It’s the Rot Antic
By Mila D. Aguilar
It’s the Rot Antic.
Rot of carrion.
Rot of corruption.
Rot of bodies
Under tons of slime and rock.
Under the weight of
Grime and muck.
ROT. Reign Of The.
Reign of the frozen grin
The thieving queen
The terror twins
Reign of the drones
Spying on our muted crones.
ANTIC. Antichrist.
Why wonder at the
Statistical lies
The brazen tricks
The felonious pricks
Following exactly nothing.
666. It’s the Rot Antic. It’s here to stick.
February 20, 2006
3:56 AM
Monday, February 20, 2006
Monday, January 30, 2006
The Muses
The Muses at the College of Arts and Letters Faculty Center of the University of the Philippines are a sight to behold. Normally dark, they were partially under the late afternoon sun from the second floor after the book launching of Bien Lumbera. The acacia trees in the background mirror their movement.
Sunday, January 01, 2006
Happy New Year?
Haiku of the times
By Mila D. Aguilar
Tonight,
The fireworks lasted
Only thirty minutes.
January 1, 2006
1:07:12 AM
By Mila D. Aguilar
Tonight,
The fireworks lasted
Only thirty minutes.
January 1, 2006
1:07:12 AM
Sunday, December 25, 2005
2005: The Last Days
2005: The Last Days
ni Mila D. Aguilar
a.k.a. Clarita Roja
I.
Kagabi, may mga nagpaputok
Labintador lang naman
Pero ipinagtaka ko,
Dahil wala yata sa panahon.
Pagkalabas ko kinaumagahan
Naintindihan ko kung bakit.
Walang katao-tao sa daan.
Nagsisiksikan ang mga bus
Sa dalawang gilid ng EDSA,
Naghihintay ng mga pasaherong
Di dumarating.
Hawan ang kabilang parte
Ng nakatiwangwang na daan.
Sarado ang mga mall.
Alam na nilang ngayong araw
Walang magbibilihan,
Dahil sa mga linggong
Nakaraan, di rin karamihan
Ang nagpuntahan
Upang mamili, o magparaya man.
Masahol pa sa Biyernes Santo
Ang mga panahong ito.
Pasko na, Gloria, o!
Anong ginawa mo sa bayan ko?
II.
“What is real?
Asked the rabbit one day….”
Only my hair having been loved off,
My dear.* Otherwise,
What is real in a world
Manufactured by liars
In high places?
What is truth?
Are there more jobs?
Are the exports rising?
Are the investors investing?
Is the peso really rebounding?
Were there ever WMDs in Iraq?
The people know, but do not move,
As if they were waiting
For the stones to fall
Until not one is left on another.
The people know:
He will come on a cloud
But before that
One is already here
Who will claim to be Him,
He and she being it.
What is Truth?
Will you be able to stand firm
In the face of it?
Will you be able to stand before
The Son of Man, escaping
All that is about to happen,
Not a hair of your head perishing
As others are taken prisoners
To all the nations?**
What is truth
In the age of deception?
III.
Ngayong araw,
Panay pa rin ang paputok
Ng mga iskwater
Sa tabi-tabi.
Ibang klase silang
Magpaputok ngayon.
Di tulad ng dati,
Na masaya.
Ngayong taon,
May kahalong galit
Ang mga putok,
Para bagang sinasabing
Ito na lamang ang aming
Pagpaparausan
Tutal binigyan niyo kami
Ng kahirapan.
Walang ikababahala:
Labintador lang naman.
Ewan ko lang sa susunod na taon
Kung ano pa ang kayang makaon.
December 25, 2005
7:00 – 9:00 pm
* The question and answer are derived from Margery Williams’ poem entitled “What is Real?”
** This stanza and the two preceding it use the words of Luke 21, New International Version, almost exactly in some parts.
ni Mila D. Aguilar
a.k.a. Clarita Roja
I.
Kagabi, may mga nagpaputok
Labintador lang naman
Pero ipinagtaka ko,
Dahil wala yata sa panahon.
Pagkalabas ko kinaumagahan
Naintindihan ko kung bakit.
Walang katao-tao sa daan.
Nagsisiksikan ang mga bus
Sa dalawang gilid ng EDSA,
Naghihintay ng mga pasaherong
Di dumarating.
Hawan ang kabilang parte
Ng nakatiwangwang na daan.
Sarado ang mga mall.
Alam na nilang ngayong araw
Walang magbibilihan,
Dahil sa mga linggong
Nakaraan, di rin karamihan
Ang nagpuntahan
Upang mamili, o magparaya man.
Masahol pa sa Biyernes Santo
Ang mga panahong ito.
Pasko na, Gloria, o!
Anong ginawa mo sa bayan ko?
II.
“What is real?
Asked the rabbit one day….”
Only my hair having been loved off,
My dear.* Otherwise,
What is real in a world
Manufactured by liars
In high places?
What is truth?
Are there more jobs?
Are the exports rising?
Are the investors investing?
Is the peso really rebounding?
Were there ever WMDs in Iraq?
The people know, but do not move,
As if they were waiting
For the stones to fall
Until not one is left on another.
The people know:
He will come on a cloud
But before that
One is already here
Who will claim to be Him,
He and she being it.
What is Truth?
Will you be able to stand firm
In the face of it?
Will you be able to stand before
The Son of Man, escaping
All that is about to happen,
Not a hair of your head perishing
As others are taken prisoners
To all the nations?**
What is truth
In the age of deception?
III.
Ngayong araw,
Panay pa rin ang paputok
Ng mga iskwater
Sa tabi-tabi.
Ibang klase silang
Magpaputok ngayon.
Di tulad ng dati,
Na masaya.
Ngayong taon,
May kahalong galit
Ang mga putok,
Para bagang sinasabing
Ito na lamang ang aming
Pagpaparausan
Tutal binigyan niyo kami
Ng kahirapan.
Walang ikababahala:
Labintador lang naman.
Ewan ko lang sa susunod na taon
Kung ano pa ang kayang makaon.
December 25, 2005
7:00 – 9:00 pm
* The question and answer are derived from Margery Williams’ poem entitled “What is Real?”
** This stanza and the two preceding it use the words of Luke 21, New International Version, almost exactly in some parts.
Tuesday, November 01, 2005
To N.O. USA
An N.O., USA
By Sophie Bodegon
Sie haben die Windungen meiner Fluesse
gerade gelegt
das Wasser meiner Marsch
austroknen lassen
die Macht meiner Stroeme
eingesperrt.
Naja, bis Morgen
wenn Katrina kommt.
You are wondering why I have a German poem in my blog for English students. Sophie Bodegon, who founded Philippine News and Features, is currently Asia Secretary for United Evangelical Mission, working with the churches in the tsunami areas of North Sumatra, Nias, Mentawai and Sri Lanka. She wrote the poem, she says, while studying the German language in Germany, where she is currently based. I asked her to translate the poem for me into English, and she did:
To N.O., USA
You have
straightened the curves
of my streams
dried up
the waters of my marches
held captive
the power of my rivers
Oh well, till tomorrow
when Katrina comes.
A poem in any language, you see, is still a poem. If you've been my student in English 11 and listened to me well, you would know why this is a well-written poem.
By Sophie Bodegon
Sie haben die Windungen meiner Fluesse
gerade gelegt
das Wasser meiner Marsch
austroknen lassen
die Macht meiner Stroeme
eingesperrt.
Naja, bis Morgen
wenn Katrina kommt.
You are wondering why I have a German poem in my blog for English students. Sophie Bodegon, who founded Philippine News and Features, is currently Asia Secretary for United Evangelical Mission, working with the churches in the tsunami areas of North Sumatra, Nias, Mentawai and Sri Lanka. She wrote the poem, she says, while studying the German language in Germany, where she is currently based. I asked her to translate the poem for me into English, and she did:
To N.O., USA
You have
straightened the curves
of my streams
dried up
the waters of my marches
held captive
the power of my rivers
Oh well, till tomorrow
when Katrina comes.
A poem in any language, you see, is still a poem. If you've been my student in English 11 and listened to me well, you would know why this is a well-written poem.
Monday, October 31, 2005
Sunday, September 25, 2005
Tatiana, Sophie’s child
Lavigny 9
By Mila D. Aguilar
There she was,
A mere 18 months,
Foraging on the ground
Below me,
Blond and green-eyed
With a sharp upturned nose
That promised to grow
Like her father’s.
She loved the pebbles
And would bring them up
To her mouth, till
I leaned down to
Look her in the eyes
With a knowing smile.
So she began to be
Interested in the nettles
But they were too spiky
For her small hands
Until she saw, among
The nettles, little
Elongated pieces
Brown with pale green
Patches. I too
Wondered what they were,
Like her. She picked
Them up to show to me.
I did not imagine them
To be as hard as they felt,
Until I looked up to see
They were the same color
As the trunk of the tree
Some feet away from me.
Bark, Tatiana, bark
Falling off the trees!
Bark falls off in autumn
Too, not only leaves!
As amazed at the
Discovery as the child
Was. I have always
Shied away from
Autumns, leaving
Before it comes
To full winter fruition,
But with the knowledge
Of the bark
Falling off like leaves
I think, awaiting 60,
I am ready now
For the dark of winter.
September 25, 2005
5:45-6:13 AM
By Mila D. Aguilar
There she was,
A mere 18 months,
Foraging on the ground
Below me,
Blond and green-eyed
With a sharp upturned nose
That promised to grow
Like her father’s.
She loved the pebbles
And would bring them up
To her mouth, till
I leaned down to
Look her in the eyes
With a knowing smile.
So she began to be
Interested in the nettles
But they were too spiky
For her small hands
Until she saw, among
The nettles, little
Elongated pieces
Brown with pale green
Patches. I too
Wondered what they were,
Like her. She picked
Them up to show to me.
I did not imagine them
To be as hard as they felt,
Until I looked up to see
They were the same color
As the trunk of the tree
Some feet away from me.
Bark, Tatiana, bark
Falling off the trees!
Bark falls off in autumn
Too, not only leaves!
As amazed at the
Discovery as the child
Was. I have always
Shied away from
Autumns, leaving
Before it comes
To full winter fruition,
But with the knowledge
Of the bark
Falling off like leaves
I think, awaiting 60,
I am ready now
For the dark of winter.
September 25, 2005
5:45-6:13 AM
Friday, September 16, 2005
Aubonne
Aubonne is a brisk 30 minutes' walk from Lavigny through the outskirts of a village, then a forest, a river, and a hill. It is composed of two parts: the old town and the new town. I wasn't much interested in the new town. This seems to be the center of the old one.
Photo taken by mda
Friday, September 09, 2005
She sells Swiss watches
Lavigny 8
For Sindiwe Magona, South African writer
by Mila D. Aguilar
She sells Swiss watches,
This woman reeded by age.
We had walked to Aubonne,
Two coloreds,
One black and one brown,
And found a shop selling
Watches, Swiss-made,
But cheap enough to wear
Without fear of getting
Arms snapped off.
The door was open,
There was nobody in,
So I called out
With the few French words
I know: "Bon jour!"
And she came out
With a smile that,
Though not ear to ear,
Was candid enough
Not to condescend.
I would not have bought
A watch for my gradddaughter
Or a Swiss knife for my son
Had she been other than
Unassuming. Do you accept
Credit cards, I asked,
And she said, "Oui oui,"
In the usual Swiss way.
So I chose my two gifts,
One after the other.
It was her manner of wrapping
That struck me and, I guess,
Bored my African companion
And translator, she with
Her native rhythmic sense.
I would not have understood
Yet would have accepted it,
Being Filipino, apt to take things
As they are, then leave all
To her Lord and Master.
I was a nurse, she said--
Wistfully, I imagined--
But my husband had two shops,
One in this house, the other
Across the street, so I had
To tend one--as she
Folded the wrapper
Ever so carefully
As if she were applying
Bandage on a wound.
After what seemed like an hour
She finally managed
To place her shop sticker
On the ribbons
With her finely gnarled
White hands.
I could have made
A short story out of it
But the image of her
Standing there,
Serious and honest,
Is good enough for me.
September 9, 2005
11:30-2:15 pm
For Sindiwe Magona, South African writer
by Mila D. Aguilar
She sells Swiss watches,
This woman reeded by age.
We had walked to Aubonne,
Two coloreds,
One black and one brown,
And found a shop selling
Watches, Swiss-made,
But cheap enough to wear
Without fear of getting
Arms snapped off.
The door was open,
There was nobody in,
So I called out
With the few French words
I know: "Bon jour!"
And she came out
With a smile that,
Though not ear to ear,
Was candid enough
Not to condescend.
I would not have bought
A watch for my gradddaughter
Or a Swiss knife for my son
Had she been other than
Unassuming. Do you accept
Credit cards, I asked,
And she said, "Oui oui,"
In the usual Swiss way.
So I chose my two gifts,
One after the other.
It was her manner of wrapping
That struck me and, I guess,
Bored my African companion
And translator, she with
Her native rhythmic sense.
I would not have understood
Yet would have accepted it,
Being Filipino, apt to take things
As they are, then leave all
To her Lord and Master.
I was a nurse, she said--
Wistfully, I imagined--
But my husband had two shops,
One in this house, the other
Across the street, so I had
To tend one--as she
Folded the wrapper
Ever so carefully
As if she were applying
Bandage on a wound.
After what seemed like an hour
She finally managed
To place her shop sticker
On the ribbons
With her finely gnarled
White hands.
I could have made
A short story out of it
But the image of her
Standing there,
Serious and honest,
Is good enough for me.
September 9, 2005
11:30-2:15 pm
Thursday, September 08, 2005
Whether Weather
Lavigny 7
by Mila D. Aguilar
Autumn's slow in coming to these parts.
One tree is turning red,
One other yellow green,
But most persist in their old color
Despite the onset of the chill.
Suisse is not unlike
Its washing machines
Their shortest cycle
A long 45 minutes
Gentle on any fabric,
Not apt to shear or tear.
I can remember New York
One summer, on Broadway
When I had to buy
Some synthetic jacket
In a bargain basement
Because the autumn wind
Had suddenly descended
Without warning.
And the brusque whoosh
Of their washing machines,
So massive, so utterly
Without compunction
Or civility.
Weather can be
A gauge of our humanity.
September 8, 2005
4:30-4:44 pm
by Mila D. Aguilar
Autumn's slow in coming to these parts.
One tree is turning red,
One other yellow green,
But most persist in their old color
Despite the onset of the chill.
Suisse is not unlike
Its washing machines
Their shortest cycle
A long 45 minutes
Gentle on any fabric,
Not apt to shear or tear.
I can remember New York
One summer, on Broadway
When I had to buy
Some synthetic jacket
In a bargain basement
Because the autumn wind
Had suddenly descended
Without warning.
And the brusque whoosh
Of their washing machines,
So massive, so utterly
Without compunction
Or civility.
Weather can be
A gauge of our humanity.
September 8, 2005
4:30-4:44 pm
She sells Swiss watches
The woman in this photo is a nurse, but she gave up her profession to sell watches and jewelry for her husband, who is also an optometrist and runs their other shop. Both shops are in Aubonne, only a street apart.
Church Steeple
The church steeple of Lavigny, like most other steeples in Switzerland, has a clock, one on each side, to make sure everybody knows the time.
Swiss Chalets
Just outside the Chateau de Lavigny are other houses, small but old, sometimes with tiny yards put to productive use in terms of flowering or table plants like tomatoes and pears. Every inch of ground yields something for the eyes if not the stomach.
The Churches of Switzerland
Lavigny 6
by Mila D. Aguilar
The doors of the churches
Of Switzerland are closed
All day. No schedules tacked
On doors, as they are in
Shops in the villages.
Pastors come once a month,
Being in short supply.
The bells ring to tell time,
Signalling the start and
End of working day for
Farmers in the vineyards.
There are barely people
In the streets, even in
Junctions. So different
From my country, where the
Churches aren't big enough
For the teeming millions,
And so people gather
In the streets, geared to fight,
Tolling evil's end and
Telling the world about
The coming of the Light.
September 8, 2005
4:00-5:52 am
by Mila D. Aguilar
The doors of the churches
Of Switzerland are closed
All day. No schedules tacked
On doors, as they are in
Shops in the villages.
Pastors come once a month,
Being in short supply.
The bells ring to tell time,
Signalling the start and
End of working day for
Farmers in the vineyards.
There are barely people
In the streets, even in
Junctions. So different
From my country, where the
Churches aren't big enough
For the teeming millions,
And so people gather
In the streets, geared to fight,
Tolling evil's end and
Telling the world about
The coming of the Light.
September 8, 2005
4:00-5:52 am
Wednesday, September 07, 2005
The reading at the Chateau
Beate Rygiert, a German short story writer and novelist, was one of those who read their works at the "lectur" on September 4, held in the living room of the Chateau. Seated on the right is her husband, Daniel Oliver Bachmann, also a novelist. To the left, seated on the sofa, is Sophie Kandaouroff, the Chateau manager.
Man, her pair
A meter and a half away from the woman in the lower garden stands the bust of a man. They are surrounded by tall bushes which also serve as a fence around the large yard. In front of them are backless stone benches.
Woman in the Lower Garden
On one end of the lower garden stands the bust of a woman with classic Greek features.
Chateau Trellis
The Chateau trellis is right next to the veranda. It goes down to the parking area and on to what used to be the servants' quarters, now the manager's home.
Chateau Veranda
The Chateau veranda is where the five to six resident writers eat dinner served by some of the best home chefs in Switzerland.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)