When a blurb is a poem is a blurb is a poem is a blurb

I wrote this blurb--which I also meant to be a poem--as my contribution to a book of blurbs. Yes, Angelo came up with a book concept wherein the entire book is made up of blurbs written about a book of blurbs. Neat-o. :)

The blurb/poem below--I am privileged to say--was accepted by Angelo as part of his book. I included this poem in my fourth book of poems, "Poisonostalgia", published by the University of the Philippines Press.


THE BLURB: ANGEL, OH

Losing it—the young woman was crying on the phone. She needed help. She wanted her blurb back. She was saving it. For the altar. For her husband. For the love of her life. She lost it, she said, on a drunken binge with friends. They all passed out naked in the motel room. She dreamed a stranger came and took her blurb. She had soaked the sheets by the time she got to the REM stage: next thing she knew upon waking—her blurb was gone. I was gripping the other end of the line, my legs crossed tightly, urgently needing to go—my own blurb was threatening to spill over and cream my jeans. I felt very sad and very anxious. Who will help this woman and those like her? Who will help me get away from her sorrow? Maybe her blurb is somewhere in this book, maybe Angelo Suarez took it, like a hairy tooth fairy, and he could return it, someday.

Shown in the photo is Palanca-winning poet Angelo Suarez. The photo accompanies his indignant, passionate rant against the MRT. To see the original photo, without the hearts, go to: https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10152013350696239&set=a.160132756238.117547.701371238&type=1

A Birthday Gift for Relly's Wife

As promised, here's another poem from my fourth book of poems, "Poisonostalgia."

One good thing about being able to write poetry is you can make one for a friend or loved one. It beats shopping, any day.  Here's one that I wrote as a birthday gift to journalist and poet Alma Anonas-Carpio:

BIRTHDAY SUIT

the nude. the hair. the crude

mount. none of them here--none

farm-bred. their domesticated cattle-

hood, though--well, that's as real

to her nostrils as the rich clump

of earth she remembers holding

in her tiny hand: memory or dream

or desire shed like

moist garments inside the opus dei

confessional--thus disrobed was she.

the priest on the other

side frozen but for a moment

before yelling holy hell for her

to get out. she was nakedly whispering

to him, "i'm the earth mother"

before slipping away.her fingers

flick the ashes of recall and

fantasy. she's going back later.

she's getting back, getting back

every bit fate snatched without

ceremony: the ailing husband

rescued. two daughters put

to school and sleep. the

slumber of a solid world

keeps her on toes' edge but

not for long. the train will

rumble her way shortly; metal

electric, for now, in this

century, so reliable.

it's a victory, by night, she will

see--in front of their

bedroom mirror--the nude,

the hair, the crude mount.

beauty that makes no sense but is kind.

the real life no confessional

pose like this will know. ever.

A nuptial ode from "Poisonostalgia"

As you may already know, my fourth book of poetry, Poisonostalgia, published by the University of the Philippines Press, was launched last April 4th at the UP Vargas Museum.

[To see a few photos from the book launching, go to the Inkcanto column here: http://www.interaksyon.com/lifestyle/inkcanto-poetry-healing-and-the-hell-that-is-our-mass-transport-system]

I'll be posting three poems from the book on this blog. So if they intrigue and interest you, you may feel an impulse to buy a book for yourself and a loved one. Don't fight that urge. Trust your instinct and your soul. (Hey, it works for me, so why not for you, too?)

The book is available at the UP Press Bookstore in UP Diliman. Since the book isn't in other bookstores yet, you can send me PM on Facebook for orders. The book is priced at P250 per copy.

Below is the poem, Epithalamium. The term, by the way, refers to a poem or song written to celebrate a marriage. It's a nuptial ode... although this poem is rather different from the usual ode. Will post the other two poems later tonight or tomorrow morning.

EPITHALAMIUM

The lives of saints, if she were like before, you know, Catholic—

Oh, let’s unpack this, sort it out. The lives of saints, why,

They could begin, or end, right here, in a cheap hotel

(“A walk-up, as opposed to a drive-in”, her former best

Boy college friend, ever with a touch of sleaze, told her.)

Just like this one. Their anniversary tonight, with her

Husband and the whole rigmarole of marital joys and slights.

Sleights of hand and hand jobs, she’d pun in her head. 

The wonderment

Over it all is particularly sharp, suddenly. He’s late.  And she’s

Here, waiting and asking the air why this poor room God

Knows they could afford a sex romp at a shiny boutique

Type place with more stars to its name and wait, she

Chuckles and surprises herself. “Sex romp” oh dear Lord,

Please, King David and his biblical balls what’s wrong

With her now?  The stitch of words has gone off to a scraggly

Ruinous run.  She’s more poet tonight, it seems, than Christian.

Then the knock on the door, as though the Savior or Bridegroom

Raps His knuckles on her heart.  Through the peephole, no, it’s

Not him, it’s the waiter.  The food he’s brought will grow cold,

She feels it.  Just leave it here, thank you, thank you. And every

Thing’s silent and unbroken again. No text messages, no phone call.

And she reasons there’s no need to be sore on suspicion. She’s

Too old for jealousy.  She’ll believe him, any day. Take it on faith.

The Lord is just. The Lord is love. The mind trots away, or bleats from

A ravine for the Shepherd: he’s with someone. Something in her bones

Knows. No. She knows nothing. He’s at his meeting like he said.

He’s with someone. Younger.  Fuller, more taut yet yielding flesh, skin

Scented with youth.  Black hair. Fair or brown skin?  Pink or brown

Nipples? “Get behind me,” she said. Spirit of despair, mean shade of

Fear:  in Jesus’ name Go. Go to hell. This, is hell. The torment of saints

Yet on earth. The glad reward still far off but seen, just at the horizon’s

Edge. She sits on the bed. Her hand slides along, rubs over the sheets.

Their son with his grandmamma. Probably asleep now. Probably going

To wake later from the recurrent bad dream. “Scary thoughts, Mama,”

He’d be saying. She has to go home. She’ll just up and leave. Damn

Him. Damn him for leaving her waiting. Unbalanced. Having to stay here

On faith alone.  “But that’s just it”, the small clear voice says, lonely it

Seems, in her ear. “Everything is faith. Everything.”  She feels her eyes

Close; the tears squeeze out.  Hurt wriggles in the sand of her heart:

That old desert serpent.  She hears the rain faintly. Oh these humble

Walls couldn’t even keep that sound out. He’ll be on the elevator

By God, by faith, he’ll be going up. He’s stepping out at this floor.

He’s walking with that tired gimp. Too much stress at the meeting.

The traffic. She sees his face. There’s too much love in that sight. Too

Much. She’ll open the door. She’ll smell his stiff, damp hair. It’s the

Rain. She’ll have to towel it off.  She’ll have to rest in the Lord, to

Love him with the love of the Lord. The smile is beginning to break

Out of her face. The wings of a holy dove are beating inside this

Cheap room with its old carpet caked with God knows what. The

Long years cry out like stones. Beating wings as sacred as her

Heart, this instant.  She startles.  The doorbell rings. 

(Photo re-posted from http://www.today.com/slideshow/today/bold-bridal-unique-wedding-gown-trends-4947956)

"POISONOSTALGIA" IS BEING LAUNCHED TODAY

Good day!!!

Later this evening I will be at the Vargas Museum of the University of the Philippines for the launching of my fourth book of poems called, "Poisonostalgia".  My book will be launched along with those of other authors by our publisher, the University of the Philippines Press.

I'm still migrating the contents of my older blogs (that I don't use anymore) into this one, so please excuse the dearth of content here.

In the next 48 hours there will be more to read here, as well as photos of the book launch later.

Please watch out for my reviews of the books, "Sound Before Water" by Jim Pascual Agustin, and "Burning Houses" by Mookie Lacuesta-Katigbak, which I will be uploading here. Hopefully those reviews will be uploaded by Sunday.

In the meantime, you can read shorter versions of those reviews at my column in Interaksyon.com at this link:

http://www.interaksyon.com/lifestyle/inkcanto-best-summer-books-2014-and-poems-to-read-on-the-beach-or-poolside

See you guys again!