On Roses (for You)

O N R O S E S*

(XI) [1]

Pray, query not why I should roses send;

Too well you know, for you what I do feel.

Fulfilling feeling fails itself to spend

In selffulfilment to silence prevail.

As potent verses I do fail compose,

Nor selfcomposure ample strength conjure

The which would match the measure of my cause

Or cause a measure to content endure

My aspiration's furtive mutiny,

These roses bring to you the muted tune,

By fragrance whisper love's sweet litany,

And prithee, hear their prayer as my own:

The withered petals did not bloom in vain

If blooming once, breathe they my soul's refrain!

 

(XII) [2]

Roses can only bloom, and fade, and die

If not for them who they with love behold

To whom their blushing radiance signify

The glory of life's story left untold:

Perhaps remembrance of good times remote,

Perhaps exuberance of wild desire,

Perhaps the forbearance of chance unsought,

Perchance the vengeance of unquenched fire;

Whether the mem'ries of stolen kisses

Or the faint traces of elusive dreams,

The agony of unfulfilled wishes

Or tyranny of once frustrated schemes,

To flowers that you find in every rose

Let blooming be of joys: fading, of woes!

 

(XIII) [3]

 

If in the roses flowers find you not

But malice on the tip of every thorn,

As thorny fetters are of mind begot

When fettered shutters shadowcast the dawn

To grace the night with gloomy corridors

Of wicked circumstance, then might the rose

Breathe forth the treasure of its silken purse

To shower fragrance for such mournful cause.

That yet the fragrance, thus diffused, may be,

Invigorate the air with force to thwart

The poignant langour of your apathy

And stir warm ember in your cold, cold heart:

Let roses fade, they're but token of love;

They, fading, feed that which they're token of !!!

 

* [New York City, 02/28/81 (1); 03/07/81 (2); 03/15/81 (3)]

{* * *}

In Retrospect

    I N R E T R O S P E C T

    (Ode to Love's Labors Lost Unperceived)

    [New York City, Summer/Fall 1980]

 

1    If wisdom's strong, to reason may suffice

Should that be wrong, some charm to mesmerize

This soul to ease the pain. If not,

The great and near-great's words may plagiarize!

    

2    In vain sought comfort in philosophy,

Or comfort sought in others' company;

In verses crude, can I venture erode

Love's burden's Hell, Life's poignant agony?

    

3    Heaven, elusive "vision of fulfilled desire,"

Hell, looming "shadow of a soul on fire"

Of love begot by cruel Destiny

Sooner than born is sent off to retire!

    

4    'Twixt right and wrong, how easy to define,

'Twixt love and hate is harder drawn the line.

Mistakes are made before we even know

That worst of them is one's will to resign.

    

5    Anger and rage, brute children of illusion

When deigned to reign bring fetters to emotion.

If it should be that we shall not be one,

What gain is made by wrathful condemnation?

    

6    Prithee, is it that never blooms so sweet

The rose as from where mournful tears are let?

The joys that from few fleeting moments sprung

Are mem'ries true, no justice to regret!

    

7    Not all the roads we take lead us to Rome,

Nor all the sins we dared commit bring doom;

Will all the blossoms we may yet behold

Be sweeter made by picking them in gloom?

    

8    As breeze caressing but few blades of green

With dewdrops feed the grass ere dawn sets in,

Few words that never meant to touch the soul

With vehemence precipitate the pain.

    

9    The glance that was stolen with a pause

Did fire not the anger which broke loose,

Search deep beneath the veil of pleasantries

Peradventure you'd still find the cause.

    

10    "A hair divides the false and true," they say,

A giant leap from "thee-and-me" to "we""

It takes no less than all that one is worth

And more to spare for cares along the way.

    

11    If one needs but few moments to carouse

Will-o-the-wisp would serve no worse spouse.

Take better heed, it hurts to be deceived,

Save fools, none heed for such half-way-house!

    

12    One moment in premeditation's haste

One argument for mortal wisdom quest

One moment which to love's perdition prove

Wild vengeance of annihilation's waste!

 

13    Can silence with proverbial eloquence

Set council for the heartache's recompense

To heal the wounds that only lovers know

And teardrops wash some error's insolence?

 

14    No Bacchal cure of legend potency

Nor pastime pure, not sheer obstinacy

E'n sweet Oblivion's comfort but in vain

Recapture love's life-giving rhapsody.

    

15    Come, Nightingale from thine throne divine

Come, bring the tune to soothe this heart of mine

In woe begone, in stormy tide adrift,

Come, sing thine song so shoreward may recline.

    

16    Indeed, indeed, not hither bring thy rhyme

Sweet Serenade to her dear heart sublime

To her dear ears, sweet nothings in my name

Pray, whisper till beyond the end of time.

    

17    For mine voice rings venom in her ears

And mine birth deemed shameful to her peers;

My ways and loving entreaty provoke

In her torrential flood of angry tears!

    

18    This selfsame storm of my predicament

Abates to calm at her commandement;

The ebbs and flows, she holds, she surely knows

The key to predetermination's vent.

9    Ere predetermination's book was wrote

How oft the Well of Life to some has put

Forth hope, and yes, some inspiration so

Love's toil need not be reduced to naught?

    

20    How oft, indeed, that we, so hoping fall

Ensnared in Love's deep intermeshing thrall?

Whence in the wake of heartbreak's undertow

Shall start to walk and not content to crawl?

 

21    Lest be content with what is coming forth

Befits to ask what self-reflection's worth.

Why! vanquished dreams, as dreams, remain untrue

If not for new beginnings and rebirth!

 

22    Out from the whirlpool of that turbid wake

Arise questions dare I not answer seek

Those lovely lips that I life-treasure kiss

Who else, whose lips, they kisses give and take?

 

23    Oh, let you kiss them, what have I to do

With what you will, or say, or where you go?

Much as I care, I am aware I may

Wreak havoc on the world but heed not you!

 

24    How odd it seems that Logic negative

Can blissful dreams dismiss to make believe

All would be well; and why not, if you please,

Sing Requiem: a living soul's reprieve?

 

25    Oh, yesterday, how we with passion kissed

In love's embrace your arms were heaven's nest;

Same nest today you eagerly prepare

To welcome one yet-better favored guest!

 

26    Of love possessed, consumed by jealousy

Abandoned reason for some fantasy

Of better days that some tomorrow may

Bring back the warmth of by-gone ecstasy.

 

27    Sweet mem'ries dwell in shadows of a kiss

You blew my way by a moment's caprice

My heart beguiled, too drunk to but guess

Not all of sweet things made are lovers' bliss!

 

28    Yesterday' kiss and promise did provoke

Today's despair, resentment, chain, and yoke;

The hope tirelessly nurtured by the hour

So late discovered yet so soon forsook

 

29    Yet bewitched by your magical power

Condemned to long endure love's endeavor

To what may yet be proved the better end

And sweet reward for teardrops shed so far.

 

30    So oft methought deserving ridicule

That I continue wanting you, and all

Of you, knowing you're not even aware

What Hell you wrought to my tormented soul

 

31    The wheels of life do roll, and having rolled

May yet some sweeter tale of love unfold,

Or better yet, as past wont to repeat:

Some bitter wrath in aggravation's mold!

 

32    Indeed, indeed, 'tis not for me to blame

You and your ways of playing Cupid's game;

You sample all the options -- that I know

And I resent; but want you just the same!

 

33    And so, sweet lady, whom I love so true

You brought my life in this world much woe,

Condemned my prospect as but so much dirt

For you to brush off and to bid adieu!

 

34    I must resolve this by myself, I must!

How long can someone in agony last?

Oh what a pity -- the spectacle:

Of Love reduced to Desire in the Dust!

 

35    No, knows no measure, oh, the misery

When lovers make resort to beggary

Knowing that both the beggar and the begged

Of love's devotion make a mockery!

 

36    You, who with well-intentioned malice win

Away the peace I used to wander in,

Can you but place some stakes into the odds

And not foreclose the chance that ought begin?

 

37    Oh, questions, and more questions, yet no more

Do answers come than mermaids come to shore

To build a rainbow bridge across the gulf

So broken dreams may blissfully recur.

 

38    Born to lose! You hinted e'er so often

Are they who dreams conceive to be broken.

For all the troubles you took to conceal

That epitaph, of me was oft spoken.

 

39    Yet you won't break with an opinion's force

A life which knew the better and the worse

Of all, else, incidental circumstance

    For which the will, at least, is half the source.

Translations from Francisco Balagtas Baltazar's Florante at Laura

        For Celia (Kay Selya)

(1) If I should venture from my thoughts peruse

Those days of love, bygone and deeply mourned,

Be it obscure, could I a word disclose

Except of Celia, in my heart enthroned?

 

(2) The selfsame Celia did always provoke

Wild apprehensions that she might betray

Our love betrayed, perforce endure the yoke

Of fate to sink in endless misery.

 

(3) Could I have strength to such perusal waive

Such poignant annals of broken romance:

Her tender loving care, to me she gave,

The which I paid for with perseverance.

 

(4) Sweet days are gone, those days of bliss replete,

With nothing left save love's unquenched fire;

Within my heart shall love reverberate

Until this soul from carcass shall retire.

 

(5) Now that I find myself in state forlorn

I summon strength to countermand my grief,

In recollecting days when love was born,

Else in your portrait find grief's sweet relief.

 

(6) That portrait which by love's own pencil writ,

In my own heart and soul do I engrave;

The treasure which to me did love bequeath,

With me remains until beyond the grave.

 

(7) This selfsame soul did frequently adjourn

And tarry at locales you would frequent:

At the Beata river made sojourn,

At Hilom shallows many visits spent.

 

(8) My recollection oftentimes would seek

Our rendezvous beneath the manggo bough:

You would a manggo bunch attempt to pick;

While I, by you, a Hedonist enow!

 

(9) When you with serious illness stayed behind,

My being was reduced to helpless sighs.

To heaven's grace my heartbeat I consigned,

Your room bedeemed a treasured paradise.

 

(10) With mine own, I lavished with caresses

Footprints you left on the rock platform shore

Of the Makati which we both cherish

Your image did I worship evermore.

 

(11) There often I returned in search for some

Illusive whims of happy yesteryears:

A bather waits not for the splash to come

But to the water heads, lest bath forbears.

 

(12) I hear it still, your words reverberate:

"Full three days now, each other we've not seen",

And my reply to you without regret:

"For each, how many times prepared we've been!"

 

(13) Indeed, there's not a stone that's left unturned

Brooding on fate of sweet rapture faded.

"Woe is me!" so groaning, myself I scorned

Torrential tears with mine moans cascaded.

 

(14) Where is Celia, the sunshine of my heart?

Why did we fail to nurture our romance?

Whither the days when life and soul were part

Of that heaven begotten of her glance?

 

(15) I wonder why, now that we are apart,

Should not this wretched life of mine expire?

Since, Celia, from my heart you must depart

Death's sweet relief is my one last desire.

 

(16) Lacking the strength to endure injury

From joy's desertion you on me impose,

I venture sing this life of misery

My verses may my suffering dispose.

 

(17) Surfeit of silence, Celia, I beseech

Thee to hear me with ears and open mind

My muse, if ignorant and faint of speech,

Pray, grant that she should your indulgence find.

 

(18) Bereft may be of lettered elegance

These first buds of my prudence immature,

My dedication take with tolerance,

Your faithful servant does of you implore.

 

(19) Should any line thereof be deemed offensive

My humble efforts find worthy excuse

That if resentment should its reading give

Pardon the author, pray, without abuse.

 

(20) To merrymaking nymphs of Bai Lake,

To mermaids with sweet enchanting voices,

My humble muse does her petition make

That all their charms and talents may possess.

 

(21) Mother Nature, hear my supplication:

Your lyre's tune may to my lyrics lend,

Lyrics which speak of love's aspiration

To transcend Time's ruins through to life's end.

 

(22) Dear heart, flower of my meditation,

Celia with the initials M.A.R.,

May the Virgin Mary his petition

Grant who for your welfare prays Baltazar.

 

To the Reader

For reading, love, accept my gratitude

That you, this, my endeavor worthy find.

Virtue if lacked, as my solicitude,

Reward may yet bestow the searching mind.

 

A quick glance may deem it bitter and raw,

Its peel may some unripe looks exhibit,

But if tasted past the external hue,

Indulgent readers may yet find it sweet.

 

Neither that you should this poem treasure

Nor do I ask that you should scorn disguise.

Do as you will and fulfill your leisure,

But pray, the verses you should not revise.

 

If you should find many a verse obscure,

Before your stamp of condemnation put,

If you but pause, between the lines explore,

Perchance you find it clear and right to boot.

 

Betimes you'll find markers for notation

Applied on some language of subtler breed,

Consult the footnotes for explanation,

Renders the meaning clearer as you read.

 

And here I pause, genius of a reader,

Lest Segismundo's fate might inherit

Nor platitudes make my verses clearer,

Revisions can its self-defeat commit.

 

Of Words Replete

 

(1) Amidst a gloomy forest desolate

With thorny underbrush so thickly grown,

The which so rough as hard to navigate

Even by him who is of Phoebe born.

 

(2) Huge stately tall trees the scene's offering,

Air of affliction, anguish and sorrow,

Birds sing not but a tune so depressing

Even for one with cheerfulness thorough.

 

(3) Each tree branch does sport its own adornment

Of twining vines richly wrapped treacherous

With hairy fruit and sharp thorns as garment

The lightest touch would mortal pain impose.

    

Tales of My Grandfather

Grandfather was the quintessential champion of self-reliance. One of his more than a few axioms was never outsource anything that you can do yourself because you are the best judge of the quality of workmanship that you need to put into a product to ensure its excellence. Therefore anything that is worth doing is worth doing well because the character of a person is embodied and exhibited in the quality of his handiwork or product. His descendants, as we endeavored to abide by this axiom, later affectionately and reverently referred to it as the Asumen code of integrity.

Under this philosophy, he managed to singlehandedly hack out a coconut plantation out of virgin forests homestead acreage. He built all the houses he lived in. He handcrafted most of his farm implements and fishing instruments, including his personal boat, a bandong, which consisted of one solid hulk carved out of a huge tree trunk as opposed to something constructed from component parts. (Its navigational advantages and logistical properties are delved into later below.)

The inventory of accessories he made himself reads like the items list in the village bazaar or an ethnic museum. He made his multi-season monsoon hat sarok from the nito a dwarf rattan-like vine that thrived as weeds in his land and the buli a stately variety of palm tree he planted and became a hallmark product of one of his land parcels. He made his smoking pipes both from the clay in the nearby creeks/marshlands and the various species of bamboo in his land.

He planted his own tobacco. Harvested the crop and treated the leaves for storage. He rolled his own cigar with his personal methods of aging them. He smoked the cigars to the last half-inch and saved the stumps to be chewed later mostly as pure tobacco chew and sometimes mixed with other ingredients in a Betel Chew (mamah), a concoction consisting of quartered nuts of the areca palm (mam-on), homemade lime from burnt choice sea shells (apog) wrapped in a leaf of betel piper vine (bodsyuh, boyu), a specialty plant grown or harvested in the wilds specifically for this purpose.

Grandpa Insoy, who has never seen or heard of a dentist all his life, uncompromisingly and proudly attributed his chewing prowess to this dental regimen. He sported a fully functional and healthy set of teeth until a full three days before he signed off from his mortal coil.

His strength was legendary. He could wrestle to the ground a young water buffalo bull. The main qualifications being that the horns should not be grown enough to have acquired the pointed tips and before they begin to assume the curvature manifested when the animal is a fully grown bull. Imagine the giant bodyguard to the hostage princess Lygia in the 1951 movie Quo Vadis.

A narrative usually told as a mild attempt to somewhat downsize his reputation for courage or a penchant for not backing out of any adverse situations but inadvertently celebrated his physical prowess, went as follows: one night he was fishing alone with hook and line in a bandong. This boat is constructed with relatively flattish bottom proportional to the cross-sectional diameter, shape and girth of the tree trunk it is made from. As such it is inherently bulky and traditionally used for group fishing activities and heavy haulage. A crew of three would barely comfortably handle an average size bandong in wavy waters.

Because of its bulk and size it is relatively stable and can be sailed through moderately wavy waters without the benefit of side ballasts. Sans outriggers gives it the added advantage of better maneuverability to go through narrow passages obtaining in mangrove forests and nipa swamps. Its flat bottom makes it most adaptive to shallow waters, as obtains in estuaries punctuated with transient silt deltas. Normal people would not use it for deep sea fishing, an operation which routinely drops anchor at low-lying reefs of fifteen to thirty fathoms deep.

While grandpa Insoy was fishing away, a heavy storm began to brew and the phenomenon of St. Elmo's fire happened unto his vicinity. In catholic superstation St. Elmo's fire is believed to be associated with a condemned soul with scores to settle on earth before it can proceed to Purgatory. Deciding not to tangle with the supernatural, Insoy Asumen proceeded to paddle his bandong shoreward before pulling anchor. He only realized he was dragging his anchor the entire way when he was safely at berth.

Legend has it that in his prime, he was an accomplished eskrimador, i.e., a practitioner of the Filipino martial arts of Eskrima, particularly of the defense-oriented weaponless variety. This version of the tale I heard mostly from my father. Grandpa's workout routine to hone his skills and reflexes was to lie down on his back at the bottom of a bandong wearing only his g-strings. He would have a half gallon of corn kernel freshly dyed with achiotes
a.k.a. lipstick tree sprinkled onto him. The object of the exercise was to prevent a single kernel of corn from touching his torso, using only his four limbs for a weapon.

It is indeed regrettable that to the best of my knowledge and belief, none of his descendants had inherited the talent or endeavored to acquire the skills. Hopefully some generations hence that particular property of the genes would show up somehow. That shall have been a fitting tribute to the memory of Tatay Insoy, as we all called him.

(He was born in Calape on the north western coast of the island province of Bohol about 41 km from Tagbilaran, the provincial capital which is within 75 to 90 minutes plane ride from Manila.)

Rejoinder for Matet’s Wall

Well said, my dear.  Unfortunately, wherever and whenever there are at least two individuals politics obtains because you have disparate souls and sets of dreams and aspirations.  To the extent that you want to obtain consensus amongst individuals politics becomes necessary, albeit maybe a necessary evil. 

 

How progress is construed is crucial to the verity of your formulation. Progress cannot simply mean embracing the new while discarding the old. What is most important to the individual is increasing the mastery of freedom over necessity. Unfortunately, politics determines both freedom and necessity.

 

If you are the only one in the sun you can do whatever tickles your fancy. But if there is me to spoil the landscape, then you better make sure to take into account what tickles my fancy. Else there will be conflict between us. Politics is nothing but the art of conflict resolution to establish a consensus.

 

The laws of politics boil down to last person standing. One has to survive to look after one's interests. The politics of laws, other than natural laws, demands you saturate the landscape with kindred proclivities as yours to ensure your interests prevail.

Advice and Apology for Marek

To Marek . . .An Apology and An Advice

(Forgive the Adults, They Don't Know What They Are Doing)

 

    XXXIII            (i)

 

Who can explain, for you to understand

Why your world is all a mess and tangle?

You hold the stars in the palm of your hand

For it's your main job to build the castle

Of dreams that you can cling to, else growing

Up would have no meaning. It is a job

That adults are supposed to be giving

You all the help they can give instead of

Their sabotage at each arduous turn

In your road out of childhood, that alone,

You'll navigate. Finding, on your return,

A broken home from your first vacation:

Forgive the sins but don't forget the sense

Of lose, for which you'll build the recompense.

 

    XXXIV        (ii)

 

Don't look for justice -- life is never fair.

Neither you nor I, had asked to be born.

But we trudge along, now that we are here,

To make the most is our utmost concern.

Sometimes we get lucky, but being good

At what you do is what counts in the long

And oftentimes rather treacherous road

Up ahead. To tell the right from the wrong

You'll need the compass of experience

From adults -- whether they love you or they

Do not care a breath for your existence.

Time can be both your friend and enemy:

Molding the very substance of your soul

Whether you give your best or none at all!

 

    XXXV        (iii)

 

Do not begrudge the folks who have failed you

People can't give the which they don't possess

Let their shortcomings instead propel you

To push the envelope and find redress

For every kith and kin who might betray

The radiant rainbow of your childhood dreams

Some total stranger may by chance defray

The needed passport to some lofty schemes

Chances are kind to those prepared at heart

That every possible combination

Of trying circumstances may impart

To the less astute certain perdition.

For each venture you take, defray your best,

Leave time and chance and fate to dream the rest!

My Last Hurrah

        My Last Hurrah!!

(XXXI)*                [1]

Through a few crossroads passed sans looking back

Nor venture on the odds speculate

Nor feign excuse for shortcomings, alack,

Onward through many storms I navigate.

Else dwell malignant in the tide of Time,

Fall hostage to self-made predicament,

And dream of glories of yet unborn prime

To spend the twilight days in deep lament

Of ill forfeited opportunities.

For sure, this juncture will its mark imprint

Much more than just unsettling memories.

To mark on it as much, was my intent:

     Leave to the gods frustration's litany,

     To keep my rendezvous with destiny.

 

(XXXII)*                [2]

Thanks to you all it has been a pleasure.

May our paths cross in yet productive ways.

Your endeavors may, in ample measure,

Accrue rewards of fun and sunshine days!

And for the few who went out of your way

On maybe many a few occasions

To rescue one otherwise dismal day

From the clutches of some futile questions,

Nay, inertia of impending ruin,

Not for lack of gratitude I seemed

To fail to reciprocate for certain

A favor owed. Rather, it is bedeemed

That good deeds do self-compensation make

    In doing them, rewards the doers take!