Filipino Literature (A Reflection Essay on Fr. Miguel Bernad's 'Philippine Literature, Inchoate')

My search for a corner in this universe brought me, among many places, to words. I am myself among conversations, stories, peoms and people. In response to this given opportunity towards purpose, I involve myself in literature.
This scenario opens a dilemma. I am in a culture that is academically promoted in English, nationally projected in Filipino and locally lives in Bisayan (or the other native dialects). Furthermore, Philippine soil isn't friendy to the art of words. It is overtly criticized and underappreciated. Thus the question, 'Why involve myself in Philippine Literature.'
This country is poor. Majority of its people are poor. These facts precipitate in non-involvement towards the development of culture. This cause and effect picture is very much valid. Survival comes before aesthetics.
Yet, this picture isn't one sided. It has hope. Those who have the privilege of good deucation could elevate the reality of povety in this country. Those who experience this poverty could grapple against the monotony of their being poor. This task is massive. The mere thought of the possibility can exhaust those who could initiate and develop change. It is in this angle that literature comes in. Literature exposes, inspires and encourages. The Filipino poverty is a story. Within this story is a theme that gives hope. The promise of this theme moves people to continue.
Art doesn't diminish in essence when applied in varied froms. Inspiration is both a want and a need. A writer produces literature according to inspiration. A Filipino writer may choose to express himsef in English if he wants to project himself to the world. He may choose Filipino to identify himself as a citizen of his country. He may write in his dialet to offer that comprehension and nostalgia, which no other tongue could give.
Does this diversity make one superior to the rest? As an art, a story remains true to itself in spite of what medium it takes to be expressed. An English, Filipino or Bisayan story is the story of the Filipino. So as long as a writer is read by his brothers and sisters, the value of the spirit of his work will live on, will extend and will develop.
To write is a choice. Criticism and lack of monetary compensation may dampen enthusiam towards writing. This is true in the Philippine context. A writer in this country is poor. Yet, despite this reality, our artists still produce the fine craft of Filipino prose and poety. It takes choosing in order to write. Fortunately, a lot choose to do so.
Why involve myself in Filipino Literature?
This country deserves literature. It has a story to tell. It has a people to hear these stories. It has storytellers who do not cease to share their craft. So as long as a Filipino will pick up a paper to read, Filipino literature will survive. It may remain inferior to the ethnocentric mind of te West, but it will be our story.
I have the desire and the need to wrote. I have no other means, but to write as a Filipino.

johnmarc

Samahan mo 'ko sa 'king kapangahasan

Samahan mo 'ko sa 'king kapangahasan.
Sabay nating nakawin ang oras
upang malasing tayo sa walang hanggan-
ng inangkin nating mga bituin't rosas.

Kahit ngayon lang, sa aulok nitong kalawakan,
tayo'y maging tangi nitong laman.

Paglaruan moi 'ko sa 'ting paghiga sa damohan.
Sa pagod, ang ating mga mata, masaya nating saktan
sa pagdapo ng walang humpay na ulan.
Yakapin natin sa isa pang init and ating panginginig-
Hawakan natin, ating mga kamay sa nanunuot na lamig.

Kahit ngayon lang, sa tabi ng basa kong katawan,
angkinin natin and ngiti ng liwanag at kadiliman.

Dalhin mo 'ko sa tabi ng ilog .
Sabay tayong matakot sa pagragasa ng agos,
gumuhit na lamang sa putik ng nagagandahang bilog.
Sa uling tawag ng tubig,
Itapon natin, ating mga saplot at ating lusungin
and sarap, panganib at lamig
at sa kalayaan ng tawanan, walang patid nating languyin
ang bawat sulok na ating naisin.

Oras na, sa pagod, tayo'y lumubog
Yayakapin kita't masayang lisan 'tong ilog.

johnmarc

Let me Cry for Just a Minute or Two

Let me cry for just a minute or two
for I have gathered my trembling
to the rise and fall of your panting,
where in the warmth of breathing
I breathe from you- as you from me, too.

Let me strip you in your nakedness
for I have seen your eyes close,
branding, refusing what you chose
to see as rough, in that pose
where I am reduced to the joy of blindness.

Let me travel to every moist part of you
for I have no other way
of claiming the skin and the you that lay
under the sheet of my moisture that, alone, may
enter, skin and I, into you.

Let me whisper the softness of this urgency
for I am about to expire in exhaustion.
You've tasted, felt and smelled every portion
of my body- as I to yours in our holy fusion.
Let us cry for- broken, we now have us.

johnmarc
published: Veritas Literary Folio 2007

Soliloquy

You don't like the rain?
Each second under it,
celebrating freedom
embraced by beauty,
you delight in that.

Your words,
Why not utter your heart?

You don't like the rain.
Every drop will engulf her
permit cold into her.
Ask,
'Are you cold?'

What you say.
Why not your whole being?

You don't like the rain?
Yes, under it
you were silent,
you never really spoke.

johnmarc
published: Veritas Literary Folio 2006

Taghoy sa Ulan

Ang aking ulan, huwag mong kunin sa akin.
Mga maliliit kong kaligayahan,
binaba, konting haplos man lang ay
maangkin
mula sa bulag na pag-asa ng ulan.

Sa 'ting laro, halakhak mo'y bihag ako.
Mga walang hanggang sayawan sa sulok,
hinubaran kabuohan ko't pinako
sa tamis ng mga kasiyahang bulok.

Sa gitna ng mga sinungaling halik,
ako'y nalinlang, hinalikan kang tunay.
Sa hinihigaang damo'y di bumalik.
Dala mong ulan. Nilubayan ng kulay.

Nanlalamig, hubo't basa kong katawan.
Tinitignan ngayo'y madilim na langit,
mag-isang nilalalsap, ayaw kong ulan.
Ang ulang tabi kita, nais kong higit.

johnmarc
published: Veritas Literary Folio 2006

I Woke Up Last Night

I stepped outside
last night
looking for a glimpse
of light
within my absent
you-sight.
Crying, seeing the
world's right.

What expectation
I held,
t'was only a moon
that weld
the warring light
and darkness-
reflecting my fiend
fullness.

At that moment, I
doubted
My self-defiance.
Branded
as I was. I could
not shed
I-worth to that...you
extend.
Lone, once more, outside
I cried.

It took your sent clouds
for me
to wake at your claimed
pure glee
and happy was I
to see
the moon that was and
will be

'Cause it was I, that
you smiled
at. And it was to
your chide
soporific, I,
a child,
stepped inside, and once
more... slept.

johnmarc

Mga Sinulatan Sa Usa Ka Tawo

Ang arte sa letra maoy mipili kanako sukad pa sa akong pagkabata. Mahinumduman pa nako ang mga mahilom nga mga hapon didto sa Datu Odin Sinuat, Cotabato City kung asa magalingkod ako sa gamay nga lingkuranan sa kuwrato sa akong amahan para magsulat ug mga istorya nga lipay kong gaipabasa sa akong mga ginikanan matag-gabii. Kining hilig sa Literatura wala gayud mubiya kanako hangtud sa akong pagpili ug kurso nga siya muhulma sa akong kaugmaon.
Ang 'Mga Sinulatan Sa Usa Ka Tawo' lipon sa mga nangahimo nga mga istorya ug balak sa usa ka tawong nagahatag us dakung respeto sa gahum sa mga letra nga siya gaingon sa mga kalipay, kasakit ug kaordinaryo sa kinabuhi sa tawo.
Unta sa matag-tanaw ninyo sa akong mga binuhat, makamtan nato ang kausa sa atong pagkatawo.