Matter Snipers

   

The silent dog bites;

the barking dog runs.

—a local proverb (free translation) 

Here come the poets mmmm

upon pens so remot mmmmmm

e from knowledge mmmmmmmm    ( e  .  c  .  h  .  o  .  e  .  s )

                                                             m m m m m m m m m

                                                             m m m m m m m m

                                                             m m m m m m m

                                                             m m m m m m

                                                             m m m m m

                                                             m m m m

                                                             m m m

                                                             m m

                                                             m

unlike the warrior the poet doesn’t think of

enemy lines though he roams about in exclamations—

while one soldier stalks . . . here climbs a belfry

for a better sight a proper knowledge of where

to shoot. the poet shadows an enemy line entirely

different, in a war of trying to get the print to

kill you, his enemy quite unseen. ho-hum.

whereas the warrior now sees the enemy camp,

the ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

poet still snipes for imagery in polemic subject-

predicates, structures, tones, and so on . . . with

a blind sight. and so on, and so on, and so on, and

so,

when the warrior dies

        blood drips from open mouth,

                a shriek from a TV scene viewer.

the poet dies in bed silence,

        too much lost through unneces-

                sary sermons ‘n’, oh you know

ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ?

—23 Oct.--23 Nov. 1990

Epistemology of Calendars and Hourglasses

If we’re to wait for love
or death, won’t fate then
be nice to each human? Li
fe is wet on rainy days and
uh quickly dries, summers!
Just try and burn your v
alentine and then de
fine your every
dinner. Lo
ve is we
t in rai
ny walk
s but coul
d be dry as si
lver-dower : it’s
best when love is li
fe itself, as weak in bo
ne as clam in chowder. A
s truly fine shall be its tast
e, if not its every savour. L
ife is good if we can wait b
efore our hour is over, for
then you’ll see your every
walk as part of time’s des
ires in glasses’ bowers.

Testigo (Witness)

Ha halaba nga pulong, bisan marampag
                ha dughan
An pagmakasasala mo ha bagting
Han ak’ simod, ako la gihapon an
Mapainubsanon, ako, ako an madarahug
Nga ‘say naangay makigbisog ha lawod
Han kaarawdan, kay ikaw an naghalad,
Ikaw an kinmarawat han ak’ kamaisog
Nga malunod an ngatanan nga paghusga,
                O gugma.

Ha halipot nga pulong, bisan buong,
                bisan.

-------------------------------------------------

In the long way of saying it, although
     it’s flowery on the chest
Your sinning upon the tolling of
My snout, I am yet the
Humble one, I, I am the oppressor
Who deserves to fight at the depths of
Shame, for you were the one who gave
     offerings,
You were the one who received my valor
That all judgments drown, o love.

In the short way of saying it, though
     broken, even so.

Note: English translation from the original Waray by the poet. The line “bisan buong, bisan” (even broken ones, even) is derived from the local call of the used-bottles collector in Leyte (called magbobote in the Tagalog regions) who frequented the poet’s street in his childhood.

Ukol sa Isang Protestantismo Laban sa Inobasyon (On a Protestantism Against Innovation)

Kampanaryong di luhain, sin-
     turunan mo po ang
Simula nitong koronasyon,
Itong may mapanghamak na
     kopya
Ng pagbubunyag ng mga
     manlilinlang ukol
Sa kasariwaan ni Ptolemy.
                       Harinawa’y poot
Ang maghari sa palikuran
Ng mga pakitang-giliw na
     matutunghayan niyo
Sa kayo ng aming kapilyuhan
(Na magawi noong lumago
                       ang tunog nito
     laban sa kalakal,
Nguni ngayo’y nagkukumot sa
     pugad ng pagkaasiwa o
     pag-aalala)—dahil, sa huli,

Ang ngitngit bang yao’y minithing
     manira? Di ba’t
Ang dúke ng Luteranismo’y napaiyak
     lamang sa tuwa?

---------------------------------------------

Belfry not wont to shed tears,

        belt please the

Start of this coronation, this

With the scornful copy

Of an exposé by the fraudulent

On Ptolemy’s freshness.

                        Hoping that rage

Would rule in the toilets

Of affectionate display seen in

The paper of our prank

That used to bloom with an

                        anti-commerce sound

Yet is now blanketing itself in

                        a nest of unease or

        worry—for, in the end,

Did that heat seek destruction?

                        Didn’t the Lutheran Duke shed
        tears of delight?