CREATION MYTHS
A CREATION STORY FROM LUZON
1
In the beginning nothing else existed but the sea and the sky. For years, these
two were very close friends. Then one day a bird suddenly appeared. Where it
came from no one knew. Having no place on which to alight, the bird decided to
make the two friends quarrel. It flew close to the sea and told her that the sky
said the same thing, that her friend, the sea, thought she was quiet ugly.
2
Accordingly, the sea declared war against the sky. She threw water upward. The
sky retaliated by showering big boulders upon the sea. These became the islands
of the archipelago. Surprised, the sea ran to and fro in order to cover the stain on
her face. Soon enough she grew very tired and begged the sky to stop throwing
down islands, but she refused to remove the stains from the sea’s face to remind
those who would see it that evil deeds, particularly treachery, do not pay at all.
This explains why, even now, the sea keeps dashing water against the sides of the
islands.
A VISAYAN CREATION MYTH
1
In the beginning there were two gods, Captan and Maguayan. They created the
earth and all living things. Once Captan planted a bamboo in a garden. The plant
grew into a tall tree that swayed gracefully in the breeze. Then, one day it broke
into two sections, and out stepped a man and a woman. To the man the gods
gave the name Sicalac, and that is why men have been called Lalaki; the woman
they called Sicavay, and thenceforth women have been called babaye.
2
After some time, the man asked the woman to marry him for there were no people
in the world. Sicavay was reluctant in accepting his proposal, however saying that
they were brother and sister born of the same reed, with only one node between
them. Eventually they agreed to seek the advice of tunas of the sea and doves of
the air. They also consulted the earthquake, who told them that it was necessary
for them be filled with people. And so they became husband and wife.
3
Soon after, they had a son whim they called Sibu. A daughter who was born to
them next was named Samar. Sibu and Samar married and had a daughter.
Luplupan. She married Pandaguan, the second son of the first couple, Sicalac and
Sicavay. They had a son whom they named Anoranor.
4
Pandaguan was the first to invent the fishing net. The first he used it, he caught a
shark and brought it ashore, thinking that it would not die. But the shark did not
survive for long out of water. Great was Pandaguan’s grief. He cried out loudly to
the gods, blaming them for letting his plaything die when no one had ever died
before. It is said the god Captan, weary after his day’s work, sent the flies to find
out why Pandagaun was making such a loud lamentation. But the flies refused to
obey him, saying that they were busy storing honey. For this disobedience, they
were condemned to scavenge among filthy and rotten things from then on.
145
5
Captan then sent the weavil, who brought back the news of the shark’s death.
Pandaguan’s behavior greatly displeased Captan. He and Maguayan made a
thunderbolt with which they struck Pandaguan dead. The young man stayed in the
infernal regions for thirty days, at the end of which time the gods took pity on him,
brought him back to life, and returned to the world.
6
While Pandaguan was away, his wife Luplupan became the concubine of
Maracoyrun. People say that the practice of concubinage then started with
Luplupan.
7
When Pandaguan returned home, he did not find his wife there. She had been
invited by Maracoyrun to feast upon a pig which he had stolen. People say that
this was the first theft committed in the world.
8
Pandaguan then sent Anoranor to fetch his mother, but she only laughed at her
son and refused to go home, saying that the dead never to return to the world. At
this answer, Pandaguan became angry and went back to the infernal regions,
vowing never to return to the world. The old folks say that had Luplupan obeyed
Pandaguan’s summons, and had he not gone back to the infernal regions, all the
dead would come back to life.
146
MGA MATA SA DAGAT
Eugenio A. Viacrucis
1
Dugay nang nagdumot si Simon sa iring. Dili maisip ang mga tinap-anan ug
pinaksiw nga nasungkab niini sa iyang payag. Hagbaya pang naupos ang iyang
pailub. Apan ang una niyang paagi sa pagpanimalus, pagluba sa kinabuhi sa
mananap nga sungkaban wala gayud maghimpos. Pakyas.
2
Sa unang paagi gigamit niya ang sapang. Usa ka gabii niana, gipan-an niya ang
mananap ug isda sa abohan samtang siya nanuop inandam ang sapang sa tuo sa
iyang kamot. Pagkarol sa lata nga gisudlan sa paon mihinay si Simon pagkamang,
pinugngan ang gininhawa ug binakyawng daan ang sapang. Walay kisaw bisan
gamay nga misabod sa kahilum. Apan pagguho sa nawong ni Simon sa ganghaan
lahus sa abohan, sa daku niyang kahibulong nakamatngon ang iring. Nagtalikod
pa ngani pagpuk-ong ang iring. Mao pa nganiy paghunat niya sa sapang ang
sungkaban nakalayat na sa gawang sa bungbong salirap sa abohan.
3
Karon nawagtang na ang kahasol sa nalungot-lungot nga balatian. Ania na gayud
sa iyang kamot ang iring. Maayo nang pagkabilanggo sa halwa nga gituyo niya
paggama tapus hung-a ang duha ka dagkung kitong nga labtingaw nga igtatagana
unta niya kang pare niya Baldo nga misaad pagbaylo niadto ug usa ka tarong
kamote. Karon dili na gayod makaipsot ang sungkaban sa silot nga tugbang sa
gidaghanon sa iyang sala – kamatayon.
4
Usa na ka gabii ug usa ka adlaw ang binilanggo sa halwa. Pagdugang sa kaguol sa
mananap, magkaon pa ngani si Simon diha sa tungud sa halwa diin makita ug
magpanimaho sa iring ang kalan-on. Unya pagkatapos niyag kaon, ibutang pa
gayud niya ang salin duol sa halwa sa gilay-on nga dili maabut sa iring pagkawhat.
Pagpalaway ang tuyo ni Simon. Buot niyang palaguton ang mananap. Apan wala
magtagad ang iring sa kan-on. Nagtalikod pa man ngani kini pagpuk-ong. Si
Simon na hinoon ang naglagot.
5
Mao nga ning gabhiona gihukman nalang gayud niya ang pagpahamtang sa silot sa
iring.
6
Mangitngit ang kagabhion. Tumang kamingaw ug kadulom mihabol sa tibuok
balangay sa Ipil. Dili pa lang dugay mibagting ang kampanaryo sa simbahan sa
lungsod sa animas, kanang ikawalong takna sa kagabhion. Nanak-op na ang
kabalayan. Kay maoy igimok nilang bukhad sa banig inigbagting gayud sa animas.
7
Paglusad ni Simon sa iyang ayag nga nagaumbaw sa baybayon gibitbit sa
walaniyang kamot ang gaspin nga sinug-an ug bugsay. Ang iyang hawak gitakin
ang sundang nga gisulod sa sakob. Sa mapulang lamdag sa gaspin matataw ang
nawong ni Simon nga nagmugtok,ang wait mihugot ug tolo ka kunot ang mibathay
sa agtang nga hapit matago sa paldiyas sa kalong buli nga dunoton.
8
Daw dili kaayo hugot ang hunahuna ni Simon ang pagsilot sa iring karong
gabhiona. Kay madulom uyamot ang kalibutan ug midungdong ang langit sa
amihanan ug silangan. Apan ang kabalaka sa panahon nawagtang sa alimpatakan
niining mamamasol nga giharian sa pagpanimalus sa iring sungkaban. Hikalimtan
ngani niya paggakot ang tak-op sa iyang payag.
147
9
Ang kalinaw sa dagat, ang mangitngit ug walay timik nga kagabhion, karon ug
unya pagatugawon lamang sa hinagtok sa bugsay nga mabagnod sa tarik sa
baroto. Sa layong unahan nga gidulngan naglugitom ang banwa sa Tabok gikan
diin mabati ang hanap ug panagsang tinawganay sa tingkawo.
10
Didto sadulong sa sakyanan, sulod sa halwang kawayan, ang iring banbanon
nagpunay ug ngiyaw.karon pa kini mongiyaw ug duro,daw nagbagolbol sa iyang
kahimtang. Sa nagkalayo ang baroto,nag-anam usab ug kapintas ang bagolbol sa
mananap, ingon sa nakasabut sa dautang tuyo sa nagdala kaniya.
11
Gialingogngogan si Simon sa hiyaw sa mananap. Napikal siya sa agumod sa
sumosukol. Sa iyang kalagot gidugkal niya sa bugsay ang halwa aron pagpahilom
sa binilanggo. Apan wala mohilom ang mananap. Misukli hinoon ug ngulob nga
nagkabang-kabang ug mabatokon. Nanginit ang dugo sa mamamasol nga pikon ug
buot.
12
“Ikawng animala ka….sungkaban kang daku!” Naminti ang tawo. Gidugkal na usab
niya ang halwa. “Tapus kana gayod karong panuwaya ka. Padiwalwalon ko ang
dila mo karon!” Ang silot nga ipahamtang ni Simon mao ang pagbato-bato sa iring
sa dagat. Didto sa labing halawum nga dapit,sa kantil,iya kining bato-batoan.
13
Misikma ug mingulob ang binilanggo. Ang mga mata misiga, midilaab ingon sa
duha ka bugon sa kalayo.
14
“Uy, tonto!” gitumong na gayud paghandos ang iring sa bugway. “Mosukol ka pa
gayung animala ka ha!” Misagunto ang tingog sa iring nga maayong pagkaigo ang
gusok sa bugsay. Misulbong ang tul-id ug tiliis nga tingog. Dili kadto tiyabaw sa
katalaw o kahadlok. Singgit kadto sa pakig-away,hagit sa pakigsambunot bisan
diin kutob.
15
Miukob ang mananap sa bugsay. Mikagod ang ngipon sa kahoy. Didto iyang
gihurot pagdapat ang tanan niyang kapungot ngadto sa tawong madagmalon.
16
Nangusmo si Simon. Nag-utbo-utbo ang dughan. Mibukal ang dugo sa panimalus.
Wala nalang siya mopadayon pagbugsay paingon sa kantil. Naupos na ang iyang
pailub sa mananap nga mibatok inay unta magpakiluoy kaniya.
17
Mitindog siya sa luwang ug gikab-ot ang giandam nga bato-bato nga didto sa ulin.
Gihigtan niya kini sa usa ka nawi nga uway. Giayo gayud niya paghigot. Unya iya
kining gitunton,pagsulay sa kahunit sa iyang hinigtan. Hunit. Gibati niya ang
kabug-at sa bato-bato nga labi pang mabug-at kay sa pundo sa iyang baroto.
18
Ang mabagang dag-um nga kaganina nagbitay sa amihanan ug silangan tulin nga
mikamang paingon sa kasadpan ug habagatang langit. Wala makaalinggat ang
tawo sa makalitong pagbalhin sa dautang panahon. Diha na siya makamatikod sa
pagdahunog sa dawogdog didto sa habagatan. Paghangad pa niya wala nay suok
sa langit nga wala salimbongi sa maitum panganod.
19
Midali-dali ang tawo aron pagtaud sa bato-bato sa halwa. Mikiat lamang ang iyang
linihokan. Nidali siya sa pagsilot. Sa labihang pagdali nadakin-as ang walang tiil
nga mitungtong sa tarik. Nasukamod siya. Madugmo unta ang iyang nawong kon
148
wala pa makahawid ang tuo niyang kamot sa tak-op sa halwa. Misuliyaw ang iring
nga mihambat sa sa mga tudlo nga nasulod sa kal-ang sa tak-op.
20
“Ayaaay!” nakasinggit ang tawo sa kalisang. Nakalit niya pagbunlot ang kamot nga
giukoban sa mananap. Sa kakusog sa iyang pagbunlot, nadala pagbukas ang takop sa halwa.
21
Mikilab ang iring nga milayat sa halwa ug mitislaob sa dagat. Nahingangha si
Simon. Nahapla ang panagway nga hikalitan sa kaigmat sa mananap.
22
Misiwsiw ang dugo sa kamot nga gipaak. Midaghong si Simon sa kasakit. Malala ug
mahapdos ang samad. Misanting ang kaul-ol sa kaunoran. Gisawsaw niya sa dagat
ang nagkadugong kamot. Misamot pag-uylap ang kahapdos. Iyang gitamosan ang
mga samad.
23
“Demonyo!” Namalikas siya. “Panuwayng daku, hisakpan ko lang ikaw gihapon! Sa
dagat dili ikaw makatago.” Nag-abut ang iyang gininhawa. Misamot pagbukal ang
iyang dugo. Migimok ang iyang apapangig.
24
Migunit siya sa bugsay ug mitindog. Na diin-diin ang iyang tinan-awan. Gisuling
ang katig, ang kilid sa sakayan. Walay iring siyang nakita.
25
Ang kasingkasing nga nagdumot wala namumbaling sa kamot nga nagkadugo.
Gipatadlas ang iyang mga mata ngadto pa gayud sa naglugitom dagat sa unahan.
Mibugsay siyag hinay-hinay. Taudtaud mohunong. Nag-aliwaros ang balatian sa
panimalos.
26
Mibulig ang dalunggan sa pagpangita. Naminaw sa kisaw sa dagat. Naniguro ang
dalunggan pagpaminaw.
27
Usa ka hanap nga ngiyaw ang mikulikot sa dalunggan. Didto ipunting ang mga
mata sa habagatang dagat diin magagikan ang ngiyaw. Iyang nakita, apan hanap
kayo, ang amag sa dagat nagsagilit. Gipakusgan niya ang bugsay. Karon ug unya
magpalong-palong ang nagsagilit nga amag. Nagadulong ang lanat sa naglugitom
banwa sa Tabok.
28
Mikilat makausa. “Salamat kilat! Dugangi pa gayud!” nanganti ang nagdumot sa
dautang banwag. Mihugot ang mga kamot sa pagkabya sa bugsay. Naninguha
siyang hiapsan ang mananap, kalunggoan lang ang liog sa sundang, samtang dili
pa makaabut sa nagtikaduol nga banwa.
29
Niining tungura, midaguok ang ulan. Gikan sa amihanan ang nagpungasi ang
dagko ug mabagang lusok sa ulan. Karon milagubo na gayud ang bunok sa baroto.
30
“Ay, Santilmo!.....wa mo
ako tabangi.” Nanakla siya. Nanaguto. Namalikas.
Nahanaw ang amag sa iring. Mitabon sa mananap nga naglangoy. Naglangoy
paingon sa banwa, paingon sa kagawasan.
31
“Por Diyos,unsa pay akong mahimo! Unsa pay akong mahimo. Nakaikyas na gayud
ang yawa!” nahaurong ang tawo sa pagbugsay. Gipuspos niya ang bugsay sa
baroto. Nabali ang bugsay. Nabulag ang pala-pala. Mitidlom sa dagat.
149
32
Midugo na usab ang iyang kamot, natandog sa iyang pagpuspos. Karon gibati na
niya ang katugnaw sa ulan nga mituhop sa sinina niyang ugpak. Nayutyot ang
kalong buli. Naminghoy siya. Misamot pagngiob ang kalibutan nga napalong ang
gaspin.
33
Mihunat siya sa pagbugsay pagpauli. Nabakikaw ang iyang paghunat nga pul-an na
lamang ang iyang nahuptan. Gilabog niya ang pul-an. Naluoy siya sa iyang
kaugalingon. Kahilakon siya sa kangitngit. Karon pa batia niya ang kahuyang.
Karon pa gayud. Usa lang ka iring ang mibuntog kaniya.
34
“Ginoo, gibiyaan Mo ako.Wa Mo ako tabangi.” Karon miampo na siya sa
Makagagahum. Sa gibati niyang kahuyang, sa kapakyas nga midangat kaniya,
misangpit na karon siya sa panabang sa Ginoo. Ang panagsang kilat mitultol sa
baroto nga miaginod sa pagpauli samtang duha ka kamot maoy nangahimong
bugsay.
(1955)
150
Meet the Writer
EUGENIO A. VIACRUCIS (1913-1969) was born in Palompon, Leyte. He studied at
the Provincial High School, took a master’s degree in education at the University of
San Carlos, and did doctoral work at Centro Escolar University. He worked as a
public school principal in Leyte, a teacher at Southwestern University in Cebu City, a
director of Northern Leyte College in Palompon, and an officer in the Bureau of
Private Schools in Manila.
151
DEATH IN A SAWMILL
Rony V. Diaz
1
You can cleave a rock with it. It is the iron truth. That was not an accident. That
was a murder. Yes, a murder. That impotent bastard, Rustico, murdered Rey.
2
You have seen the chain that holds logs on a carriage in place. Well, that chain is
controlled by a lever which is out of the way and unless that lever is released, the
chain cannot whip out like a crocodile’s and hurl a man to the wheeling circular
saw.
3
I was down at our sawmill last summer to hunt. As soon as school was out, I took
a bus for Lemery where I boarded a sailboat for Abra de Ilog. Inong met me at
the pier with one of the trucks of the sawmill and took me down. The brazen heat
of summer writhed on the yard of the sawmill which was packed hard with the red
sawdust.
4
My father met me at the door of the canteen. He took my bags and led me in. I
shouldered my sheathed carbine and followed. The canteen was a large frame
house made of unplanned planks. My father’s room was behind the big, barred
store where the laborers of the sawmill bought their supplies. The rough walls of
the small room looked like stiffened pelts.
5
My father deposited my bags on a cot and then turned to me. “I’ve asked the
assistant sawyer, Rey Olbes, to guide you.”
6
The machines of the sawmill were dead. Only the slow, ruthless grinding of the
cables of the winches could be heard.
7
“No work today?” I asked my father.
8
“A new batch of logs arrived from the interior and the men are arranging them for
sawing.
9
“They are ready to saw,” my father explained.
10
The stream machine started and built solid walls of sound of sound that crashed
against the framehouse. Then I heard the saw bite into one of the logs. Its locustlike trill spangled the air.
11
“You’ll get used to the noise,” my father said,” I’ve some things to attend to. I’ll
see you at lunch time.” He turned about and walked out of the room, shutting the
door after him.
12
I lay on the cot with my clothes on and listened to the pounding of the steam
engine and the taunt trill of the circular saw. After a while I dozed off.
13
After lunch, I walked out of the canteen and crossed the yard to the engine
house. It was nothing more than a roof over an aghast collection of sotblackened, mud plastered balky engines. Every inch of ground was covered with
sour-smelling sawdust. The steam engine had stopped but two naked men were
still stoking the furnace of the boilers with kerts and cracked slabs. Their bodies
shone with sweat. I skirted the boiler and went past the cranes, tractors, and
trucks to the south end of the sawmill. A deep lateral pit, filled with kerts,
152
flitches, and rejects, isolated like a moat the sawmill from the jungle. Near the
pit, I saw Rey. He was sitting on a log deck. When he saw me, he got up and
walked straight to me.
14
“Are you Rustico?” I asked.
15
“No, I’m Rey Olbes,” he answered.
16
“I’m Eddie,” I said; “my father sent me.”
17
He was tall, a sunblackened young man. He had an unusually long neck and his
head was pushed forward like a horse’s. His skin was as grainy as moist
whetstone. He stooped and picked up a canter and stuck it on the ground and
leaned on it. Then he switched his head like a stallion to shake back into place a
damp lock of hair that had fallen over his left eye. His manner was easy and
deliberate.
18
“Your father told me you wanted to go hunting,” he said slowly, his chin resting in
the groove of his hands folded on the butt end of the canter. “Tomorrow is
Sunday. Would you like to hunt tomorrow?”
19
“Yes, we can hunt tomorrow.”
20
Inside the engine shed the heat curled like live steam. It swathed my body like a
skirt.
21
“It’s hot here,” I said. “Do you always stay here after work?”
22
“No, not always.”
23
Then I saw a woman emerge from behind one of the cranes. She was wearing
gray silk dress. She walked toward us rapidly.
24
“Rey!” she bugled.
25
Rey dropped the canter and turned swiftly about. The woman’s dress clung
damply to her body. She was fair; her lips were feverish and she had a shock of
black electric hair.
26
She faced Rey, “Have you seen Rustico?”
27
“No,” Rey answered. There was a small fang of frenzy in his voice.
28
“Tonight?” the woman asked.
29
Rey glanced at me and then looked at the woman. He reverted to his slow,
deliberate manner as he said: “Dida, this is Eddie. The son of the boss.”
30
Dida stared at me with frantic eyes. She said nothing.
31
“He’s a hunter too,” Rey continued.
32
Then I saw a man striding toward us. He walked hunched, his arms working like
the claws of a crab. Tiny wings of sawdust formed around his heels. He was a
small squat man, muscle-bound and graceless. He came to us and looked around
angrily. He faced the woman and barked: “Go home, Dida.”
153
33
“I was looking for you, Rustico,” Dida remonstrated.
34
“Go home!” he commanded hoarsely.
35
Dida turned around, sulking, and walked away. She disappeared behind the
boilers and the furnace that rose in the shed like enormous black tumors. Rustico
set himself squarely like a boxer before Rey and demanded almost in a whisper:
“Why don’t you keep away from her?”
36
Rey looked at him coldly and answered mockingly: “You have found a fertile
kaingin. Why don’t you start planting?”
37
“Why you insolent son of the mother of whores!” Rustico screamed. He reached
down to the ground for the canter and poised it before Rey like a harpoon. I
bounced forward and grabbled with Rustico. He pushed me. I sank to the
sawdust; Rustico leapt forward to hit me on the jaw. Rey held him.
38
“Keep calm,” Rey shouted. “This is the son of Mang Pepe.”
39
Rey released him and Rustico dropped his arms to the side. He looked suddenly
very tired. He continued to stare at me with eyes that reflected yellow flecks of
light. I got up slowly. What a bastard, I thought. Rustico wheeled about and
strode to the whistle box. He opened it and tugged at the cord. The steam
whistle screamed like a stuck pig.
40
“All right, men,” he yelled. “It’s time. Load the skids and let us start working.”
41
Rey picked up his canter and walked toward the log carriage. Rustico was
supervising the loading of the log deck. He was as precise and stiff as a derrick as
he switched levers and pulled clamps.
He sparked like a starter and the
monstrous conglomeration of boilers, furnaces, steam machines, cranes, and
winches came alive. I walked away.
42
When I reached the door of the canteen, I heard the teeth of the circular saw
swarm into a log like a flight of locusts.
43
The next day Rey, carrying a light rifle, came to the camera to the canteen. He
pushed open the door with his foot and entered the barred room. He stood near
my father’s table. His eyes shifted warily. Then he looked at me and said: “Get
ready.”
44
“I did not bring birdshot,” I said.
45
“I thought you wanted to go after deer?” he asked.
46
I was surprised because I knew the here deer was hunted only at night, with
headlamps and buckshot. The shaft of the lamps always impaled a deer on the
black wall of night and the hunter could pick it off easily.
47
“Now? This morning?” I asked.
48
“Why not? We are not going after spirits.”
49
“All right. You are the guide.” I dragged the gun bag from under the cot and
unsheathed my carbine. I rammed the magazine full with shells, pushed it in, and
got up. “Let’s go.”
154
50
We entered the forest from the west end of the sawmill and followed a wide
tractor path to a long station about four kilometers from the sawmill. The forest
was alive with the palaver of monkeys, the call of the birds and the whack of the
wind. Then we struck left uphill and climbed steadily for about and hour. The
trail clambered up the brush. At the top of the rise, the trail turned at an angle
and we moved across the shoulder of an ipilipil ridge.
51
Rey walked rapidly and evenly, his head pushed forward, until we reached the
drop of the trail. I looked down into a valley walled in on sides by cliffs that
showed red and blue-grey gashes. Sreaks of brown and green were planted
across the valley. Islands of dark-green shrubs rose above the level rush of
yellow-green grass. On the left side of the valley, a small river fed clay-red water
to a grove of trees. At the north end, the valley flattened and the sky dropped
low, filling the valley with white light and making it look like the open mouth of
the jungle, sucking at one of the hot, white, impalpable breats of the sun. We
descended into the valley.
52
Rey’s manner changed. He became tense. He walked slowly, half- crouched, his
eyes searching the ground. He examined every mound, bush, and rock. Once he
stopped; he bent and picked up a small rock. The rock had been recently
displaced. He raised his hand to feel the wind and then he backtracked for
several yards and crept diagonally to a small clump of brush. I follow behind
him.
53
“Urine,” he said. The ground near his feet was wet. “Work in a cartridge,” he told
me, “and follow as noiselessly as possible.” I pulled back the bolt of my rifle.
54
We crept on half-bent knees towards a grove of trees. Rey, carrying his rifle in
the crock of his arm, was swaying gently like a weather vane. I looked around. I
saw nothing save the trees that rose to the sky like smoke and the tall grass that
swirled with the breeze. Rey was intent.
55
Then he stopped and stiffened.
56
“Remove the safety,” he said in a low voice. We were still crouched. “Near the
base of that tree with a dead branch. Only its head its visible but it should be
somewhere near that dry patch of leaves. Shoot through that. Do not move until I
tell you to do so.”
57
I did not see the deer until it moved. It turned its head toward us. Its antlers
were as brown as the dead branch of the tree. The deer regarded us for a long
time. Then it dropped its head and quickly raised it again. We did not move. The
deer, reassured, stepped, indifferently out of the shadows.
58
“Now!” Rey said, falling on his knees. The deer stopped, looked at us, its antlers
scuffling against the leaves. I raised my rifle and fired. The deer went high in the
air. Then, dropping its head, it crashed through the trees and vanished.
59
“Your aim was too high,” he told me quietly.
high,” he said softly. “But you got him.”
60
He stood up slowly, pushed down the safety of his rifle and walked toward the
grove of low trees.
155
He was still on his knees. “Too
61
We found the deer. It was stretched out on the ground. Its neck was arched
upward as though it had tried to raise its body with its head after the bullet had
ripped a hump of flesh off its back. Blood had spread like a fan around its head.
Rey sat down on the ground and dug out of his pocket a small knife. He cut an
incision at the base of the deer’s neck. He stood and picked the deer up by its
hind legs. Blood spurted out of the cut vein.
62
“You got your deer,” he said. “Let’s turn back.”
63
Rey hauled the deer up and carried it around his neck like a yoke.
64
I felt my nerves tingle with triumph. The earth was soaking up the blood slowly.
I had a crazy urge to wash my body with the blood. I felt that it would seep into
my body and temper my spirit now forging hot with victory. I looked at Rey. He
was smiling at me. In a strained voice I said: I’ll try to do this alone.”
65
“You’ll learn,” he said. “The forest will surely outlive you.”
66
We walked out the valley.
67
After about an hour’s walk, we came to a kaingin. Rey was sweating. We crossed
the charred ground. At the edge of the kaingin, Rey stopped. He turned around.
The deer had stiffened on his shoulders.
68
“This used to be deer country,” he said. We surveyed the black stumps and halfburned branches that lay strewn on the ground. The bare soil looked rusty.
69
“You know these parts very well, don’t you?” I asked.
70
“I grew up here. I was a logger for your father before I became a sawyer.”
71
His rifle slipped from his arm. I picked it up and carried it for him.
72
“It is the sawmill,” Rey continued. “It is the sawmill that opened the forest. The
sawmill had thinned the jungle miles around.” I stared at him. He continued
meditatively, veins showing on his long powerful neck. “But I do not think they
can tame the forest. Unless they can discover the seed of the wilderness and
destroy it, this place is not yet done for.”
73
“Don’t you like your job in the sawmill?” I asked.
74
He shot a glance at me and grimaced. “I do not complain. You do not have to tell
this to your father but Rustico is making my stay very trying. You saw what
happened yesterday.”
75
“Yes,” I said. “What made him so mad?”
76
Rey did not answer. We crossed a gully and worked our way to the end of a dry
river bed before he answered. The shale crumbled under our feet. The trees that
grew along the bank of the river were caught by a net of vines. Rey, yoked by
the deer, was now panting. Under a kalumpit tree he threw his burden down and
sank to the ground.
77
“You know why?” he asked. “Because his wife is pregnant.”
78
“Dida? So?”
156
79
“He’s impotent.”
80
The revelation struck me like a slap.
81
“And he suspects you,” I asked tentatively, unsure of my footing.
82
“He knows. Dida told him.”
83
“Why doesn’t he leave her then?” I said, trying to direct the talk away from Rey.
84
“He wouldn’t! He’d chain Dida to keep her!” Rey flared.
85
I shut my mouth. It was noon when we reached the sawmill.
86
Late that afternoon we left to shoot fruit bats. Rey knew a place where we could
shoot them as they flew off their roost. He had several tubes of birdshot and a
shotgun.
87
It was almost eight o’clock when we returned. We followed the road to the
sawmill. The shacks of the laborers were built along the road. Near the motor
pool, a low grass hut stood. We passed very close to the hut and we heard
suppressed angry voices. “That is Rustico’s hut,” Rey said.
88
I heard Rustico’s voice. He sounded strangled. “I want you to drop that baby!”
The words were spewed out like sand. “Let me go!” Dida screamed. I heard a
table or a chair go. It crashed to the floor. “I’ll kill you,” Rustico threatened. “Do
it then!” the yellow wings of light that had spouted from a kerosene lamp shook
violently.
89
Rey quickened his steps. He was carrying a bunch of dead bats. One of the bats
had dropped, its wings spread. It looked like a black ghoul on Rey’s side.
90
The next morning, I heard from the men who were huddled near the door of the
canteen that Dida ran away. She had hitched a ride to town on one of the trucks.
91
I was eating breakfast in the store with my father when Rustico entered. He
approached my father carefully as though his feet hurt. Then he stood before as
and looked meekly at my father. He was gray.
92
“Mang Pepe,” he began very slowly, “I want to go to the town. I will be back this
afternoon or early tomorrow morning.”
93
“Sure,” my father said. “Inong is driving a load of lumber to the pier. You go with
him.”
94
“Thank you,” he said and left at once.
95
After breakfast my father called in Lino, the foreman. “Tell Rey to take charge of
the sawing today. Rustico is going to town. We’ve to finish this batch. A new
load is arriving this afternoon.”
96
“Rey left early this morning,” Lino said.
morning.”
97
“Devil’s lightning!” my father fumes. “Why didn’t he tell me! Why is everybody
so anxious to go to town?”
157
“He said he will be back tomorrow
98
“You were still asleep when he left, Mang Pepe,” Lino said.
99
“These beggars are going to hold up our shipment this week!” my father flared.
“Eddie,” my father whirled to face me, “look for Rustico and tell him that he
cannot leave until Rey returns. We’ve to finish all the devil’s logs before all these
lighting struck beggars pack up and leave!”
100
I walked out of the canteen to look for Rustico. I searched all the trucks first and
then the engine house. I found him sitting on the log carriage. He was shredding
an unlighted cigarette.
101
“My father said he is sorry but you cannot leave until Rey comes back from the
town. We have a lot of work to do here. A new load of logs is expecting this
afternoon.” I spoke rapidly.
102
He got up on the carriage and leaned on the chain that held the log clamps. He
acted tired.
103
“It is all right.” He said. “I’ve plenty of time.” He spat out a ragged stalk of
spittle. “Plenty of time.” I turned about to go but he called me back.
104
He looked at me for a long time and then asked: “You are Rey’s friend. What has
he been saying about?”
105
“Nothing much!” I lied.
106
“Why?”
107
“Nothing much!” he screamed, jumping of the carriage. His dun face had become
very red. “He told you about my wife, didn’t he? He delights in telling that story
to everybody.” He seized a lever near the brake of the carriage and yanked it
down. The chain lashed out and fell rattling to the floor.
108
Rustico tensed. He stared at the chain as though it were a dead snake. “Now look
at that chain,” he said very slowly.
109
He mounted the carriage again, kicked the clamps into place and pulled at the
chain. The chain tightened. He cracked the lever up and locked it.
110
He was trembling as he unlocked the lever and pulled it down with both hands.
The chain lashed out again like a crocodile tail.
111
“Just look at that chain,” he mused.
(1954)
158
Meet the Writer
RONY V. DIAZ is an award-winning Filipino short story writer. He has won several
Palanca Awards. He is now the publisher of Manila Times. He has taught English at
U.P. Diliman and has worked for the Philippine government as a foreign service corp.
Born in Cabanatuan, Nueva Ecija but moved to Mindoro after the bombing of Clark
Field. (http://en.wikipilipinas.org/index.php?title=Rony_V._Diaz)
159
OCHRE TONES
Marjorie Evasco
The benediction in the air —
A lizard, translucent and newly-broken
From its shell, kisses the earth
At sundown, repeating the ritual dance
Of marsh and cloud dragons.
My best friend Grace says baby lizards
Are messengers, presaging heat or rain.
She believes in omens: earth calling
The littlest creatures to drink
The first mists of evening.
Who is to say it is instinct, merely,
Or moisture-need, that makes us
Crawl or bend our lizard lips
Unto the ground? Dusk cools our fevers
And there is joy in this surrender.
Even now, the tips of bamboo leaves
Hold watergems. In the early evening air
I remember Grace, and somewhere,
An old gecko clicks its rhythmic
Yes
yes
yes.
160
Meet the Writer
MARJORIE EVASCO finished her master’s degree in Creative Writing at the Silliman
University and her Doctorate of Arts in Language and Literature (DALL) at the De La
Salle University-Manila. She served as Director of DLSU's Bienvenido N. Santos
Creative Writing Center.
Evasco has received Carlos Palanca Memorial Awards, National Book Awards from the
Manila Critics' Circle, Philippines Free Press, Arinday (Silliman University), and
Gintong Aklat (Book Development Association of the Philippines) prizes. She has
received various international fellowships: Hawthornden Castle, Rockefeller grant
and residency, Vancouver International Writers' Festival, International Writers'
Program fellowship, University of Malaya Cultural Centre and the Wordfeast 1st
Singapore International Literary Festival.
Evasco's poetry books are: Dreamweavers: Selected Poems 1976-1986 (1987) and
Ochre Tones: Poems in English and Cebuano (1999). Her other books include: A
Legacy of Light: 100 Years of Sun Life in the Philippines, Six Women Poets:
Inter/Views (with Edna Manlapaz), Kung Ibig Mo: Love Poetry by Women (with
Benilda Santos) and A Life Shaped by Music: Andrea O. Veneracion and The
Philippine Madrigal Singers. (http://panitikan.com.ph/authors/e/mevasco.htm)
161
SA IMONG PAGSUROY SA LASANG
Anthony S. Incon
Hunong,
Una ka mosulod sa lasang
Huboa ang imong sandalyas
Ang mga lumot na ang mosapnay sa mga tiil.
Paghinay sa imong tunob
Maipit unya ang mga sanga sa kahoy
Kay mangatagak ang mga gangis nga nanghagwa.
Inig-abot nimo sa busay,
Panabi-tabi
Kay basin ug magkaguliyang ang mga engkantadang
Madanihon’g nanghamli.
Ayaw pag-ubog sa tubig
Ang mga alimokon dili na modimdim
Sa katam-is sa nagbugwak nga tubod.
Sunda na lamang ang mga dalan nga hinimo sa mga agta
Aron dili mapusgay ang palasyo sa mga hulmigas.
Paghilom
Inig-abot nimo sa langub
Matugaw unya ang yukog nga miriko
Nga nagkuraw sa dugos nga pinabukaw.
Sa imong pagpauli
Ayaw kutlua ang mga bulak nga namidpid sa dalan
Matagak unya ang lumay sa ilang kaanyag.
Hinuon, busga ang imong kaugalingon
Sa pagsud-ong sa pagsayaw-sayaw sa mga dahon
Nga maabiabihong mialagad sa imong pagsuroy.
(1999)
162
RITUALS
Hagabi
1
The Hagabi feast is the most expensive, the highest and final ritual in the display
of Ifugao wealth. One who has performed the Hagabi feast has attained the
highest rank in Ifugao society, in wealth as well as in social prestige. He is entitled
to certain privileges such as a voice in village affairs, the sounding of the gongs at
his death, invitations to similar feasts even in distant villages.
2
A man intending to give the feast must have everything ready: rice, rice wine and
animals. When all is set, they announce their intentions to their relatives.
3
On the appointed day, the male villagers go to the forest to look for a big hardwood tree, preferably an ipil or narra. To the sound of gongs the men go about
their search for a tree that must be big enough for a hagabi couch to be carved out
from a single trunk with no joints at all. As soon as a tree has been selected, the
men start working, sawing and chipping until the tree is felled. From the fallen
tree trunk the men start hewing out a rough form of the hagabi. In its rough form,
the hagabi looks like some monstrous animal with two heads, one on each side.
4
On the last day of their stay in the forest, the folks back home and along the way
are notified so as to prepare food to serve the hagabi party as they pass by.
Sometimes it takes two or three days for the hagabi to reach the owner’s house,
not because the forest is far but because the men who carry it make so many
detours and stops on the way just for the fun of it. And when the party stops for
the night on the way home, the man holding the hagabi is expected to butcher a
pig for the meal.
5
The hagabi is tied with strong vines to a sturdy pole. As many as thirty men line
up on opposite sides of the pole and with the aid of small poles tied to the main
pole they carry the hagabi on their shoulders. As they inch their way along, they
keep shouting “He, he, he,” meaning perhaps, heavy is this hagabi. They have
much fun pushing and swinging the hagabi from side to side amidst shouts and
laughter. Some don’t even help to carry the poles. Instead they would hang on to
the pole and swing on it thereby adding to the weight.
6
As the hagabi nears the village, people from all around come to witness its arrival.
When the hagabi is about a hundred yards away from the house of the owner,
someone takes a basketful of cooked malagkit rice and puts it down in the yard.
Those who are around each take a handful of the rice and throw it at the men
carrying the hagabi. Then a sort of free-for-all throwing ensues. However
anything that might hurt is not used.
7
As soon as the hagabi is in the yard, the owner leaps on it while it is still on the
men’s shoulders. He stands majestically and bids everyone to be still and listen as
he eloquently announces that he is a wealthy man just his ancestors had been. He
welcomes the hagabi home but he also bids it to come with only the best of
everything… fortune, health and wealth, increase of his pigs and chickens and that
his fields will yield good harvests. The people feast and drink and a big carabao
called the hidug is butchered for the sacrifice of the day. At about sunset the
163
festival ends and the owner at his leisure will then fix the roughly-hewn figure to
give it its polished look.
Putong
1
The Philippines is known as a land of friendly people. Tourists to the country have
nothing but fond memories of the natural warmth and affection that the Filipinos
shower on their guests. From Luzon to Mindanao these virtues are extolled on all
who come, but nowhere is it more beautifully expressed than in the island of
Marinduque where the effusive hospitality of the people is brought forth by
honoring and adopting the visitors as children of the island in a ceremony called
“Putong.”
2
“Putong” is the ritual that has been performed by the townspeople of Marinduque
for many years now. The origin is lost in history but tradition has established its
practice. The old folks of the island speak of the time when the celebration of the
“Putong” began as a fulfillment of a promise to perform the ritual in return for
favors granted. This usually occurred when a person in a household was taken ill
and the parents and relatives of that person pray for his quick recovery in return
for which they promised to perform the “Putong” every year for a certain number
of years.
3
The rite of thanksgiving revolves around the honoree—the person for whom the
favor was asked—who sits on a chair at the center of the room, with a sponsor
standing behind him holding a lighted candle. As he sits there, the old women folk
of the town and his relatives perform the ritual. If the honoree or celebrant is
indisposed or is out of town at the time of the scheduled celebration, his
photograph is set on a chair at the center of the room and the festivities go on as
if he were present.
4
The ceremony is usually celebrated at the residence of the most prominent person
in town. The living room or yard is bedecked with palm fronds and flowers and the
lights brightly shine through the night as if for a ball. A group of old women who
are usually professional singers for this type of celebration are dressed in kimonos
and shirts with flowers in their hair and garlands around their necks. These
women request permission to enter and join the celebration. They dance and start
singing to a haunting melody as they sway to and fro around the room. In their
hands, they carry small baskets filled with petals which are thrown around the
honoree. The oldest of the group then approaches the celebrant with a crown of
entwined vines and flowers which she places on his head amidst shouts of
jubilation. The dancing continue as flowers and petals are happily strewn about
the room. Before the crowd breaks and the ceremony ends the host throws coins
for a mad scramble to the enjoyment of the crowd and the children.
5
Feasting and dancing then follows the celebration as the whole town joins in to
share in the momentous event.
6
This gay and lavish affair, which started as a symbol of thanksgiving has evolved
into a symbol of welcome where it is now celebrated to honor special visitors to the
island of Marinduque. The guests are honored with the festive rite because it
makes them feel that they truly belong and are really welcome.
164
7
Great is the hospitality of the Filipinos and with each time the “Putong” is
celebrated so do the Marinduquenos endear themselves to the hearts of their
friends.
Runsay
1
It is said that once a long time ago, while a Tagbanua datu was sailing on the
beach, he suddenly saw eight men and one woman seated on a large metal
cooking vat sailing through the waves near the shore. They called to him with a
message that his tribe should hold a “runsay” every year on the fourth day after
the full moon in December. They said that the people should prepare offerings to
them; rice, wax, cigarettes, fruits and one chick. For they were the spirits—the
nine deities who took care of life. They warned the datu that if his people did not
call on them every year they would become very sick and die.
2
And so it is that very year on the fourth day after the full moon of December one
of the most dramatic of the Tagbanua rituals is performed on the beach near the
mouth of the Aborlan River in Palawan.
3
The ritual of the runsay begins at dusk and lasts till dawn, embracing five distinct
phases. The first phase is devoted entirely to building a twelve-foot ceremonial
raft, for the ritual is centered around this raft, which at midnight is set to sail into
the unknown deep carrying the offerings to the nine deities.
4
The second phase marks the time when the spirits of the dead and the nine deities
are called. The datu performing the ceremony arranges the offerings just beyond
reach of the lapping waves. Then, squatting before the offerings he throws a pinch
of rice into the air. He then calls to the spirits of the dead asking them to help him
call the nine deities and convince them that they should protect the Tagbanua from
the spirits of epidemic sickness.
5
The raft, still resting high on the beach, is the scene of the third phase of the
runsay. The families of the tribe pile the raft with food. Then, the datu picks up a
bowl full of rice, holds it towards the sky and the sea, and prays briefly. He then
lights a candle, sticks it on the platform of the raft, and at the same time throws
seven pinches of rice taken from the bowl into the air, calling the nine deities to
partake of the offering. The “promise” made has been fulfilled.
6
As the wind blows over the beach, a signal goes out through the crowd and the
children edge towards the raft to dive into the mound of food, and try to obtain
and eat as much as possible. While the children fight to get the food, the
surrounding crowd becomes very boisterous, shouting encouragement and
laughing at the food bedecked figures.
7
A brief lull in the ceremony follows wherein the raft is cleaned up and repaired.
Then the datu once again calls the nine deities, initiating the fourth phase of the
runsay. The women, representing each family approach the raft with baskets of
offerings. The quantity of the offering being determined exactly by the number of
members in the family. When all the individual offerings have been piled and
arranged on the raft, the datu ties a small chick to the platform and sticks candles
on both sides of it.
165
8
And then the fifth phase begins. The raft is brought by the men of the tribe to the
water about two hundred yards from shore. The crowd quickly gathers on the
edge of the surf to watch the raft as it moves briskly out to sea, the excitement
rustling through the crowd as the raft sails away, for it is considered an ominous
sign if it should “be returned” to the beach.
9
Ceremonial dancing and laughter follows as the ritual comes to an end and the
Tagbanuas, once more protected by the deities, meet the dawn.
166
GOOD-BYE, FLIPPER
Simeon Dumdum, Jr.
1
They’re looking for a little girl who was photographed squatting beside a dead
dolphin. the photograph—captioned, “Good-bye, Flipper”—had won a prize in a
contest. Touched by the picture, someone has offered to give the girl gifts.
2
of the creatures of the sea, the dolphin probably comes closest to the heart of a
child. Hollywood has much to do with this, thanks to the many films and television
series in which the dolphin, predictably named “Flipper,” plays a child’s best friend.
the dolphin’s entrenchment in our affections, however, is not entirely the work of
show business. The creature is naturally friendly and intelligent. Constantly
smiling (the beak gives the impression), it swims alongside ships and regales
everyone with its somersaults. And its popularity with people goes back a long
time. the ancient Greeks and Romans mentioned the dolphin in their mythologies
and portrayed it on their coins, pottery and walls.
3
How the dolphin in the photograph died, we do not know. (If a picture speaks a
thousand words, it can also ask a thousand questions.) did the fish (or mammal)
get itself beached after its sense of direction fouled up? Did a heartless fisherman
spear its heart? Whatever happened, a little girl was there to mourn its death.
4
She reminds me of Bidasari, the girl in a Malay poem mentioned by Sir James
Frazer. A merchant and his wife had seen her when she was a baby, and (being
childless) adopted the little angel. The merchant had a golden fish made and into
the fish he transferred Bidasari’s soul. He put the golden fish in a golden box and
hid it in the pond in his garden.
5
In time Bidasari grew into a lovely woman.
6
The queen of the kingdom heard of Bidasari’s beauty, and, afraid that the king
might take her as second wife, lured Bidasari into the palace and there tortured
her. But Bidasari could not die because her soul was in the fish. Unable to bear
the suffering, she told the queen, “If you want me to die, you must get the box in
the pond in my father’s garden.”
7
The queen had the box brought to her and had it opened. In the box was the
golden fish. “My soul is in that fish,” Bidasari said. “In the morning, take it out of
the water, and in the evening put it back again. Wear it around your neck and
don’t leave it lying about. If you do this, I will die.”
8
So the queen did a told. Whenever the queen removed the fish from the water,
Bidasari would collapse, and would revive when the fish was put back in the water.
The girl now in her control, the queen sent her home.
9
The parents brought Bidasari out of the city and housed her in a lonely and
desolate spot. There she lived alone, going through the sufferings that coincided
with the sufferings of the fish which had her soul.
10
One day the king went out hunting and came to the house and found the
unconscious Bidasari and was smitten with her beauty. He tried to wake her up
167
but failed. Towards evening of the next day he returned, and still he could not
revive her. But when night came, Bidasari came to herself and told the king the
secret of her life.
11
When the king returned to the palace, he got the box from the queen and put the
golden fish back in the water. Bidasari recovered, and the king married her.
12
The girl in the photograph is little Bidasari. In a sense her soul was in the fish,
and the girl died with the dolphin.
13
So far the girl is nameless, which makes her every girl, everyone. Just as
Bidasari’s soul was in the golden fish, so is everyone’s soul in the environment, in
every fish and beast and tree. The ancient peoples knew this. Before they would
go out fishing or hunting, they would purify themselves to be worthy of the catch.
They would preach to the fish to come and be caught and not be afraid, because
they would not burn their bones but would throw them back into the sea, there to
become fish again.
14
He who seeks to console the girl with gifts shares the spirit of the ancients. He
wants to restore her life. But to do this he—and the community—must assure her
and everyone else that no dolphin will ever die again, that all of creation, which
has all our souls, will endure. This in effect is to say to the dead Flipper, not
“Farewell,” but “Fare forward.”
168
Meet the Writer
SIMEON DUMDUM, JR. is a widely published and anthologized poet. He was born
on March 7, 1948 in Balamban, Cebu. His impressive educational attainment include
degrees in Law from the University of San Carlos, Cebu City, 1976, Theology from
the San Carlos Seminary, Makati City, 1970 and Philosophy from the Cluain Mhuire
and University College, Ireland, 1969. He works as Senior Attorney for the Atlas
Consolidated Mining and Development Corp. He is also a columnist for the SunStar, a
Cebu City daily newspaper.
Dumdum has attended writers’ workshops and conferences in the Philippines,
Singapore, and England. He was also panelist Cornelio Faigao Memorial Writers
Workshop. His awards include Don Carlos Palanca Memorial Awards for Literature
(Third Prize, Selected Poems, 1981; Third Prize, Axioms, 1983; Second Prize,
Masbate, 1982 and Second Prize, Gossamer, 1984). He has also garnered Honorable
Mention from the CCP Literary Contest and a Citation, Philippine Literary Arts
Council.
His poems appeared in Focus, Jose, Solidarity, Mithi, Midweek, Caracoa, Philippine
Studies, Versus, Kamao, and Tenggara. Dumdum’s volumes of poetry are The Gift of
Sleep (1982) and Third World Opera (1987).
(http://panitikan.com.ph/authors/d/sdumdum.htm)
169
PINILIAY SA MGA ISDA
A. Bello
Nakutaw ang tibook kadagatan
sa kasamok sa kaisdaan
nga nag ilog sa pamunoan
sa kahiladmang gingharian.
Niini ang Bawo nalipay
ug ang pagdaog gipaniguro,
bisan unsa kono ang piniliay
hadlokan ang iyang sungo.
Ang apuhan sa mga Iho
nga maoy makagagahum
nagpamantala dayog bandilyo
alang sa dakong tigum.
Lukso niya nga wala magkaigo,
walay sukod ang lolompayat,
misinggit: “Mabuhi si Don Bawo
nga mao nay Hari sa dagat.”
Ang tuyo sa tigulang Iho
mao ang pagpilig maantigo
nga takus nila kasaligan
sa pamunoan sa kadagatan.
Ang lider niyag Boriring
gidak-an usab sa atay,
gipaburot kayo ang aping
nga makahilo ug makamatay.
Ang mga isda naukay, nadasig,
usag-usa buut mokandidato,
apil ang nagpuyo sa hunasan,
ingon man nagsuksuk sa bato.
Gitudlong kandidato si Agokoy,
alang sa pagkasacristan
kay sa siryales magtuboytuboy
sa panahon nga siya hunasan.
Nagmiting dayon ang mga Ibis
sa ibabaw sa dakung tampulong,
kusog nilang tanang lalis
ug ang buruka walay hunong.
Apan si Agokoy wala mouyon,
sa iyang “nominacion” nasuko
kay dili siya kono Bugo
aron sa uban sakristanon.
Midagan, nahadlok ang Ulang,
kinuyogan sa daghang mga Uyap
ug hilabihan nilang tabang
kay mamatay na hinoon sa kuyap.
Ang Bugo nga diha nagtambong
mibalus nianang mga pulong
gisikaran si Agokoy
ug kini dayon mikuyoy.
Daghang Kasag nag nangabuhi
sa ilang panag-away-away,
mga kuyamuy nila nangabanggi
sa sinalbahis nga pinaakay.
Gihimo na ang piniliay
sa dakung kagu liyang
ang Bawo hilabihang minatay
kay nakadaog ang Kagang.
Unya nagpagarbo ang Banak
ug mibarog sa lapyahan,
kono siya hawod moagak
sa dagat nga kaisdaan.
Mitindog ang Kogita
miingon: “Protesta kita,”
kay ang piniliay mahugaw
ug ang matuod wala molutaw.
Gimaldisyon sa tigulang Iho
ang garbosong Banak,
gipatongtong sa bato
ug nahimo dayong Tamasak.
Tak-uma kanang baba, Kogita,
pulong sa bungotong Timbungan,
unsay hibaloan mo sa politika
nga mayo ka lang sa sumsuman?
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Ang dagat nasamok, nagubut
ning inilugay sa katungdanan,
nasuko ang Bathalang magbubuut
ug gisilotan ang isdang tanan.
Dili na sila makakitag Langit,
ni makapuyo sa yuta ug hunasan,
ang dagat nga lawom, mangitngit
mao nay ilang puloy-anan.
Mao kini, ginoo magbabasa,
ang sangputanan sa piniliay:
dawo, hakog gani kita,
ulipnon gayud sa Panulay.
(1916)
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KATUNGGAN SA PARDO
Ester Tapia
Sa singko ka pa magsuroyan ta
sa hawan sa katunggan sa Pardo
nga pinutlan sa mga bakhaw
ang balas may dibuho sa
pagtaob paghunas sa tubig
Gituhiltuhil mo ang pultahan
sa mga balay sa mangla
ug gibugtaw mo ang mga kasag
nga mangalibwag sa imong pagdagan
Kining panas
gikan sa dibuho ni Dali
sa libro sa imong amahan
nga imong didrowingan pag-usab
ang hait nga mga bato mga kutsilyo
sa paglantong ug paghunas sa dagat
mga tunok sa iyang kahidlaw
ang mga tamla sa balas
mga pinong mga linya
sa maestrong subo
ang dagat nga mihaw-as
172
Meet the Writer
ESTER TAPIA was born on 24 May 1957. She has an AB Philosophy/English degree
from University of San Carlos. She took graduate courses in creative writing at SU
and obtained a Diploma in Urban and Regional Planning, UP Diliman, 1998. Tapia has
taught journalism and worked as writer/producer with the Broadcast Production and
Training Center in Cebu City. She is president since 1997 of Women in Literary Arts.
She has, says Merlie Alunan, "one of the most lyrical voices in Cebuano writing
today." (http://panitikan.com.ph/authors/t/ettapia.htm)
173
LANDSCAPE II
Carlos A. Angeles
Sun in the knifed horizon bleeds the sky,
Spilling a peacock stain upon the sand,
Across some murdered rocks refuse to die.
It is your absence touches my sad hands
Blinded like flags in the wreck of air.
And catacombs of cloud enshroud the cool
And calm involvement of the darkened plains,
The stunted mourners here: and her, a full
And universal tenderness which drains
The sucked and golden breath of sky,
comes bare,
Now, while the dark basins the void of space,
Some sudden crickets, ambushing me near,
Discover vowels of your whispered face and subtly cry.
I touch your absence here
Remembering the speeches of your hair.
(1963)
174
Meet the Writer
The poet Carlos A. Angeles, born on May 25, 1921 in Tacloban City, Leyte,
graduated from Rizal High 1938 and went on to study at various universities, first in
pre-medicine and next pre-law. He had one semester at Ateneo de Manila, two at UP
in 1941 (where he became a member of the UP Writers' Club), and one quarter at
Central Luzon Colleges. He did not return to school after World War II, but he led an
impressive career as chief of the Philippine bureau of International News Service
from 1950 to 1958, guest of the US State Department on a Smith-Mundt leader
grant, press assistant under the Garcia administration, and public relations manager
of PanAm Airlines from 1958 to 1980. He also served in the board of directors of
International PEN, Philippine chapter.
In 1964, the same year that poetry was first considered in the Carlos Palanca
Memorial Awards for Literature, Angeles' collection of poems, A Stun of Jewels
(Manila: Alberto S. Florentino, 1963), received first prize in the prestigious contest.
Comprised of 47 poems and dedicated to Angeles' wife, A Stun of Jewels also won
the Republic Cultural Heritage Award for Literature.
Angeles has been living in the USA since 1978. Married to Concepcion Reynoso, he
has seven children and 18 grandchildren, all residing in the States.
(http://panitikan.com.ph/authors/a/cangeles.htm)
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