Luggage by Rustum Casia

I remember the day you left.

We worked together, whole family,
to fill your luggage with hope.

It took three men to load it
into the rented jeep waiting outside.

That was how heavy it was.
A luggage-full of hope we packed.

The outlines of your children's feet
weren't even there yet.

Nor the pickled mangoes.
No space left.

But don't fret,
again, we will pack:

A country.

Not to receive your remains.
But to hand you

the outlines of your children's feet--
for shoes that you, yourself, will pick the color of,
that you, yourself, will lace on to their feet

when you come home

-Translated by Aris Remollino (with assistance from Rustum Casia, Emmanuel Halabaso, Pia Montalban, Orly Oboza, Gee Vargas Trio, Issa Purugganan, MJ Rafal, and Zen Remollino)

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Maleta
-Rustum Casia

Naalala ko yung araw na umalis ka.

Isang pamilya tayong nagtulong-tulong
punuin ng pag-asa ang iyong maleta.

Tatlong tao ang kinailangan para iakyat
sa naghihintay na inarkila nating jeep.

Ganun kabigat.
Ganun karami ang ating naempake.

Hindi pa kasama doon ang sukat ng paa
ng iyong mga anak.

Wala pa doon ang burong mangga.
Hindi na kasya.

Wag kang mag-alala.
Muli kaming mag-eempake:

Isang bansa.

Hindi para sunduin ang iyong bangkay.
Sa halip, aming ibibigay

ang sukat ng paa ng iyong anak-
para sa sapatos na ikaw mismo ang pipili ng kulay,
na ikaw mismo ang magsusuot at magsisintas

pag-uwi mo sa Pilipinas.

Tugon Kay Ginoong Liu Ya-Tzu ni Mao Zedong

Naaalala ko pa ang ininom nating tsaa sa Kwangchow,
At mga palitang-tula sa Chungking noong taglagas.
Matapos ang tatlumpung taon, nagbalik ako sa dating bayan,
At sa paghimlay ng tagsibol, sinalat ko ang nakinis mong mga talinhaga.
Kung lalabis ang pagdaramdam, umiwas sana sa pighati,
At lawakan mo ang nasasaklaw ng iyong mga mata.
Huwag mong sabihing mababaw lamang ang lawa ng Kunming.
Kung manonood ng mga isda, mas mainam dito kaysa Ilog Fuchun.

-Salin ni Aris Remollino
2012, Disyembre 24

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Reply to Mr. Liu Ya-Tzu
-Mao Zedong

I still remember our drinking tea in Kwangchow
And your asking for verses in Chungking as the leaves yellowed.
Back in the old capital after thirty-one years,
At the season of falling flowers I read your polished lines.
Beware of heartbreak with grievance overfull,
Range far your eye over long vistas.
Do not say the waters of Kunming Lake are too shallow,
For watching fish they are better than Fuchun River.

Ngayong Tila Akin Na ang Oras ni Patrizia Cavalli

Ngayong tila akin na ang oras
at wala nang nagyayaya sa akin para mananghalian o maghapunan;
ngayong malaya na akong tumigil at panoorin
kung paanong ang ulap ay nagpapakawala't nawawalan ng kulay
kung paanong ang pusa'y naglalakad sa bubungan
sa gitna ng masaganang pangangaso, ngayong
ang naghihintay na lamang sa akin sa araw-araw
ay ang walang hanggang hangganan ng isang gabi
na wala nang tumatawag at wala nang dahilan
na magmadaling maghubad at humimbing sa loob
ng nakaliliyong tamis ng isang katawang nag-aabang sa akin,
ngayong ang bawat umaga'y wala nang simula
at tahimik itong nagpapaubaya sa bawat balak ko,
sa bawat kumpas ng aking tinig, ngayon, bigla,
hinahanap ko ang bilangguan.

-Salin ni Aris Remollino
2015, Abril 7

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Now That Time Seems All Mine
-Patrizia Cavalli

Now that time seems all mine
and no one calls me for lunch or dinner,
now that I can stay to watch
how a cloud loosens and loses its colour.
how a cat walks on the roof,
in the immense luxury of a prowl, now
that what waits for me every day
is the unlimited length of night
where there is no call and no longer a reason
to undress in a hurry to rest inside
the blinding sweetness of a body that waits for me
now that the morning no longer has a beginning
and silently leaves me to my plans,
to all the cadences of my voice, now
suddenly I would like prison.

Cloudy Saturday* by Rustum Casia

Only my face fits this mirror.

I'll spend the whole afternoon
searching for my missing body
in the scattered laundry.

I wear my morning wrinkled and stained
with the traces of Yolanda's drenched feet.

-Translated by Aris Remollino
2015, April 7

*Originally published as Clouded Saturday

[An earlier version was originally published in Surges: Outpourings in Haiyan/Yolanda's Wake, San Jose Printing Press, 2013]

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Sabadong Makulimlim
-Rustum Casia

Mukha lang ang kasya sa salamin.

Maghapon kong hahanapin
ang nawawala kong katawan
sa nakasalansang labahin.

Gusot ang isusuot na umaga.
Basa at may mantsa ng mga paa ni Yolanda.

Landfall by Rustum Casia

I stared into the eye
of the taunting super-typhoon.

It would not meet my gaze.

-Translated by Aris Remollino
2013, November 24

[Originally published in Surges: Outpourings in Haiyan/Yolanda's Wake, San Jose Printing Press, 2013]

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 Landfall
-Rustum Casia

Tinitigan ko sa mata
ang naghahamong Super-Bagyo.

Wala itong mukhang maiharap sa akin.

Taklub* by Richard R. Gappi

There is a map of grief
in every gate.
On the door, like on eyelids,
there is a keen ray of light
a quiet visitor being admitted to a living room
that also serves as kitchen and bedroom.

On the surface of Cancabato,
a widow is fishing.

She stared at her father,
her sole remaining
family after Yolanda.
Her tears--bright as
fish dancing above water--
embroidered in the shelter
of a city once covered
in a surge of storms and endless rain.

-Translated by Aris Remollino
2014, November 2

*Taklub – cover

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Taklub
-Richard R. Gappi

May mapa ng dalamhati
ang bawat tarangkahan.
Ang pinto, tulad ng talukap,
ay may humihiwang sinag
tahimik na dalaw na pinapapasok sa sala
na tulugan din at kusina.

Ang nabalo, nasa rabaw
ng Cancabato, nangingisda.

Tinitigan niya ang Papa
na tanging natira na
kapamilya nang mag-Yolanda.
Magkasingkinang ang kanyang luha
at ang isdang pumupusag,
hinahayuma sa silong
ng lungsod minsang tinakluban
ng dulok at walang habas na ulan.#

-9:16am, Sabado, Nov. 1

Dulok - katumbas ng storm surge

The People of North Korea are Starving by Richard Gappi

The people of North Korea
are starving,
says the Western media.

But in the London Olympics,
North Korean Kim Un-Guk won
two gold medals
in the snatch and clean and jerk
weightlifting category.
But wait, he didn't just win;
he also scored
two new world records.

And the people of North Korea
are starving,
says the Western media.

-Translated by Aris Remollino
2012, July 31

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Nagugutom ang Mga Tao sa North Korea
-Richard R. Gappi

Nagugutom
ang mga tao sa North Korea,
sabi ng mga Kanluraning media.

Sa London Olympics,
napanalunan ni North Korean Kim Un-Guk
ang dalawang gintong medalya
sa snatch at clean and jerk
category ng weightlifting.
Ay, hindi lamang niya napanalunan
kundi naitala pa niya
ang dalawang bagong world record.

Nagugutom
ang mga tao sa North Korea,
sabi ng mga Kanluraning media. #

-Richard R. Gappi
10:17pm, Martes, July 31, 2012
Angono Tres-Siete (3/7) Poetry Society
Angono, Rizal, Pilipinas

Caveat by Richard R. Gappi

Raise your fists
grip your weapons
put your wide smiles into focus.

Widely
gushing
like a well of oil,

the good news
flows fluidly;

it runs

as far as the oily, gaping lips
of the pipes in Wall Street

in

New York.

They never settle;
just like a newly spilled bottletop
in Oktoberfest.

-Translated by Aris Remollino
2011, October 22

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Pasintabi
-Richard R. Gappi

Itaas ang kamay,
hawakan ang armas,
ipokus sa malapad na ngiti:

kasimbilog,
kasingbulwak
ng balon ng langis

ang dulas ng daloy
ng magandang balita;

umaagos

hanggang sa nagmamantikang nguso
ng tubo sa Wall Street

sa

New York.

Hindi magkamayaw.
Parang bagong bukas
na tansan sa Oktoberfest.#

-Richard R. Gappi
9:25PM, Huwebes, 20 October 2011
Angono 3/7 Poetry Society
Angono, Rizal, Pilipinas

Superfluous by Stum Casia

Perhaps Apo Laza
had not seen
Noynoy's
Ulat sa Bayan
in ULTRA.

Perhaps he had not
also heard
the opinion
of a political analyst,
that it was
still too early
to take measure
of the yet-blooming
administration.

Let us wait a while.

But he has had to wait
for so many decades.
Another day would make it
Much too long.

-Translated by Aris Remollino
2011

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Kalabisan
-Stum Casia

Hindi siguro napanood ni Apo Laza
ang Ulat sa Bayan ni Noynoy sa ULTRA.

Hindi nya rin siguro nadinig ang opinyon ng political analyst
na masyado pang maaga para sukatin
ang nagdadalagang administrasyon.

Mag-intay-intay pa.

Ilang dekada na ang inantay nya.

Masyado nang mahaba ang isang araw pa.

Letter to My Son by Axel Pinpin

Son, there is no one who will tell you stories this night,
you will twist and turn upon your bed, with no one beside you;
hug close a pillow I left behind, or place a leg upon it,
for I will also embrace you, here, where I have long been imprisoned.

Son, no one will prepare your breakfast for tomorrow,
you will wake up with no chocolates or pandesal to greet you;
use the cup I last made my coffee on,
for I will also eat with you, here, in the gloom of my prison cell.

Son, the house remains silent upon your return,
with a deafening loneliness cast upon our darkened room;
go play the music we last listened to, together,
for I also whistle it here, that tune we know and love.

Son, learn well the tales of solitude and aprrehension,
realize the hunger of the farmers I have fought for,
and study the music of struggle and liberation,
but always watch out for the ones who took your father away.

-Translated by Aris Remollino
2009

[Originally published in Tugmaang Matatabil: Selected Poems in Translation, Southern Voices Printing Press, 2009]

Why Do I Not Cry? by Axel Pinpin

Sir, why do you not cry?*
You have to release the tears,
for they could drift downstream
the ennui, the rage and anger,
the yearning.
In tears lie your salvation.

My tears have long dried out.
Now the blazing flames flow out through my once tearing eyes.
After all my pain and suffering are sparked by the thought
of faint cries of mothers driven from their lands,
robbed of their children, perhaps children robbed of their mothers;
or perhaps children stolen, away from the safety of their mother's wombs,
to have their corpses scattered
upon the land their mothers wish to protect.

Their cries, their tears, are enough.
It has already drowned this poem of mine.
Feel it in these mired words, these mired pages.
Now even tears of blood flow painfully,
when anger makes it flow, instead of despair

-Translated by Aris Remollino and Alexander Martin Remollino
2009

*Question to the poet by a French representative of the International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC), in an interview conducted in December 2006 as part of an ICRC program for visiting and therapy for political prisoners

[Originally published in Tugmaang Matatabil: Selected Poems in Translation, Southern Voices Printing Press, 2009]

The Fears of a Poet, Imprisoned and Unable to Write His Verse by Axel Pinpin

If a maker of verses exists only as a dream,
his imagery honed to the same ritual,
the fantasies of the thieving drowse and sleep are ever ready
to steal away the rawness of a readied thought,
the proximity of truth to the colors,
the dance,
the restive movements of rhyme,
the rhyming of the melodies.
The colors within his dreams, sing to him.

But a writer of verses exists not as a dream,
the poet awakens to his own--imprisoned,
                                                                                                         he struggles,
in hopes of escaping the shackles made of annoyance-boredom-heat
that tears away at the rationality of the spark and of the anger,
which finds its way to the truth inside the techniques,
                   the tactics,
                                counter-magics,
                                              the enchantments of his practice.
Practical are the geometries of his experiences.

-Translated by Aris Remollino
2009

[Originally published in Tugmaang Matatabil: Selected Poems in Translation, Southern Voices Printing Press, 2009]