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Sunset Sutra (After Ginsberg)

I looked out my window -- day before I turn 25 --

and see! a goldenperfectform disk, fighting

the night, bobbing behind Bataan mountains,

crosses, invisible sea of sharks, elite

beach resorts, package tours for people

who answer calls and wake up to sunsets

like these, and curse the night. See -- I'm

talking to a Physics friend now, talk of time

travel, poverty, coffee beans and tea

leaves, see it's possible but not

important, look at the future. No, look at

what's now, what's here, the sun will come out

tomorrow, tomorrow, I love you Sabado,

pati na rin Linggo lang ang pahinga,

Nanay I don't want to take in calls. Nanay

I don't want to be jaded and get tired of sunsets.

Nanay when will I start writing quiet

poems? Nanay when will I win thousands

in raffles? Nanay show me a sign. Look

at them run. Sunset and clouds, now

a silhouette, yesterday storm-

unlikely, tomorrow something

unpredictable, always there, fiery

invisibly, like Bataan nukes at a Westinghouse

2 a.m. dry run, glow-in-the-dark

deer, disks in inner space, look!

a goldenperfectform disk, Bon Jovi

in a blaze of glory, a phoenix playing

a game of who loves more than whom,

burning eighteenth-floor eyes in a false

sunrise, calculator smiles of 1's and 0's,

headset mouths talking in tounges of

electric current, waking up Sturgeon Bay,

Wisconsin with another burning "Sweet

Jesus!" coming down in Manila and coming

up 12 timezones distant, a cycle of

rage and rain. Who knows, tomorrow

might bring grey. No one waits for calls.

Everyone waits for the sunset, and

goes home with grey rain visages. Nobody

curses you anymore, phoenix-to-ashes disk,

firestorm another day away.

Kilig Moment (1995)

Kilig Moment (1995)

Kaya, ayun, sabay tayong nagsabi
ng "Hello." Sabay lingon. Nagkita
ang mga mata. Maraming nakatitig.
Kahit na. Tayo lang ang nasa
mundo. Peksman. Maliban sa mga
langgam sa paanan ko. May
nagsusumpit ng sago. Wala 'yun.
Kunyari, niyebe ito. May payong ako.
Lalapit ka. Lalayo. Titingin
sa paligid. Wala tayong makikita
kundi puti, at sisilong ka. Maginaw
ang Marso. May sisigaw ng "Yihee"
mula sa kalangitan ng ikalawang
palapag. Wala tayong maririnig
kund mga kuliglig, mga anghel
sa paligid. Hindi "kunyari" ito.
Ayan na ang kamay mo. Ayan
na. Heto na sila. May mga bitbit
na camera. Pinagtatabi tayo. Kunyari,
wala sila. Nakatitig lang tayo
sa malayo. Nasaan ang kamay mo?
Tinatawag tayo. Wala akong marinig
kundi ang puso ko. Nasa malayo
ka na, pero hindi ko pa alam 'yun.
Kunyari, may payong ako. May niyebe.
Kahit ulan, sige, ayos na. May sumisigaw
ng "Yihee." Three-point shooter ako. Escort
ng section mo. Madadapa ako. Mababasag
ang salamin ko. Wala na akong makikita
kundi roon at noon.

Heto, plugging muna: 3rd Virgin Labfest rocks the CCP from June 28 to July 8

Nag-Friendster message sa akin si Allan Lopez, 'yung malupit na malupit na playwright na husband-to-be ni Jaclyn Jose. Di ako nakapunta sa event na ito last year, kaya babawi ako this year. Pero peksman, astig ito.

Now on its 3rd year, the Virgin Labfest opens this June 28 and will run until July 8, 2007 at the Cultural Center of the Philippines. The Virgin Labfest (VLF), a festival of new plays (untried, untested, unpublished and unstaged) by both emerging and well-known playwrights, directors and actors, is now enthusiastically looked forward to by artists and audiences alike.

This year's festival boasts a repertoire of 15 short plays in five trilogies as the main exhibition list, and 3 additional independently produced plays. Read more about the plays being featured for each section at our website http://www.virginlabfest.com . Schedules may be downloaded from the site.

The Virgin Labfest is a joint venture of the Cultural Center of the Philippines (SentrongPangkultura ng Pilipinas), Tanghalang Pilipino, Writers Bloc, Inc., and the National Commission for Culture and the Arts (NCCA) with the generous support of the Japan Foundation Manila.

Tickets to the Virgin Labfest are at P200 for plays to be shown at the Tanghalang Huseng Batute & Bulwagang Amado Hernandez, and Pay-What-You-Can for play readings at the Tanghalang Aurelio Tolentino. For more details, please contact Tanghalang Pilipino at 832-3661, the CCP Box Office at 832-3704, and Ticketworld at 891-9999. More information and downloadable schedules available at our website http://www.virginlabfest.com.

Concerning the Fire in Intramuros, March 11, 2007

Not surprisingly, the Marines left
in perfect formation: no single file,
staggered, muffled, one by one. Then,
the explosion. No one heard. The roof
caught fire first, metal as it was,
then the beams. Next, the paper,
the boxes. No one heard. No one saw
the conflagration coming. Two hours.
That’s all it took. The termites made sure
there will be no more wood to burn.

Examining the wreckage, the official
bulletins hiss, There’s nothing here
that you’ll miss, only old records, gun ban
exemptions. The ashes tell otherwise: here
is a box, here is a sheaf of ballots. There,
a case up for review. Returns for recounts.
There’s nothing here that we’ll miss.
The firemen, still drenching the embers,
look up. There’s no pleasure in covering up.
Soon, the rain will come, but before that,
the summer. There will be more fires
to come, more arrested developments,
more news blackouts. The smoke will hang
over a mall. The airport at 3 a.m. An AUV
in Cebu City. This is how it begins:
with a bang no one hears. With a scream
to people gathered outside a store,
wondering about the men with guns. A wizened
man in eyeglasses, kicking until the plane
turns back. A shot heard ‘round the world.
Everything starts here, and will burn
until everyone ends with a whimper.

Love poem for Cindy who has never been written a real love poem

Listen, I haven't written anything decent in years, too, but not for lack of wanting – I've tried, you know, but always there is this pain that will not go away, always there is this pain, and always there is this something that's holding me back, although I do hope you understand, like you've understood why my last (first) attempts at writing for myself (for you) have fallen flat on their faces, rolling down semisteep Antipolo hillsides, cutting down and being cut by grass, prickly pears, the view – and so that you know, I never claimed to be a master at this craft and never put out any press releases saying that my poems deal with social-existential-profound stuff (profundity is overrated) since all I write (wrote) about is (was) love and never-ending young love sweet love. See me stumble. But I hope you understand – I don't know what to say, although I'm doing a good job hiding it here, with words and a myriad words, white space maybe, testimonials and suppositions, more grass, more thorns, more of the view, maybe more Tom Waits covers you sang to me in a taxi dream (dream taxi) taking you (us) home, wishing for rain to drum on the rooftop en punto, not the cheap synthesizer-type raindrop snare, but a real one from real La Niña rain with us inside your place, playing scrabble with our hearts, trying not to look for deeper meaning in the tiles but still managing to find it. Love is rock and roll.

Iskrabol

Una, random ang mga letra:

walang kaayos-ayos, payak

na magulo. Tapos, pikit-matang

pipili ang ating mga kamay.

Maghahanap ng kaayusan --

o kahit isang salita man lang --

na nagtatago sa isang sulok,

naghihintay na pakawalan

ng mga letrang pikit-matang pinili.

Mauuna kang titira. Ito

ang pinakamadaling sundan:

walang hirap ang paghahanap

ng pagsisingitan ng salita. Tapos,

ikaw ulit, tapos, ako, at walang

tigil hanggang maubos na

ang nasa lalagyan. Susubukan kong

huwag magpahiya -- lalo na't

nakilala mo ako bilang magaling

sa mga salita -- pero wala

akong makita sa mga letra

kundi ang iyong pangalan. Kahit na

walang "C" sa mga nakahilera

sa aking harapan. Kahit na

ang lahat ng nabubunot ko

ay walang kinalaman sa atin.

Kahit na gulo-gulo ang mga letrang

random din, katulad ng mga salitang

itinutulak ng mga daliri natin

sa kung saan-saan. Hindi kita matalo-

matalo. Masuwerte ka't ang daling

gawan ng salita ang iyong nakukuha,

kaysa naman sa akin, na kung saan

nakatatatak ng iyong mukha.

kay Cindy

Timog Twelve-thirty

Finally, heaving a sigh

of relief, I heave through the door

and promise not to speak English

anymore. I scan around

the crowd outside, milling,

talking in Timoguese gibberish,

haggling over roses, half-alive.

Fifty-peso beer does not

souse me enough, so I look

for Marlboro Lights, but all they have

are packs. No sticks. I start

walking down the avenue,

hands in back pockets, eyes closed

to cabs trying to get me to ride,

Club One Heart and Padi's Point

cross-dressers, and cross over

to where the Scouts are. I can't

read their names, but what a tragedy

it must have been, crashing

into the Aegean without ever having

tasted beer, or a woman,

or a 2007-vintage Marlboro.

Electric-post penumbras

point the way home. So I

cross again, mutter a putanginaka

at some mutt sniffing at my shoes,

and eye the girls in stilletoes, winking.

I look right and see a cab, coming out

of a side street. The shadows. I don't

see who's inside. My phone's in

my pocket -- a new girl's number,

my friends trying to get me back inside

the bar, a perfunctory good-night note --

but my thumb is frozen solid.

I need a smoke. All they have are packs.

No sticks. I get on a jeepney.

I start speaking in Tagalog. I've lost

my accent. I need to get home,

where the stuffed toy you gave me

is waiting, wagging his doggy tongue,

arms waiting to give me a big Barney hug,

where your letters are in a box

under my bed, all in English.

But for now, I hand over the last

coins in my pocket, telling the driver

where I will get off. He nods. The dogs

on the dashboard, nodding their heads,

do not hear, but they understand.

for I.

Overlooking

"Do I dare

disturb the universe?"

- T.S. Eliot

Here is the scene:

having cast one glance

too few at you, I go up

and write on your back.

Not my words, actually,

though I wish they were mine.

I wish, too, that words

hadn't been invented yet.

Like this, for example:

this is too safe, too generic

a term. The lights below

turn the sky red. Again.

The drizzle settles, and

having settled, turns into sweat.

Or words, though I do wish

they didn't exist. Yet. Like

this: I wish you could look

at me, too, scribbling, trying

to catch the lights and turn

them dotty-eyed, speck

that I am in this, your

greater scheme of things.

Antipolo

03/03/07

This is a war in Mars

Holdaper
(matapos panoorin si Kooky Tuason)

Totoo ang mga bagay na ito:
una, maglalakad ka, parang
bida sa pelikula --
pusturang-pustura, tapos,
may patalim na tutusok
sa likod mo. Sabay banta:
"Akin na ang selpon mo."
Kukunin mo ang selpon
at ibibigay sa kanya,
sabay sipa sa yagbols niya.
Wala kang pakialam sa dilim.
Hindi ka niya makikita,
o ng punyal niya. Sisigaw ka,
"Magnanakaw, magnanakaw",
at kukuyugin siya
ng mga nagtitinda, mga nabiktima,
mga tatawid na sana sa kalsada,
nakapila sa sakayan ng dyip,
at mata lang ang walang latay
sa kanya. Walang third eye - third eye
sa tunay na buhay.