Literary

HAVING been thrown in fine grain land,

I found a way to make a stand.

Mocking misdeeds to turn them right,

exposing evil starts a fight.

For home is not a place I’d hope,

to feel the deepest sense of mope.

I’m missing all those home-grown stars,

I pray that they are not on bars.

Expounding knowledge, pass it on,

for wits can topple brainless brawn.

We live in a congenial earth,

as we wait for a new world’s birth.

So soon I leave it all away,

to see again my love some day.

Another tear it lay upon,

Dapitan’s shore, stay strong, hang-on.

PROUD faces graze eager palms,

while a smile glimmers as one receives.

Behind these paper and metal symbols,

adorned stories of such great triumphs,

mark legends and icons that endow hope

to the country’s next generation.

And although such great tales

seem to be forgotten,

its worth knows no bounds

to someone who yearns wealth.

For the heads in a man’s pocket

reveal his past, present and future.

LITERATURE and its capacity for values-formation and character-building were the overriding theme of the first Milagros G. Tanlayco National Conference On Teaching Literature, an academic tribute to the well-loved Thomasian literature pedagogue who died on May 10, 2010.

The forum series was held at the Tanghalang Teresita Quirino of the UST Graduate School last May 9 to 10.

American Studies expert Oscar Campomanes said that “literature is not always considered valuable intellectually and institutionally, [but] it has an influence on ethical formation.”

HERE comes another dose of the “Word of the Lourd.”

But save yourself from the trouble of picking up the remote control and just sit comfortably, for this one comes in leaves of newsprint bound in an old rose cover with a photo of a fly manning a sketch of a vinyl turntable.

Insectissimo! (UST Publishing House, 2011) is the third poetry collection of Palanca winner, “multimedia rockstar”, and former Varsitarian writer Lourd Ernest H. De Veyra, a retreat to his first love amid a well-received television exposure in a thought-provoking news and public affairs segment.

De Veyra’s “project for the year” is a collection of 40 poems laid out at random, sprinkled with a musicality that shows the author’s persona.

“ Don’t worry, this won’t hurt a bit.”

That is what doctors usually say when they are about to inject someone, or do surgery. Dr. Guzman never told me anything like that, for my problem didn’t need any medicine—because there weren’t any.

It was one of those psychotherapy sessions that I dreaded most. Each session was a marking of my lunacy, so I tended to disagree to Dr. Guzman’s coaxing.

On one occasion, I even slammed my hand on his table, eventually scathing my palm with a spike receipt holder he used to pile his bills on. I often find myself triggered into a morbid trance like that one. For me, it was a regular thing, but for him it was an illness. Schizophrenia, he called it.

THOMASIAN passion for writing and teaching letters was the central theme of memorial lectures held in honor of two of the University’s celebrated literature pedagogues, Paz M. Latorena and Carolina Garcia.

Now on its third year, the Paz M. Latorena Lecture was held at the AMV-College of Accountancy Auditorium last February 2.

A project of the College of Hospitality and Management, this year’s lecture aimed at paying homage to the history of the University as well as to the many Thomasian writers who established a name for themselves in literature. The lecture started with an exhibit of paintings depicting the legacy of Latorena (born 1907) as interpreted by College of Fine Arts and Design students.

IT STOOD about 100 meters tall. Its features possessed Gothic-like attributes such as three-tier elevations, shafted piers, and flying buttresses. The doors were set into pointed arches. The large, central rose window had multi-colored glass panes. The inside, constituted of a longitudinal floor, was intersected at one end by a portion that ran in right angles to the long central part of the nave—like a Latin cross.

What birthday? Birthdays are for six-year-olds whose parents feel a happy obligation to bring sweet spaghetti and ice cream to the whole class. The 400th birthday is a lame phrase. The number beams with tectonic magnificence, conjuring images of monumental cliffs, mountain peaks vanishing in feathery clouds, the sun, the slow-dance to the rhythms of the geological clock. “Birthday” smacks of silly party hats and parlor games.

THE SLUMS may as well be the last place he wanted to be in. The stench of stagnant water and garbage brought an unpleasant welcome to the small community of scrap houses. Shanty people—men, women, and children dressed in tattered rags with black smudges from head to toe—watched the neatly-dressed stranger squeezing himself through the cramped path between the makeshift homes. As he went deeper into the shanties, he felt the residents’ hostile gaze. The smell of rotting garbage pointed to a creek at the end of the claustrophobic trail. Aside from the fact that the water wasn’t flowing at all and was trash lining the banks, dengue-carrying mosquitoes also buzzed around in swarms. Nevertheless, the children still chose to swim in the dirty water.

AN AUSTRALIAN writer once wrote that in order to have words in one’s funeral, one needs life in life. For the interment of renowned poetess and mentor Ophelia Alcantara Dimalanta, words came easy as people who loved her dearly remembered the vivacious character that she was.

On her last “homecoming” in the University, fellow writers and teachers gathered at the UST Santisimo Rosario Parish Church to share their memories of the Love Woman, as goes the title of one of her poetry collections.

Among the writers