Welcome to Poetry Wednesdays on the Sari-Sari Storybooks blog.
As I travel around the Philippines to work on this children’s book series, I’d like to share some of the poets I meet, writing in Cebuano, Waray, Meranao, Hiligaynon, Tagalog and other Philippine languages. I hope you’ll enjoy hearing the multiplicity of Filipino poetry in the world.
We’ll start with Cebuano poet Jeremiah Bondoc (president of Bathalad, a Cebuano poetry organization),who read this back in February 2014, on my last trip here. This is “sa menteryo sa carreta dihang nangutana ka / og unsaon ang balak sa pagbasa” (how a poem should be read you asked me/ at the carreta cemetery).
Check back in on Wednesdays to hear more poets.
SA MENTERYO SA CARRETA DIHANG NANGUTANA KA
OG UNSAON ANG BALAK SA PAGBASA
Migilok ang akong kaspa
Kay sa imong pagsikit, kalit kang mihunghong
Ug nangutana kon unsaon man diay
Ang balak sa pagbasa.
Aw kuan—matud ko pa nga nakalitan—
Kanang makapaso.
Apan dili sama nianang nagdilaab
Nga mga pabilo, kansang kainit,
sa bugnawng marmol mikamang, kon dili,
Sama nianang imong paghunghong, sa paghapyod
Sa imong gininhawa sa punuan sa akong dunggan.
Kanang tanlas—
Sama sa paghagawhaw sa kabugnaw
Nga igo lang mipaka-naas sa mga dahon
Sa kasya diin kita, sa ilawom niini
Mipasilong, mitago
Sa himantayong mga bitoon.
Ah basta—
Gi-ingnan tika, didto
Sa menteryo sa Carreta,
Taliwa sa milanog nga kahilom,
Sa dayong pagtak-om
Sa kagabhi-on.
— Jeremiah Bondoc
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(English Translation)
HOW A POEM SHOULD BE READ YOU ASKED ME
AT THE CARRETA CEMETERY
An itch stirred at the root of my hair
As you closed in and in a hush,
Asked,
How a poem should be read.
Well—caught off-guard, I said—
Should be smoldering.
Not so much like these wicks, flaming,
Its fire creeping on the cold marble stone,
But like when you whisper
And the warmth of your breath drifts
Over the lobes of my ear.
Should be smooth—
Like the hushed blowing of a cold breeze
Causing just a light stirring in the leaves of this acacia tree
Where underneath
We hide ourselves
From the leering eyes of the stars
Well, whatever—
I said, rather glibly
At the Carreta cemetery
Embraced by a booming silence,
The night
Closing in.
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