke coming from the burnt paper stung my eyes. I was burning the poems I composed for you. There was a cold, thin feeling growing inside me and it was slowly consuming my heart. It made me hard to breathe.
I cannot breathe. It seems somebody is squeezing the life out of me. I try to gulp air. I even open my mouth wide to suck in air but there is an obstruction in my airway. I try to clutch my chest struggling to remove the tightening pressure on my chest. The numbness starts spreading in my limbs and my palms start to sweat. There is a freezing coldness on my feet. I open my mouth wider and hastily gulp air. I cannot draw in air.
People appear -- my mother, my two sisters, my brother, nurses, doctors -- hovering over me, trying to help.
The doctors and the nurses are like apparitions pacing swiftly back-and-forth. They start giving me life support including defibrillation (that is the administration of an electric shock to the heart).
It is said, too, that in death the last sense to malfunction is the sense of hearing.
Maybe, it is true.
Just before I lose my consciousness, I hear you calling my name.
I cannot make out if you are in the room, though. I read that lack of oxygen in the brain causes tissue death which brings to brain damage. Is my brain already damaged because I can clearly hear you calling my name? I am certain you will not be there. You are not there.
You are calling my name over and over again just like in the last image that is still flickering repeatedly on the invisible monitor.
You were standing near the shadow of the tree. You were waiting for me. You invited me for a walk to my house. The crisp sound of the dried leaves as our feet trampled on them became our parting song as we passed by. The warm ray of the sun bathed our body. Nobody wanted to speak. Halfway to my house, you cut the silence between us. You told me you were sincerely sorry and you begged for my forgiveness. I did not want to hear them. I did not say a word either -- no words would bring you back. I ran away from you. You called my name over and over again. I ran as fast as I could. The short distance seemed never-ending.
Miyerkules, Pebrero 24, 2010
Ako ay Buhay sa mga Sandaling
Ako ay Buhay sa mga Sandaling
Salin ni Reya Bato
Ako ay buhay sa mga sandaling
kasiping ko ang kanyang katawan
na unti-unting nagkakamalay
at tuluyang ginigising ng pithaya
ng laman. Kinakagat ko ang kanyang
balikat hanggang sa maabot namin
ang halimuyak ng Tagsibol --
napakasidhi, napakalaki, iisa
sa makulay na sandali.
Kalugod-lugod na takot
ang naghahari sa paglilimayon
ng kanyang mga labi (at mula
sa pagitan ng kanyang mga hita
na kumikibot at humihingal,
isang nag-uumigpaw na ulan
ang dumidilig sa bulaklak
na sumasayaw sa bawat
kumpas ng aking balakang)
Orihinal na Teksto:
Sometimes I Am Alive Because With
by E.E. Cummings
Sometimes I am alive because with
me her alert treelike body sleeps
which I will feel slowly sharpening
becoming distinct with love slowly,
who in my shoulder sinks sweetly teeth
until we shall attain the Springsmelling
intense large together coloured instant
the moment pleasantly frightful
when, her mouth suddenly rising, wholly
begins with mine fiercely to fool
(and from my thighs which shrug and pant
a murdering rain leapingly reaches the upward singular deepest flower which she
carries in a gesture of her hips)
Salin ni Reya Bato
Ako ay buhay sa mga sandaling
kasiping ko ang kanyang katawan
na unti-unting nagkakamalay
at tuluyang ginigising ng pithaya
ng laman. Kinakagat ko ang kanyang
balikat hanggang sa maabot namin
ang halimuyak ng Tagsibol --
napakasidhi, napakalaki, iisa
sa makulay na sandali.
Kalugod-lugod na takot
ang naghahari sa paglilimayon
ng kanyang mga labi (at mula
sa pagitan ng kanyang mga hita
na kumikibot at humihingal,
isang nag-uumigpaw na ulan
ang dumidilig sa bulaklak
na sumasayaw sa bawat
kumpas ng aking balakang)
Orihinal na Teksto:
Sometimes I Am Alive Because With
by E.E. Cummings
Sometimes I am alive because with
me her alert treelike body sleeps
which I will feel slowly sharpening
becoming distinct with love slowly,
who in my shoulder sinks sweetly teeth
until we shall attain the Springsmelling
intense large together coloured instant
the moment pleasantly frightful
when, her mouth suddenly rising, wholly
begins with mine fiercely to fool
(and from my thighs which shrug and pant
a murdering rain leapingly reaches the upward singular deepest flower which she
carries in a gesture of her hips)
Sabado, Pebrero 13, 2010
Aking Pagsinta, Lilimutin Natin Siya!
Aking Pagsinta, Lilimutin Natin Siya!
(salin sa tula ni Emily Dickinson na Heart, We Will Forget Him!)
Aking pagsinta, lilimutin natin siya!
Ikaw at ako, ngayong gabing ito!
Lilimutin mo ang bigay niyang init
Aapulahin ko naman ang ningas niyang hatid.
Kung nangyari na, ipaalam mo sa akin
Upang ang aking alaala ay magdilim;
Dali! Ako ay nababahala na sa iyong pagkaantala,
Ako ay mangulila at alaala niya ay hindi mawala!
(orihinal na teksto)
Heart, we will forget him!
You and I, tonight!
You may forget the warmth he gave,
I will forget the light.
When you have done, pray tell me
That I my thoughts may dim;
Haste! lest while you're lagging.
I may remember him!
Sabado, Enero 16, 2010
Ako, na Ipinanganak na Babae at Nangangamba
Edna Saint Vincent MillayAko, na Ipinanganak na Babae at Nangangamba
(halaw sa I, Being Born a Woman and Distressed
ni Edna St. Vincent Millay)
Ako, na ipinanganak na babae at nangangamba
sa pangangailangan ng aking kauri at aming sapantaha,
ay nahikayat ng iyong kalapitan para makaunawa
sa karik’tan ng iyong pagkatao, at damhin ang pihong ligaya
habang nakapatong ang bigat mo sa akin katawan:
Napakarupok ng hininga ng buhay, nilaan
upang linawin ang tibok at guluhin ang isipan,
at iwan mo ulit akong kulang, sarili ay hindi kamtan.
Wag mong isipin, gayunman, ang abang kataksilan
ng aking mapusok na dugo laban sa aking tulirong isipan,
iisipin kita nang may pagmamahal, o kaya’y rekaduhan
ang aking pangungutya ng awa, -- hayaan
mong linawin ko ito sa katwirang:
Tanto kong ito ay kahibangan at alanganing dahilan
ng ating pag-uusap sa muli nating pag-uulayaw.
Orihinal na Teksto:
I, being born a woman and distressed
By all the needs and notions of my kind,
Am urged by your propinquity to find
Your person fair, and feel a certain zest
To bear your body's weight upon my breast:
So subtly is the fume of life, designed
To clarify the pulse and cloud the mind,
And leave me once again undone, possessed.
Think not for this, however, the poor treason
Of my stout blood against my staggering brain,
I shall remember you with love, or season
My scorn with pity, -- let me make it plain:
I find this frenzy insufficient reason
For conversation when we meet again.
Ako, na ipinanganak na babae at nangangamba
sa pangangailangan ng aking kauri at aming sapantaha,
ay nahikayat ng iyong kalapitan para makaunawa
sa karik’tan ng iyong pagkatao, at damhin ang pihong ligaya
habang nakapatong ang bigat mo sa akin katawan:
Napakarupok ng hininga ng buhay, nilaan
upang linawin ang tibok at guluhin ang isipan,
at iwan mo ulit akong kulang, sarili ay hindi kamtan.
Wag mong isipin, gayunman, ang abang kataksilan
ng aking mapusok na dugo laban sa aking tulirong isipan,
iisipin kita nang may pagmamahal, o kaya’y rekaduhan
ang aking pangungutya ng awa, -- hayaan
mong linawin ko ito sa katwirang:
Tanto kong ito ay kahibangan at alanganing dahilan
ng ating pag-uusap sa muli nating pag-uulayaw.
Orihinal na Teksto:
I, being born a woman and distressed
By all the needs and notions of my kind,
Am urged by your propinquity to find
Your person fair, and feel a certain zest
To bear your body's weight upon my breast:
So subtly is the fume of life, designed
To clarify the pulse and cloud the mind,
And leave me once again undone, possessed.
Think not for this, however, the poor treason
Of my stout blood against my staggering brain,
I shall remember you with love, or season
My scorn with pity, -- let me make it plain:
I find this frenzy insufficient reason
For conversation when we meet again.
Miyerkules, Disyembre 23, 2009
Commercial Break (Part 2)
I shut my eyes and pressed my thumb on my temple. I was tempted to shout at the top of my voice or bang my fist on the table, kick the trash bin beside my left foot, and hurl the pile of papers in front of me.
The phone rang.
“Hello! Blah, blah, blah, blah office, good morning!” The way I greeted the person on the other line astonished me. There was no hint of annoyance in it.
“I can still be courteous even I am raging with anger,” I thought.
The owner of the voice on the other line was jovial. It drowned my ranging anger.
He wanted to speak to Mr. Blah-blah. Mr. Blah-blah made a sign that he could not take the call.
“Mr. Blah-blah can’t come to the phone now. May I have your name and number. He will call you back as soon as possible.” I replied.
I jotted down his name and number then said goodbye. When I put down the receiver, Mr. Blah-blah called me to give another set of paperwork. I did not stir on my seat.
I had an urge to shout at the top of my voice again.
I bowed down my head, shut my eyes, and pressed my thumb on my temple.
Mr. Blah-blah called me again to hand the paperwork. I lifted my head, tried to smile, walked towards him, and extended my right hand to get the other set of papers.
I took a deep breath before burying myself to work.
“These papers are a relief anyway”, I thought, “I can forget everything once I am occupied with them.”
(Yup, folks, I'm changing my genre. I am writing prose now. I tried to write poetry these past days but to no avail. The muse of my poetry escaped again. Actually, I chose three poems that I will translate or adapt in Filipino but... I couldn't find any drive to write a new poem. So, enjoy my very first short story.)
The phone rang.
“Hello! Blah, blah, blah, blah office, good morning!” The way I greeted the person on the other line astonished me. There was no hint of annoyance in it.
“I can still be courteous even I am raging with anger,” I thought.
The owner of the voice on the other line was jovial. It drowned my ranging anger.
He wanted to speak to Mr. Blah-blah. Mr. Blah-blah made a sign that he could not take the call.
“Mr. Blah-blah can’t come to the phone now. May I have your name and number. He will call you back as soon as possible.” I replied.
I jotted down his name and number then said goodbye. When I put down the receiver, Mr. Blah-blah called me to give another set of paperwork. I did not stir on my seat.
I had an urge to shout at the top of my voice again.
I bowed down my head, shut my eyes, and pressed my thumb on my temple.
Mr. Blah-blah called me again to hand the paperwork. I lifted my head, tried to smile, walked towards him, and extended my right hand to get the other set of papers.
I took a deep breath before burying myself to work.
“These papers are a relief anyway”, I thought, “I can forget everything once I am occupied with them.”
(Yup, folks, I'm changing my genre. I am writing prose now. I tried to write poetry these past days but to no avail. The muse of my poetry escaped again. Actually, I chose three poems that I will translate or adapt in Filipino but... I couldn't find any drive to write a new poem. So, enjoy my very first short story.)
Lunes, Oktubre 5, 2009
Dalamhati
Halaw sa 'Sorrow' ni Edna St. Vincent Millay
Tumatahip sa aking dibdib
ang sakit na walang patid
sa pagtangis. Ang mga tao
ay alumpihit at napapahiyaw
sa sakit, -- Sa pagdating
ng bukang-liwayway
sila’y matatagpuang walang
ingay ni galaw; hindi man lang
nadagdagan o ni nabawasan,
wala ring nasawata
ni nag-umpisa. Ang mga tao
ay gumagayak at sa bayan
ay nagpupunta; ako’y nakaupo
sa aking silya. Lahat ng alaala
ay mabagal at lanta: Tumayo
man o umupong muli
ay walang halaga, o kaya’y
anong gagamiting bestida
o panaping isusuot sa paa.
Tumatahip sa aking dibdib
ang sakit na walang patid
sa pagtangis. Ang mga tao
ay alumpihit at napapahiyaw
sa sakit, -- Sa pagdating
ng bukang-liwayway
sila’y matatagpuang walang
ingay ni galaw; hindi man lang
nadagdagan o ni nabawasan,
wala ring nasawata
ni nag-umpisa. Ang mga tao
ay gumagayak at sa bayan
ay nagpupunta; ako’y nakaupo
sa aking silya. Lahat ng alaala
ay mabagal at lanta: Tumayo
man o umupong muli
ay walang halaga, o kaya’y
anong gagamiting bestida
o panaping isusuot sa paa.
(Orihinal na Teksto)
Sorrow
Edna St. Vincent Millay
Sorrow like a ceaseless rain
Beats upon my heart.
People twist and scream in pain,—
Dawn will find them still again;
This has neither wax nor wane,
Neither stop nor start.
People dress and go to town;
I sit in my chair.
All my thoughts are slow and brown:
Standing up or sitting down
Little matters, or what gown
Or what shoes I wear.
Mag-subscribe sa:
Mga Post (Atom)
