In this nondescript section of Padre Faura St. in Malate, a plethora of worlds unfold in the books that line the shelves and stands inside literary titan F. Sionil Jose’s Solidaridad Bookshop the moment one steps in. The little shop’s significance in Philippine literary history immediately makes itself felt, swirling around each newcomer like a subtle drug that endows on the visitor a magnificent feeling. You wonder if all lairs of National Artists are like this: even the air has preserved pieces of national history so much so that you find yourself involuntarily breathing slowly, carefully, if you must be intoxicated into wonder.
The tinkling of small bells alert the lady at the counter to your entry. “I’m here for Mr. Jose,” you say, uncertain whether that is too inadequate, or on the other hand, too brash. But she directs you to the stairs at the back of the shop, and you offer her a nod of appreciation.

Fifty years
The steps creak under your weight as you ascend to the writer’s office and the headquarters of the Philippine Center of International PEN (Poets and Playwrights, Essayists, and Novelists—the international association of writers originally founded in London to promote literature and fight for writers’ rights).
The National Artist founded the Philippine Center fifty years ago, in 1957, after an auspicious trip to the United States. He is an active member up to this day, and serves as de facto adviser to younger scribes, who dearly and reverently call him “Manong,” the Ilocano term for “big brother.”
“In 1955, I met Malcolm Cowley,” Jose starts, with wryness. He must tell this story very often.
Cowley was then an editor at Viking Press. Cowley was a significant figure in American letters as an editor, poet, novelist, and journalist, whose aggressive decisions seemed off but changed perceptions on many a writer, one of whom is generally agreed to be William Faulkner.
“He asked, ‘Do you have the PEN in the Philippines?” muses Jose, “and I said, ‘What’s that?’”
With his curriculum vitae, it is so easy to assume he had known it all along. But the answer would make Jose have to drop by the PEN headquarters in London on his way home. There he would meet—“What was the name again?” Jose turns to his wife, Tessie, before remembering and resuming—James Curver, then the international PEN secretary, who gave him the proper orientation, and instructions on how to set up the Philippine Center.
After consultations, the Philippine Center would be up in only two years, with Jose as the first National Secretary and US Educational Foundation head, Alfredo Morales, as the first chairman.
The first names in the membership inspire awe:  Teodoro Agoncillo, Renato Constantino, Adrian Cristobal, and Blas Ople. Claro M. Recto would be the Jose Rizal lecturer in the first national convention in 1958. Recto articulated his views and dissent regarding the domination of the United States in the political, economic and cultural life of the nation. The Philippine Center of International PEN had arrived, and it meant business.

Bastion and burden
It has not always been peaky business, however.  But in the beginning, the upstart group made its presence felt.
“The 50’s was a time of resurging nationalism,” narrates current PEN secretary Elmer Ordoñez. “Comment, our journal of ideas, was born when PEN started.” This was not to everyone’s liking, as there was a campaign to brand as communist anyone who was against US policies.
“The atmosphere induced fear and urged people to become conformists. We tried to counter that climate and emphasized that we should not be afraid of ideas,” Ordoñez adds.
Jose himself had doubts the organization would last, as there were only a handful of writers who stood ground against oppression. A lot of writers would not be as vocal and as pursuing as regards professional, much less national, woes.
“I do not blame them,” Jose says in hindsight. “They had families. They had stomachs to feed. In this country, it is difficult enough just to be a writer. If his writing, or freedom to write, is taken away, the writer who is only trying to make a living is no more.”
And repression had not even hit high yet. The greater tests for writers would come under Martial Law. Jose, who had been supportive of Marcos’ agrarian programs, began to oppose staunchly the dictator’s onion-skinned, vengeful reactions to criticism from writers. More joined in. The response: prison time for writers, and a withdrawal of tens of thousands of pesos in fund support to Jose’s numerous projects. When he would not stop, government operatives broke into the Solidaridad bookshop and made a symbolic threat: they broke his Parker pen. But the PEN trudged on.
“Bureaucratization was a form of bonding for us writers during those times since many of us were imprisoned, pressed and threatened because of our views,” Jose says. “It is always comforting to know that there are people outside the prison cells and even outside the country who sympathized with you.”
When Marcos imprisoned several writers like Bienvenido Lumbera, Boni Ilagan, Mila Aguilar, and Jose Lacaba, other PEN members fashioned solutions to release them. They got in touch with media to make sure that the situation was well-publicized. The group issued resolutions and petitions. They even went into the extent of visiting Marcos in Malacañang to negotiate. Jose still has one petition, signed by him and other writers, fondly preserved in his study. “Go get it,” he would usually tell his wife, who would gladly oblige,  “so I can show them.”
The PEN continues to support and defend writers who are harassed, imprisoned, and even worse, killed for airing their views, through a special committee initiated in 1960.

Current concerns
In one of the Philippine Center’s monthly meetings, the agenda regarding the fiftieth anniversary convention takes a momentary backseat. Bulacan-based writer Jun Cruz Reyes has digressed, but has the entire room listening intently.
“They have taken over my small library, where I conduct my small literary workshops,” he wails in Filipino. Soldiers have apparently shut him down. “I have received threats, but I have done nothing but express my views through my writings.”
The forum immediately agrees to issue a resolution, an aerial of sentiment.
Apart from oppression, the organization has kept up with the literary zeitgeist, taking cudgels for women’s causes.
“During the late 80’s, after the People Power Revolution, we started forming committees that will address how women’s writings can be well-accepted by the reading public,” says PEN board member Marjorie Evasco.
“Lina Espina Moore, Estrella Alfon, Virgie Moreno, and Mina Estrada served as our models in promoting woman’s writings.”
The Philippine Center closely follows updates from the PEN-International women’s desk, headed by Judith Buckrich, where concerns of women writers, especially those who are oppressed because of their gender, are taken and resolved.
The PEN has also pushed for Filipino writers writing in the vernacular.
“Whenever there are PEN conferences we are given the privilege to present our works in translation,” shares Susie Tan.

The next fifty years
December 8-9, 2007. Adding to the wonderful heritage that the National Museum possesses, is the monumental two-day celebration of the golden anniversary of the country’s most prestigious literary institution.
Themed, “Literature, Nation and Globalization,” the event showcased the golden chronicles and adventures of the Philippine literary community toward the promotion of freedom of expression through letters.
“The Philippine PEN has exposed Philippine literature to globalization. It has made different writers in the country aware that they belong to one community,” National Artist Bienvenido Lumbera stresses in the keynote. This vital role of literature and the Philippine PEN is even more contextualized by Jose, who says writers are the creators of the nation’s identity in spite of apathy among young readers. The challenge, he says, is for old writers to be open and understanding to the needs of the youth.
A series of literary sessions on pertinent issues pepper the two-day conference.
Poet and nonfiction writer Merlie Alunan and fictionist Macariu Tiu emphasize that it is culture that thoroughly drives the Filipino creative writing.
“They reflect the character and ways of our people,” Alunan says.
This is later echoed by playwright Amelia Bonifacio, in asserting that national literature is never confined to just one place or time.
But Muslim writer Pads Paporo contests—if literature is really without frontiers, then why not many of the Muslim writers had been recognized?
“Let this anniversary give way in the institutionalization of Muslim writers in Mindanao.”
But it is the session on Philippine Poetics that truly leaves a mark in the groundbreaking celebration. Tackling the Filipino sense of language, poet Gemino Abad comments that skill is shown through the use of form, the way writers use words in placing harmony among the disarray of letters and ideas. UST Center for Creative Writing and Studies director Ophelia Dimalanta adds that the sophistication with words that progresses over time usually makes a good and seemingly divine-inspired poetry.
“You must love words, ideas, and rhythm with all your capacity,” Dimalanta shares. “If you’ve been exposed to the craft, it will be there at the back of your mind.”
True enough, with all the writers and aspiring writers alike present in the numerous corners of the National Museum in those two days and in the vast islands of our archipelago, it is the same affection and passion that binds them and helps them sustain their craft. This intense feeling is also the one responsible for keeping literature thriving and burning for the next fifty years. With reports from Verity Ayrah B. Cabigao

International PEN Charter

Pen affirms that:

1. Literature, national though it be in origin, knows no frontiers, and should remain common currency between nations in spite of political or international upheavals.

2.  In all circumstances, and particularly in time of war, works of art, the patrimony of humanity at large should be left untouched by national or political passion.

3. Members of PEN should at all times use what influence they have in favor of good understanding and mutual respect between nations; they pledge themselves to do their utmost to dispel race, class and national hatreds, and to champion the ideal of one humanity living in peace in one world.

4. PEN stands for the principle of unhampered transmission of thought within each nation and between all nations, and members pledge themselves to oppose any form of suppression of freedom of expression in the country and community to which they belong, as well as throughout the world wherever this is possible. PEN declares for a free press and opposes arbitrary censorship in time of peace. It believes that the necessary advance of the world towards a more highly organized political and economic order renders a free criticism of government, administrations, and institutions imperative. And since freedom implies voluntary restraint, members pledge themselves to oppose such evils of a free press as mendacious publication, deliberate falsehood and distortion of facts for political and personal ends.

The Jose Rizal lecturers

Claro M. Recto
Teodoro M. Locsin
Encarnacion Alzona
Carlos P. Romulo
Leon Ma. Guerrero
Nick Joaquin
Alfredo Morales
Onofre Corpus
Rodrigo D. Perez III
Marcelo B. Fernan
Raul Roco
Maximo V. Soliven
Francisco Nemenzo
Elmer Ordoñez
Isagani R. Cruz
Isagani A. Cruz
Ambeth R. Ocampo
F. Sionil Jose
Eugenia Duran Apostol
Jovito Salonga
Alejandro Roces
Horacio de la Costa
Lorenzo M. Tañada
Miguel Bernad
Raul Manglapuz
Salvador Madariaga
Salvador P. Lopez
Teodoro Agoncillo

PEN Officers

F. Sionil Jose
Chairman

Elmer Ordoñez
National Secretary

Leoncio Deriada
Marjorie Evasco
Ma. Lourdes Jacob
Shirley Lua
Bienvenido Lumbera
Frank Rivera
Susie Tan
Joselito Zulueta
Board Members

There are muses that drive the artist into creating timelessness in each piece. Poets have Calliope whispering words to be immortalized on paper, musicians have Euterpe strumming the strings of lyrical souls, while Terpsichore reigns supreme in the world of dance. But in these modern times, smoking, imbibing alcohol and caffeine, and even taking illegal drugs like marijuana, may have already replaced these beautiful spirits that once served as the sole source of inspiration for artists.

Writers under the influence
Some writers claim that habits involving these substances are essential to the process of writing. But according to fictionist Eric Melendez, these vices are just rituals a few writers incorporate into their practice to help focus their creative energies.
“In my case, cigarettes and coffee are part of my routine to get me to focus and stay alert and awake,” Melendez told the Varsitarian.
Moreover, writers usually face insecurities regarding their skill and their literary pieces, especially when under the scrutiny of mentors, peers, or critics. Melendez said it is understandable for young writers to lack confidence and doubt themselves, resorting to their habits for a sense of comfort.
“I also went through that stage,” he said. “The starting phase is always scary and a beginning writer may remedy his anxiety and pamper his imagination through his habits.”
Melendez even went as far as vouching for this practice, with the condition that writers should hurdle it after they have gained footing in the literary world.
“It is part of the formative experiences of writers,” he said.
For playwright and historian Jose Victor Torres, vices can help deal with inhibitions that restrain writers from fully expressing themselves.
“Taking drugs and alcohol makes you see things in a different light, making you more daring and reckless,” Torres said.
Torres also noted that the effects of taking these substances vary with different people.
“Some can write while under the influence while others do it after the influence, kung kailan mababa na iyong tama,” he said.
Admitting to his own set of vices, Torres reinforced the notion that what are considered bad habits can help kindle the imagination during the creative process.
“Sometimes, I can write after I take a few bottles of beer or a cup of brewed coffee,” he said.
Since writing involves a lot of reflection and contemplation, Torres said alcohol can help a writer relax after battling with his personal demons.
“You want to flush the fatigue from your system and try to get the remnants of your demons out of you. It is a stress reliever,” Torres said.
According to Torres, drinking also serves as a connection with fellow advocates of literature as it is a form of leisure and relaxation after writing. Melendez added that drinking is just part of the lifestyle that artists enjoy.
“It is a bonding experience where writers can exchange ideas with one another,” Melendez said.

Don’t overdo it
Melendez and Torres, however, agreed that vices are not integral to the art of writing. In fact, they spoke of writers who work without any bad habits.
“Gemino Abad told us during the 1996 UP Writers’ Workshop that as long as you know and learn how to write, you can write,” Torres said. “I write as much as I can without influence.”
Torres further said that young writers are the ones who are very susceptible to the mentality that they need to be “high” in order to come up with good literary pieces.
“There are young writers who think they need these kinds of vices to write. They are the ones who overdo it,” he said.
Melendez cited the romanticized view of writing that makes some writers dependent on substances, which are never crucial or definitive to writing.
“It is a form of stereotyping, no different from people thinking that writers always stare into space, dress horribly, and are always hungry,” he said.
Young writers are often victims to the misconception that the lifestyle has to go with the craft, or worse, has to come before the writing itself. Melendez warns against this fatal mistake.
“You are not a writer if you are always drunk or high. Writing is the only qualification,” he said.
Finally, both Melendez and Torres stressed that the love for writing itself should be enough to drive true writers in pursuing their calling.
“If you are forever dependent on those substances, you lose,” Melendez said.

DO DRUGS and other substances stimulate artists’ creativity?
Dr. Rosalito de Guzman, chair of the Department of Psychology of the UST College of Science, believes so.
“With the help of vices, artists become more attentive, energetic, and motivated for long hours of creative work,” he told the Varsitarian.
De Guzman claims that there are three determinants that contribute to the “creative power” of vices. Drugs, alcohol, and cigarettes help release two neurotransmitters, the pleasure-inducing dopamine and the mood-regulating serotonin, and activate the amygdala, a structure in the limbic system of the brain responsible for emotional reactivity. These provide a pleasurable sensation, thus motivating a person to do a task.
Then comes the bad part.
“The lingering of these molecules on the neural level of the brain, and the continuous stimulation of the amygdala give a prolonged feeling of elation to an individual, and hence, makes him addicted to vices,” he said.
Because of addiction, de Guzman warns that there are adverse effects and withdrawal symptoms such as muscle spasms, dizziness, and nausea when artists instantly stop these vices.
“Without the drugs, they are lifeless. Their bodies react negatively because of the disappearance of a ritual that they have been doing for a long time. It ruins their creative control and motivation to work,” he said.
The psychology of vices is that humans move toward anything that gives pleasure. De Guzman said that the inability to resist irrational pleasant stimulation is a reflection of an individual’s behavioral learning in the past, genetic predisposition, and environmental factors.
His recommendation to get rid of vices is simple—good judgment and prayer.
“Help yourself, turn yourself to a rehabilitation center, and receive therapeutic help,” de Guzman said.

Can the tedious task of creative writing squeeze through the hectic schedules of professionals?
Despite the demands of their respective careers, multi-awarded contemporary literary personalities Victor Emmanuel Carmelo “Vim” Nadera, Jr. and Jim Libiran still allot some of their time for writing, being convinced that it is very useful in their professions.

Writing legacy
Having pursued Psychology in both college and graduate school, Nadera thought that his creative writing would just stay among memories of his high school days.
“I took up Psychology as a pre-med course because my mother, who is a doctor, wanted me to follow her footsteps,” Nadera, the youngest director of the UP Institute of Creative Writing, told the Varsitarian.
However, his scientific undertakings did not limit the creative writer inside him.
“Psychology helped me in writing a persona for my poems and characters in my stories,” Nadera added.
Nadera joined the Varsitarian and became the publication’s editor in chief in 1986. During his term, he initiated the revival of the creative Thomasian prowess through the foundation of the USTetika Awards, UST’s prestigious awards for literature.
Aside from being the “Father of Performance Poetry in the Philippines,” Nadera was awarded with two Centennial Literary Prizes in 1998 for his epic Mujer Indigena and novel (H)istoryador(a).
After finishing his studies, Nadera found a way to merge his profession and love for the written and oral arts. He applied poetry therapy to street children, comfort women, and even those afflicted with AIDS and cancer.
Nadera advocated this unique kind of therapy through his master’s degree thesis, Poetreat: The Use of Poetry Therapy in Mutual Support Groups of Cancer Survivors in Metro Manila, which saw print in 2001. His series of free sessions to patients led to Asia’s first expressive art workshop, which was held in the National Arts Center in 1995.
“It was fulfilling because I was able to satisfy my love and need for literature and psychology,” Nadera told the Varsitarian.
In memory of his late son, Awit, Nadera, together with his wife, established the Awit foundation, which aims to help special children. He is planning to use poetry therapy for the patients in the foundation.
Nadera said that most of the youth do not look at creative writing as a financially rewarding job so they tend to choose technical courses. As the newly appointed chair of Unyon ng mga Manunulat sa Pilipinas, he is planning to help every writer in the country, whose rights as creators are violated by rampant photocopying.
“Xerox machine operators don’t have anything to do with the creative process,” Nadera said. “We will try to make writers earn what they deserve by fighting for the intellectual property rights of every writer.”
In addition, Nadera is pursuing a goal to promote the use of Filipino in writing. “Right now, I am trying to champion the cause of Filipino as a language and Philippine literature as a genre,” Nadera told the Varsitarian.

On-set writer
After making an exit from television news production, Jim Libiran staged his debut in film directing.
Libiran said his only motivation is simply to tell a true-to-life story, like what he does in writing.
“The discipline of writing brought me to where I am now,” Libiran told the Varsitarian. “It is the discipline of finishing everything inside my mind first before I execute my plans.”
The multi-awarded native of Tondo, Manila has done so much as a poet, essayist, documentary maker, television journalist, and producer. In fact, whenever Libiran has time, he joins creative writing contests. One of his prized literary pieces is the Palanca Award-winning 2006 screenplay-turned-movie “Tribu,” which tackles the lives of street gang rappers in Tondo.
“This is something that I planned,” Libiran told the Varsitarian. “I told myself that I should be able to write first before going to the broadcast and film industry.”
After finishing his bachelor’s degree in Sociology in UST, Libiran dedicated a decade of his life in print media companies. He worked in tabloids, but later on turned to broadsheets  and became a columnist of the Manila Times.
After his stint in print media, Libiran took the road of TV broadcasting. He became a segment producer, reporter, and manager of ABS-CBN’s News and Public Affairs Division in a span of 10 years. Then, the fated director moved to ABC 5, becoming the head of production for News and Public Affairs.
“My experience in different broadcast companies served as my training ground for film orientation,” Libiran said.
Libiran recently made his first box-office movie from his award-winning screenplay, and the film gained various distinctions right away.
The movie Tribu took three of the most coveted awards in the Cinemalaya film festival, namely Best Film, Best Actor, and Best Sound.
Dwelling on contemporary Tondo, the plot revolves around what Libiran recalls during the time he lived in the place. The film depicts social conditions dominating among the “tribes,” who are real life gangsters in Tondo.
“No story can be told without experience,” Libiran told the Varsitarian. “I don’t believe that writers lock themselves inside their rooms. They must go out and explore.”
Although they are practicing two different jobs, Nadera and Libiran both attest that creative writing made a difference in their lives.
“Writing gave me hope to make a change through the arts,” Nadera told the Varsitarian. “Through writing, I was able to tell the lives of our people, who are sometimes ignored by the society,” Libiran added.

It is their second home—a place where they can relax and find the serenity to think about anything they want. In that place, they are the masters, the lords of the characters of their creative pieces. The place is no other than the writer’s workroom.
To others, the four-corner room painted in light colors or plastered with wallpaper might be no different from any other room one might come across while visiting a house or an office. It has books, pencils, and all the other paraphernalia. But to these writers, the workroom is like the hospital’s delivery room—the place where their pieces are given life.

Lumbera: My place is me
Take the case of a modest room located in the third floor of the University of the Philippines (UP) College of Arts and Letters in Diliman.
Aside from the name of the occupant displayed at the wooden door of the room, the workplace’s entirety can already give any visitor a glimpse of the occupant’s personality and the nature of his work.
Unlike most working desks where a computer or a telephone is at arm’s reach, the table of National Artist for Literature Bienvenido Lumbera has no touch of technology. Instead, newspapers, books, and invitations make up most of the clutter.
But what is extraordinary about the artist’s workplace are perhaps its walls, which are fully embellished with politically and socially-driven posters—the oldest one dating to as far back as the Martial Law era.
Here, Lumbera told the Varsitarian, is where one can see most of the problems plaguing the country—the theme many of his works dwell on.
“I write creative pieces whenever I am asked to do one, usually by organizations who are rallying against the government or when I am asked to talk in a forum,” Lumbera said.
The idea of decorating the room with posters was started by a fellow roommate, Nicanor Tiongson, who worked as a professor in UP.
Lumbera narrated that Tiongson hated the original green color of the wall and decided to cover it instead with posters, a habit Lumbera continued even after Tiongson’s retirement.
As he started collecting posters as early as 1986, Lumbera has lost count of the number of posters that have accumulated over the years. There is now little trace of the once “boring” green wall.
“I don’t think I would ever stop adorning the walls with these posters as long as the problems the country is facing still exist,” Lumbera said.
Aside from posters, Lumbera’s workroom is also filled with textbooks written by Filipino authors and some native artifacts he got from his travels.

Balde: My workplace is my ideal place
As early as three in the morning, multiple National Book Award recipient Abdon Balde, Jr. would rouse from his sleep, go to his working area, and start writing his novel—finishing one to two chapters before calling it a day.
“To be able to publish a book yearly, one must have discipline,” said Balde, who has not failed to publish award-winning books annually since 2001.
While some might think this is a bit too rigid for someone past his retirement age, Balde says a writer’s writing area plays a big role in helping the writer finish his story.
“I believe that there are places that have good and bad vibes. A writer should always find a place where he can have peace of mind and where there is less distraction,” Balde said.
Balde’s working area, an extension room in the veranda of the main house, is a good example of Balde’s ideal workplace.
At the center of the room is a table containing most of the writer’s paraphernalia and handwritten manuscripts of his novels. Positioned at the right part of the room are two of his paintings and some photo albums. The left side of the room has a two-level bookshelf containing much-treasured books which he bought from his travels and does not lend to others.
“A good writer spends 70 per cent of his time reading books and the remaining 30 per cent writing his own. That is why it is very seldom that you don’t find a book lying on a writer’s desk,” Balde said.
More than serving its purpose as a writer’s workplace, however, Balde said that the room has other purposes as well.
“Usually, this is also where I paint or if it is raining outside, this is where my wife and I set up the table and drink,” Balde said.
Although Balde agrees that a writer’s work must not be constrained to a room, he nevertheless said that a writer must still sit and work in a place where his mind is free to think about anything.

Dimalanta: Everywhere is my working place
Southeast Asian Writers awardee Ophelia Dimalanta’s working area is perhaps the most interesting of the three—because she does not have one.
“A real writer does not have a specific place for him to be able to write. Any place can be a working place,” Dimalanta said.
True to her words, Dimalanta said she writes most of the rough outline of her works while traveling.
Her book, The Ophelia Dimalanta Reader Volume 1, for instance, chronicles the many working areas where her poems were born—while on board a cruise traversing the Nile River, or while passing through a scenic view inside her car.
“When I see something and I get inspired, I ask the driver to stop driving and I scribble down some notes,” Dimalanta said.
Her latest poem, “A Feasting,” was born inside her own office at the Center for Creative Writing and Studies (CCWS) at St. Raymund’s Building while admiring the oil canvas given to her by painter Joey Velasco. The painting, “Hapag ng Pag-asa,” which shows Jesus Christ dining with a group of indigent children, is hanging at the wall near her table.
Because most of her time is spent inside the University, Dimalanta considers the reading room at the CCWS as the closest place she would call her working area.
Similar to a conference room where there is a long rectangular table in the middle and with chairs arranged parallel to each other, the reading area has two shelves housing all the books she has accumulated when she was still chair of the Manila Critic’s Circle—books she also would not lend to anyone.
“Actually, the place is too formal for the purpose of creation. But when you write something, books are necessary,” Dimalanta said.
If the place may seem full of distractions, it does not matter because distractions are very much welcomed by the poet.
Take her working desk at home. It is situated just outside the kitchen and near the living room where, in the course of finishing a poem, she would have all kinds of noises.
“You see, in writing, there is no hard and fast rule. Same thing is true with a writer’s working area. As long as you feel the need to write, wherever you may be, you can start jotting down what’s on your mind and call that place your working area,” Dimalanta said.

Stalking hunger takes on varied
Shades and voices; worst is that
Of a child’s whimper in the dark,
An imprisoned cry, voiceless,
Struggling for release, for the open;
Three meals a day, a warming touch,
Sunspace, one’s personal corner
In the most chilling night.

Here they are, all twelve,
Deprivations in all shapes,
Gathered in His bosom,
His Presence, core of light,
As fragile limbs draw strength
And faith from that reaching out,
One magnificent Host in one
Glorious feasting, on a table
Specially laid out for children
And all, in their direst need,
Hungry in more than body,
For more than food, and soon,

Hunger takes on the glow
Of a glorious brightening…
Sunwarm, vibrant against
A backdrop of sheerest dark,
Beyond the deepest blues
And the somber browns
Beyond that hovering gloom,
A grand feasting here, on a table
Laid out for all… each child
A part in us, us children all,
Partaking now of life of love,
Around his radiant presence,
A bounteous feasting
Of faith and ever abiding hope.

Nov Takahashi,
Naisip mo ba kami
Nang kosupure
?
Ay maimbento
Matapos mong dumalo
Sa ibang mundo
?
Ng Science Fiction?
May Worldcon yata noong
Nineteen Eighty-Four
?
Kaya George Orwell
Ka pang pa-cosplay-cosplay
Doon sa LA.
?
Totalitarian
Ba ang inyong lipunan
Diyan sa Japan ?
?
Wala lang basta
Naalala lang kita
Ngayong ama na
?
Ako ng apat
At asawang matapat
Kahit sa hirap.
?
At maya-maya,
Papalitan ang mukha
Ng isang dukha.
?
Pag nakapili
Sa wagwagan ng lahi
Ng Makapili,
?
Hupa ang galit
Ko sa mga Hapones
Pag nakabihis!

Ang hindi matanggap-tanggap
Ng patak ng luhang-langit:
Kung bakit ang dulas-dulas
Nitong laing kay tahimik
Na nakikinig sa paglaglag
Noong ulap na buntis!

*Si Kim Hak Soon, isang mamamayan ng Korea, ang unang babaeng nagpahayag ng pang-aabuso sa kanya ng mga sundalong Hapon noong panahon ng Ikalawang Digmaang Pandaigdig. Matapos ang kanyang paglantad noong 1991, humiling si Kim ng kompensasyon, opisyal na paumanhin, at pagrerebisa ng mga rekord ng kasaysayan mula sa bansang Hapon.

1. Choka kay Hinlalaki
Nang itinaas
Ang daliring malapad,
Naging mapalad
Itong gulo ng palad.
Biglang sumiklab
Ang digmang di Pilipinas
Ang nagpadiklap.
Kung sino pang umawat
Siya pang napahamak.

2. Tanka kay Hintuturo
Pinagduduro
Ang sumuway sa puno.
Pinagtuturo
Ng matang nagkanulo
Sa bayong nagtatago.

3. Bussokusekika kay Hinlalato
Walang ginawa
Ang mahina sa gitna
Ng mandirigmang
Paghahari ang nasa.
Walang nagawa, wala.

4. Sedoka kay Palasingsingan
Si Inang Bayang
Pinagsamantalahan
Ang siya pang nasakdal
Sa gandang taglay
Kaya nga hinatulang
Magdusa habambuhay!

5. Katauta kay Hinliliit
At nagpasiya:
“Asya para sa Asya!”
At mali ang malisya.

Ingat lang habang nasa bayan ka namin.
Sobra kaming masaya, baka di mo ma-teyk
kung bakit kahit gutom ang ilan-ilan dyan
ay nagvi-videoke pa rin ang karamihan.
O kapag may napapaslang na sinuman
ay telenobelang Koreano pa rin
ang pinag-uukulan ng panahon.
Short time sa motel, pata tim, lechong kawali,
leche flang buo o sa halo-halo, may ube
ice cream pa — yan ang mga nakahihiligan
sa kama o papag, hapag o dulang, hanggang
maduling sa kalandian at kabusugan.

Wala raw namamatay sa gutom sa aming bayan.
Magtapon ka lang ng kahit anong buto
sa labas ng bintana, at ito’y uusbong
at ilang tulog lamang ay may maitutulak na
sa kalunggaan ng iyong bunganga.

Ganyan na nga ang lagay dito sa’ming paraiso.
Kay sarap, kay sarap, kay dali, kay dali,
kaya nga ba madami kaming abogado
at politiko. Sila na’ng bahala
na pag-alaberdehin kaming lahat
na mga bata batuta.

Ingat lang sa aming bayan. Oy, turista!
Ingat lang. Baka mapamahal ka,
baka di magkamayaw sa kasasayaw
ang iyong pananalig sa puting isla,
sa linaw ng tubig, gaan ng karagatan.
Malunod man ang libu-libo sa malagim
na sakuna, kungyari’y wala kaming nadidinig
kundi patalbugan ng itlog ng mga matsing,
batbatan ng trumpo, liksi ng dakilang patotot
sa larong patintero, husay ng pagsipa
sa tumbang preso, at doktor-doktoran,
bahay-bahayan, tulad ng mga gawain
ng mga mistulang bayani ng bayan.

Ingat, ‘Igan. Ingat.