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.