Ka Pete

Jose Monreal Lacaba

2008-06-15T09:41:00.000-07:00

JOSE MONREAL LACABA is standing in the back row, second from left, pipe in hand. The caption says: “Banquet given by Cagayan, Misamis Oriental prominent veterans at Mabuhay Hotel in honor of Maj. Melencio Orbase (?) of the Phil. Veterans Board Nov. 20, 1946.” Malapit na akong mag-isang taong gulang nang kunan ang retratong ito.
(Click on the photo to get a zoomed-in view. I discovered this accidentally just now.)

Katatapos lang ng Father’s Day, at bilang belated celebration ng araw na iyan ay ipino-post ko ang isang lumang tulang sinulat ko noong dekada 60, noong nagsusulat pa ako ng tula sa Ingles.

Hindi ko halos nakilala ang aking ama, si Jose Monreal Lacaba. Noong lumalaki kaming magkakapatid sa Cagayan de Oro, nasa Maynila siya, isang working student, ginagamit ang kanyang veterans’ benefits bilang dating gerilya ng USAFFE (United States Armed Forces in the Far East) noong World War II.

Sampung taon na ako nang lumipat kami sa Pateros, pero sa Maynila pa rin nagbo-board ang aking ama, nagtatrabaho sa Bureau of Labor (Department of Labor and Employment na ngayon) habang nag-aaral ng abugasya sa University of Manila. Umuuwi lang siya sa Pateros tuwing weekends.

Labintatlong taon ako nang mamatay siya--kanser sa atay--at ako, bilang panganay sa anim na magkakapatid, ang mula noon ay tumayong padre de pamilya. Hindi ko naiwasang sumama ang loob sa maagang pagpataw ng responsibilidad sa aking balikat, at pagkaraan ng halos isang dekada ay inihinga ko ang aking sama ng loob sa tulang ito. Matapos kong sulatin ito, pinatawad ko na ang aking ama, at sa kinaroonan niya ngayon, palagay ko’y pinatawad na rin niya ako.

BELATED ELEGY

By Jose F. Lacaba

My father’s bones will stay in place,
at peace with the worms and growth of grass.
Unkempt is the grass that surrounds his grave,
sharp question marks for us who have
forgotten—but the very sound of father
was hollow long ago. Before
the cancer in the liver turned him yellow
my father was to his son unknown.

At work by day, in school at night,
on weekends he would check my height
against the lines on the kitchen wall:
the only way he knew to find out how far
work of his flesh had traveled from his flesh.
Were he yet upright, he’d be amazed,
my eyes would be level with his brow.
But more than cubits is the distance now.

What happens to the hope parents cherish?
Last from the box, first to perish.
I was eldest in a brood of six
whose future strained my father’s wrists.
He worked to the bone, and bone remains;
and strain is the eldest’s inheritance
—impossible to keep out the pain
that startles the heart now and again.

NOTE: Isang earlier version ng tulang ito ang lumabas sa Philippines Free Press, September 30, 1967. Ang naka-post dito ay ang slightly revised version na lumabas sa librong Father Poems, edited by Alfred A. Yuson and Gemino Abad (Anvil Publishing, Pasig City, 2004).

Lino Brocka

2008-05-21T07:20:00.000-07:00

May 19, 2008, Monday, was the third death anniversary of Pilar Brocka, the mother of internationally acclaimed Filipino director Lino Brocka.

Tomorrow, May 22, 2008, is the 17th death anniversary of Lino himself.

To commemorate these events, I am posting a storyline that I wrote sometime in 1998, seven years after Lino died. This was written “on spec” (as we say in the biz, meaning, with no down payment), and was commissioned by an Asian-American festival organizer. The film, meant for international release, never got made.

Ka Pete, screenwriter, with Lino Brocka in Cannes, 1989,
when Orapronobis (Les insoumis in the French-subtitled version),
was shown out of competition.
I'm not sure now, though, if this photo was taken in Paris,
outside a theater where the film was shown commercially.

DIREK

Storyline
by
Jose F. Lacaba

WE COULD START with the car accident in 1991. On a deserted, dimly lit city road sometime after midnight, a speeding car swerves to avoid hitting a motorized tricycle that has suddenly materialized from a side street, and crashes into a lamppost. The tricycle disappears where it came from, but a passing car stops and its passengers pull out the accident victims. The man in the front passenger’s seat is obviously dead. The good Samaritans recognize him: “It’s Lino Brocka.”

Flashback to 1977. Lino Brocka, 38, is recognized as the preeminent film director of his generation. He is a child of the commercial film industry, but in the past three years he has been rebelling against the industry—and often succeeding, making highly personal low-budget independent films that have won both critical and box-office acclaim.

This same year, a Frenchman whom we shall call Jean-Paul, a sometime film director who unofficially serves as talent scout for various European film festivals, currently on the lookout for Third World and especially Asian films, comes to Manila and sees Lino’s latest picture, Insiang. The subsequent showing of the film in the Director’s Fortnight of the Cannes filmfest marks the beginning of Lino Brocka’s cult following in the festival circuit.

It is during his colorful interviews with the international press that we get glimpses of Lino’s background: he was born out of wedlock; his father got murdered by political enemies; his mother, a schoolteacher, was forced to work as a taxi dancer to support her two sons; as a boy he sold food and flowers in the streets, and sang and danced to attract customers; as a young man fresh out of college he joined the Mormons and was assigned to a leper colony in Hawaii; on his return home he worked as script supervisor on American B movies made in the Philippines.

Insiang’s Cannes premiere is also the beginning of a stormy relationship between Lino and Jean-Paul, who becomes both Pygmalion and Svengali to his “discovery.” In the next dozen years, Jean-Paul will be instrumental in bringing more than a dozen of Lino’s work to international film festivals and to the attention of international film critics. His enthusiasm for Lino’s films is undeniable. But at the same time Jean-Paul, ethnocentric despite his cosmopolitanism, wants to make sure the Brocka films will be acceptable to Western tastes. One condition for international exposure is for the films—originally made for the Filipino mass audience of peasants and proles (the Filipino elite at this time prefers Hollywood productions)—to be re-edited, trimmed to manageable length to make their pace less leisurely, and even to be re-scored, if the music is thought to be much too exotic or nativistic. On a number of occasions, Jean-Paul does the re-editing himself.

IN THE BEGINNING LINO COMPLIES with Jean-Paul’s wishes without question. Surprised, but flattered, by the international interest in his films, he is grateful to Jean-Paul for making that interest possible. Towards the end, however, already a veteran of international film festivals where he meets other directors from West and East, North and South, he begins to agonize over and be angered by the neocolonial implications of his pliancy. He is struck by something an African film director says at an international film conference: “The Western critics complain about the slow pace of my films. But what you see in my films is the pace of my country. It is the pace of Africa today.”

Lino’s international success also puts him on a collision course with the Philippine government. It is a time of martial law. When Lino’s films are shown in Cannes and in other festivals, the international film community gets to see the Manila slums that the Marcos dictatorship has taken pains to keep literally hidden behind high wooden fences, away from the prying eyes of tourists and foreign investors. Imelda Marcos, who is not only the First Lady of the country but also the governor of Metro Manila, summons Lino to Malacañang Palace, upbraids him for his obsession with slum dwellers, and urges him to make films about “the true, the good and the beautiful.” Lino agrees to direct a segment of a government-produced film about Philippine history; the film is never shown.

In 1980 Lino has a second entry in Cannes—Jaguar, the first Filipino film to be entered in competition, and perhaps the first to show the enormous garbage dump in Manila that would come to be known as Smokey Mountain. To divert attention from the film, Imelda dispatches a delegation to Cannes. It hosts a lavish “Philippine night” to which Lino is not invited, and in which Jaguar is not once mentioned. The following year, to counter the impact that Lino’s films have made in France, Imelda establishes the Manila International Film Festival. Workers rushing to build the Manila Film Palace get buried in quick-drying cement when a part of the faulty structure collapses. In order not to delay the filmfest opening, the dead are left buried in the cement; exposed limbs and torsos are simply sawed off. Afterwards, Catholic priests and shamans of ancient native religions perform exorcism rites in the film palace.

At first Lino’s resistance to the dictatorship takes the form of opposition to film and media censorship. But increasingly he is drawn to overtly political protest, joining demonstrations and organizing concerned artists against secret Marcos decrees that impose the death penalty on anyone joining anti-government demonstrations. For Lino, this is a time of living dangerously. But he is also a bundle of contradictions, and his new militancy is a source of some amusement to his associates in the theater group that he heads. They remember that not too long ago he launched a witch hunt against presumed leftists setting up clandestine anti-government cells within the theater group.

Lino’s political activity does not stop him from making movies. He is a prolific director, on two occasions making as many as five pictures a year. When his own film company goes under as a result of litigation, he evolves a strategy for survival in the highly commercial industry. He makes the box-office formula hits that the producers want him to do, always bringing them in on time and on budget. In exchange, he gets a chance to work on his own projects every now and then, taking a cut in his fee whenever necessary.

In his films he often lashes out at hypocrisy, and in his personal life he begins to shed his inhibitions and comes out of the closet. During the making of a documentary on his life, he openly proclaims his gayness for the first time. On a visit to the States, a Filipino friend of his who has contacted AIDS dies in his arms. Fearing for his life, Lino has himself tested. He gets a clean bill of health. That does not stop him, when he comes home, from frequenting the gay bars where he discovers a “macho dancer” whom he recruits into the movies. Perhaps he becomes this young man’s lover. It is this young man who is driving the car in which Lino dies.

When the exiled politician Ninoy Aquino decides to come home, Lino joins demonstrators who defy a government ban by welcoming Aquino at the airport. Lino is thus one of the very first to find out that Aquino has been assassinated—shot dead by government troops while coming down from the plane. With the Aquino assassination, the country explodes. So does Lino. Practically every day there are massive protest actions in which tens of thousands take part, and Lino is in the thick of them, delivering incendiary speeches, being tear-gassed and bludgeoned by the riot police, finally being arrested during a transport strike and incarcerated for a couple of months. Actual demonstrations are incorporated in Bayan Ko: Kapit sa Patalim (My Country: In Desperate Straits), another Brocka film that makes it to Cannes in the competition category, and government censors pounce on the film, banning it from exhibition for a number of reasons. Lino goes all the way to the Supreme Court to fight for his film, and in November of 1985, more than a year after its Cannes premiere, the Filipino audience finally gets to see it.

By this time the Marcos dictatorship is on the verge of disintegration. Barely three months later, in February of 1986, a fraudulent election encourages a military mutiny, which in turn triggers a peaceful popular uprising in which nuns stop tanks with nothing more than rosaries and flowers. Lino rushes to the barricades without hesitation. On the fourth day of the festive uprising, the dictatorship falls. Lino and his gay confreres dance in the streets.

Throughout all this, we continue to show developments in what is getting to be a love-hate relationship between Lino and Jean-Paul. There comes a point in the relationship when the Frenchman intervenes even in his protégé’s political and personal life. Wanting to cement Brocka’s reputation as a world-class director, Jean-Paul urges Lino to slow down on his political activism and cut down on his night life and concentrate on his filmmaking. There is a shouting match, and for a time Lino refuses to talk to Jean-Paul. But after the revolution, things are patched up, and Lino—who has been appointed to the Constitutional Commission by the new government of Corazon Aquino—agrees to do a film project brokered by Jean-Paul, who conceives it as the vehicle for getting Lino the long-awaited top honors at the Cannes filmfest.

BY THE TIME THE PROJECT gets going, Lino has become disenchanted with the new government he fought for. He resigns from the Constitutional Commission when he realizes it is dominated by unreconstructed landlords, loggers, militarists and the old political elite, who are working mightily to restore the oligarchic status quo ante instead of moving forward to greater democratization. Soon after, he is helping refugees displaced from a southern province by paramilitary vigilantes, getting them sanctuaries in Manila. He gets the shock of his life when one of the refugees, a woman he is escorting, is abducted right outside the Supreme Court, apparently by government agents. Lino’s disenchantment is evident in the film he makes at this time, known in the Philippines as Orapronobis. The making of this film also marks his final break with Jean-Paul.

Although shot entirely in the Philippines, Orapronobis is financed by a French company, and Jean-Paul serves as line producer, film editor, and script adviser. In this role, he intervenes in various aspects of production, ordering Lino to re-shoot scenes or replace actors, making suggestions about camera angles. Lino reaches his breaking point, yelling at Jean-Paul: “Stop making your film! This is my film!” Lino prevails upon the French producers to fire Jean-Paul. But the Frenchman, whose influence in Cannes Lino has underestimated, has the last word. Orapronobis is placed in a special out-of-competition category; Lino is therefore not in contention for any award. The Golden Palm goes to sex, lies and videotape.

The interaction of First World and Third World, colonizing power and colonial subject, is one of the main themes that could be explored in telling the story of the relationship between Lino and Jean-Paul. It is not a simplistic relationship of exploiter and exploited, oppressor and oppressed, because the native is victim and beneficiary at one and the same time, the foreigner is bully and benefactor at one and the same time, and both are consciously using and manipulating each other for each one’s personal interests and ambitions. (In a reversal of the colonial paradigm, Lino at one point even secures Philippine financing for a made-in-the-Philippines art film written and directed by Jean-Paul, who apparently cannot obtain financing for his personal projects in his own country.) At the same time, a genuine personal friendship does develop between the Pygmalion and his Galatea, before it turns sour in the end.

In the end we return to 1991. Mourners are pouring into a small university chapel and filing past Lino’s coffin to pay their last respects, the way they did when Ninoy Aquino lay in state in a cathedral. Weeping movie extras put up a streamer saying that with Lino’s death they have lost their foremost defender, the man who made sure they got fed and paid on time. Film superstars mingle with political activists. The gay community comes to the wake in full force, and the armed underground Left sends a message extolling Lino’s courage and his contribution to the liberation struggle. The supreme irony, however, is that Imelda Marcos sends flowers, but Cory Aquino, who has never forgiven Lino for walking out of her Constitutional Commission, does not.

The funeral march is a long one. It is almost like a protest march. The mourners are singing the protest song “Bayan Ko” (My Country).

THE END

Fe Flores Lacaba

2008-05-08T22:49:00.000-07:00

FE FLORES LACABA, circa 1984,

sa edad na 18

Bilang paggunita sa Mother’s Day (second Sunday of May ang selebrasyon; May 11 ngayong 2008), gusto kong ilabas dito ang isang tulang sinulat ko tungkol sa aking ina, si Fe Flores Lacaba. Buhay pa siya nang sulatin ko ito

Ina
(Alay kay Fe Flores Lacaba, 1916-2006)

Ni Jose F. Lacaba

Nang mabalo, hindi na siya muling nag-asawa.
Hindi ko alam kung may lumigaw na ibang lalaki,
o kung inisip man lamang niya ang muling mag-asawa:
bata pa naman siya noon, kung tutuusin, at may bighani.

Pero anim ang kanyang anak: may anim siyang
bungangang pakakainin, katawang bibihisan; anim na utak
na may kanya-kanyang baltik at iba’t ibang antas
ng pang-unawa, pangangailangan at panibugho.

Wala siyang maibigay na anumang layaw o luho,
kaya walang siyang layaw o luhong ibinigay. Tiniyak
niya lamang na may bubong sila laban sa araw at ulan,
may kulambo laban sa lamok, may laman lagi ang tiyan.

At pinabayaan niyang magkapakpak at lumipad
ang anim na malayang utak. Bagamat siya’y guro,
hindi niya sinakal ng pangaral ang kanilang mga pangarap,
hindi niya inipit sa libro ang kanyang mga paruparo.

Alam kong luha ang ipinandilig niya sa kanyang hardin
at ang puso niya’y nagkasugat-sugat dahil matinik
ang mga bunga ng kanyang mapagpalayang paglingap.
Pero alam ko ring ipinagmamalaki niya ang halimuyak.

Ang tulang ito, walang borloloy at walang palabok,
ay para sa aking ina.
Sa pamamagitan man lamang ng tulang ito
ay gusto kong ipaabot ang aking pasasalamat.

(Mula sa EDAD MEDYA: Mga Tula sa Katanghaliang Gulang, Anvil Publishing, 2000)

FE FLORES LACABA, circa 1945
Kasama ang kabiyak na si Jose Monreal Lacaba Sr.,
tenyente ng USAFFE (United States Armed Forces in the Far East),
isang grupong gerilya noong Ikalawang Digmaang Pandaigdig,
at kalong ang panganay nilang si Jose Flores Lacaba Jr.,
na ewan ko kung ano ang tinitingala sa kalangitan

Narito naman ang isang salin sa Ingles na ginawa ni Marne Kilates pagkaraang yumao ng aking ina noong Nobyembre 20, 2006.

Mother
By Jose F. Lacaba
Translated into English by Marne Kilates

Widowed, she never married.
I don’t know if any other man wooed her,
Or if she ever thought of marrying again;
She was young, and yes, good-looking.

But she had six children, six
Mouths to feed, six bodies to clothe, whose
Brains had each its own quirks and ways
Of looking at the world, its needs and jealousies.

Of luxury and comfort she had none to give.
But she made sure we had a roof over our heads
Against sun and rain; a net against mosquito
Over our beds; and that we didn’t go hungry.

And then she let our minds go free, grow
Wings and take flight. Though a teacher, she never
Bridled us with advice, or weighed down our dreams,
Or pressed them between book pages like butterflies.

I know that she watered her garden with tears
And her heart bruised, for thorny were the fruits
Of her liberating love. But she watched
Her garden thrive. She was proud.

This poem, without frill or ornament,
Is for my mother.
Only through this poem
Can I thank her.

FE FLORES LACABA, circa 1948
Kasama ang kabiyak na si Pepe (Jose Monreal Lacaba Sr.),
ang anak na panganay na si Pepito (Jose Ma. Flores Lacaba Jr.),
at ang pangalawang anak na si Gingging (Henrietta Anne Flores Lacaba)

Nang pumanaw ang aking ina ay naglabas kaming pamilya ng isang press release na obituary na inilathala naman nang buo ng ilang diyaryo. Narito ang obit:

Former schoolteacher Fe Flores Lacaba passed away at around 9 a.m. today, Nov. 20, at home in Pateros, Metro Manila, the town where she was born. She was 90.

She suffered a stroke on May 4 and had been bedridden since then, in the process developing bedsores, pneumonia, and diabetes.

She is survived by her children Jose, Henrietta Malillin, Erlinda Echanis, Antonio, and Virgilio. Her third child, Emmanuel, died in 1976, and her husband, World War II veteran Jose Monreal Lacaba Sr., left her widowed in 1958.

A graduate of Philippine Normal College, Mrs. Lacaba taught Pilipino and other subjects at all levels in various schools, including Ateneo de Cagayan (now Xavier University) and Lourdes College in Cagayan de Oro City, and Colegio del Buen Consejo and Pasig Catholic College in Pasig City.

She was a soft-spoken woman who nevertheless raised strong-willed children, four of whom--including award-winning writers Jose (Pete) and Emmanuel (Eman)--were prisoners of conscience during and immediately after martial law.

Eman, who joined the armed resistance during the martial-law dictatorship, was captured alive after an encounter in Davao but “salvaged” later in the day. It was Mrs. Lacaba who, with the help of the late poet Alfrredo Navarro Salanga, recovered Eman's body from a mass grave in Mindanao.

Three of Mrs. Lacaba's children-in-law were also political detainees, and a son-in-law was killed in the early years of martial law.

The wake is at the Garden of Memories memorial park on Kalsadang Bago, Pateros, Metro Manila, near the boundary of Taguig City. Interment will be announced later.

JONAS BURGOS AT ANG MGA NAWAWALA

2008-04-27T11:10:00.000-07:00

Noong Abril 28, 2007, eksaktong isang taon na ngayon ang nakararaan, dinukot si Jonas Burgos ng ilang di-kilalang lalaki habang nanananghalian sa isang restoran sa Ever Gotesco Mall, Commonwealth Avenue, Quezon City. Hanggang ngayon ay hindi pa siya lumilitaw o inililitaw. Walang nakakaalam—maliban na lang siguro sa mga dumukot sa kanya—kung siya’y buhay pa o patay na. Kabilang na siya ngayon sa lumalaking hanay ng mga desaparecido sa Pilipinas.

(For more info on Jonas Burgos, check out http://freejonasburgosmovement.blogspot.com.)

Hindi ko yata nakilala o nakadaupang-palad si Jonas, pero nakilala ko at nakasama sa trabaho ang kanyang mga magulang—ang kapwa peryodistang si Joe Burgos at ang kabiyak niyang si Edith, na kung hindi ako nagkakamali ay siyang namahala sa business side ng mga peryodikong itinatag at pinagmatnugutan ni Joe. Nagsulat ako ng kolum para sa dalawa sa mga peryodikong iyon, ang We Forum at ang Tinig ng Masa.

Mula Enero 2001 hanggang Mayo 2007, ayon sa human-rights group na Karapatan, 199 na ang naging biktima ng enforced disappearances sa Pilipinas. Isang di-inaasahang side effect ng pangayayaring ito, para sa akin, bilang manunulat, ay ang pagka-revive ng isa kong lumang tula na sinulat noong panahon pa ng batas militar.

Ito ang tulang “Ang mga Nawawala,” na nalathala sa libro kong Sa Panahon ng Ligalig (Anvil Publishing, 1991) at muling nalathala sa isa ko pang libro, Kung Baga sa Bigas: Mga Piling Tula (University of the Philippines Press, 2002, second printing 2005). Ilang beses na itong binabasa ngayon sa ilang pagtitipon na may kinalaman sa karapatang-tao. Na-reprint na rin ito sa website ng Free Jonas Burgos Movement (http://freejonasburgosmovement.blogspot.com/2007_06_06_archive.html).

Para namang pinagtiyap, habang hinahanap ko ang mga tula kong Ingles na ekphrasis, o tungkol sa painting, nahalungkat ko ang clipping ng tulang “Ang mga Nawawala.” At nadiskubre kong may one degree of separation lang pala ang tulang ito kay Jonas Burgos.

Nakalimutan ko na, pero ang tula ko tungkol sa mga desaparecido ay kauna-unahang nalathala sa kolum ko sa diyaryong We Forum, na ang editor at publisher ay ang ama ni Jonas.

Narito ang kolum ko sa weekend edition ng We Forum na may petsang June 28-30, 1985:

KUNG TUTUUSIN
Jose F. Lacaba

May lumabas na balita nitong nakaraang linggo tungkol sa 12 peryodista at komentaristang Pilipino na napatay o naglaho mula noong Enero 1984. Sumulat kay Presidente Marcos ang Komite para sa Pagtatanggol ng mga Peryodista, isang grupong nakabase sa New York, para ihingi ng katarungan ang 12 napatay o naglaho. Habang binabasa ko ang ulat ay naalala ko si Henry Romero, peryodista ng Taliba at Bulletin Today, na tulad kong may panahong nanirahan sa Pateros. Nawala’t sukat si Henry may 10 tao na ang nakararaan, at hanggang ngayon ay nawawala pa, at iniisip ko sanang sumulat ng isang kolum tungkol sa kanya at tungkol sa iba pang kilala kong nawawala, pero sa halip na kolum ay tula ang lumabas, ang tulang matutunghayan ninyo ngayon:

ANG MGA NAWAWALA

Isang araw sila’y
nawala na lang at sukat.
May hindi pumasok sa opisina,
hindi sumipot sa apoyntment,
nang-indiyan ng kadeyt.
May hindi umuwi ng bahay
at hindi nakasalo
ng pamilya sa hapunan,
hindi nakasiping ng kabiyak.
Ang inihaing ulam ay ligalig,
at ang inilatag na banig
ay ayaw dalawin ng antok.

Nang hanapin sila’y
walang masabi
ang kamag-anak at kaibigan,
walang ulat ang pulisya,
walang malay ang militar.
Kung mayroon mang nakakita
nang sila’y sunggaban
ng malalaking lalaki
at isakay sa dyip o kotse,
pabulong-bulong ang saksi,
palinga-linga,
at kung pakikiusapang
tumestigo sa korte,
baka ito’y tumanggi.

Pagkaraan ng ilang araw,
o linggo, o buwan, o taon,
pagkaraan ng maraming
maghapon at magdamag,
pagkaraang ang agam-agam
ay magparoo’t parito
sa mga manhid na pasilyo
at ang pag-aasam-asam
ay mapanis sa mga tanggapan,
pagkaraan ng luha’t tiyaga,
ang ilan sa kanila’y
muling lumitaw.

Lumitaw sila
sa bilangguan, sa bartolina,
sa kubling bahay na imbakan
ng ungol, tili at panaghoy,
himpilan ng mga berdugong
eksperto sa sanlibo’t isang
istilo ng pagpapahirap.
Lumitaw silang
bali ang buto o sira ang bait.
O kaya’y lumitaw silang
lumulutang sa mabahong ilog,
o nakahandusay sa pampang,
o umaalingasaw
sa mga libingang mababaw
na hinukay ng mga asong gala.
Lumitaw silang
may gapos ang kamay at paa
na wala nang pintig, o watak-
watak ang kamay, paa, ulo,
o tadtad ng butas ang bangkay,
likha ng bala o balaraw.

Ang iba’y hindi na lumitaw,
hindi na kailanman lumitaw,
nawala na lang at sukat,
walang labí, walang bangkay,
hindi malaman kung
buhay o patay,
hindi mapaghandugan
ng lamayan, pasiyam, luksa,
hindi maipagbabang-luksa,
hindi maipagtirik ng kandila
kung Todos los Santos.
Nakaposas pa ba sila
sa paa ng kinakalawang na kama
sa loob ng kuwartong may tanod,
busog sa bugbog,
binabagabag ng bangungot,
sumisipol kung nag-iisa
ng “Saan Ka Man Naroroon,”
iniisip kung ano ang iniisip
ng magulang at anak,
kasintahan o kabiyak?
O sila ba’y
umayaw na sa pakikibaka
at nagbalik sa dating buhay,
o nagtaksil sa simulain
at nagtatago sa takot,
o nag-asawang muli
at nangibang-bayan,
o tinamaan ng amnisya
at lalaboy-laboy sa lansangan,
o lihim na namundok
at nag-iba ng pangalan?
O sila ba’y
pinagpapasasaan na ng uod?
Nag-ugat na ba ang talahib
sa mga mata ng kanilang bungo?
Bahagi na ba sila
ng kanilang lupang tinubuan,
ang lupang kanilang ipinaglaban?

Sinusulat ko ito
para sa mga kakilalang
hanggang ngayon ay nawawala,
para kina Charlie del Rosario
at Caloy Tayag
at Manny Yap
at Henry Romero
at Jun Flores
at Rudy Romano,
sila na kahit hindi ko
nakilala nang husto
ay alam kong naglingkod
sa api at hikahos.
Buhay man sila o patay,
sa aking alaala’y
mananatili silang buhay.

EKPHRASIS: Seurat, Botticelli

2008-04-19T04:41:00.000-07:00

Sa isang nakaraang post, may petsang Pebrero 19, 2008, nabanggit ko na may mga nasulat na akong mga tula tungkol sa painting na “Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte” ni Georges Seurat at “Birth of Venus” ni Sandro Botticelli, pero ‘kako ay kailangan ko munang halukayin ang luma kong files para sa mga tulang iyan.

Eto na, nahalukay at na-recover ko na.

Parehong circa early 1960s pa nasulat ang mga ito, noong nagsusulat
pa ako ng tula sa Ingles, and more than 40 years before I even heard
the word "ekphrasis," the term for poems about the visual arts or artistic objects.

Ang "La Grande Jatte," tungkol sa painting ni Georges Seurat, ay
nalathala sa Heights Magazine ng Ateneo de Manila. Kung hindi ako
nagkakamali ay si Gemino "Jimmy" Abad ang nagbigay sa akin ng
photocopy ng tula kong ito, na nakalimutan ko nang sinulat ko. In
fact, si Jimmy ang pinagkakautangan ko ng photocopies ng maraming
tula ko sa Ingles, na ang karamihan ay naibaon ko na sa limot, pero
nahalukay niya noong gumawa siya ng research para sa kanyang
groundbreaking anthology na A Habit of Shores: Filipino Poetry and
Verse from English, '60s to the '90s (1999).

Ang "Birth of Venus," tungkol sa painting ni Sandro Botticelli," ay
sinulat noong i-ban ng Post Office from the mails ang issue ng
Philippines Free Press na nag-reproduce sa painting na ito bilang
ilustrasyon sa isang editorial. Nagkataong may naitago akong
makinilyadong kopya ng tulang ito. Hindi ko maalala kung na-publish
ito at all, pero alam kong hindi pa ako nagtatrabaho sa Free Press
nang mangyari ang Post Office banning. (Unfortunately, this second
poem only makes sense if you know the "historical" background.) Ang
naalala ko ay si Fernando "Butch" Zialcita, ang predecessor ko bilang
presidente ng Ateneo Arts Club, ang nagpadala sa akin ng postcard na
nasa loob ng envelope.

"Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte"
By Jose F. Lacaba

It seems the French have Sunday afternoons
Static, and under certain moods I find it
Enviable, to recline on the grass away from
Urban banter, pipe in mouth, or to sit
Silent in the shade, with umbrella in the sun,
Gazing at placid boats afloat without
The hurry of a destination. A trombone
Plays, but like lovers walking makes no shout,
Its music floats almost unnoticed, except
By a girl skipping alone, among people
Strolling nobly: she makes no trouble, left
To herself. No one, I am sure, will ogle
Though the ladies are supple for all to see.
A dog will not even bother to bark at a monkey.

"The Birth of Venus" Uncensored
By Jose F. Lacaba

A postcard in an envelope is rather
Unusual, but if the postcard is
The Birth of Venus, it's understandable.
A friend, touring Florence, had seen her,
A naked newborn babe striding the foam
While a corporeal wind blows roses
All around her. Ecstatic, he sent me
Wistful envy. It is true she beguiles,
She enchants like a witch, not even from
A reproduction can the fact be hid.

I smile at the ruse of the envelope:
We live, alas, in a land that cannot stand
Sorcery of any sort, always ready
With the thick red cloak and exorcisms
To counteract the charm and break the spell.
We choose the future husband at the anvil
As our muse, and we would see the goddess
Banned, for she will give us love, and that
Is an embarrassing thing, so old-fashioned.

EMAN

2008-04-12T21:49:00.000-07:00

(EMAN LACABA, circa late '60s or early '70s. Photo by Tikoy Aguiluz.)

Noong nakaraang Marso 18 ay ika-32 anibersaryo ng kamatayan ng kapatid kong si Eman Lacaba.

Ang sumusunod ay lumabas sa Sunday magazine na may petsang Marso 10, 1985. Ang Sunday ay weekend supplement ng Ang Pahayagang Malaya, at sa staff box ng magasin ay nakalistang president-publisher ang yumao nang si Jose G. Burgos Jr. , at mga managing editor sina Mario A. Hernando and Ester G. Dipasupil.

Isinalin ko sa Ingles ang artikulong ito, at ang saling Ingles ang ginawa kong introduksiyon sa inedit kong libro ni Eman, ang SALVAGED POEMS, inilathala posthumously ng Salinlahi Publishing House (Manila, 1986) at muling inilathala ng Ateneo de Manila Office of Research and Publications (Quezon City, 2000).

EDITOR'S NOTE

By Mario A. Hernando
Managing Editor

The last time I met Eman Lacaba, young poet and revolutionary, was at the San Miguel Auditorium in Makati about a decade ago, after one of those free embassy film screenings which a relatively small group loved to attend. The group consisted of local film buffs, artists, students, serious film talents and members of the café society, who had nowhere to go for an impromptu talk about film, art and trivia. Pubs, cafes and snack joints had been dislocated since the iron rule of martial law had entrenched itself, and there was a general mood of indifference or cynicism to the political developments going on.

San Miguel then was the place to watch good films, and after the screenings, a part of the audience would dally at the lobby for some chitchat ("How are you?" "Wasn't it a most inaccessible film?" etc.), until lobby lights were dimmed, virtually pushing the crowd to the Ayala sidewalk. That was where I saw Eman approach everyone, a piece of folder in hand. It contained a petition addressed to President Marcos, seeking the release of a political detainee also surnamed Lacaba, Eman's older brother Pete.

For this issue of Sunday, Pete writes about the last days of his brother murdered by government men, or at least that is the picture Pete is able to make from reports he received about the circumstances of Eman's death. Next week will mark Eman's ninth death anniversary.

EMAN

Ni Jose F. Lacaba

Noong Marso 18, 1976, si Emmanuel Agapito Flores Lacaba--ang nakababata kong kapatid na si Maneng, mas kilala ng mga kaibigan niya sa palayaw na Emman o Eman--ay pinatay sa Tucaan Balaag, Asuncion, Davao de Norte. Siya'y 27 anyos noon.

Naaalaala ko, na noong hinihintay namin sa isang punerarya sa Pateros ang kabaong niyang inilipad mujla sa Davao at sinusundo sa airport, isang nagtatrabaho sa punerarya ang nagtanong sa akin kung ano ang ikinamatay ni Eman. "Tingga," sagot go. Bagamat wala siyang kaalam-alam tungkol kay Eman, hindi na siya nagtanong pa, at ako nama'y hindi na nagdugtong ng paliwanag.

Hindi naikaila sa mga nakakakilala kay Eman kung paano siya namatay. May lumabas na balita sa diyaryo na isang nagngangalang "Manuel Lacaba" ang kasama ng isang tropa ng mga rebelde ng New People's Army na napatay sa Tucaan Balaag, at di nagtagal ay nakumpirma na ang "Manuel" na iyon ay si Eman na nga. Gayunman, marami pa ring tanong ang mga kakilala ni Eman--lalo na iyong mga nakakilala sa kanya bilang premyadong matata at kuwentista sa Ingles, bilang hippie na madalas umistambay sa Indios Bravos Café, bilang okultista na mahilig magtigil sa piligi ng mga mistikong sekta sa Bundok Banahaw.

Ang karaniwang tanong ay kung ano ang ginagawa niya sa isang baryo sa Davao noong panahong mapatay siya. Noong 1976, pagkat panahon pa ng pormal na batas militar at mahirap ipaliwanag ang ganitong mga bagay, ang karaniwan kong sagot ay: "Baka nagre-research. Baka nag-iipon ng materyales para sa kanyang mga tula, para sa isang nobela, para sa isang dula."

Halos isang dekada na ang dumaraan mula nang mapatay si Eman, at palagay ko'y puwede nang aminin ang isang katotohanang parang mahirap pa ring paniwalaan hanggang ngayon: oo, nasa davao si Eman noon pagkat lumahok siya sa digmaang bayan.

Malaki ang pagkakaiba namin ni Eman. Masasakitin ako, dating patpatin, at ayon sa mga kakilala'y masyadong maingat, masyadong pigil. Si Eman ay may matipunong pangangatawan, at sa lahat ng bagay na naisipan niyang pasukin, bigay-todo siya. Sa pag-aaral ay numero uno siya sa klase mula Grade One hanggang fourth year high school, sa Pasig Catholic College; pagdating sa kolehiyo, sa Ateneo de Manila, namantine niya ang full scholarship hanggang sa makatapos. Ako, palibhasa'y hindi gaanong competitive, ay hindi konsistent; nang magtapos ng hayskul, nagkasya na ako sa pagiging honorable mention, at ni hindi ko tinapos ang kurso ko sa kolehiyo. Nang mapadaan kami sa yugtong pa-hippie-hippie, si Eman, balita ko, ay lubus-lubusang nag-eksperimento sa marihuwana, LSD, atbp. Ako'y nakontento na sa mga dalawa o tatlong pagsubok sa damo, at hindi kailanman nakatikim ng mas mabigat na mind-bending drugs. At nang pumasok kami sa yugtong aktibista, ako'y masaya na sa pasulat-sulat at pasalin-salin, pero kay Eman ay hindi puwede ang tampisaw. Tuluyan siyang lumubog sa kilusang manggagawa, at pagkaraan ay nagtuloy sa tinatawag na pinakamataas na antas ng pakikibaka.

Magkasama kami ni Eman sa iisang kuwarto noong nasa kolehiyo ako't nasa nasa hayskul naman siya. Sa panahong iyon, sa aming magkakapatid ay kaming dalawa ang pinakamalapit. Pero nang tumuntong siya sa kolehiyo ay peryodista na ako at madalas na wala sa bahay, at siya naman ay nagdormitoryo; at dahil dito'y bahagya kaming nalayo sa isa't isa. Sa kolehiyo at sa sirkulo ng mga manunulat, siya'y naging "kapatid ni Pete" sa simula, at napansin kong hindi siya komportable sa ganitong papel, gusto niyang lumayo sa anino ng kuya at magbuo ng sarili niyang identidad. Kung hindi nagkakamali ang aking alaala, sa panahong ito siya naging Eman. Noong mga panahong iyon ay "Emman" ang baybay niya sa kanyang palayaw--may dalawang "m"--pero sa kalaunan ay mas nagustuhan niya ang Eman. Sa bahay ay nanatili siyang Maneng, samantalang ako, sa mga nakatatanda sa akin, ay nanatiling Pepito. Madalas ko siyang biruin sa palayaw na ibinigay niya sa kanyang sarili, pero sa loob lamang ng ilang taon ay naging Eman na rin siya bahay, at sa ilang sirkulo ay ako naman ang naging "kapatid ni Eman"--patunay na nagtagumpay siya sa pagbubuo ng sariling identidad.

Gayunman, labas sa kanyang mga tula at panulat ay hindi ko nasundan ang development ng kanyang kaisipan at kamulatan. Hindi ko namalayan kung kailan nagsimula ang kanyang pulitikalisasyon, bagamat naaalaala ko na sa isang pagtatalo namin noong 1970 ay kinukuwestiyon na niya ang konsepto ng "pagkubkob mula sa kanayunan" sa isang kapulutang katulad ng Pilipinas. Napansin ko na lamang talaga ang lalim ng kanyang pakikisangkot nang pakiusapan niya akong sumulat, noong 1971, tungkol sa isang welga sa isang maliit na imprenta sa Mandaluyong--isang welgang sinusuportahan ng organisasyong pangmanggagawa na kinabibilangan ni Eman.

Ang direksiyon ng kaisipan ni Eman sa mga panahong ito ay mahihinuha sa mga pangalang ibinigay niya sa dalawa niyang anak na babae. Sa pangalan ng panganay, na isinilang sa unang anibersaryo ng Labanan sa Tulay ng Mendiola, ay makikita ang marami't magkakasalungat na interes ni Eman: Miriam Manavi Mithi Mezcaline Mendiola. Ang pangalan ng ikalawang anak, na isinilang sa unang Nobyembre ng batas miliar, ay mas simple, mas direkta: Emanwelga Fe.

Nasa tiyan si Emanwelga nang mapasama si Eman sa grupong sumusuporta sa malaking welga sa Presto sa Pasig. Iyon ang isa sa pinakahuling welga bago ideklara ang batas militar. Nagkagulo sa welgang iyon, at napasama si Eman--na sa panahong ito'y nagtuturo ng Rizal's Life and Works sa Unibersidad ng Piipinas--sa mga binatuta, dinampot, at ikinulong sa Pasig. Salamat sa isang abugadong taga-Pasig, si Rene Saguisag, nailabas sina Eman pagkaraan ng ilang araw. Mga dalawang araw matapos silang lumaya, idineklara ang batas militar.

Maaaring ang pagkakasangkot ni Eman sa welga at ang kanyang pandaling pagkakabilanggo ay naging dahilan kung kaya hindi na ni-renew ang kanyang kontrata sa UP. At maaaring sa panhong ito na mayroon siyang dalawang anak at walang regular natrabaho ay sika naipasiya ni Eman na wala na siyang ibang patutunguhan kundi ang kanayunan, na wala na siyang ibang mapagpipilian kundi ang "mamundok."

Matapos siyang mawala sa UP, nabalitaan ko na lamang na muli na namang lumalabas si Eman bilang artista sa tanghalang PETA, na sumusulat siya ng dula, na nag-aaral siya ng martial arts, na sinusulat niya ang titik ng theme song ng pelikulang Tinimbang Ka Ngunit Kulang, na tumutulong siya sa ilang produksiyong pampelikula. Akala ko'y ibubuhos naman niya ang buo niyang katauhan sa bagong larangang ito, pero bandang katapusan ng 1974, noong ako naman ang bilanggong pulitikal sa Kampo Crame, dinalaw niya ako para magpaalam. Papunta na siya sa Mindanao.

May pang-akit ang Mindanao sa amin sapagkat doon kami ipinanganak--sa lunsod ng Cagayan de Oro--at sapagkat ang aming amang Boholano ay sa Mindanao kumilos bilang gerilya, sa yunit ni Fertig, sa USAFFE, noong panahon ng Hapon.

Pagkatapos ng dalaw sa akin ni Eman ay wala na akong tinanggap na anumang balita tungkol o mula sa kanya. Ang sumunod ko na lamang na nabalitaan ay ang kanyang pagkamatay. Sa mismong araw na nakatakda akong palayain, lumabas ang ulat tungkol kay "Manuel Lacaba." Natatandaan ko, na bago iabot sa akin ni Heneral Fidel Ramos ang aking notice of temporary release, tinanong niya kung kaaano-ano ko ang Lacabang nasa front page ng diyaryo.

Sa kabaong ko na muling nakita si Eman, pero mula sa mga kuwento ng iba't ibang tao ay napagtagni-tagni ko ang mga pangyayari sa mga huling araw ng makatang naging mandirigma.

Ang unang lugar na pinuntahan ni Eman, bilang miyembro ng isang tinatawag na semi-legal expansion team, ay ang lunsod ng General Santos sa Timog Cotabato. Tatlo sila sa nasabing team. Ang dalawa ay naunang pumasok sa kanayunan para humanap ng kontak. Si Eman ay naiwan sa siyudad. Pagkat kailangan din nila ng pera para mabuhay, sinabihan siyang maghanapbuhay na muna, at kasabay nito'y pag-aralan ang mga ruta sa siyudad. Ito marahil ang dahilan kung kaya konduktor sa minibus ang unang trabahong pinasok ni Eman.

Di nagtagal, pumasok si Eman bilang janitor sa isang karate club. Dito, ayon sa kuwento na nagiging bahagi na ng kanyang alamat sa Mindanao, inapi-api siya ng isang boy na kasmahan niya sa trabaho. Kinausap ni Eman ang boy: "Ako, hindi mo kilala, huwag mo akong api-apihin." Pagkatapos ay pinakitaan niya ito ng nalalaman niya sa martial arts. Natakot sa kanya ang boy, at mula noon at iginalang at inilagan na siya nito.

Pagkaraan ng ilang buwan, pumasok na rin si Eman--o "lumabas," depende sa iyong punto de bista--sa kanayunan ng Timog Cotabato. Ang ginamit niyang "pangalan sa pakikibaka" dito ay Popoy--isang alusyon sa isang tauhan sa komiks, si Popoy Dakuykoy, na naging persona ni Eman sa dalawang mahabang tulang sinulat niya noong dekada '60.

Maraming kuwento tungkol kay Popoy. Ang mga unang pinasok ng kanyang pangkat ay mga lugar ng mga Bilaan. Dahil hindi sila magkaintindihan, idinodrowing ni Popoy ang mga katutubo at ang mga bagay na gusto niyang malaman kung ano. Sa pamamagitan ng pagdodrowing, sa loob lamang isa't kalahating buwan ay natutuhan niya ang lengguwahe ng mga Bilaan.

Natuto rin siyang kumain ng isang espesyalidad ng mga katutubo. Kapag nakahuli ng baboy-damo ang mga Bilaan, ang karne nito'y isinisilid nila sa buho ng kawayan at tinatakpan ng dahon ng saging. Mga dalawang linggo itong binubulok sa loob ng buho, pinapauod, pinapabaho. Pag nangangamoy na, nililinis ito, tinatanggalan ng uod, at iniihaw. Si Popoy lamang sa grupo ang natutong kumain nito. Tuwang-tuwa sa kanya ang mga Bilaan.

Ang isa pang naaalaala tungkol kay Popoy ay ang walang-tigil niyang pagsusulat. Kung wala nang papel, sumusulat siya sa likod ng palara ng sigarilyo. Lahat ay sinusulat niya, detalyadong-detalyado--ang malabo niyang mata, ang hirap na dinaranas niya sa masukal na daan, pati ang problema niya sa pagtae. Isang gabi, ayon sa kanyang palara diary, tumigil sila pagkat kailangan niyang magbawas. nang hindi pa siya bumabalik pagkaraan ng 20 minuto, hinanap na siya ng kanyang mga kasamahan. Iyon pala, naligaw na siya sa dilim.

Nang matuto na siya ng Bisaya, nilapatan niya ng bago, rebolusyonaryong titik ang ilang popular na awiting-bayan. Hanggang ngayon ay kinakanta pa raw doon ang mga liriks niya.

Maaaring dito sa Timog Cotabato galing ang isang sulat na ipinadala ni Eman sa isang kaibigan. Sa sulat, ikinuwento niya na nagmuntik-muntikanan na nilang makaengkuwentro ang isang mas malaking pangkat ng Lost Command at CHDF. Isang indikasyon ng pinagmulan ni Eman ang koment niya tungkol sa nasabing karanasan, isang koment na hindi mo aasahan sa karaniwang rebelde: "As the Book of Changes says, our minds are sharpened by the contact with danger."

Ang sumunod na mga linya mula sa sulat na iyon ay indikasyon naman ng mga pagbabagong nangyayari sa kalooban ni Eman: "I am very happy here, such experiences notwithstanding--I think I belong here... I feel no sadness anymore; I only remember... the world we left behind, whose wiles of momentary farce and luxurious living we have to continue to struggle against."

Sa panahong ito nagsimula ang isang bagong yugto sa panulaan ni Eman. Dati'y komplikado, siksik sa alusyon, at mahirap intindihin ang kanyang mga tula. Sa mga tulang Ingles at Pilipino na sinulat niya sa Mindanao, mararamdaman mo ang tensiyong bunga ng pagtatangka niyang tumalikod sa dating estilo para maging simple, direkta, malinaw. Sa tula niyang "Open Letters to Filipino Artists," na madalas magamit ngayon sa mga antolohiya, makikita ang ganitong tensiyon sa paghahalo niya ng mga salitang "di-matulain," pang-aktibista, sa mga talinghaga't pahiwatig na di agad masasabol sa unang dinig:

We are tribeless and all tribes are ours.
We are homeless and all homes are ours.
We are nameless and all names are ours.
To the fascists we are the faceless enemy
Who come like thieves in the night, angels of death;
The ever moving, shining, secret eye of the storm.

Bago natapos ang 1975, inilipat ng destino si Eman. Sa pinaglipatan, sa Davao del Norte, dumating sa kanya ang kamatayan na madalas maging ng kanyang mga tula.

Ayon sa mga salaysay, isang kasama nila sa kilusan, kilala sa pangalang Martin, ang nahuli ng militar at "nakumbinsing" bumaligtad. Sinamahan nito ang isang pangkat ng PC-CHDF papunta sa baryong alam niyang hihimpilan ng grupo nina Eman.

Apat sina Eman sa grupo. Kasama nila ang isang buntis na babaeng 18 anyos. Wala silang kamalay-malay na nahuli na si Martin, at nang umabot sa kanila ang pasa-bilis na balitang may dumarating na kaaway, kampanteng-kampante sila. Dadaan lang ang mga iyon, nasabi nila. Hindi sila umalis sa bahay ng masang tinulugan nila. Ni hindi nila inalis sa labas ng bahay ang pinatutuyo nilang mga damit at sapatos na nabasa sa nakaraang ulan.

Isang masakit na leksiyon ang natutunan ng mga gerilyang sumunod kina Eman: huwag mag-iwan ng damit sa labas. Nang dumating si Martin na may ginigiyahang pangkat ng PC-CHDF, namataan niya at agad na nakilala ang mga pinatutuyong damit.

Umagang-umaga pa lang noon, wala pang alas sais. Nagkakape ang grupo nina Eman nang umabot sa kanila ang ulat na nasa baryo na ang kaaway. Hindi pa rin sila gaanong naligalig. May pagkakataon pa sana silang tumakas, ero sa tingin nila'y dumadaan lang ang PC-CHDF, nagpapatrol, walang tiyak na misyon. Nakiramdam na lamang sila, naghanda sa anumang posibleng mangyari. Hindi pa rin nila alam na wala na sa panig nila si Martin.

Nang ituro ni Marin ang bahay na tinitigilan nina Eman--"Nariyan ang damit, nariyan sila"--agad na bumanat ang militar. Nagdapaan ang mga nasa bahay, pumosisyon. Ang CO, o commanding officer, nina Eman ay tumayo pa sa may pinto, hawak ang kanyang AK-47, at nakipagbanatan. Hindi malinaw sa mga kuwento kung may armas si Eman. Noon kasing panahong iyon, nakatakda na siyang "bumaba" sa siyudad para muling ilipat ng trabaho--isang trabahong kakailanganin ang kanyang kaalaman sa pagsulat.

Nang matapos ang putukan, ang CO at isa pang kagrupo ni Eman ang patay. Si Eman mismo at ang tinedyer na babae ay sugatan lamang. Inutusan ng militar ang mga tagabaryo na bitbitin ang mga patay papuntang Tagum. Si Eman, na may tama sa hita at iika-ika, ay inialalayan pa ni Martin.

May ilang kilometro pagkalabas ng baryo, tumigil ang buong grupo. "Hindi na lang tayo magdadala ng buháy," sabi raw ng sarhento na CO ng militar. Unang pinatay ang babaeng buntis. Si Eman ay iniupo sa malaking bato. Pagkatapos ay inabutan si Martin ng .45 at sinabihan, "O, barilin mo."

Ayaw pang tumalima ni Martin sa simula. Pero mapilit ang militar, at sa bandang huli, ayon sa mga kuwento, si Eman na mismo ang nagsabi: "Sige, Martin, banatan mo na ako."

Isinubo ni Martin ang .45 sa bibig ni Eman at pinaputok iyon. Sabog ang likod ng ulo ni Eman. Pagbagsak niya, minsan pa siyang pinaputukan. Sa dibdib naman tumama ang punglo.

Pagdating sa Tagum, ang apat na disidente ay inihulog sa iisang hukay. Nang pabuksan ang hukay pagkaraan ng ilang linggo sa harap ng aking ina, nakitang may lubid sa paa ni Eman--isang indikasyon na parang tiniban, parang hayop na hinila ang kanyang bangkay sa daan. Agnas na ang mukha at mga kamay ni Eman, pero buo pa ang mga parte ng katawan niyang nakapaloob sa damit. Nakilala siya ng aking ina sa pamamagitan ng kanyang mga nunal; at kinumpirma ng ilang magsasaka, batay sa suot niyang damit, na iyon nga ang bangkay ng lalaking mahilig sumulat sa palara, marunong tumula, nagtuturo ng mga bagong titik para sa mga dating kanta, nagkukuwento tungkol sa kanyang nakaraan bilang welgista at instruktor sa kolehiyo at artista sa tanghalan.

Iyon na nga si Popoy Dakuykoy, ang "mahiyaing kabataang makata na lagi't lagi na lamang sumusulat ng huling tula," ang "kayumangging Rimbaud" na sa kalaunan ay naging "mandirigmang bayan."

Pasyong mahal ni San Jose

2008-03-21T00:28:00.000-07:00

Biyernes Santo din lang ngayon, at kinakanta ang Pasyon (me videoke na nga raw nito), naisipan kong ireprint dito ang isang lumang tula (circa 1970) na ilang ulit na ring inilabas sa mga antolohiya at teksbuk.

PASYONG MAHAL NI SAN JOSE

Matay na niyang isipin
ang kabuntisan ng Birhen
anopa’t babaling-baling
walang matutuhang gawin,
ang loob niya’t panimdim.
—PASYON

Pait, katam at martilyo,
ibubulong ko sa inyo
ang masaklap kong sikreto:
hindi ko pa inaano
ay buntis na ang nobya ko.

Ang sabi ng anghel, wala
akong dapat ikahiya,
walang dahilang lumuha;
dapat pa nga raw matuwa
pagkat Diyos ang gumahasa.

Martilyo, katam at pait,
makukuha bang magalit
ng karpintero? Magtiis.
Ang mahina at maliit,
wala raw laban sa langit.

--Jose F. Lacaba

HHV: Mikey and her sister, Dadong and her daughter

2008-02-24T00:44:00.000-08:00

One of my favorite columnists, whose prose is normally elegant and correct, recently made a slip and came up with these sentences:

"Presidential daughter Evangeline 'Luli' Arroyo said the younger De Venecia’s drug use might have affected his thinking. / Pampanga Rep. Juan Miguel 'Mikey' Arroyo, the President’s son, admitted harboring ill feelings toward De Venecia III. HE agreed with HER sister that drugs might have caused hallucinations."

If it's any consolation to one of my favorite columnists, hindi siya nag-iisa. As the Roman poet Horace once said, "Even Homer nods"--and he wasn't talking of Homer Simpson. Below are three columns I wrote long, long ago on the subject of HHV, a.k.a. His-Husband Virus, along with HHV samples I have been collecting over the years.

Dadong and her daughter, Flor and his husband

"Carabeef Lengua"
Jose F. Lacaba
Sunday Times Magazine, 1995 June 7

RUMORS and police states sometimes have a way of prematurely killing off people, but the Philippine media have a special way of murdering the Queen's English.

Just this week, former President Diosdado Macapagal was rumored to have suffered a massive heart attack. “But,” one broadsheet reported in literally bold letters immediately below the fold, “when her daughter Gloria showed up at the Philippine International Convention Center for the proclamation [of senators], the rumors died down.”

Sometime after Singapore hanged Flor Contemplacion for allegedly strangling Delia Maga, another broadsheet garroted grammar with equal dispatch. Citing the testimony of Herminia M. Manzanilla, a domestic helper who worked in the same apartment building as Contemplacion, the daily noted that “Flor had mentioned how cheaply she had bought some watches for his husband Efren.”

The italics reveal a feature of Filipino English that I wrote about only last December in another publication, but which I am constrained to write about again because I have compiled a new list of citations.

In standard English, which is to say, the English used in the greater part of the globe, the pronoun takes the gender of its antecedent. Thus, in the sentence “The mother loves her son,” her is feminine because the mother is female.

But for some strange reason, a recent trend in Filipino English is for the singular pronoun to acquire the gender, not of its antecedent, but of the noun it modifies.

My previous piece on the subject was entitled “He Raped Her Own Daughter,” and it trotted out the following citation from a now-defunct broadsheet as the quintessential example of this curious trend: “Investigation showed that [Mario] Vallejo had been raping her daughter since she was 10.”

The quintessential example found a villainous twin in the April 6, 1995, issue of a still extant broadsheet. Its Metro section reported that one Roberto Abanador “started raping her younger daughter one night in 1992.”

1992 was also the year I started gathering samples of this distinctly Pinoy way with English pronouns. That was the year a magazine I was then editing came up with this lulu, which I caught only after the fact: “Aside from his duties as vice-mayor of Parañaque, Joey is preparing to direct and star in a new sex-comedy, with her wife of course.”

Now that Joey Marquez is mayor, he should be giving his wife a more politically-and pronominally-correct role.

Parenthetically, snooty sectors used to make fun of the Erap English that Marquez's wife Almo Moreno allegedly perpetrated, but it wasn't Alma who was responsible for this front-page news item in 1993: “Child actor Vandolph, visibly scared, showed up at the Bureau of Immigration yesterday accompanied by her mother, actress Alma Moreno.”

With 1995 only half-way through, I have already come up with the following additional citations, all culled from respectable, fairly well-edited broadsheets, not from your run-of-the-mill tabloids and fanzines that play fast and loose with language as much as with facts:

“Real-estate businessman Johnny Ramos carries her two-year-old daughter Nicole who was allegedly kidnapped by Rosita de la Cruz, Ruben Soriaga and Joel Isedera last Sunday.” (Photo caption, January 25, 1995.)

“It was during that time when he [sic; this refers to feminist Aurora Javate de Dios] met his future husband, Angelito de Dios.” (Feature, January 29, 1995.)

“A beauty queen-turned-actress was apparently punched by his father.” (Gossip column, February 23, 1995.)

“… the book The Fooling of America (The Untold Story of Carlos P. Romulo) by Pedro Andrade, dismissing the late statesman as a fraud and devoting a few pages to her widow as a mediocre writer.” (Gossip column, April 9, 1995. Incidentally, a book subtitle, when used in a prose piece, is normally preceded by a colon instead of enclosed in parentheses; but that is another story, and besides, I haven't seen this particular book.)

No linguist or grammarian, as far as I know, has yet ventured to give a plausible explanation for the plight of the English pronoun in the Philippine media. So, until Pinoy Eng 101 is offered in some university's Philippine Studies program, it remains for this language loony to make a wild guess.

My personal theory is that the language of an earlier colonizer has been playing tricks with the phonetic, semantic, lexical, grammatical, and syntactical structure of Filipino English.

Spanish gave us such filanglicized words as aggrupation, fiscalize, and oppositor. It may also have indirectly influenced the gender agreement of adjectival pronoun and modified noun in Filipino English.

In Spanish, article and adjective take the gender of the noun they modify: el niño bonito, las flores rojas, la sierra morena. It doesn't require much of an imagination to see the relationship between el marido and his husband, la esposa and her wife, la hija and her daughter.

***

Slip of the lengua

"Carabeef Lengua"
Jose F. Lacaba
Sunday Times Magazine, 1995 June 19

THE HIS-HUSBAND SYNDROME. Two Sundays ago, in a disquisition entitled “Dadong and Her Daughter, Flor and His Husband,” this column took note of the tendency in Filipino English “for the singular pronoun to acquire the gender, not of its antecedent, but of the noun it modifies.”

Back issues of newspapers sitting in one corner of my workroom yielded more examples of “this distinctly Pinoy way with English pronouns.”

(A little editing has been done on texts so that misspellings, grammatical errors, and awkward syntax will not draw attention away from the his-husband syndrome.)

From a review (April 7, 1995) of the film The Last Seduction, starring Linda Fiorentino: “Linda’s character is always reducing men to silly putty—she moves through his men’s lives like a blender with stiletto heels.”

From a profile (May 13, 1995) of Frances Jane Abao, last schoolyear’s summa cum laude from the University of the Philippines in Diliman: “‘I guess she’ll be a writer, pero mas literary,’ says the obviously proud father, speaking on behalf of her eldest daughter.”

From an article (May 14, 1995) about mothers with gay sons: “The first inkling Ms. Nory Tolentino had that his son—publicist Joselito or ‘Toots’—might be gay was during his high school years.”

From the same article: “Unlike Ms. Tolentino, Lourdes Ortiz never really had to contend with inner wranglings about the homosexuality of his son, fashion designer Randy.”

From a movie-gossip column (May 14, 1995): “Phillip Salvador is in a dilemma. He has to make a choice, and it better be good: he has to either be at Kris’s bedside when she gives birth to their love child in June, or attend her eldest daughter’s graduation from high school in New York at about the same time.”

From another movie-gossip column (May 30, 1995), which quotes new actress Giselle “G” Toengi denying any relationship with actor Eric Fructuoso: “He’s just a good friend. … I know her girlfriend.”

And here’s a late-breaker! Just when I think my column is coming in early this time around, I come upon this item in a June 20 news report on the Vizconde massacre: “He said that her daughter had written to him about a spurned suitor.”

***

HHV positive

"Carabeef Lengua"
Jose F. Lacaba
Sunday Times Magazine, 1996 April 28

TWICE in this space (Sunday Times Magazine, June 11 and 25, 1995), I frothed at the mouth over the spread of something I called the his-husband syndrome.

This I described as a “distinctly Pinoy way with English pronouns,” and I defined it as the tendency in Filipino English “for the singular pronoun to acquire the gender, not of its antecedent, but of the noun it modifies.” Among the many egregious examples of this “syndrome” that I cited was the one after which I named the phenomenon: “Flor had mentioned how cheaply she had bought some watches for his husband Efren.”

In true scientific spirit, which requires a hypothesis to be revised if it is not supported by objective conditions, I hereby admit my mistake in speaking of this phenomenon as a syndrome. The dictionary defines syndrome as “a set of signs and symptoms that together indicate the presence of a disease or abnormal condition.” By extension, the medical term has also come to mean “a combination of opinions, behavior, etc., that are characteristic of a particular condition.”

In the case of the his-husband phenomenon, my scientific investigations have led me to conclude that what we have here is not a syndrome but a virus—a virus as debilitating, as dangerous, as deadly, as destructive as the Michelangelo computer virus or the human immunodeficiency virus.

I do not claim to have discovered the virus, but I expect to get a Nobel Prize in medical research for my collection of laboratory specimens of this organism—arguably the largest such collection in these parts. In view of my groundbreaking role in this endeavor, I hereby exercise my right to give the organism a habitation and a name: the his-husband virus, HHV for short, at the moment found only in the Philippines.

HHV probably causes AARGHS, the acquired acute recrudescent grammatical headache syndrome, but further tests may be necessary to determine this.

It is with the deepest sadness that I must now report a renewed outbreak of this ebullient virus. In a single recent issue alone (April 17, 1996), my favorite paper produced five HHV-positive citations.

One citation comes from an op-ed piece on whistle-blower Gloria Garabato: “She’s more popularly called the ‘pyramid-scam witness,’ who had linked his superiors to the latest financial scandal to hit the National Police hierarchy.”

The four other citations are from a front-page story on a teenage GRO who survived the Ozone fire. Edwin Rosales, father of the survivor, is reported to have “accused owners of the Ozone disco of child exploitation for hiring her daughter despite her minor age.” (Minor age is a mild case of dislocated idiom; but the disorder is not life-threatening, and we’ll let it pass.)

In the jump-page, we are then told that Edwin Rosales’s daughter, Micaela, “kept her work a secret from his father.” The report continues: “Her daughter, he said, was able to hide her job since she reported for work only on a part-time basis.” And further: “Rosales asked the NBI to provide protection for her daughter after they received several death threats from anonymous callers.” (Note that Micaela’s gender is carried over into the pronoun of work and job, but that the gender of father and daughter takes possession of the pronoun that precedes them.)

In a more recent issue (April 24, 1996) of the nation’s biggest daily, the virus appears twice in a report on imprisoned OCW Sarah Balabagan’s troubled parents. “Karim [Balabagan] reportedly wounded her wife Abai over an argument over donated money after their first visit to the UAE last year,” goes the page-one story. The jump page maintains the gender-crossing stance: “Karim denied he hurt her wife in an earlier interview with radio station dxMY in Cotabato City.”

Parenthetically, the two overs in the first sentence is distracting: “over an argument over donated money.” As the kids say: Oh-verrr! And the awkward structuring of the second sentence makes it appear that that the wife got hurt in the course of the interview. This is a bad case of the AARGHS; but you can always expect complications to arise when you’re afflicted with HHV.

Hereunder are a number of other HHV-positive cases I have come across since my last report on the subject. It must be noted that this is a random sampling, since I can’t afford to subscribe to all the Metro Manila broadsheets.

From a front-page caption (June 24, 1995) of a photograph showing a young woman beside an open casket: “Che-Che Aragon looks on his father, NBI Director Antonio Aragon, who died yesterday of a heart attack.”

From a report (August 27, 1995) on the alleged rape of a 12-year-old girl who got pregnant: “Marlon said his teachers and friends talked behind his back. No one wanted to get near him even. The whole neighborhood treated him warily. Even her 13-year-old sister was affected.”

From a column item (September 27, 1995) on actor Mark Anthony Fernandez’s crush on co-star Ana Roces: “Wasn’t it difficult doing Matimbang Pa sa Dugo with Ana Roces as her leading lady now that he’s lovey-dovey with onother girl?” Don’t ask me about onother; that’s another story.

From the caption (October 10, 1995) of a front-page color photo: “Tony Boy Lejano wipes his face while talking to her mother, actress Pinky de Leon, at the start of the Vizconde slay trial.”

From a column item (December 4, 1995) on the decision of Mr. Cruz (no first name mentioned) to allow daughter Sunshine Cruz to star in the sex film Virgin People: “Last we heard, Mr. Cruz has finally given his blessings. What probably made him change his mind is the prospect of international exposure for her daughter.” Sunshine Cruz, incidentally, is described by the same item as a “buxomy actress.” No such word in the dictionary; Sunshine is buxom and bosomy, or as they say in kanto-boy lingo: maganda ang hinaharap.

From another item in the same column (December 13, 1995), about Ina Raymundo’s screen partner: “That was probably the case with Paolo Abrera, his leading man in that beer commercial and its sequel, and now one of his three boyfriends in Sabado Nights the Movie.”

From a news story (March 9, 1996) about an incestuous rape: “She woke up when she felt someone go on top of her and was startled to see his father wearing nothing but his underwear and trying to take her clothes of. … To prevent from arousing suspicion, his father concocted a tale which pinned her pregnancies to alleged rapists who forcibly entered their house on separate occasions.” The second sentence reveals idiomatic deficiencies: to prevent from arousing suspicion, pinned her pregnancies to; again, we shall not attempt a treatment. The headline of this piece, by the way, got the girl’s gender right: “Two babies later, daughter reveals rape by her own father.”

I began my case studies with whistle-blower Gloria Garabato, and now I end with her. This is from a front-page story (March 29, 1996) about the lie detector test that she and her former boss took. Police Superintendent Virgilio Odulio, according to the story’s background information, “was implicated by her secretary, Gloria Victoria Garabato, as the mastermind behind the multimillion-peso pyramid racket at the National Police in Camp Crame.”

Incidentally, Gloria Victoria was gloriously victorious in the polygraph test. His boss failed—I mean, her boss.

This virus is virulent. It is the fervent hope of this report that disclosure and diagnosis of the above medical cases will impel editorial-desk doctors to find a cure for the strange epidemic caused by HHV.

***

Through the years, I have put together quite a sizable collection of HHV samples. Here are samples from the 21st century (names of authors and publications have been omitted to protect the guilty, including their editors):

The second one is PLDT’s IDD (international direct dial) telephone ad. It’s the more popular one, and features the ongoing story of a mother and her presumably unico hijo in the United States. The mother, a resolutely doting one, keeps calling her son up in the United States to inquire about his welfare. He tells her that he has met a nice girl, named Gracia, who is probably a Fil-Am to go by her name. The mother worries no end about the girl being too American, but her son keeps assuring her she will meet with her approval. As the story goes, the SON eventually tells HER mother SHE is going to marry Gracia and is going back to the Philippines to introduce Gracia to her. The subplot to the story is that the boy’s best friend, who turns out to be gay and has the hots for him, is devastated by the news.
--2001 August 2

A 23-year-old MAN allegedly shoved HER 21-year-old common-law wife from their 6th floor apartment, then himself jumped to his death yesterday morning in Tondo.
--2001 September 16

[Female actress Aleck] Bovick was involved in a legal battle with HIS father, Aurelio P. Tambis, who had asked the Quezon City Regional Trial Court to put HER daughter in jail for appearing in exploitative bold movies that showed her in several stages of nudity when she was only 17. The lawsuit has been settled, according to Bovick.
--2003 April 16, 2003

During the presidency of HER niece-in-law Corazon Aquino, HE [Hermie Aquino] was appointed executive secretary…
--2003 December 3

For his part, Tarlac Rep. BENIGNO “Noynoy” Aquino III, Kris’ older brother, told the same newscast that he respected HER sister’s feelings. The congressman, however, advised her not to give their 70-year-old mother, former President Corazon Aquino, “too much stress.”
--2003 December 16

Vina Morales, a guest at Eula’s wedding, came to Boracay with a guest of her own—a Malaysian GUY known only by HER first name, Sulayman. The guys is rumoured to be her current boyfriend.
--Unedited copy

An employee of Starbucks Coffee Shop and his girlfriend were abducted by two unidentified armed men shortly after they went out of the establishment Tuesday night in Muntinlupa City. / Sr. Supt. Roberto Rongavilla, Muntinlupa police officer-in-charge, identified the victims as Jeffrey Cruz, 26, a resident of Pilar Village, Las Piñas City, and KATRINA SCHOOS, 20, of Ayala-Alabang Village, Muntinlupa City…. / Schoos reportedly fetched HIS boyfriend at the said coffee shop….
--2005 January 13

HER dream is to complete HIS Dentistry course at the University of the East next April, pass the Board exams and practice her profession to help support her family and uplift it from want. / Now in her fifth and last year in Dentistry, Huwaran Luntian Galora, 23, had her dreamed [sic] almost sidetracked….
--2005 January 13

Police said the shooting incident in he house the Bagondon [sic] started when MARITES [Bagondon] confronted HIS live-in partner Oscar delos Reyes after he reportedly failed to go home last Sunday.
--2005 January 18

Now it can be told, Jenny Suico’s FATHER was just waiting for HER beloved daughter before finally signing off. Suico’s father, Aquilino de los Santos, passed away on Thursday, five days after she voluntarily left Pinoy Big Brother’s house purposely to attend to him.
--2005 September 24

Name game

2008-02-20T19:34:00.000-08:00

This is something I wrote back in 1997, when I was doing a column called “Matter of Fact” for the Manila Times. It got published in the February 27 issue, soon after the 11th-anniversary celebration of the 1986 EDSA uprising. I reprint it here because it’s EDSA anniversary time again, and for another reason that is better explained in a postscript.

MATTER OF FACT
By Jose F. Lacaba

Manila Times
February 27, 1997

The name game

EDSA babies--children born during the four-day people-power uprising of 1986--had their 15 minutes of fame at last Tuesday's 11th-anniversary celebration of the event. Not surprisingly, a number of them bore the names of EDSA's principal players.

By one count, at least nine EDSA babies are named Corazon, after Cory Aquino. Seven carry two variations on Juan Ponce Enrile's first name--Juano and John. But Fidel V. Ramos and Gregorio “Gringo” Honasan get only one namesake each--Jopen Fidel and Honnashan.

Is that scorecard an indication of popularity levels at the time?

Surprisingly, Fidel's cousin gets a better score than Fidel. Two boys who came into the world just before Marcos hightailed it out of Malacañang will forever bear the ignominy of going by the name of Ferdinand. They must have been born to loyalist parents.

Two others are named after a noble abstraction, Liberty. And one, the star of the EDSA '96 show, who was chosen to light the freedom flame, is called Edsa Rose.

Through the centuries, historical events and cultural trends have often set new fashions in name-giving. “For many children of the '60s,” authors Nathaniel Wice and Steven Daly note in Alt.culture: An A-to-Z Guide to the '90s--Underground, Online, and Over-the-Counter (Harper Perennial, 1995), “one parental indiscretion means a lifetime laboring under a name like Dweezil, Chastity, or Justice.”

Hippie parents begat, in the words of Wice and Daly, “perfectly nice kids with weird names” like River, Winona, and Uma. (Yup, Phoenix, Ryder, and Thurman are counterculture babies.)

EDSA, though, doesn't seem to have spawned too many imaginative or hero-worshipping appellations, judging from the reported list of 23 names. Maybe the uprising happened too quickly.

There were 550 participating EDSA babies, according to one report. By what names have the remaining 527 been christened? Is anyone out there named Ninoy, Agapito Butz, Jaime Cardinal, Veritas, Radyo Bandido, or Uzi?

Maybe I just move in different circles, but it seems to me that the First Quarter Storm of 1970 and the struggle against martial law inspired a lot more names not commonly seen in baptismal registries.

I know a number of twentysomethings, both male and female, who are named Malaya, usually nicknamed Aya. Note that the FQS gave birth to Malaya but EDSA brought forth Liberty. That means two sets of street parliamentarians speaking different languages.

You can immediately tell if someone is a martial-law baby or the child of FQS activists when that someone answers to the name Makibaka, or Demo (short for Demonstrasyon or Demokrasya), or Rebo (short for Rebolusyon).

I have a goddaughter named Roja (Spanish for “red”), a godson named Fedayeen (the Palestinian word for “guerrilla”), and nieces named Miriam Mendiola, Emanwelga, and Amir (the Arabic word for “commander,” from which came the English word emir).

Tagalog names like Lualhati and Bayani, once popular in nationalist families, haven't enjoyed a revival. FQS veterans prefer coming up with new ones like Maningning, Banaue, Mithi, Hiyas, Alab, and Tagumpay.

The pantheon of leftist role models has also bequeathed names like Karl, Vladimir, Lenin, Marlenin, Mao, Chi Minh, and Norman (after Norman Bethune, a Canadian doctor apotheosized by Mao Zedong). I've even met someone actually named Karlmarxist.

More nationalistically inclined leftist types have named their children Amado Bonifacio, Crisanto (after Crisanto Evangelista, founder of the first Communist Party of the Philippines), and Lorena (after woman warrior Lorena Barros).

It isn't just babies whose names give away their parents' militant past. There are even, believe it or not, taxis named Lenin, FQS, Freedom, and Kalayaan.

Obviously, some former street marchers have gone up the social ladder. As driver-operators, they have graduated to the status of entrepreneurs and members of the national bourgeoisie.

Those taxi names, by the by, are culled from my wife's unusual collection. Her hobby of late, while riding in the front seat of our old heap, is monitoring the incredible nomenclature produced by the boom in individually owned taxicabs.

The names fall into several categories. FQS belongs to the political, but the religious, being less likely to attract the attention of government agents, seems to have more adherents, with taxis named God's Grace, God's Glory, God's Servant, God's Sheep, God's Touch, Jesus on Board Godspeed, Heart of Jesus, D'Lord's Army, Lady of Lourdes, Our Lady of Hope, Psalm 21, and Deuteronomy.

Among the other categories: people (Zaira & Zabrielle, Ahkong & Ahkang); places, which could be countries where owner-operators were once overseas contract workers (Bahrain, Osaka); dates, their significance known only to the owners (June One, 21st of September); family (Six Brothers, Mater et Filius); literature, sometimes in fractured forms (McBeth, Othella, Alvatross); transportation (Road 'R' Us, Wheels and Hubs); high technology (Bits & Bytes, Zybernetics); anatomy (Tumbong, Tarugo); vices (Fundador, Cuadro de Jack); and miscellaneous (Nameless, Whatever, Makuletski).

More space would be needed to give justice to this subject. My wife's personal favorites are Nik-Nik, Nicnoc, Noc-Noc, Nikmik, Buniknik, and Mik-Mik.

There's also a taxi surnamed Lacaba. It sped by so quickly that my wife missed its first name. I can assure you it doesn't belong to me.

My own favorite is Brod Pit Taxi. That's probably owned by a fratman who thinks he looks like Brad Pitt. I am instructing my siblings to stop calling me Kuya and to address me henceforth as Brod Pete.

POSTSCRIPT, February 21, 2008:

For some time after the above column came out, I was addressed by friends and officemates as Brod Pete. But then, not long after the above column came out, along came Bubble Gang comedian Isko Salvador, who also took the name Brod Pete for one of his personas, so I dropped my brodpete@hotmail.com email address and went with kapete, which in the past decade went through three email addresses—the now defunct kapete@pacific.net.ph and kapete@ispx.com.ph, and the still current kapete@zpdee.net.

Ka Pete was a jocular appellation that originally came up after I wrote a script called Bayan Ko: Kapit sa Patalim (1984), but it didn’t really catch on among my friends until I started using it as an email address.

And now, I have been reliably informed, Isko “Brod Pete” Salvador also has another TV program where he goes by the name Ka Pete. TV has a wider reach than the print media, so is it time for me to say goodbye to my own Ka Pete handle, even if it’s already etched in the blogosphere as a result of this kapetesapatalim blog that I have just started?

Maybe it’s time for me go by the name used by my journalism students and by my current officemates, who have all knighted me and are calling me... Sir Pete.

Ekphrasis: Sampayan

2008-02-19T00:07:00.000-08:00

Salamat sa makatang si Marne Kilates, nalaman ko na ang tawag sa tulang pumapaksa sa visual arts o artistic objects ay ekphrasis. Isang kilalang halimbawa ng ekphrasis ay ang “Ode on a Grecian Urn” ni John Keats. Hindi ko pa alam ang term ay may nagawa na pala akong ekphrasis. Noong nagsusulat pa ako ng tula sa Ingles, may mga nasulat akong tula tungkol sa painting na “Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte” ni Seurat at “Birth of Venus” ni Botticelli. Kailangan ko munang halukayin ang luma kong files para sa mga tulang iyan.

Kamakailan, kaugnay ng kanyang solo art exhibit ay hinilingan ako ng kaibigang Heber Bartolome, mang-aawit, songwriter, at pintor, na sumulat ng isang tula tungkol sa isa niyang painting.

Nasa itaas ang painting ni Heber. At narito ang aking ekphrasis:

SAMPAYAN
Tula para sa painting ni Heber Bartolome, “Sinampay”

Masdan itong sampayan.

Hindi hari, hindi pari,
ang nagmamay-ari
sa bahaging ito ng mundo.

Dugo, luha, pawis
ay malapot na putik
sa ibang bahagi ng mundo.

Daga, ipis, lamok, limatik:
putik! putik! putik!
sa ibang bahagi ng mundo.

Pero konting sabon, konting tubig,
init ng araw at halik ng hangin
ay papawi ng putik

kahit sa isang saglit.

At sa isang saglit na iyon,
malinis, mabango, makulay ang buhay
sa isang bahagi ng mundo,

dito, sa sampayang ito,
kahit na ang nagmamay-ari
ay hindi pari, hindi hari.

Ni Jose F. Lacaba

Tagubilin at Habilin

2008-02-15T09:12:00.000-08:00

I'm giving blogging a try, and this is my first post.

I wrote the following poem, obviously inspired by "Desiderata" and "Sunscreen," sometime in 2002 or 2003. It was commissioned by Armida Siguion-Reyna for her album POP LOLA (Viva Records, 2003). Armida's recording of the poem, with background music by Ryan Cayabyab, got a lot of airplay on Ted Failon and Korina Sanchez's program on DZMM teleradyo last year, 2007, just before the elections. Sometimes Ted himself recited the poem. In the wake of the Jun Lozada revelations in the Senate, I have been getting text messages that the poem is again getting airplay on the Failon-Sanchez show on DZMM.

This version is slightly different from the recorded version. The main difference is that the first stanza gets repeated somewhere in the middle of the poem. I'm hoping that someday the stanza will become a sung refrain, like the "You are a child of the universe" part of "Desiderata."

TAGUBILIN AT HABILIN
(Slightly revised version)
Ni Jose F. Lacaba

Mabuhay ka, kaibigan!
Mabuhay ka!
Iyan ang una't huli kong
Tagubilin at habilin:
Mabuhay ka!

Sa edad kong ito, marami akong maibibigay na payo.
Mayaman ako sa payo.

Maghugas ka ng kamay bago kumain.
Maghugas ka ng kamay pagkatapos kumain.
Pero huwag kang maghuhugas ng kamay para lang makaiwas sa sisi.
Huwag kang maghuhugas ng kamay kung may inaapi
Na kaya mong tulungan.

Paupuin sa bus ang matatanda at ang mga may kalong na sanggol.
Magpasalamat sa nagmamagandang-loob.
Matuto sa karanasan ng matatanda
Pero huwag magpatali sa kaisipang makaluma.

Huwag piliting matulog kung ayaw kang dalawin ng antok.
Huwag pag-aksayahan ng panahon ang walang utang na loob.
Huwag makipagtalo sa bobo at baka ka mapagkamalang bobo.
Huwag bubulong-bulong sa mga panahong kailangang sumigaw.

Huwag kang manalig sa bulung-bulungan.
Huwag kang papatay-patay sa ilalim ng pabitin.
Huwag kang tutulog-tulog sa pansitan.

Umawit ka kung nag-iisa sa banyo.
Umawit ka sa piling ng barkada.
Umawit ka kung nalulungkot.
Umawit ka kung masaya.

Ingat lang.

Huwag kang aawit ng “My Way” sa videoke bar at baka ka mabaril.
Huwag kang magsindi ng sigarilyo sa gasolinahan.
Dahan-dahan sa matatarik na landas.
Dahan-dahan sa malulubak na daan.

Higit sa lahat, inuulit ko:

Mabuhay ka, kaibigan!
Mabuhay ka!
Iyan ang una't huli kong
Tagubilin at habilin:
Mabuhay ka!

Maraming bagay sa mundo na nakakadismaya.
Mabuhay ka.
Maraming problema ang mundo na wala na yatang lunas.
Mabuhay ka.

Sa hirap ng panahon, sa harap ng kabiguan,
Kung minsan ay gusto mo nang mamatay.
Gusto mong maglaslas ng pulso kung sawi sa pag-ibig.
Gusto mong uminom ng lason kung wala nang makain.
Gusto mong magbigti kung napakabigat ng mga pasanin.
Gusto mong pasabugin ang bungo mo kung maraming gumugulo sa utak.

Huwag kang patatalo. Huwag kang susuko.

Narinig mo ang sinasabi ng awitin:
“Gising at magbangon sa pagkagupiling,
Sa pagkakatulog na lubhang mahimbing.”
Gumising ka kung hinaharana ka ng pag-ibig.
Bumangon ka kung nananawagan ang kapuspalad.

Ang sabi ng iba: “Ang matapang ay walang-takot lumaban.”
Ang sabi ko naman: Ang tunay na matapang ay lumalaban
Kahit natatakot.

Lumaban ka kung inginungodngod ang nguso mo sa putik.
Bumalikwas ka kung tinatapak-tapakan ka.
Buong-tapang mong ipaglaban ang iyong mga prinsipyo
Kahit hindi ka sigurado na agad-agad kang mananalo.

Mabuhay ka, kaibigan!
Mabuhay ka!
Iyan ang una't huli kong
Tagubilin at habilin:
Mabuhay ka!