A book for dads
June 14, 2004 | 12:00am
To be launched on Fathers Day this Sunday, June 20, appropriately enough, is an anthology simply titled Father Poems – at 3 p.m. at PowerBooks in Greenbelt, Makati. Published by Anvil, the collection is edited by Gemino H. Abad and yours truly.
The book assembles 85 poems on fathers written by 60 Filipino poets, including quite a number who have grown up or who happen to be currently residing abroad. With regards the contributors, here’s quoting from the Intro:
"Twenty-seven are Philippine-based. Twenty-five are either Filipino Americans or Filipinos presently based in the United States. Three are living in London, one in Dublin, one in the Netherlands, and one in Bangkok, while a couple are currently engaged in academic effort in Singapore."
Those last two are Danton Remoto and Dinah Roma, who are among our finest poets. Wilfredo O. Pascual, Jr. works in Bangkok. London-based are Ed Maranan, Gene Alcantara and Rene Navarro. Joel H. Vega writes from The Netherlands, while Ivy Alvarez submitted her poem from Ireland.
The 25 Filipino poets in the US are Teena Apeles, Lilledeshan Bose, Luis Cabalquinto, Sofiya Cabalquinto, Marlon Unas Esguerra, Rona Fernandez, Felix Fojas, Vince Gotera, Luisa A. Igloria, Antonio L. Jocson, Aimee Nezhukumatathil, Melissa Nolledo-Christoffels, Oscar Peñaranda, Jon Pineda, Bino Realuyo, Barbara J. Pulmano Reyes, Jose Edmundo Ocampo Reyes, Tony Robles, Patrick Rosal, Joseph Sabado, Irene Suico Soriano, Eileen Tabios, Joel Barraquiel Tan, Angela Narciso Torres and Rowena T. Torrevillas.
The 27 poets still based in the homeland are Abad, Alma Anonas, Juaniyo Arcellana, Ime Morales Aznar, Ian Rosales Casocot, Marjorie Evasco, Israfel Fagela, EJ C. Galang, Felino S. Garcia, Jr., J. Neil C. Garcia, Sid Gomez Hildawa, Jose F. Lacaba, Kris Lanot Lacaba, Francis C. Macansantos, Arvin Abejo Mangohig, Bj A. Patiño, Madeline Rae, Sandra Nicole Roldan, Angelo V. Suarez, Alice M. Sun-Cua, Ramon C. Sunico, Anthony L. Tan, Ricardo M. de Ungria, Niccolo Rocamora Vitug, Ernesto Superal Yee, Lawrence Lacambra Ypil, and Yuson.
Most of the Manila-based contributors to this thematic anthology will be present at the launch on Sunday, to read their poems and autograph copies.
Here’s more from the Intro:
"The numbers can not betray us – 40 sons and 20 daughters – as we may have once felt betrayed by the randomness of parentage.
"We have kept the faith, however, and have remarked no end on the men who sired us, and loved us, and whom we loved back, whether in gratitude or terror, once upon a time, and perhaps still do.
"In this collection we have a father and a son (the Lacabas), and a father and a daughter (the Cabalquintoses), still bound together as coevals in the fellowship of poets.
"Here are poems that honor fathers, as well as poems that tweak early omens of conflict, trumpet the first signals of defiance. Here are poems that recollect fathers in their prime as well as on sickbeds, and poems that grieve over their loss. And here too are poems that revisit joyful moment or ineradicable image, and poems that may still suffer from the way a father‚s torch was passed.
"It is the passion of recall that binds this collection together. Our memories of our fathers provided the first lodestone for our poetry. The editors‚ thesis that every poet must at one time or another have written a poem on, of, or for a father cannot be affirmed without doubt. What is doubtless is that as a source of primal love and fundamental memory, the father remains a mighty provender in our pursuit of fine poetry.
"Would that this collection approximate the standard of excellence our fathers spoke of at one time or another – lovingly, wistfully, forcefully – as to make us remember their hand, gentle or firm, in the crafting of our own worth as sons, daughters, Filipinos, poets."
Needless to say, this poetry book should make a fine gift for any father, or any lover of poetry for that matter.
Now here’s a sample poem from the collection, by San Francisco-based Oscar Peñaranda who recently launched a couple of books – short fiction and poetry – copies of which we await for a possible review. The poem is titled "The Birthday Gift."
"My Dad/ he badd:: he’s been around/ and still found the time/ to be around me// and my baby brother/ and my older sisters/ and my Mama too/ when she was alive// I know/ Don’ have to tell me nutting/ I’ve looked into his eyes/ those puddles of quiet hurt I know/ he’s been around, my Dad/ he badd//
"He’s about like a gas station/ popping ouit of nowhere in the/ middle of a thick fog or/ a blizzard and/ he don’t talk much – he don’t talk/ right, I guess, for most people/ but not for me// he don’t need talking for me/ sometimes I like it better/ then can hold me/ and make me feel warm/ inside// and cuddly all over and/ I can smell him/ and smell the beer from his mouth/ the rubbish cans and dustpans/ he’s been working with all day,/ every day//
"My Dad, thas him/ He’s about like a fairy tale/ come from the forest, he’s like/ the magic around the words/ when he first taught me to read/ he fix everyting, too, anyting/ walk my dolls, braid my hair, tie/ my ribbons/ everyting// He’s brown, too/ and funny-looking and funny-talking/ but he don’t care, he laughs even/ especially when I run to him/ when he comes home from/ a long trip like/ Alaska or Delano or jail// and I laugh also, and cry a little/ sometimes/ because of the break in his voice/ and I forget all about the stuff/ he just brought me from faraway// he’s/ my Dad//
"He eats with his hands/ and slurps, too/ and I try to do the same/ to make him laugh/ they say I’m pretty/ you priti ghel, they say// only feel it when he’s around, though/ but they don’t know this, cuz I don’t tell ‘em// and them bill collectors be/ callin’ on him/ and his P.O. and them social worker/ people be trying to take/ my brother and me away// they’re saying he’s gotta pay/ his debts/ some people don’t know nutting, I guess/ he done paid, I know/ I’ve seen his hands/ and felt his back/ twice over he done paid//
"Not even the preacher’s/ got nutting on him/ cause he’s clean/ they can’t touch him/ got nutting on him// He’s like the good times/ on monday mornings – / they’re around, but you gotta try hard/ to find them// But they found him lying/ face down on the gutter/ one day, throat slit open/ so they told me// he had a hard time trying/ to look for them candles for/ my birthday I bet, thas// my Dad/ he badd"
The book assembles 85 poems on fathers written by 60 Filipino poets, including quite a number who have grown up or who happen to be currently residing abroad. With regards the contributors, here’s quoting from the Intro:
"Twenty-seven are Philippine-based. Twenty-five are either Filipino Americans or Filipinos presently based in the United States. Three are living in London, one in Dublin, one in the Netherlands, and one in Bangkok, while a couple are currently engaged in academic effort in Singapore."
Those last two are Danton Remoto and Dinah Roma, who are among our finest poets. Wilfredo O. Pascual, Jr. works in Bangkok. London-based are Ed Maranan, Gene Alcantara and Rene Navarro. Joel H. Vega writes from The Netherlands, while Ivy Alvarez submitted her poem from Ireland.
The 25 Filipino poets in the US are Teena Apeles, Lilledeshan Bose, Luis Cabalquinto, Sofiya Cabalquinto, Marlon Unas Esguerra, Rona Fernandez, Felix Fojas, Vince Gotera, Luisa A. Igloria, Antonio L. Jocson, Aimee Nezhukumatathil, Melissa Nolledo-Christoffels, Oscar Peñaranda, Jon Pineda, Bino Realuyo, Barbara J. Pulmano Reyes, Jose Edmundo Ocampo Reyes, Tony Robles, Patrick Rosal, Joseph Sabado, Irene Suico Soriano, Eileen Tabios, Joel Barraquiel Tan, Angela Narciso Torres and Rowena T. Torrevillas.
The 27 poets still based in the homeland are Abad, Alma Anonas, Juaniyo Arcellana, Ime Morales Aznar, Ian Rosales Casocot, Marjorie Evasco, Israfel Fagela, EJ C. Galang, Felino S. Garcia, Jr., J. Neil C. Garcia, Sid Gomez Hildawa, Jose F. Lacaba, Kris Lanot Lacaba, Francis C. Macansantos, Arvin Abejo Mangohig, Bj A. Patiño, Madeline Rae, Sandra Nicole Roldan, Angelo V. Suarez, Alice M. Sun-Cua, Ramon C. Sunico, Anthony L. Tan, Ricardo M. de Ungria, Niccolo Rocamora Vitug, Ernesto Superal Yee, Lawrence Lacambra Ypil, and Yuson.
Most of the Manila-based contributors to this thematic anthology will be present at the launch on Sunday, to read their poems and autograph copies.
Here’s more from the Intro:
"The numbers can not betray us – 40 sons and 20 daughters – as we may have once felt betrayed by the randomness of parentage.
"We have kept the faith, however, and have remarked no end on the men who sired us, and loved us, and whom we loved back, whether in gratitude or terror, once upon a time, and perhaps still do.
"In this collection we have a father and a son (the Lacabas), and a father and a daughter (the Cabalquintoses), still bound together as coevals in the fellowship of poets.
"Here are poems that honor fathers, as well as poems that tweak early omens of conflict, trumpet the first signals of defiance. Here are poems that recollect fathers in their prime as well as on sickbeds, and poems that grieve over their loss. And here too are poems that revisit joyful moment or ineradicable image, and poems that may still suffer from the way a father‚s torch was passed.
"It is the passion of recall that binds this collection together. Our memories of our fathers provided the first lodestone for our poetry. The editors‚ thesis that every poet must at one time or another have written a poem on, of, or for a father cannot be affirmed without doubt. What is doubtless is that as a source of primal love and fundamental memory, the father remains a mighty provender in our pursuit of fine poetry.
"Would that this collection approximate the standard of excellence our fathers spoke of at one time or another – lovingly, wistfully, forcefully – as to make us remember their hand, gentle or firm, in the crafting of our own worth as sons, daughters, Filipinos, poets."
Needless to say, this poetry book should make a fine gift for any father, or any lover of poetry for that matter.
Now here’s a sample poem from the collection, by San Francisco-based Oscar Peñaranda who recently launched a couple of books – short fiction and poetry – copies of which we await for a possible review. The poem is titled "The Birthday Gift."
"My Dad/ he badd:: he’s been around/ and still found the time/ to be around me// and my baby brother/ and my older sisters/ and my Mama too/ when she was alive// I know/ Don’ have to tell me nutting/ I’ve looked into his eyes/ those puddles of quiet hurt I know/ he’s been around, my Dad/ he badd//
"He’s about like a gas station/ popping ouit of nowhere in the/ middle of a thick fog or/ a blizzard and/ he don’t talk much – he don’t talk/ right, I guess, for most people/ but not for me// he don’t need talking for me/ sometimes I like it better/ then can hold me/ and make me feel warm/ inside// and cuddly all over and/ I can smell him/ and smell the beer from his mouth/ the rubbish cans and dustpans/ he’s been working with all day,/ every day//
"My Dad, thas him/ He’s about like a fairy tale/ come from the forest, he’s like/ the magic around the words/ when he first taught me to read/ he fix everyting, too, anyting/ walk my dolls, braid my hair, tie/ my ribbons/ everyting// He’s brown, too/ and funny-looking and funny-talking/ but he don’t care, he laughs even/ especially when I run to him/ when he comes home from/ a long trip like/ Alaska or Delano or jail// and I laugh also, and cry a little/ sometimes/ because of the break in his voice/ and I forget all about the stuff/ he just brought me from faraway// he’s/ my Dad//
"He eats with his hands/ and slurps, too/ and I try to do the same/ to make him laugh/ they say I’m pretty/ you priti ghel, they say// only feel it when he’s around, though/ but they don’t know this, cuz I don’t tell ‘em// and them bill collectors be/ callin’ on him/ and his P.O. and them social worker/ people be trying to take/ my brother and me away// they’re saying he’s gotta pay/ his debts/ some people don’t know nutting, I guess/ he done paid, I know/ I’ve seen his hands/ and felt his back/ twice over he done paid//
"Not even the preacher’s/ got nutting on him/ cause he’s clean/ they can’t touch him/ got nutting on him// He’s like the good times/ on monday mornings – / they’re around, but you gotta try hard/ to find them// But they found him lying/ face down on the gutter/ one day, throat slit open/ so they told me// he had a hard time trying/ to look for them candles for/ my birthday I bet, thas// my Dad/ he badd"
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