A light that never goes out
November 14, 2005 | 12:00am
No one writes book reviews anymore because critics are too busy watching cable TV or surfing the Internet; no one reads CD reviews anymore because people would rather hear the CD itself and pass judgment without prior influence or suasion. The world was still round when last we looked, and the candles burned past the witching hour to guide the midnight souls home during the recent long and extended weekend.
One book we could never quite finish, and not for want of trying, is Wilfrido Nolledos But for the Lovers, and were still reading it forever and ever. Main characters name is Hidalgo d Anuncio, quite a jealous-type coño if ever there was one from the long lost age of vaudeville. He has friends and then some, like a misplaced Quixote looking for his cups, and there is even a minor or passing character in cameo role named Benjamin Bornales, somewhat like art imitating fiction.
For reasons unexplained, But for the Lovers was never published or reprinted by Nolledos alma mater, UST, but that doesnt matter notwithstanding the reduced accessibility. It remains a modern Pinoy classic, in the league of Joaquins The Woman Who Had Two Navels and NVM Gonzalezs A Season of Grace.
Its hard to top something like But for the Lovers even among todays crop of daring and experimental young writers, mainly because with Nolledo it is as if language were reborn on the elusive, mercury-like page.
Fans of the man might better avail of the short story collection Cadena de Amor, published by UST Press, and witness the development of Philippine literature in English during the 60s to the 70 and beyond. Well, people didnt call him dazzling Ding for nothing.
I know for a fact that he was, is a favorite of the Tomasian of the subsequent generation, i.e. Recah Trinidad et al, who easily quoted passages from Nolledo during drinking binges at the old Rizal Memorial Café in the 70s during Expressweek days, with the rain pouring down relentlessly on the leaking roof of the stadium across the street and we could hear the howl of the crowd during a big game between, say, Crispa and Toyota or even Filmanbank versus Mariwasa.
Then one night Ding and Nick dropped by Fathers house in UP Village and made the taxi wait, or maybe they sent the taxi away, while the dog Igor licked their shoes underneath the table, I do not know how many times Ive written about this but it still sounds funny after all these years, how Nick would tell the dog that he doesnt need compassion but passion.
They finally got his name right, Nicks by the way, on his tombstone at the Libingan now spelling Joaquin and not Juaquin, it was a compassionate Pentel pen that connected the space between the two vertical lines of U to form an improvised O, and so give justice to a national artist who only wanted some passion like a stranger in the night before all the clowns and saints were sent marching in.
One book we feel mighty proud being a part of is Huling Ptyk, Da Art of Nonoy Marcelo (Anvil), a humdinger of a collectors item, dare we say it both in terms of content and design. The inimitable trio of Pandy Aviado, Sylvia Mayuga and Nonoys son Dario Marcelo are the power behind this whirlwind project, that captures a veritable sub and counterculture in the work of one man, Ngongo, genius and Lothario, yet consistently a generous soul all around.
We had a great kick out of seeing the mug of Fidel Rillo repeated throughout the book in the course of excerpts in a running interview with Nonoy Marcelo, which gives it a comic documentary appeal, certainly not a mockumentary. You could almost hear the interviewee speaking from beyond the grave with a beer and menthol cigarette close by.
The little we know of Nonoy we glimpsed personally at the Chronicle offices in the late 80s, though we never did get to tag along with the gang in one of their a-go-go expeditions, with Bogie going "Suuee!" and slapping high fives with the rest of the barkada, and Dengkey even marrying the muse of his heart, leaving Bogie lost and lonely among the strobe lights.
Some toughies fed up with the neighboring tables good-natured camaraderie even wanted to crack open Bogs skull, basagin daw nila ang bungo, but cooler heads intervened and everyone was happy in the end and finished their beer and went on shouting "Suuuue!" until the early morning sun.
The little I know of Nonoy was gleaned while writing some editorials in Taglish for PTYK the newspaper comics, and pushing his car trying to get it to start, and conversing haphazardly with him at the Evening Paper offices or over the phone when little did we know that he was already slowly wasting away, like a rolling stone with the moss catching up with him.
One book we could never quite finish, and not for want of trying, is Wilfrido Nolledos But for the Lovers, and were still reading it forever and ever. Main characters name is Hidalgo d Anuncio, quite a jealous-type coño if ever there was one from the long lost age of vaudeville. He has friends and then some, like a misplaced Quixote looking for his cups, and there is even a minor or passing character in cameo role named Benjamin Bornales, somewhat like art imitating fiction.
For reasons unexplained, But for the Lovers was never published or reprinted by Nolledos alma mater, UST, but that doesnt matter notwithstanding the reduced accessibility. It remains a modern Pinoy classic, in the league of Joaquins The Woman Who Had Two Navels and NVM Gonzalezs A Season of Grace.
Its hard to top something like But for the Lovers even among todays crop of daring and experimental young writers, mainly because with Nolledo it is as if language were reborn on the elusive, mercury-like page.
Fans of the man might better avail of the short story collection Cadena de Amor, published by UST Press, and witness the development of Philippine literature in English during the 60s to the 70 and beyond. Well, people didnt call him dazzling Ding for nothing.
I know for a fact that he was, is a favorite of the Tomasian of the subsequent generation, i.e. Recah Trinidad et al, who easily quoted passages from Nolledo during drinking binges at the old Rizal Memorial Café in the 70s during Expressweek days, with the rain pouring down relentlessly on the leaking roof of the stadium across the street and we could hear the howl of the crowd during a big game between, say, Crispa and Toyota or even Filmanbank versus Mariwasa.
Then one night Ding and Nick dropped by Fathers house in UP Village and made the taxi wait, or maybe they sent the taxi away, while the dog Igor licked their shoes underneath the table, I do not know how many times Ive written about this but it still sounds funny after all these years, how Nick would tell the dog that he doesnt need compassion but passion.
They finally got his name right, Nicks by the way, on his tombstone at the Libingan now spelling Joaquin and not Juaquin, it was a compassionate Pentel pen that connected the space between the two vertical lines of U to form an improvised O, and so give justice to a national artist who only wanted some passion like a stranger in the night before all the clowns and saints were sent marching in.
One book we feel mighty proud being a part of is Huling Ptyk, Da Art of Nonoy Marcelo (Anvil), a humdinger of a collectors item, dare we say it both in terms of content and design. The inimitable trio of Pandy Aviado, Sylvia Mayuga and Nonoys son Dario Marcelo are the power behind this whirlwind project, that captures a veritable sub and counterculture in the work of one man, Ngongo, genius and Lothario, yet consistently a generous soul all around.
We had a great kick out of seeing the mug of Fidel Rillo repeated throughout the book in the course of excerpts in a running interview with Nonoy Marcelo, which gives it a comic documentary appeal, certainly not a mockumentary. You could almost hear the interviewee speaking from beyond the grave with a beer and menthol cigarette close by.
The little we know of Nonoy we glimpsed personally at the Chronicle offices in the late 80s, though we never did get to tag along with the gang in one of their a-go-go expeditions, with Bogie going "Suuee!" and slapping high fives with the rest of the barkada, and Dengkey even marrying the muse of his heart, leaving Bogie lost and lonely among the strobe lights.
Some toughies fed up with the neighboring tables good-natured camaraderie even wanted to crack open Bogs skull, basagin daw nila ang bungo, but cooler heads intervened and everyone was happy in the end and finished their beer and went on shouting "Suuuue!" until the early morning sun.
The little I know of Nonoy was gleaned while writing some editorials in Taglish for PTYK the newspaper comics, and pushing his car trying to get it to start, and conversing haphazardly with him at the Evening Paper offices or over the phone when little did we know that he was already slowly wasting away, like a rolling stone with the moss catching up with him.
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