PoetryShop Revised Poems 082810 9p

VillanuevaPoems for Workshop

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Camilo M Villanueva JrPoetry Workshop GO1Dr Marjorie Evasco31 July 2010–28 August 2010

Report on William Carlos Williams

The reporter smiles and gives an oralOverview of what is to happen: “William Carlos

William’s ‘No ideas, but in things.’” There!

On the PowerPoint’s first slide—the misplacedApostrophe, on the title page’s first line, midnight

Blue streak to stop the Professor—and the smileDead on its bright track. “William Carlos William’s”

The opening line says bright as the appleGreen mouth that bites the couplet right there:

Frozen midnight blue on white, a crunchy phallicFruit for a pastel breakfast. Then the reporter’s


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Smile quivers, his already breaking voice cracks—Or was it his heart breaking down like China?

—crumping like the recycled plastic water bottle He keeps in his 10kilo backpack? “No ideas,” the

Carelessness in the rush, the folly of workingLate immortalized on the page—A “Thing”: A typo-

Graphical inkblot, a fetal dirt, or a spurt of semenOn the linen, a crumb of unedible piece of ceramic

On the table, a fatal oversight that insinuatedItself between “M” and “S” —between /M/ and /S/

And transferred ownership from a certain WilliamsThe audience knows and expects, the Imagist poet,

The American voice, to a certain William no oneKnows or claims, or could claim, except for

This! Incriminating, but full and healthy, smile.


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Camilo M Villanueva JrPoetry Workshop GO1Dr Marjorie Evasco31 July 2010

Blind Date: O, Paghahandog ng Sarili sa Pag-Ibig ng Ama

Paano haharap sa Iyo na maraming iniisip, ani Bunso sa sarili—puno ang isip ng mga alalahanin sa halip na alaala—wala sa paligid o katawan ang isipan pati pandama—nagkalat gaya ng mesang pinagkalatan ng lahat—pinagkainan at tira, mga gawain at gamit, mga basura at aklat, mga kwaderno at abubot—na kailangan nang simulan na pagpilian, ligpitin, ayusin ayon sa petsa at halaga—at namnamin ang aliwalas at biyaya ng espasyo—Andun Siya kanina pa nangungusap at nais kang danasin, anang Tatang sa apo—walang takot o pag-aalala, walang pangungunsensiya at pagkahiya o pagdadalawang-isip, walang bagabag o bigat sa dibdib, batok, bayag o balikat, walang kaagaw ng atensyon—may tinig kahit dampi ng tikom na labi, may pagnanasa kahit kalam ng tiyan, may silak kahit nangangatog angbinti at ang mga dalirinamamanhid, may tigas pa at ibubugang lakas ang mahiyain,Tatang, handa na po ako. Manong . . . —handang magpaunlaksa paramdam ng palad o bibig na babahagyang bubukaat bibitinin ang tawa o kahit titig na parang lamok na aalialigid ngunit di dadapo sige sa paghiging sa puno ng tainga may sinasabing hindi maihinga-hinga kasalanan ba o masamang balak mapapalis ng tibok ng pusong nagluluksung-tinik sa lambak ng dibdib O, mapagparayang Apo Handa ka nang maging Tao!muli kahit kubkob na ng hinaing ang pulso at muralya ng gatla ang isip muling titikas at ngingiti na parang kaytagal nang ipinaghanda ang saglit na ito ng pagdating ng Iba—kaunting himas at kiliti lamang at mainit na akap Sige, Anak, humiling ka. Kahit ano!—ilan mang beses—ilan pa mang ulit—ilang minuto o oras o araw o taon pa man ang nais—Ako po ay Inyo . . . Ikaw na unang makapapansin sa isang walang maipagmamalaki—Kayo po ang humiling—at tatalima ako, Ama ko!


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4 June 2010Pasay City


Found Reel 1—The Camera Speaks About the Morning After At A Double-Picture Downtown Movie House

Scene 1: The first pink stub drops—the guard checks his first bag, novideo: Work begins.

Scene 2: Your steps shake the stairs.Yet, the mirror on the wallfails to see the weight.

Which red seat is it,lost prey, no clicking tongue, teeth,glare tailing the heat?

Your weight makes the floorcrackle like gulls at breakfast.You swallow the sea.

At every step, woodcreaks—fish caught, cracks—crab shells, waves

breaking by the Bay….

You close your eyes: Watchthe sun burn blinding fanblades against pink lids….

“Trip lang,” he whispers.“Tayo lang ang nandito.”And let fangs dig deep.


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You keep still. Lights burstsweat on skin, dark tip of tongue,as fans grate, turn, suck wind….

Silence stokes the fireand you melt, boiling over:His lips drip white hot.

Your musk feeds the air—the morning’s first victor breathes:Koi ready-to-eat.

Intermission: There are no videosOf cat and fish making love.In loving consumes.

Scene 3: The movie reels—BlackOut: Those who have fed standTall like trees at night.


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Kung*

Para kay Elena Liliana Popescu

Kung maaari mo nga lamangSukatin ang 'di nasusukat,Angkinin ang kawalang-hanggan,At, sa paglakad sa kawalan,Di maging alinman sa dalawa;

Kung maaari mo nga lamangMaging pag-ibig nang di nagmamahal,Maging pag-asa nang di umaasa,Maging salita nang di nagwiwika,Maging ideya nang di humihinuha;

Kung maaari mo nga lamangDinggin ang wala pang nakadinig,Tingnan ang wala pang nakakitaAt malaman ang wala pang nakabatid—Magkaroon kaya ng bagong simula?

* Salin batay sa bersyong Ingles ni Adrian G Sahlean ng orihinal na “Daca” ni Popescu sa Romanian.


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Hitting the Air Waves: Field Notes—Conference Between Conscience, Your

What irks you is that now you can hear (earlier at the queue something sharp broke like a shard clawing in your ear—minute beetles cracking their brittle skeletons, snapping their serrated joints like crystal exploding from vibration aimed at your sense of balance), Conscience snickers—boom

The New President washes hands with the First State of the Nation Address—unfurls the nation’s dirty linens in public for the world to sanitize . . . voice ferreting answers, drone inflating the television’s booming bass, your mind yakking at your Filipino fate while in one high-pressure breath inflaming your skull and pushing out pain in lightnings of popped veins yell its retorts & tirades to both

voices—your head’s and the Nation’s

swelter of shouts to shatter the queries in the soup dank air—When are you going to give your share for the house? Your sister’s househusband asks believing you responsible to work on his behalf, staying at their room . . . ricochet of rebuttals ransacking the rage of repartees suffocating the sluggish smothering of early supper stalled, rice cools, lard gels, and everything begins to slowly

decompose:

Do you now understand why each grain weight more than its value in gold?

Your would-be-lover (if only his son didn’t find out and read your mushy text messages) texted you in Chinese characters—

Every syllable of thought is broadcast

& heard loud and clear

4 June 2010


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Pasay City


Regalo Para sa Ika-Labinlimang Anibersaryo

Sino'ng iibig sa tinalikdan ng lahat? Ako, wala nang iba.Para sa ulila ng salita at pagsinta: Ako, walang iba

Wag mo akong hintayinKung mayr’on kang gagawin:Di kita hahanapinKung wala ka pagdating.Abala parang hangin

Ang sa pag-iisa'y aabala: ngiting palaisipan sa mesa, Singsing sa bulsa, spam sa inbox, pasa sa hita: Ako, walang iba Alaala na kirot malayo sa sikmura, gutom, kakain ta Lutong ng hagikgik, asim-mangga, guhit ng init, walang iba pa

Di kita iisipinPag ihip babalik din.

Sa gulugod, libog ng lakas; sa lalamunan, palatak ng tula Parang bahagharing di nakalalango sa puso: Ako, wala na

Kung mayroon nang ibaSimulan nang maglabaAt damit ay ikula:Para ang alaalaBulak na kabubuka

Ngunit lahat-lahat para sa iyong pasma, rayuma, amnesiya


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Hihilutin ka parang mouse, brocha, maso: Ako, wala nang iba pa Ang gamot mo't gamit sa pagsilo sa sariling sa tuwa nawala At naiwang simponiya o talinghaga sa pandama: Ako na

Puti at walang mantsaSa daliri ng iba.

Pagpapatuloy ng nabinbing lambing ng iyong liksi, lakas, layaBisig ko'y bahay mo, katas ko'y iyong dugo: Ako, wala nang iba!

Hindi ito pagsumbatNa kinuba ng bigatAng pumasang balikatNang ika'y pinulikat:Ngunit di makainat

Magsawa man o maumay sa tamis at lagkit ng pagsamba, Sinta,Kiliti ang pamamapak ng langgam, ang hapdi, Ako walang iba Ay! papalising alikabok sa pinsgi o sa labi pilikmataMunting hiwagang hinanahap na di makita-kita: Ako na nga

At walang makakatkatSa naiwan ni bakat

Ang sugo't gwardiya mo, Angel, na inulila ng salita't pagsinta: Ang biyaya mo't sumpa sa iyong pagtanda: Ako, wala nang iba.


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Critique of the New Mass-Based Economy: Field Notes

This monologue is meant to be performed as a monologue—effecting spontaneity and full understanding of the concepts herein discussed—in response to a client/customer.

Any familiar character in local micro-economies in the following situations could be adopted, such as a middle-aged sari-sari store vendor to the neighbor’s youngest boy who is going to buy another kilo of rice on credit for their penniless family, a househusband borrowing money from the Bumbay who is collecting daily dues, a tripper haggling for extra sachets from his small -time hash dealer, and/or a sex worker bargaining for extra tip from a regular customer who is also part-timing as sex worker while being a working student. The farther the resource goes the more hands even quickly cup it in the palm & the less you know about these people entrusted the household chore of marketing this good for your tasks and theirs—the worse Economy gets: the direct sellers are missed, consumers are routed roundabout at the expense of their rights & privileges in the micro-market, fences are barbed with the perks agents get from agents up the line. This against capitalist bounty & communal equity—both fondly sweet & plenty—rebuilds the medieval towers amidst plains & castleswhere barons lord over loot & lack & moats dry busy streets where food-fish are trained sharks on the wait, are hordes of imagined lack where each piece loses its equal portion in potency & weight to every step stopover stretch—and with economic degradation at the grassroots beyond the stats beneath high noses some-


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thing else goes & snaps the partners remain impoverished as they earn their counterparts snuffed out of the business aborted before real investment occurs—what future self-sustainability is there if everyone is a make-believe nano-capitalist

who is taught only math & magicaccounting & no ethics, no knowledge of capital except the micro-fund bled & inflated to push instant ROIs, no love

but ladder of open toes & heads uncapped, no interest to claim learn create

only binge bust rehash betray for quick cash, no

dignity except as plague as long-lived as Man, no spiels

no history but price: the New Colony collecting taxes

from the bottom up—The colonized againat each other’s neck, biting the fingers then the hands that fed them: loyalty is sin, exhaust then empower, enjoy not improve, sever instead of service. Hardly Asian , almost electronic—the traditions & rituals spatAt the trade & the occasion trivialized demonizedMarginalized criminalized to take what’s there, return PX, create a need & then blast a niche, then reap your neighbors’ harvest no matter how measly miserly mean . . . .

Hail, the Crisis! Take us!

6 June 2010


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Pasay City

PoetryShop Revised Poems 082810 9p

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