Lost

It is the particular penalty of those who pursue strange butterflies into dark forests, and go fishing in enchanted and forbidden streams. 
-- H.L. Mencken, The Divine Afflatus

Time you enjoyed wasting was not wasted. -- John Lennon

Obviously Google Ads can't make heads or tails of what I inflict on this site. Looking at the right margin of this page, I always see ads about Jesus -- the history of his death, how he loves you, ad infinitum (unintended but good pun); also two ads about God, at least mitigated by a topic I can tolerate -- "Is there life after death?" (It's a big yes for Jesus.) But I hate it when they mix religion with astronomy, The Big Bang, and DNA. Having mentioned key words like Jesus and God here, I'm sure those Google Ads will remain. At least the bottom ad, like "Have fun killing flies," provides fun and relief. Still, this reinforces my observation that Google Ads is lost as far as my way of thinking is concerned.  

Hehehe.

Suppose I discuss John  Lennon here? Will Google read this and post some ads about him and the Beatles? We will not know unless I try, huh? Well, here we go:

Recently, taking a break from Ishmael's whale and Pip's great expectations, I pored through The Beatles Anthology, a big, heavy and costly book (it's worth the money, by the way), and read some pages about Lennon. This, naturally, tickled some molecular brain cells, which quickly pulled out from dusty drawers of memory random tidbits about him, his songs, his opinions about music, and his attitude toward life.

For example, Lennon was not sure about the merit of the lyrics he wrote for Across The Universe, although he obviously loved it. In a Playboy interview  in the January 1980 issue, he said he is leaving judgment to posterity.

Words are flying out

like endless rain into a paper cup

They slither while they pass

They slip away across the universe...

Thoughts meander like a

restless wing inside a letter box

They tumble blindly as

they make their way across the universe.

Lennon had in separate instances expressed great fondness for the lyrics of this song, but he was going through a bad time then and had lost the confidence essential to an artist's ability to create good stuff.

And like many inheritors of the Great Craft, he sometimes borrowed from the old masters. Because, which appeared in the Abbey Road album,  was based around the chords of Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata, which Yoko Ono was playing on the piano one day. So I listened to the sonata, and, as Lennon pointed out, his song sounded like Ludwig's, too.

Close your eyes to the music and we are in 1801, the tormented master playing Piano Sonata in C♯ minor, imagine a woman, dressed in the fashion of the period, seated in the room and listening. Through the darkness outside the window, the moon is full, but the pavements  can only be glimpsed by the feeble lights cast by the streetlamps...

Every streetlamp

seems to beat

a fatalistic warning...

And the past stretches to the present, where we find a Japanese woman playing the old song; her famous husband, lying on the sofa, asks her to play the chords backward. She does, and an improvised sonata makes it to the Beatles' last album.

In Lennon's interview that January 1980, he remarked, "...And come to think of it, it looks like I'm going to be 40 and life begins at 40 -- so they promise. And I believe it, too. I feel fine and I'm very excited. It's like, you know, hitting 21, like, 'Wow, what's going to happen next?...'"

What happened next was that he celebrated his 40th birthday on October 9 that year, and before the year was out, four bullets snuffed out his life in New York on December 8.

Dream is over.

 

Complete Beatles stamps and S/S

John Lennon graphics by Gypsy48 in photobucket.

Ang Thesis ni Anna

Namimilipit na ba kayo sa taas ng bayad sa kuryente, LPG at iba pang may kinalaman sa energy consumption? Kung gano'n basahin itong solusyon ni Anna -- sabay ilag! He he he...

========================================================

Fifty years after the end of WWII, the US Postal Service planned to include a picture of the Hiroshima bomb as a historic event in a souvenir sheet commemorating the end of the war. However, due to objections from Japan, followed by pressure from the White House, the design was replaced with a picture of President Truman announcing the end of war.

=========================================================

“Oy, oy, oy, Anna,” bunghalit ng MassCom titser ni Anna. “Ano’ng ibig sabihin nitong BNBNPP? Kung maglagay ka ng pamagat sa term paper mo parang knock-knock.”

“Ma’am naman. Iyan ang thesis ko sa energy problem: Biyaya Ng Bataan Nuclear Power Plant. Outline pa lang ‘yan, ma’am.”

“Naku, bata ka, kung magsulat ka parang di ka umiinom ng kape; di ka na ninerbiyos. Ayan at pumuputak na naman yang mga cause-oriented group at NGOs sa armageddon na idudulot niyang plantang iyan at sinasalungat mo pa. Sumapi ka na ba sa grupong BNPP na gustong makabalato sa kickback ng mga opisyales na gusto na namang buhayin yang planta?’

“Grupong BNPP? Ma'am, ha, bumabawi kayo. Pero sige, sirit na, ano ang BNPP mo?”

“Eh di Binayaran Na Peryodistang Palamunin. Kung anu-anong kahunghangan ang itinutulak nila para maduling ang taong-bayan sa depekto ng nuclear plant na ‘yan. At ikaw, Anna, ano namang biyaya ang ihihirit mo?’

“Eto, ma’am, namber wan, malulutas ng nuclear plant ang birth control isyu na pinagbabangayan lagi ng DOH at CBCP.”

“Kinakabahan ako sa kambyo ng utak mo, iha, pero sige, paki-ekspleyn lang kung ano ang connection ng DOH at CBCP sa nuclear plant sa Morong.”

“Beri simpol, ma’am. Kung matutunaw yung planta, automatic burado agad ang kalahati ng population natin, from 80 million to 40 million, at magiging warat na ang debate kung rhythm o rock-'n'-roll method ang mabisang birth control.”

“Ay wapen! Ba’t di ko naisip agad ‘yan. (Siguro dahil normal akong tao.) Eh ano naman itong pati poverty eh malulutas din ng BNPP?”

“Isipin mo, ma’am, karamihan sa mga Pinoy ay yagit. Ngayon, kung hahatiin mo ang population, di ba lalabas sa statistics na mas kokonti ang mga mahihirap ngayon kaysa noong hindi pa pinaaandar yung planta?”

“Aba, ang galing pala ng Westinghouse, hane? Ba’t di pa tayo magpagawa ng isa pang nuclear plant, diyan naman sa may Mt. Pinatubo, para wala nang pobre sa Pilipinas?”

“Oo nga, ma’am! Ang dami ko nang natutuhan talaga sa iyo! Mawawala na rin ang unemployment problem natin dahil magiging kaluluwa na lang ang mga walang trabaho rito. Kaya lang pati yung may trabaho matutunaw din. On the other hand, ang tinitingnan lang naman sa statistics eh yung unemployment rate, kaya tiyak gaganda ang figures ng NEDA diyan.”

“Heh! Nagbiro ako sinakyan mo na agad. Pero, according to your nakakahindik na thesis, bababa na rin yung crime rate dahil bababa na rin sa impiyerno ang mga criminal. For the same reason, mawawala na rin ang graft and corruption, prostitution, deforestation, pati na ang ating nation. Akalain mo nga ba namang pakyawan pala ang biyayang dulot ng nuclear meltdown, ano?”

“Yes, ma’am. Parang tutoo rin yung sinasabi ng mga backers niyang planta na makakatipid tayo sa kuryente. Imagine, pagputok niyang planta, yung hindi naging liquid metal sa atin eh hindi na kailangan ang Meralco at Napocor para magkailaw pa – dahil tayo na mismo, umiilaw! Yung mga taga-Bataan, ma’am, eh 100 watts siguro ang liwanag nila.”

“Ay, wa! Yung mga nasa Maynila 50 watts sila; at ikaw, Anna, dahil low-bat ka eh 25 watts ka lang. At ano naman ang karumal-dumal na mungkahi ng thesis mo?”

“Gawin nating industrial estate yung paligid ng nuclear power plant at diyan itayo ang mga pabrika at resthouse ng mga backer nitong BNPP, dahil iyon ay talagang lugar na pang-rest in peace, ‘ika nga. Kung gusto nilang piped-in music, siguro puwede yung Afterglow. Ano sa tingin niyo, ma’am?’

“Sa tingin ko’y radioactive na itong utak ko, iha. Haay, salamat at nag-bell na. Ano ba’ng susunod mong subject?”

“Psychology, ma’am. Si Dr. Hannibal Lecter ang professor ko. Ang galing-galing niya, ma’am! May thesis din ako para sa kanya!”

“Siyanga?! Naku, hindi lang pala ako ang suwerte sa araw na ito. Matutuwa sigurado iyon dahil magkakaintindihan kayo. Dali, puntahan mo at yayain mong mag-field trip sa BNPP.”

Stamp photos and caption from http://library.buffalo.edu/libraries/asl/exhibits/stamps/atomicbomb/

The Bee

Fame is a bee.

It has a song—

It has a sting—

Ah, too, it has a wing.

--Emily Dickinson

A bee, round and fat, hovered and dipped into a small flower in our garden. The garden, as I call it, was very small, but it was all the world to the bee.

I did not hear his buzz, but I did feel the contented peace that made the bee choose our garden as his sanctuary.

Outside, the muffled roar of jeepneys ferrying people to work intruded from time to time. It was still early morning, and globules of dew – to the bee’s consternation – still clung to the petals of the flowers.

The flowers, except for a few roses, are an ordinary lot, contributing their share of colors in small patches here and there. I don’t know if the bee was guided by the colors or by the nectar, but as it hovered and dipped into the flowers, I realized that I, too, discovered a patch where I could take refuge when things get a bit too rough outside.

The bee, as he bumbled in the garden, accommodated me. Perhaps he got used to seeing me there every morning. As the sun rose, bright but not too hot, we shared a patch of time when we did not have to hurry -- we had the leisure of existence.

I was a bit frightened: I thought things like these did not exist anymore.

But I know it will not last; good things never do. The sun’s ray turns too hot and the bee has to go, taking his nectar with him. As with everything that lives, the bee is accountable to the price of existence -- Work.

I, too, am not different. So, to work.

Ah, to bee or not to bee.

Ruminations

Pogi story-teller

In between books, I read quotations -- because I always encounter them in books written by great authors. The threads that connect great works I already noticed long ago. Here's what I stumbled upon recently:


As is the generation of leaves, so is that of humanity.
The wind scatters the leaves on the ground, but
the live timber burgeons with leaves again
in the season of spring returning.
So one generation of men will grow while
Another dies.
-- Homer, The Iliad


This is familiar. Ecclesiastes (1:4) rephrased it briefly but beautifully:


Generations come and generations go, but the Earth remains forever.

This got me thinking, which quotation came first? So, Googling Wikipedia, I got the following information:


"...the Iliad is among the oldest extant works of Western literature, and its written version is usually dated to around the 8th Century BC. The Iliad contains approximately 15,700 lines, and is written in a literary amalgam of several Greek dialects. The authorship of the poem is disputed."


And this:


"Some scholars believe much of the Old Testament was written in Mesopotamia [Now called Iraq -- Pogi]. It is believed the Old Testament was composed and compiled between the 12th and the 2nd Century BC..."


So either one could have been first, unless conclusive evidence is found to favor one or the other. Whatever. To continue: this line of thinking naturally leads to:


What has been will be again,
What has been done will be done again;
there is nothing new under the sun.
-- Ecclesiastes 1:9


And whenever I get to Ecclesiastes, I always think of 9:11 --


I returned, and saw under the sun, that the race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, neither yet bread to the wise, nor yet riches to men of understanding, nor yet favor to men of skill; but time and chance happen to them all.


Which simply means "Life is not fair," with the corollary, "May araw ka rin." Anyone with a fair amount of sensibility gets to realize this early or late in life. So I take to heart a quote from Ayn Rand's Atlas Shrugged: "We never had to take any of it seriously, did we?"


It seems Damon Runyon did not. This quote is attributed to him:


The race is not always to the swift, nor the battle to the strong—but that's the way to bet.


Yea.

Yupi Diksiyonaryong Filipino

UP Diksiyonaryong Filipino

Hinahalughog ko ngayon yung mga malapit na bookstore para bilhin yung bagong edition ng UP Diksiyonaryong Filipino ni Virgilio Almario, aking gabay sa Tagalog o ang mas malawak na wikang Filipino.

Medyo atubili ako nang konti, kahit alam kong kailangan ko ito at bibilhin ko bandang huli.

Medyo nanlalamig lang ako pag nababasa ko yung mga inampon ng UP na mga banyagang salita, halos lahat mula sa English. Tulad ng "test" -- sa Filipino ng mga Filipino ni Rio Alma, inurirat pa niya kung ang tamang baybay nito ay "tes"; ang huling hatol ay hindi malalag yung huling "t." Ganyan din ang "k" sa "desk."

"Mayor" o "meyor"? Mayor. O, mas maigi, alkalde. Kung lasenggo si kagalang-galang, alakalde. Bise Presidente na si Jejemon Binay, pero laging Vice Ganda si la loca bongga. Major Major? Problema na ni Venus Raj yan.

Balik tayo sa yuping adhikain nitong mga tiga-UP. Ba't kailangang humiram habang meron naman tayong maayos na salita para sa test? Di pa ba sapat ang "pagsusuri" o "pagsusulit"? Ang tingin ko eh may pagsaalang-alang sa pagbigkas at sa paggamit.

"Marubdob na pagbati, kapatid, saan ang iyong patutunguhan?"
(Oy, 'tol, sa'n ang lakad?)
"Ala ey, may pagsusulit kami sa Agham at naantala ang dating ko; sige magkuro-kuro na lang tayo sansaglit."
(Oy, brods, may Science test kami at late na ko. Kita-kitakits na lang tayo maya't tsika tayo.)

Kitam?

Ok, kung lalagyan natin ng konsiderasyon ang pang-araw-araw na gamit ng salita para hindi tila nagbabalagtasan tayo lagi, sige, test na kung test, blakbord na sa halip na pisara. Kung gano'n tanggapin na rin ang makabagong jologs, kapalit ng huklubang baduy, para hindi tayo ondoyin sa pagtutol ng mga bagets, dba?

May tututol dahil ang mga salitang ito ay nakasandal lang sa pagka-uso at kukupas din at dagliang maglalaho. Ganyan naman talaga kung buhay ang lengguwahe, may isinisilang habang may tumatanda na't nakakaligtaan hanggang pumanaw. Pero habang nand'yan si Lolit Solis, maaalaala natin ang bansag niya kay Kris na "pukengkeng"; hindi pa tsugi 'yan, mader. 

Yung mga gumagamit pa ng Latin ay walang ganyang problema: dedo na ito, tsong, at dahil walang interesado masyado, di na paglalaruan ito. Turing ng Gen-X sa gurang na Latin ay paso na ito. Sa mga magpipilit na napakahalaga ng Latin para basta-basta na lang maglaho, dapat ding isipin na mahalaga lang ito dahil ito marahil ang ginamit sa mga biblia nu'ng unang panahon. Lumagapak yung Roman Empire at nasalin sa Old English ang biblia. Dito sa Pinas, nasalin ito sa Kastila, siempre.

Bakit napunta sa biblia ang usapan natin? Importante kasi ang relihiyon, at Latin ang ginagamit sa ritwal at misa noon (at ngayon). Kaya dapat panalatihing buhay ito dahil dinala nito ang salita ng Diyos at ikinuwento nito ang buhay ni Jesus? Aba, kung gano'n hindi dapat namatay ang Aramaic, yung gamit na wika ni Jesus at mga kakosa at kabarangay niya. Mas mabilis sigurong makalusot ang mga panalanging Aramaic kaysa English sa itaas. Pero ganyan naman tayo eh: pag may sinusuyo kumakambyo tayo agad sa English dahil parang walang lakas itong sariling wika.

"Quiet na baby; see the moon. Sleep na babyyy...jejomar (jesus, joseph, mary) you naman eh." Hesusmaryosep!

Pero meron pa ring nananalangin sa wika natin. Paano kung hihingi ka kay Lord ng iPad, laptop o touch-screen na cellphone? Balik na sa Taglish. May hinala akong mutant itong UP Diksiyonaryong Filipino at kahit pa'no eh aampunin ang mga salitang ito.

In di long ran Ay wil stil bay di UP diksiyonari, bekows Ay wil nat lern haw tu yus di lenggweyds en wil heb meydyor meydyor prablem in may layf.

Kung ano ang bigkas, siya ang baybay. Sa imahinasyon (pagkatopak) ko, ito ang lalabas sa wika natin kung unli ang paghiram natin ng imports. Jejeje.

***

Sumbong: Wala sa binagong edisyon na ito ang mga sumusunod na salita: Pusoy, Pusoy-Dos, Iwas-Pusoy, Yosi, Borloloy, Nenok, Bototoy, Budol-Budol, Ativan, Akyat-Bahay, Kakosa, Boga, Istokwa, Askal (asong kalye), Pusakal (pusa naman), Bondying, Kikiam, Dikiam, Sarao... 

Iniisip ko kung paano isisingit ang M-16, .45, GRO (parang LPG, spell out?), 8-Ball, 9-Ball.

Siguro makakatulong tayo kung may imumungkahi kayong mga salitang posibleng hindi pa rin naisali ng mga editor.

 2001 Edition

The pain that overrides joy: The tragic side of journalism

I will not be consoled by the misery of others. I will not be comforted while others suffer.

-- William the Henry

Sudan 1993: A vulture waits for a child to succumb to starvation 
caused by famine. This terrible picture won photographer 
Kevin Carter the Pulitzer Prize 14 months later.

Some scenes are so dreadful that they fuse themselves into my memory for life. This picture is one of them. It has receded into the recesses of my mind, overlapped by so many other images through the years, and then a seemingly unrelated link suddenly flashes this image and I am back in another time, another place, another life.

Last month a friend in Facebook uploaded a video titled Hapag ng Pag-asa, the Last Supper version of painter Joey Velasco. Instead of the apostles, street urchins surround Jesus. The video narrates the story behind each child, giving a name and life to each image in the painting.

The child huddled under the table was a representation of the dying girl in Carter's photograph. Through his art, Velasco saved Sudan, Joey's nickname for the the child in the painting, by giving  him scraps of food. (Velasco thought the child was a boy, so a boy appeared under the table, so to speak.) The fate of the African child in Carter's photo was so tragic it threw Carter's mind into deep depression. In July 1994, two months after receiving his Pulitzer, Carter inserted a green garden hose to the exhaust of his red pickup truck and funneled the fumes inside. He died of carbon-monoxide poisoning, a suicide at the height of his career and fame. He was 33.

A note left on the passenger seat beneath a knapsack stated: "I'm really, really sorry. The pain of life overrides the joy to the point that joy does not exist."  

Kevin Carter committed suicide near a small river, 

in Johannesburg, where he used to play as a child.    

I first saw Carter's photograph of the dying child on the now-defunct Daily Globe in 1994, when news of Carter's death was spread around the world. I was in Aguso, Mabalacat, Pampanga then, writing and editing for The Voice, a local tabloid owned and managed by Ody and Beth Fabian. I rewrote the Daily Globe story for the backpage of The Voice, snitching Carter's Pulitzer Prize-winning photograph. Then I composed a related editorial, about the role journalists play in world events and how some newsmen succumb to the pressures of the job.

Joey Velasco, the heARTIST, as he described himself, died of heart attack on 2010 July 20. He was 43. Like Carter's photograph, Velasco's legacy lives on. 

If we leave an enduring gift to the world, we become immortal.

My Book Report

"My theory is that the human species is getting worse, not better. I believe, so to speak, in an evolution in reverse. The last man on earth will be both a criminal and a madman."

-- Enemies, A Love Story, Isaac Bashevis Singer

It's strange, I'm doing now what I shirked in my high school days: I'm doing a book report, in a lazy way, though. I just extract some portions of the book that leaves a deep impression on my way of thinking, to remind me of what the book is about and why it is important. My way is haphazard, whimsical, fun.

Books that used to bewilder me in younger days are now clear and friendly, their information flowing freely into my mind, informing, beguiling, prodding. If you are prepared, you get to understand and play the delightful game of life.

Sometimes I get some answers, and usually those answers lead to more questions. A never-ending thread that leads somewhere, to the indefinable last frontier if you pursue it long enough, if you last long enough. Great men have tried and failed. I don't even know how to begin.


To fully appreciate this 240-page novel, you must have gone through volumes on Philosophy (Singer quotes Spinoza and Schopenhauer); the Jewish, Catholic and other religions; World History ancient and modern, including World War II (particularly about the Holocaust); astronomy, biology and, of course, literature. If you are good in Math, it will be wasted here.

Since all the major characters in this novel -- Herman Broder and his three wives -- are survivors of the Holocaust, they provide a deeper look into what really happened in the Nazi concentration camps and into Stalin's equally murderous treatment of the refugees. Spielberg and Tom Hanks lifted part of the veil in Schindler's List, Saving Private Ryan, and Band of Brothers.  Movies like The Pianist and Sophie's Choice added their share.


Anyway, here are some parts of the novel which impressed me.


"In Herman's private philosophy, survival itself was based on guile. From microbe to man life prevailed from generation to generation by sneaking past the jealous powers of destruction. Just like the Tzivkever smugglers in World War I, who stuffed their boots and blouses with tobacco... so did every bit of protoplasm, or conglomerate of protoplasm furtively traffic its way from epoch to epoch. It had been so when the first bacteria appeared in the slime at the ocean's edge and would be so when the sun became a cinder and the last living creature on earth froze to death, or perished in whichever way the final biological drama dictated." 

Shades of Lewis Thomas, the physician-essayist whose books, The Lives of a Cell: Notes of a Biology Watcher and The Medusa and The Snail, delighted and influenced me in the '80s. 

"We leave traces of ourselves wherever we go, on whatever we touch." That's Thomas, combining mundane existence and small-scale biological observations.

"We are, perhaps, uniquely among the earth's creatures, the worrying animal. We worry away our lives, fearing the future, discontent with the present, unable to take in the idea of dying, unable to sit still." Vintage Thomas.

In turn, Singer points to a passage in Psalm: "Be gracious unto me, O Lord, for I am in distress. Mine eye wasteth away with vexation, yea, my soul and my body. For my life is spent in sorrow, and my years in sighing. My strength faileth because of mine iniquity and my bones are wasted away. Because of mine adversaries, I am become a reproach, yea, unto my neighbors exceedingly, and a dread to mine acquaintance."

Singer, speaking through Herman in the novel, observed: "How was it that these sentences fitted all circumstances, all ages, all moods, while secular literature, no matter how well written, in time lost its pertinence."

Only those who encountered danger and survived death can fully appreciate the fragility of life. "Animals had accepted the precariousness of existence and the necessity for flight and stealth; only man sought certainty and instead succeeded in accomplishing his downfall."

In a world where murderers, who had played with the skulls of children they murdered, sipped beer from steins and sang hymns in church, " The Bible, the Talmud, and the Commentaries instruct the Jew in one strategy: flee from evil, hide from danger, avoid showdowns, give the angry powers of the universe as wide a berth as possible."

Paul McGrath, in his review of the book, said: "Mr. Singer, who is a careful and deliberate observer, but who never passes judgment, expresses opinion, or provides explanation. His characters are sharply defined. Their conversations are loaded with meaning, and sometimes that which is not said speaks more loudly than that which is."

For instance, Herman Broder and his third wife were walking to the subway station at Sheepshead Bay and he saw some boats returning from early dawn trips to the sea. Describing the scene, Singer thought: "Fish that a few hours before had been swimming in the water now lay on the boat decks with glassy eyes, wounded mouths, bloodstained scales. As often as Herman had witnessed the slaughter of animals and fish, he always had the same thought: in their behavior toward creatures, all men were Nazis. The smugness with which man could do with other species as he pleased exemplified the most extreme racist theories, the principle that might is right."

All these for the P29 I paid for the secondhand book by the first-rate author. In a country where no one is really functionally educated, masterpieces languish while silly novels like Harry Potter and Twilight sell by the millions. Well, this planet has always been regulated by the lowest denominator in terms of intelligence and ethics, so the slaughter continues.

"...
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity."
..."
-- The Second Coming, W. B. Yeats


   

Isaac Bashevis Singer won the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1978

The Catbird Seat

Only those who have not experienced hostility can expect and grant kindness in this world.
-- William the Henry

 

Nature is inherently benevolent: It is cruelty that is learned. 

Trisha's painting

I made a wish-ko-lang stamp of this painting by 13-year-old Filipina Trisha Co Reyes. The painting is her entry to the International Children’s Painting Competition on the Environment 2011. The competition had four million entries from 99 countries. Trisha won. We need more Pinoys like Trisha than the imbeciles occupying Malacanang.


See http://www.philstar.com/Article.aspx?articleId=734584&publicationSubCategoryId=200

Salome

Si Salome, kasintahan ni Elias, ay nawala sa “Noli Me Tangere” nang kaltasin ni Rizal ang kabanatang saan siya binigyang buhay. Mababasa ang detalya tungkol sa nawawalang kabanata at ang kabanatang “Elias at Salome” mismo sa http://tl.wikipedia.org/wiki/Elias_at_Salome#Tingnan_din

Una kong nabasa itong obra ni Ms Joi Barrios tungkol kay Salome nu'ng 1991,
at hanggang ngayon ay matindi pa ang hatak nito sa akin. Lumukso ang aking
puso nang bigyan ako ng permiso ni Ms. Barrios na ilagay ang tula niya dito sa
aking blog. Na-contact ko siya sa http://joibarrios.blogspot.com/

Kay Salome, ang tauhang hindi napabilang
sa “Noli Me Tangere”

Ni Joi Barrios


Lagi na’y nakaabang ka sa iyong durungawan
tuwing sumasapit ang dapithapon, Salome.
Waring ritwal ang laging pag-antabay
sa pagdating ng kaibigang tulisan.
Bago lumubog ang araw,
nakaupo ka na sa may pasimano,
inaabala ang kamay sa kung anong gawain,
habang ang mga mata ay nasa lawa,
tuwing makalawang sandali.

Ay, Salome.
Bawal sa mga babae ng iyong panahon
ang pamimintana.
Ito’y pahayag ng pag-anyaya,
parang kamison
na sumisilip sa balikat,
o sakong na dumudungaw
sa laylayan ng saya.

Ang pagtanaw sa lansangan
ay paghangad ng mga bagay
sa labas ng tahanan,
sa panahong and daigdig na babae
ay sala, silid, kusina
at ang tanging pangarap
na pinahihintulutan
ay maging asawa at ina.
Ang batas na ito ay eskapularyong
laging nakalapat sa dibdib
sa paggising at pagtulog
at pamaypay na lagi nang nagkukubli
sa iba pang lihim na hangarin
na maaaring mamutawi sa labi.

Ngunit lagi na’y nakaabang ka
sa iyong durungawan
tuwing sumasapit and dapithapon, Salome.
Kasinghaba ng buhok mong nakalugay
ang paghihintay.
Nakikipagkaibigan ka sa pagkainip
sa bawat hiblang sinusuklay.
Habang inaalo,
ang pusong nagpasyang magmahal
sa isang lalaking walang maipapangakong
singsing, tahanan o mga supling.

Kasingtalim ng munting karayom
na gamit sa pagsusulsi
ang takot na kumukurot sa puso
tuwing kumakagat ang dilim
at wala pang bangkang tumatawid sa lawa.
Nakikipagtalo ka sa pangamba
pagkat ang isipan
ay patuloy sa paghabi
ng kung anong masamang pangyayaring
maaaring maganap sa kaibigan.

Habang inaalo,
muli at muling inaalo,
ang pusong nagpasyang magmahal
sa isang tulisang laging hinihiram
sa kanyang digmaang ipinapaglaban.

Ay, Salome.
Kinakailangan mong mamuhay at magmahal
nang higit sa iyong panahon.
Kaya’t binuksan mo ang durungawang
ipinipinid ng iba.
Sinukat mo ang pag-ibig
hindi sa pamamagitan ng kasal
na may basbas ng langit
kundi ng pag-iisang dibdib
na binibigyang katuparan
ng pagniniig ng puso at diwa
at dugo at laman dito sa lupa.
Nangahas kang bigyan ng kahulugan
ang mga salitang
pag-ibig, tahanan, pagkababae.

Kaya’t wala ka man sa mga pahina
ng nobelang dinakila,
hindi man ikaw
ang tinanghal na halimbawa
sa mga dalaga ng iyong lahi,
lalagi ka sa aming alaala.
naghihiwalay sa atin
ang iisang pangarap:
ang makamit ang kalayaang magtakda
ng sariling buhay
sa anumang panahon.


Ang "Salome..." ay isa sa mga tula sa libro ni Joi Barrios, Ang Pagiging Babae Ay Pamumuhay Sa Panahon Ng Digma.

What the '60s had that we don't have

The 1960s did not have the fast-paced technology we have; but they had resources for fun that we don't have now. This video shows an era gone but ever relevant.

What do we have that the '60s did not? More worries.

Don't Worry, Baby

Well it's been building up inside of me
For oh I don't know how long.
I don't know why
But I keep thinking
Something's bound to go wrong.

But she looks in my eyes
And makes me realize
And she says, Don't worry baby
Don't worry, baby,
Don't worry, baby,
Everything will turn out alright.

Don't worry, baby
Don't worry, baby
Don't worry, baby.

I guess I should've kept my mouth shut
When I started to brag about my car.
But I can't back down now because
I pushed the other guys too far.

She makes me come alive
And makes me wanna drive
When she says, Don't worry, baby
Don't worry, baby,
Don't worry, baby,
Everything will turn out alright.

Don't worry, baby
Don't worry, baby
Don't worry, baby.

She told me, Baby, when you race today
Just take along my love with you.
And if you knew how much I loved you
Baby, nothing could go wrong with you.

Oh, what she does to me
When she makes love to me
And she says, Don't worry baby
Don't worry, baby,
Don't worry, baby,
Everything will turn out alright.

Don't worry, baby,
Don't worry, baby,
Don't worry, baby.

For more, go to http://www.musicbabylon.com/artist/never_been_kissed_soundtrack/never_been_kissed/226889-the_beach_boys_dont_worry_baby-lyrics.htm

What's the name of the song?

The tune for this Sony Cybershot T700 ad, very catchy and full of joy, has been spreading silently among thousands who had seen it. iTune and other websites are being searched for the elusive title of the song. It took a lot of trial and errors to even find this ad spot in YouTube. Enjoy and, if you know the title of the tune, please let me and thousands of others know. The main vocal, I learned, was sung by Jazz singer Emma Pask.


More about Emma Pask at http://www.youtube.com/results?search_type=&search_query=emma+pask

I Got Caught Dancing Again

I remember being grabbed by this song when I first heard it in 1974. When I play it today, anyone listening invariably likes it, and sometimes ask me to play it again and again. It's what I call a lifetime favorite.

Long Ago and Far Away

Here's another oldie that sits forever in my memory. I think it's time to blog and share this one to people who have missed the 1970s, when we thought great songs by great talents would always exist. Not so.



Long Ago and Far Away

Long ago a young man sits and plays his waiting game,
But things are not the same it seems as in such tender dreams.
Slowly passing sailing ships and sunday afternoon,
Like people on the moon I see, are things not meant to be.

Where do those golden rainbows end?
Why is this song so sad?
Dreaming the dreams I've dreamed my friend,
Loving the love I love.

To love is just a word I've heard, when things are being said:
Stories my poor head has told me, cannot stand the cold.
And in between what might have been, and what has come to pass,
A misbegotten guess, alas, and bits of broken glass.

Where do your golden rainbows end?
Why is this song I sing so sad?
Dreaming the dreams I dream my friend,
Loving the love I love to love, to love, to love...

Dialectics

It's only words,
And words are all I have
To take your heart away.
-- Bee Gees

We have books, we have diplomas, but are we literate?

Serendipity. 

In the last two weeks I've been fascinated by a channel in cable TV showing some Chinese telenovelas, of which some use the dialect of Fookien -- now Fujian or Fukien -- the province of my forebears. Then I received an email concerning the extinction of some indigenous dialects in Taiwan, claiming that the result may enervate its people and culture. People can sometimes push specialization to absurd proportions.

The main language in Taiwan, a politically detached province of China, is Mandarin, the most widely written and spoken language in the world, through sheer weight of population, not choice. Anyway, why lament over the loss of little known dialects in Taiwan or elsewhere? I don't see the impact on us of the loss of Incan language or Mayan dialects, of sanskrit, or even the dying gasps of Latin. Our ignorance of Itawis or Ibanag here does not faze us.

I am pure Chinese by birth, Filipino by naturalization and inclination. My elementary and high school education consisted of English from 7 a.m. to noon and Chinese from 1 p.m. to 5 p.m. Filipino teachers taught us in the morning, Chinese old maids, mostly, grumbled and yakked at us all afternoon. I still remember the admonition of one Chinese teacher in Math class: "A language which cannot express itself completely in Math, Science, Arts or Medicine is not fit for survival in the international community."

Obviously he was referring to Tagalog or, in a wider aspect, what we call Filipino. It was a dialect promoted to language status because a nation must have one. Spanish-speaking oldsters were dying then, and the postwar generation was rebelling against the other colonial tongue, English.

Will Tagalog or Filipino fill the requisites? Let us see. Tatsulok, in love affairs or in Trigonometry, is acceptable, but what about the triangle's component sides -- opposite, adjacent, hypotenuse? Baligtad (alternate spelling: baliktad), katabi (kasiping? for adulterers), dayagonal (the UP method of dealing with words not found in vernacular dictionaries)? 

Radyo and robot are easily absorbed now; we can only joke about such words in the '70s. We came up with bahag-ari = briefs, salungguhit = panties, so on. I will rush by the words aneurysm, thrombosis, spleen and other medical terms. Filipino, with a mixture of Taglish and Englog, is a language, so far as international opinion is concerned; however, I don't foresee foreigners learning Tagalog like we take the initiative to speak and write Nippongo, Arabic, Chinese, or even Korean -- mainly for the sake of earning yens, dinars, yuan and won.

Latin died after the Roman Empire declined and eventually shrunk to boot-shaped Italy; the ancient language is being resuscitated a la Lazarus by tiny Vatican within its boundary. 
Latin nowadays is considered a mark of esoteric learning. Nevertheless, Rome and its residents are still convivial companies.

The language of Greece remains Greek to me -- a pun -- and in modern times its financial troubles are as vast as their erstwhile culture. The British lost control where their sun should set and rise after World War II, but English thrives -- because the Americans replaced them. American English, which I use, reigns over English English. Through these upheavals, dialects among conquered and liberated territories were bred, mixed, and died.

Take capampangan, which I use with cabalens. A Pampango from urban Angeles may find the intonation of a provincemate from, say, Macabebe or Sexmoan (love that name!) a bit harsh to the ear. Residents in some parts of Pampanga aspirate their "h" while some of us are teased for losing the letter when we talk -- the 'Enry 'Iggins syndrome, I call it. However, I cannot shake off the belief that capampangan is not a dialect that flows mellifluously: The Pampango poetry I read so far grates on the ears and senses. Maybe it's the writers, not the dialect; for I believe that every means of communication have the innate potential for verbal artistry.

The Fookien dialect of the Chinese in Manila is a cultivated singsong compared to the heavy accents of those living in distant provinces -- here and in China. Characters on the TV shows I mentioned also stress their words differently; their sppeches sound harsh to me. Chinese in different parts of the world adopt the characteristics convivial to the culture where they are immersed. This applies to all nationalities, languages, dialects, slangs, idioms, even pictographs and spelling. I need not go further than the difference in the English spelling of, say, "theater" in England and "theater" in the United States; in the usage of "elevator" and "trunk" in the US vis-a-vis "lift" and "boot" in UK. 

Languages have subspecies, variants and mutations too, words within words. I admire the Tagalog usage of those who reside in Batangas, Bulacan, Quezon ang Lucena provinces for enriching our vocabulary, though I cannot swallow the shallow ideas behind the work of Balagtas. Only teachers can appreciate him. We do not lose anything if we don't read his Florante at Laura or Jose dela Cruz's Ibong Adarna. I think I learned more and had fun with Pugad Baboy and Kiko Machine.

Thousands and thousands of dialects are born to die, like millions of animal, horticultural, ornithological, ichthyological and other sort of species exist and die, most unknown, unseen, and unlamented. Language is a living and constantly evolving organism, and, as with the creations of this world, there is a time to live and a time to die. In the long run, I will not lose sleep over dialects.