Hagbayon

Just arrived from a
visit to Cavite and Metro-Manila. I came to check on my uncle and
cousin in Imus and send-off my cousin Tots, a seafarer, to his ship in
Europe. I also visited writer-friends, and more importantly, my Esmi.
It was also a chance for me to check out the Cinemalaya 2007 at the Cultural Center of the Philippines.
I was also there to buy new DVD for our videoke and battery for our
Sharp camera phone and open the line of the LG camera phone of my aunt.

Although I have
stayed for a long time in Manila, it is still easy for me to get
disoriented in its complicated gridlock of traffic and pollution. I
have been living here in Bicol for quite sometime. And here, almost
always, I just walk my way and get to places. There, moving about can
get really expensive. You will need food and transportation allowance.
And soon enough, there is a risk that a friend might just stick a knife
or gun unto you and ask for money.

Thankfully, I was able to negotiate my way around the place. First stop was the Mall of Asia
where we ate and roamed around. It was there where I was able to open
the line of my aunt’s LG camera phone. You see, it was sent to us
(along with my Nokia) by my cousin Anne from the United States. I could
not find an able technician here in Bicol but there, it took them only
about 15 minutes to finish the job.

I also attended a lecture on digital engineering by George Palmer,
an American, right there at the CCP as part of the Cinemalaya festival.
He focused on the duties of a digital engineer as tech support during
filmmaking. It was well-attended by cinematographers, writers and
producers. By the look of things, digital films will not only be the
way to go for indie filmmakers, I think it’s also the way of the
future. The lecture was made possible by Sony.

Afterwards, I went to
my girlfriend’s office in Makati. While waiting for her, I found this
decent but cheap restaurant where they serve beer. It was just in front
of their building. Next thing I knew, I was already gulping a couple of
San Mig light. I was thirsty, Makati disoriented me again that I almost
got lost. The smell of beer annoyed her to no end as we were to watch Harry Potter in a nearby cinema. Lesson learned: Esmi first before beer.

Meeting with poet Cirilo F. Bautista has been part of my Manila tradition. And so there I was, along with Pangasinense writer-friend Sonny Villafania
at Burger King-Kanlaon waiting for the Master. He did arrive shortly
with his usual blue Honda CRV and treated us for merienda, big burgers
and coffee. We talked about our projects and the writing life. It was
cool that he shared anecdotes about himself and other writers. Did you
know that he keeps his trophies and awards in their upper and lower
comfort rooms? And that he is allergic to beer? His father used to
scold him thinking that the he was drunk just because the allergic
reaction caused skin rashes and redness.

As usual, the Master
gave us lots of books. Perhaps those stuffs were sent to him as
complimentary copies from publishers so that he can write about it in
his Breaking Signs column in Philippine Panorama. Too bad I forgot Pili
nuts, he wanted some. He also expressed disappointment because I forgot
to greet him on his birthday. He never fails to greet me whenever I
celebrate mine.

We stayed in there
for about three hours, just talking about literature. It is no secret
that our group nominated him for National Artist, and we will repeat
the process. Far from being a recluse, Cirilo F. Bautista loves to talk
about writing in front of younger writers. He also goes out often,
perhaps observing people at the marketplace. It is a known fact that he
is the household cook and gardener.

But above all, it was
my Esmi that I missed the most. And so I spent more time with her. A
writer cannot live without a muse, and I have found mine.

http://www.hagbayon.wordpress.com

Tinkling rimes and syllables will resound with staccato beats of rain as the Lolo’s Bar hosts this month’s OragonRepublic.Com Writer’s Night on Thursday, July 19 at 6pm. Bikol poets reeking with alcoholic tigsik and rawitdawit
will once again strut their wares, claiming their rightful place at the
center of Naga City’s club scene, the Avenue Square, along Magsaysay
Road.

Set to perform are among the finest voices of Bikol literature such as Frank Peñones Jr., Kristian Cordero, Rizaldy Manrique,
Sonny Sendon, Jocelyn Bisuña, Carlo Arejola, Honesto Pesimo, Estelito
Jacob, Araceli Delgado, Dennis Gonzaga, Edgar Ramores, Aida Cirujales,
Issa Casillan, Ramon Olaño and Gerry Rubio. Walk-in participants are
also encouraged to come up and share their poems or music during the
open-mike portion.

The rawitdawit
is primordially an oral art and must be delivered in ether. We know
this even from the ‘Sompongan’ days of the earlier Bikol poets. That is
why OragonRepublic.Com is seeking to bring back the poet-audience
dialectic as an important modality in espousing literary culture in the
region.

The event is organized by Fer Basbas, Sheila Basbas and Jose Jason L. Chancoco. For more information please visit http://www.oragonrepublic.com

http://www.hagbayon.wordpress.com

Our words are weapon: This is an adage that every
writer has to forge with fire, leaving an imprint right into his or her
heart. It is a primal wisdom inherited from the earliest scribes, even
from the most honorable of minstrels and bards. It is one thing to cast
words into stone, but mouthing the language of the eternal wind is
quite another. It is like co-writing the story of the universe. That is
why languages, regardless of race, faithfully capture the sound of its
geography, recording the memory of its culture and people. In essence,
every word is simply a human attempt to encasque meaning into the
limited modality of syllables and phonetics. All language therefore is
poetic.

The poet then is the legislator of the human
experience. He must be honorable, honest and incorruptible. He says
what cannot be said and unsays what is deemed commonplace in the
everyday interrogative relation between self and other, self and
nature. Some say that being called to be a poet is a malady and that
one must avoid it at all cost. This is not because poetry is filled
with suffering, no, but because its practitioners have great and
irreversible responsibility. A real poet cannot, in good conscience
just stop responding to the call of the muse or be absorbed by
bureaucracy and sell his or her honor and art.

When a poet becomes a liar, he/she digs his/her own grave. He/she ceases to become immortal and joins the lineage of the damned.