Vallorbe in real life

The waters rage outside the caves of Vallorbe.

It Was the Caves of Vallorbe

By Mila D. Aguilar


It was the caves of Vallorbe
Les grottes de Vallorbe
That did me in.

That did me in,
Les grottes de Vallorbe
The cold of

The beautiful caves
Of Vallorbe.
The icy handrails

Of the caves of Vallorbe.
I hardly noticed
As I trekked up and down

The steel steps
Des grottes de Vallorbe
Admiring the

Stalactites and stalagmites
The odd formations
That produced not

One precious stone
That my back had clogged
That my butt had clogged

With the steely cold
Of the caves of Vallorbe.
And it did me in,

That was what did me in,
The icy cold
Of the caves of Vallorbe.



Saturday, August 18, 2007
2:46:51 AM
Philippine Time
Written at the airport in Frankfurt on a two-hour stopover of the flight from Geneva to Manila.

The Filipino Speaks to NICA & the CIA

(In memory of Prof. Jose Ma. Cui)
By Mila D. Aguilar

Killing them one by one,
You think you’re doing humanity a favor.
Not like Indonesia, after all,
A million in one swoop.

Here you’re targeting
The best of a generation: Just getting “commies”
Out of the loop, so that
You can mix your own soup.

Who was it that said
You can’t kill an idea by shooting it
Dead. And yet you just
May succeed, you evil weed.

Preparing for the coming
Of your Wicked One, the antinomy of mine.
Only remember you have but
Three and a half years

To spread your seed
And then your end will come for all time.
Oh, you’ll get your chance
Again, after a thousand

But the reversal will be
Compleat. So accept your defeat, beat a retreat,
Leave my world to me
And Him, who’s my eternity.

Tuesday, January 23, 2007
12:30-1:56 PM

In Excelsis Deo

by Mila D. Aguilar

This woman’s playing chess
Without a tear.
After eating up all the pawns
She’s now targeting bishops
From the rear.
No storm, it seems,
Can stay her
Rather deadly,
Definitely
Ungodly career.

Why don’t the people
Arise, you ask.
So many lives wasted,
So much blood left out
In the sun to bask
Like dried meat seeking
Salt to stop the reeking.
Let me tell you one thing,
Dear, it’s not a simple,
Easy task.

You have been asked
To pray.
You have refused
On the excuse
Of forging broader fronts.
There is no way
This front can come together
Of its own accord.
If you’ll but see the greater power
This woman will not stay

Another hour.

October 4, 2006
11:03:59 AM - 12:55:06 PM

George and Macel

On coming home from Geneva to talk to OFWs about creating wealth for the country through entrepreneurship, I am confronted with the murder of people I never knew. One pair of deaths strikes me particularly. Why do I grieve so for this couple? Is it they I cry over, or the country?

George and Macel
By Mila D. Aguilar

George and Macel were lovers
Four children between them.
They rode out into the night
To be shot down in broad daylight.

George and Macel were lovers of country.
They did what they could,
Peacefully. But they were mowed down,
In view of so many.

George and Macel were lovers of freedom.
Young, they never realized that
Martyrdom would be the sum
Of their quest for the Kingdom.

George and Macel were lovers of God.
Born at the end of dictatorship,
How could they see
They would die on the tail of it?

Friend, I never got to know
George and Macel. Were they
On the list you made
Of those to be wiped out?

July 7, 2006
11:05 AM-12:04 PM

--
Do not pollute the land where you are. Bloodshed pollutes the land, and atonement cannot be made for the land on which blood has been shed, except by the blood of the one who shed it. (says the Lord in Numbers 35:33)

HK-Macau Ferry Passengers

Somewhere on this blog is a photo of Hong Kong that I took in 1996, before the turnover. Today, ten years later, the passengers on the TurboJet going to Macau for a Sunday vacation present a contrast, for whatever reason.

Which will you choose?

Listen
By Mila D. Aguilar

Listen,
In the last days,
The forces of evil will be ranged against the forces of good.

They will win
One battle after another
You will even start to think they have won the war.

If you are
A weak-willed ninny,
They will take you by your guts and gobble you up like hot soup.

If you fight
Because you know what is right,
They will jail you, maim you, try their worst to murder you.

If you are
Without Lord and Savior,
Oh pity, pity, no one can come to your aid at the final moment.

What will you do?
Where will you go?
Which will you choose?

Will you
Choose to listen
Or continue, like those whose ears are plugged, to disobey?

March 9, 2006
11:17 PM

Old story, new poem, higher level of struggle

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

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.

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

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.

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.

After the Rain

 
 
Some people wonder how I can be so hopeful in the midst of the morass in the land. 

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

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

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

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

Swiss Hibiscus

Swiss Hibiscus
Photo taken by mila d aguilar.

Here is the Swiss gumamela I wrote about earlier.

She sells Swiss watches

She sells Swiss watches
Photo taken by mila d aguilar.

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

Church Steeple
Photo taken by mda.

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.