O, for a winning ode!

Six college students were feted at the UP Executive House on the first of February, after being adjudged as the winners in a poetry contest billed as “Chile: Odes from the Philippines.”

A project of the Embassy of Chile in coordination with the University of the Philippines System, the verse competition served to commemorate the Bicentenary of Independence of the Republic of Chile, as well as celebrate the globally applauded rescue of 33 Chilean miners.

The project coordinators included His Excellency professor Dr. Roberto Mayorga, Ambassador of the Republic of Chile; professor Emerlinda R. Roman, outgoing president of the University of the Philippines System; Consul Luis Alberto Palma, Chilean deputy chief of mission; professor Jose Wendell Capili, assistant VP for Public Affairs, UP System; associate professor Mercedes Planta, deputy director, UP System Information Office; and associate professor Wystan de la Peña, chair of the UP Department of European Languages.

The contest was announced — inclusive of the rules, conditions, deadline and prizes — mainly via the Internet, last September if I recall right. I passed it on to a few literary groups, students’ e-groups, and writers whom I knew were still in college.

All entries had to be submitted through e-mail, with entrants restricted to one poem in English, “of any form or length on or about the Republic of Chile — its bicentenary, people, scenery, culture and/or society and/or the emotions of the poet regarding the successful rescue operations involving 33 Chilean miners in San Jose.”

Up for grabs were: first prize — US$1,000; second prize — US$500; third prize — US$500; and honorable mention winners — US$100 each. All winners would also receive two round-trip tickets to Cebu or Boracay, courtesy of Air Philippines and La Isla magazine. 

The winning poems would be published in three languages: English, Spanish and Filipino, with the anthology of poems to be launched in Chile and in the Philippines.

Over a hundred entries were reportedly submitted from all over the country, around 60 of which qualified for the final judging.

The Philippine STAR’s theater reviewer Mirava Yuson reading her winning poem

The board of judges was composed of H.E. Ambassador Dr. Roberto Mayorga as chair; Consul Luis Alberto Palma; our National Artist for Literature F. Sionil Jose (winner, Pablo Neruda Literary Prize from the Republic of Chile); University professor emeritus Gémino H. Abad, former VP for academic affairs; UP professor emeritus Cristina Pantoja Hidalgo, former VP for public affairs; and UP professor Isabelita Orlina Reyes, VP for public affairs, UP System.

The winners were informed a fortnight ago that they were to receive their prizes last Tuesday at the UP Executive House. A couple of the winners had to travel to Manila

from far north and far south, with their parents.

And the winning pieces and student authors were: first — “The 34th Miner” (Rene Calunsag, BS Industrial Engineering, UP Diliman); second — “Kiss of Sunrise” (Therese Marie Villarante, BA English Literature, Cebu Normal University); third — “Scarred Land” (Marie Celine Anastasia Socrates, BA Political Science, UP Diliman); honorable mentions — “Chile. Hope is in the heart” (Mariejo Maris Sawal Ramos, BA Journalism, UP Diliman); “Chile in the land where the earth ends” (David John Ubera, Nueva Vizcaya State University); and “Immured” (Mirava Yuson, BA Creative Writing, UP Diliman).

Yep, that’s my baby girl up there, the same bright cutie whose review pieces you sometimes read in this paper, whenever she watches and enjoys a Broadway musical or theater presentation.

When she texted me the glad tidings, of course I was beside myself with pride and joy, however tinged with apprehension — not over her modest placing, but by the thought that the win could spur her on to join even more poetry contests.

Well, she’s been a winner since she was that high. She co-authored a children’s book with me, Junior Starfish and the Rainbow (Bookmark, 1995), when she was but five. At the age of eight, unbeknownst to anyone, she joined the RCBC Kwentong Kalikasan writing contest and emerged as one of the four national grand-prize winners, tops in her grade-school English division. Her environmental-themed story “The Endangered Eagle and the Luminescent Child” won her a trophy and P20K, and exactly the same prizes for her school, Montessori de San Juan, happily surprising her teachers apart from her family.

Back then, some nasty friends who knew of my close association with the Yuchengco scions ribbed me about possible lutong Macao. Weh, I riposted. I strove to get a joint affidavit from Boyu and Tito Yuchengco denying the allegation, but they just agreed to issue a statement via skywriting over Makati, that much like amigos of long-standing, we hadn’t even been on speaking terms at the time.

Well, now it seemed my daughter and I might face similar suspicious speculation. After all, my buddies Jimmy Abad and Jing Hidalgo were among the judges. And writer Issy Reyes is also a friend, besides having been Mirava’s prof in Creative Writing. Frankie Jose, as everyone might not know, owes me a lot from way back, apart from being a fellow columnist in this paper. And to make matters really hairy, Prof. Capili also happened to have been Mirava’s UP mentor, besides having been so high up in comradeship with me when we were once both Down Under.

Everything pointed to a conspiracy. I braced for the worst. But when I accused Jimmy however jocosely of having made dagdag or singit in the winners’ list, pertaining to Mirava, he immediately essayed the persona of the King of a River in Egypt. Now how could I doubt the word of an UPSCAN Forever?

Wendell was more succinct and site-specific. The entries reviewed by the judges had no bylines, just numbers. Mirava’s poem — for an ode needs to be explicated as to form — made it to the Top 10 lists of each judge, the only entry to do so. So sayeth Wendell. And who am I, a mere Peyups dropout, to question the word of an official engaged in public affairs?

In any case, I breathed a sigh of relief. Over the incontestable fact that Mirava had done it on her own, through sheer merit, challenged the gods of erratic fortune and won a bit of a Lotto prize — as it always is when it comes to joining writing contests. 

Actually, very honestly now, when I got to read her winning poem, I chortled a bit inside — I didn’t say winced — and made the quick judgment that she still needed polish as a poet. And that maybe the competition hadn’t exactly drawn superlative entries.

For one, as I found myself badgering Wendell, how come four of the six winners were from UP Diliman? Unthinkable, I stressed, that no one from AdMU, DLSU or UST had made it! Might the UP System have included a special code, a detectable maroon dot on some corner of the printout pages handed the judges? After all, three of the six judges were of that System. It was Wendell’s turn to be flabbergasted by my leap of paranoia. No, no, of course not! Okay, just kidding.

UP president Emer spoke, followed by the Chilean Ambassador. Plaques of appreciation were handed everyone involved in the cross-cultural exercise. Dinner was served. The six winners were introduced, awarded and applauded. Then they were asked to come forward again to read their winning odes, er, poems. That gave me a chance to read along, from the printouts that had all six winners. Sample lines:

From the first prize winner, a long poem of 16 rhyming quatrains (strictly A-A-B-B): “This cold, dark mine; it’s (sic) silent noise/ The piercing fear from Death’s grim toys/ The hard, course (sic) ground I slumber in/ They strangle me — I cannot win// ... I was with God, I was with Light/ I was also with Evil’s might/ But God took me and saved my soul/ He blessed me then, and made me whole// And as the Lord did this to me/ He did this to us all, you see/ He took our lives and made them whole/ Just like He did with my own soul// And thus, my friends, this I must say/ Let us all celebrate today/ The day all of our dreams did meld/ A perfect whole, our hands have held// Chile, hold your head up high!/ Wave your flag up in the sky!/ The thirty-fourth miner is here/ Let’s celebrate and give a cheer!”

Okay, so now we know what sort of “ode” wins top prize in a contest such as this. Don’t get me wrong. I admire the idea of “the 34th miner” — being God, of course. Of course. But the sing-song, iambic tetrameter fashion went out a long time ago, and that qualification might have escaped the two non-literary judges, especially if their appreciation of the English language may not have been as stringent, or they were translating the lines mentally into Spanish.

The second prize winner, in free verse, seemed fitter to scale the heights of a literary contest. I supply only the first and last of the stanzas: “How terribly I miss/ The kiss of the sunrise,/ The sky that celebrates my freedom/ And the voices of home/ Two thousand feet apart from me/ But the glorious chance of day/ Leads me (to) new hope —/ I still live.//... The earth opens up for thirty-three./ Chile rises/ And an entire world grows,/ Life without death to this story.” Ah, images. Metaphors. Irony. This is poetry.

It was the third prize winner that impressed me most, however. The fact that it’s a prose poem might have relegated it to a lower ranking. But it’s obviously written by a littérateur, and this is borne out when it’s announced that Ma. Celina Socrates has already won a Palanca prize for Poetry for Children. Here are excerpts from her 10-stanza poem “Scarred Land” — including the opening and ending stanzas (as a prose poem):

“Here is a place where stories unfold like fine lines at the edge of an old woman’s eyes when she smiles. There is no forgetting, claimed a man who sought for words to describe injustice, and humanity enslaved.//... Once upon a time, there was a girl. Her story started with a song that resonated across the valley, through the heights of the Andes, and plunged back into the warm, golden earth.//... Through the scars, she will hum a serenade to the unforgotten land, where stories unfold like the creases to her smile. She will find answers to questions that emerge and die like the leaves of a tree.” Impressive, in my view.

 What was listed as the fourth prize winner, among the three honorable mentions, a 42-line poem in quartets that culminates with a couplet, begins and ends thus: “No history can ever testify/ For a nation of hope and compassion/ For it is never buried or forgotten/ And remains immortal in the call of days.// ... Viva, Chile! Wave your flag of courage and spirit/ Of blue, red and white — colors that stands (sic) abroad/ Fields of love, light and freedom/ With your anthem sung through heart and soul// La esperanza esta en el corazon/ Never falter, Chile, for hope is in the heart.”

And the fifth prize winner, of 96 lines, begins and ends in this wise: “I dream to go to a new land/ Where beauty and riches are bound/ But no book could tell me/ What country it would be// ... Oh Great Chile!//... You are absolutely amazing/ Wonderful proof of God’s greatness/ A very precious gift from God/ Worthy to be treasured!”

For lack of space here, we cannot share the poems entire. Except this last one, not because it is my daughter’s (well...), but more so because it only has 31 short lines:

“Nothing worse than/ A prison inexorable/ With a window gifting/ The perfect view.// Wrapped around/ The middle rung/ Is a ribbon loop/ Of twisted landscape/ Creasing the blue-white/ Parinacota,/ Knotting the Grey frost,/ Folding in the Elqui dip,/ Crumpling the Conguillìo.// Though neither can/ A prison note seize/ The hoist of palmed ropes/ With notice./ Nor can the valiant/ Sway of threads/ Be culled/ And the beak/ Of the Firecrown/ Recognized.// All that glitters/ Remains hidden/ Beyond fathom/ When one entombed/ Faces blinding walls/ Of copper/ And prison bars/ Of gold.”

Okay, for one, now I know why possible entries from the Ateneo didn’t make it. Most might have been more of real poems, that is, literarily observing the requisites of craft rather than simply swooning. While historically, an ode was meant to be sung, it is now defined as “a lyric poem in the form of an address to a particular subject, often elevated in style or manner in varied or irregular meter.”

That should still involve similes and metaphors and other tropes, and not entail mostly abstract words that do not supply a reader’s mental screen with any image or movement — so that the lines do not only sound like the cheesy cliché text in a greeting card. End of poetry lesson, for now. 

Suffice it to say that I am still elated over this latest literary notch up the belt of the kaimito of my eye — if I may mix metaphors. I hope however that this foolishness takes a backseat soon to a real career.

Mirava marches in March, earns her first degree — maybe making up for her dad’s loss of pedigree at the State U. She also turns 21 next week. Happy Birthday, luv of luvs. And thanks for making this Papa proud.