Init ng Halik, Nicolas B. Pichay

I noticed that someone went searching on my blog for "Init ng Halik, Vim Nadera".  First off, Init ng Halik is not by Nadera but by Nicolas B. Pichay.  Second, this is actually part of a libretto for Pusong Wagas, an all-original contemporary ballet from the Ballet Philippines.  Taken from the Philippine Star (click on this link for complete article):  Set in pre-colonial Manila, Pusong Wagas highlights the exemplary love of Luyong, a gifted carpenter, and Manda, a tribal princess, and their sacrifice in the face of the coming foreign invaders.  


Init ng Halik
(from the Libretto of Pusong Wagas by Nicolas B. Pichay, music by Cynthia Alexander)

Araw-araw, sa lilim ng sanga
Kay lawak ng gubat sa aking mga mata.
Paggising sa umaga, paligid humihinga
Tumitibok, lumilingkis, namumunga.

Ang buhay na payak, aking ninanais.
Umiiwas sa lahat, di naghahanap ng labis.
Pero sa gabi, gumagapang ang lumbay
Sa buong gubat ako lang ang sablay.

Paroo’t parito ang mga paru-paro
Nanghahalina ang mga bulaklak
Sumisitsit ang mga kuliglig
Ang lupang darang, nangangailangan ng dilig.

Alagang punong-kahoy, sa kamay tumatamis
Makatas ang bunga, walang kahati
Buhay na payak, aking ninanais
Mabasag man lang minsan, sa pagdalaw ng kapangis.

Mag-alaga ng buhay, yan ang turo ni Bathala
Halaman, hayop, kapwa.
Ituro mo ang tanim na may samyo ng lambing
At didiligan ko nang walang mintis.

Alagang punong-kahoy, sa kamay tumatamis
Makatas ang bunga, walang kahati
Buhay na payak, aking ninanais
Mabasag man lang minsan, sa pagdalaw ng kapangis.

Ipakilala mo siya, aking Bathala
Ang kahati ng aking buhay
Ang buwan sa aking araw, ang dilig sa aking darang
Kaputol ng hininga. Tanging pagsinta.

At biglang buhay ko’y lalawak sa dalawa
Ang mga araw mamumunga ng wagas
Kamay sa kamay, labi mo sa labi ko
Init ng halik. Init ng halik.


Warmth of Your Kiss
The forest as far as I can see.
Everyday, under the branches
In the morning, everything breathes
Pulsing, entangling,

A simple life, I crave
Avoiding others, not looking for Excess
But at night, loneliness joins me
In the forest, no one is beside me.

The dry earth needs rain.

The hard trees sweeten to my touch
The fruit plump, no one to share
I hope it shatters,
This simple life I crave
come my other half.


Cynthia sang this during her 19 East send-off.  It was a spontaneous request, not included in the original set list.  THAT actually made the moment more special -- it was my most favorite portion of that beautiful, beautiful BEAUTIFUL night.   (Yes yes yes, I'll upload the videos soon.)  Click on this link for Nicolas B. Pichay's own blog entry about Pusong Wagas.

The Riddle (Part 1 of a long draft)

Part 1: The Riddle

There was a quickening, like when birds land

On a soft branch, and the tree tickled, hastens a blush

Through leaves dancing suffused with the richness of rain

A quickening, my blood feeling as if thunder is

Caught in its current, small explosions of a boiling so

Thick I need to hold on to a post that is not there

My hands catching air, hot, wet, particles from the belly

Of huge machines that huff and puff and blow the clouds away

There was a quickening, like when you stare at

Something so bright for so long, pain shoots up like

A bullet, up through that tender spot in your brain

Causing a bursting forth of colours in psychedelic proportions

As if you’re dead but not really dead

A quickening, a precipitation of tremulous sweat, heart-stops,

Eye-pops, soft mind-booms, rapid fire-breath overlapping

Enfant terrible and sprite, hellion and luminary

A hastening of masks, one after the other

As if I was there, when I was not

As if I was absent, but in truth

I was

I am

Everywhere.

Coz life's a raw ghetto dream ...

Untitled. Rhyming exercise.

And you’re swaggin’ like a mofo

With all those paint on your torso

Even with all that shit ya still a so-so

Your dipstick hangin’ like a broncho’s

So quit fuckin’ yappin’ at me ya’ bozo

I’d rather catch a sniff & fly with my dodo

Even ride the night train with a hobo

And frenchkiss him under a mistletoe

So ya gotta stop trippin’ me like a yoyo

I ain’t all love & peace & boho

Beat you up & dump ya ass on a rickshaw

You ain’t ever tastin’ my shiznits you junko!

Integrity (Adrienne Rich)
      the quality of being complete; unbroken condition; entirety ~ Webster

A wild patience has taken me this far


as if I had to bring to shore
a boat with a spasmodic outboard motor
old sweaters, nets, spray-mottled books
tossed in the prow
some kind of sun burning my shoulder-blades.
Splashing the oarlocks. Burning through.
Your fore-arms can get scalded, licked with pain
in a sun blotted like unspoken anger
behind a casual mist.

The length of daylight
this far north, in this
forty-ninth year of my life
is critical.

The light is critical: of me, of this 
long-dreamed, involuntary landing 
on the arm of an inland sea.
The glitter of the shoal
depleting into shadow
I recognize: the stand of pines
violet-black really, green in the old postcard
but really I have nothing but myself 
to go by; nothing 
stands in the realm of pure necessity 
except what my hands can hold.

Nothing but myself? ... My selves. 
After so long, this answer. 
As if I had always known 
I steer the boat in, simply.
The motor dying on the pebbles
cicadas taking up the hum
dropped in the silence.

Anger and tenderness: my selves. 
And now I can believe they breathe in me 
as angels, not polarities. 
Anger and tenderness: the spider's genius 
to spin and weave in the same action 
from her own body, anywhere -- 
even from a broken web.

The cabin in the stand of pines
is still for sale. I know this. Know the print
of the last foot, the hand that slammed and locked the door,
then stopped to wreathe the rain-smashed clematis
back on the trellis
for no one's sake except its own.
I know the chart nailed to the wallboards
the icy kettle squatting on the burner.
The hands that hammered in those nails 
emptied that kettle one last time 
are these two hands
and they have caught the baby leaping
from between trembling legs
and they have worked the vacuum aspirator
and stroked the sweated temples
and steered the boat there through this hot 
misblotted sunlight, critical light 
imperceptibly scalding 
the skin these hands will also salve.

Another version 1 of something ...

I, Ariadne, You, Minotaur

Attempting to read you, and I’m in a minefield
my teeth chattering against the pin of a hand grenade
you placed in my mouth
you said “I wonder, I wonder how beautiful
it would be to see you explode,
explode like a star, every little bit of you sparkling,
stunning, one last spark, shining so fiercely
weaving one last desperate flight for light
dancing your one last arabesque for the night
and finally fading, fading loudly
violently, until you’ve spent all your fire
all that exquisite pitiful thread of life
until a whimper, a whisper,
fading into nothing.”

I finally see you
Minotaur of my dark dreams
savage beast, monster, eater of flesh
and yet you seek not to devour me
only wishing for my death to shower you with
light and beauty, things that are forbidden to you
because they say, you must remain
the horrible legend that you are.
But I, Ariadne, is nobody’s goddess bride nor prize
I, Ariadne, slayer of might and false light, will rise
Towering with you, a mammoth monstrous swelling
shaking the truth out of their sham fables,
destroying, dismantling, the vulnerable I, the savage you.

Come, it’s time to weave our own labyrinth.
A labyrinth both forgiving and unforgiving
merciful and merciless, terrible and beguiling
soothing and horrid, a mirror of everything and nothing.
I, Ariadne, You, Minotaur.
In our own terms, In our own time.

WTF Is A Glocky Kanurd?

*For my crazy-beautiful lulubelles/boozelab/alak pa friends*

A Drunken Musing peppered with bits of Victorian Slang

oh my bonny winkles, my sweet toffs!
off your cribs and on your gallies
no time to cagg, come be lush
raise your toosh off the doss
hasten to the bubbling night, no time to blush
pocket a finny to buy us some scran,
some mecks or some shandy gaff
no room for square-rigged moochers
but plenty of laughs for a slang cove in whistle and flute
glocky kanurds, chaunting and ran-tan
so hearken hearken
oh my bonny winkles, my sweet toffs!
no hush, oh slush,
Out-dance the sunlight blithe!

----------

Here's a line by line translation:
oh my beautiful girls and boys
get out of your house, put on your boots
no time to abstain from alcohol, come be the spirit of alcohol
get your ass off its resting place
hasten to the bubbling night, no time to blush *(i didn't need to translate that right?)*
pocket some money to buy us some food
some wine, some beer & gin
no room for square/proper behavior
but plenty of laughs for funny showmen in suits,
half-witted drunks, loudly singing, roaring drunks
so hear me hear me,
oh my beautiful girls and boys,
no to silence, oh icy silence
Let's out-dance even the cheerful sun!