Expressing love with ‘Heart of Clay’
June 11, 2006 | 12:00am
My love story and Nina Estrada’s Heart of Clay are intertwined. A collection of 56 love sonnets enhanced by 25 black-and-white reproductions of Vicente Manansala’s interpretative drawings, the book has a revered sanctuary in the library of my heart.
During my teenage years, I could not express my feelings to a girl. I was dubbed torpe, suplado, manhid, etc. The truth is, I was terribly shy.
In college, I worked as a library assistant in charge of accession and classification. One day, I notice a book of sonnets among the new acquisitions: Heart of Clay. I casually scanned the table of contents; got excited by the first two poems and could not put the book down until I got a tiger look from the librarian.
I brought the volume home and finished reading it in one sitting. Although I could not understand some sonnets, Nina Estrada’s frank, direct, and categorical writing stunned me.
Confess your love, it’s all I need to know…
It’s the last line of Sonnet 47 and the first line of Sonnet 48. It seemed to be addressing me, challenging my manliness. And so, I became courageous and daring. In due time, I had a girlfriend. She popped in the neighborhood one day and for me, it was love at first sight. My world spun in delirious insanity. Every day I hurried home to hear her voice. She lived in an adjacent house, and I could peep at her through my small window.
Sonnet 2 witnessed my madness: One glance at you and all my peace is gone…
For no reason at all, I suffered with Sonnet 5 as …a tortured sinner in Paradise.
At one moment, I was a fool dancing to the beat of Sonnet 8’s …my heart vibrates with strumming violins.
Then, she disappeared. Neighbors said she left for her hometown. I followed her and to my disappointment, she was back in her former boyfriend’s arms.
My dream castle came crashing down. In exasperation, I picked up my Heart of Clay and the marker pointed to Sonnet 34: The ice of cold departure…exacerbating my despair. Other poems moan dirges to my bleeding heart. Sonnet 35 cried over real and imagined barriers:
Across the land and seas that separate
Our lives ….
and Sonnet 36 fumed over the pretensions:
… this
Deceitful guile you pass for love ….
But Nina encouraged me to rise above the ruins through Sonnet 16: Wear high and proudly, your defeat, my heart….
To completely forget about her, Sonnet 5 admonished me that I burn your letters into ashes gray….
Finally Sonnet 55 counseled:
And yet, when all is done, why speak of vengeance?
I bear no bitterness or even pain ….
We part… and yet not part at all. We lived
The past, and what has passed can never really die.
One day, my schoolmate friend introduced me to her neighbor with whom I latter shared long walks and visits to rivers and the seven lakes. Soon, she yielded to my suit.
At the same time, the girl brought to my attention by my cousins some five years before, who corresponded with me off and on at long intervals, and whom I courted beginning the previous year, had finally given signs of "surrender" by writing lines like "If friendship comes, can loving be far behind?…As a matter of fact, I am fond of you" and "Whatever you want, you get." She also expressed her desire to see me more often.
I could not believe that I had two girlfriends. In the beginning I was triumphant but as time passed by, the demands got heavy and conflicting. Finally I decided to keep Girl No. 3 because I really loved her.
That Monday, I chanced upon my schoolmate who made it possible for me to meet Girl No. 2. She asked me why I did not attend the dance the previous Sunday night. I told her that I had to visit my other girlfriend in Manila. Naturally she informed the other girl and was furious and did not want to see me again.
My conscience bothered me and various sonnets furnished the comforting words:
Sonnet 39: If we must part, Beloved, let us part in peace…
Sonnet 40: When we shall part (for this we surely shall | In time)….
Sonnet 41 : Farewell, my love, the end is yet to be …..
Fittingly, Sonnet 1 articulated most of the things I wanted to tell my Girl No. 3.
Make me the liquid by your vase contained.
Make me the clay that you would shape and mould.
Make me the puppet of your wish ordained,
The shadow and reflection of your would.
Make me the memory of your smile when this
Is fled. The glimmer of your tears before
They fall. The sigh suspended from a kiss
Conceived and born in your heart’s inmost core.
Let me be the music that your fingers play
The instrument beneath your singing hands.
The echo of your voice, the midnight of your day,
The eddy following your soul’s response.
For, Love, I would be paint beneath your brush:
Distinct and yet united, we two at last.
In addition to this full submission, I wanted to fill up whatever might be missing or forgotten in her life. Hence, I poured out "all there is" from my heart to testify to the purity of my love:
All There Is
I live your love
like the dark green moss patching the cracks on the rocks
like the tranquil water of the dancing brook flowing thru the thirsty banks
like the restless air scampering the hills, valleys and heights
like the pure white smoke crowding a room when a maiden builds fire
I live your love
like a gardener caring the flower’s bloom
like a painter drawing details of a glorious dawn
like a shepherd leading his flocks at the break of morn
like a poet fitting out words in rime adorned
For my love is not a sculptor shaping a form
My love is all there is to fill a vacuum
My love devotedly traced the contours of Nina Estrada’s poetic landscape. Her poems harmonized well with my life situations. I often verbalized my constant need for my beloved in imitation of Sonnet 6:
There is no answer to his "Wherefore? Why?"
I only know my need for you is great….
I whispered to her every now and then what Sonnet 11 practiced:
To think at all would be to think of you.
Just like Nina Estrada’s poems, my beloved Girl No. 3 never told me the frank, direct and categorical "I love you." Perhaps women preferred to express their intimate feelings by beating around the bush or by way of the subtle body language.
Re-reading the book brings back the excitement of courtship. It recalls the faltering initiation at romance. While it remembers the depressing feeling of betrayal and deception it cements the foundations of the resulting relationship.
The volume continues to be my life’s flavor to savor, my pleasure without measure, and my treasure to nurture.
It is my long-time favorite book.
During my teenage years, I could not express my feelings to a girl. I was dubbed torpe, suplado, manhid, etc. The truth is, I was terribly shy.
In college, I worked as a library assistant in charge of accession and classification. One day, I notice a book of sonnets among the new acquisitions: Heart of Clay. I casually scanned the table of contents; got excited by the first two poems and could not put the book down until I got a tiger look from the librarian.
I brought the volume home and finished reading it in one sitting. Although I could not understand some sonnets, Nina Estrada’s frank, direct, and categorical writing stunned me.
Confess your love, it’s all I need to know…
It’s the last line of Sonnet 47 and the first line of Sonnet 48. It seemed to be addressing me, challenging my manliness. And so, I became courageous and daring. In due time, I had a girlfriend. She popped in the neighborhood one day and for me, it was love at first sight. My world spun in delirious insanity. Every day I hurried home to hear her voice. She lived in an adjacent house, and I could peep at her through my small window.
Sonnet 2 witnessed my madness: One glance at you and all my peace is gone…
For no reason at all, I suffered with Sonnet 5 as …a tortured sinner in Paradise.
At one moment, I was a fool dancing to the beat of Sonnet 8’s …my heart vibrates with strumming violins.
Then, she disappeared. Neighbors said she left for her hometown. I followed her and to my disappointment, she was back in her former boyfriend’s arms.
My dream castle came crashing down. In exasperation, I picked up my Heart of Clay and the marker pointed to Sonnet 34: The ice of cold departure…exacerbating my despair. Other poems moan dirges to my bleeding heart. Sonnet 35 cried over real and imagined barriers:
Across the land and seas that separate
Our lives ….
and Sonnet 36 fumed over the pretensions:
… this
Deceitful guile you pass for love ….
But Nina encouraged me to rise above the ruins through Sonnet 16: Wear high and proudly, your defeat, my heart….
To completely forget about her, Sonnet 5 admonished me that I burn your letters into ashes gray….
Finally Sonnet 55 counseled:
And yet, when all is done, why speak of vengeance?
I bear no bitterness or even pain ….
We part… and yet not part at all. We lived
The past, and what has passed can never really die.
One day, my schoolmate friend introduced me to her neighbor with whom I latter shared long walks and visits to rivers and the seven lakes. Soon, she yielded to my suit.
At the same time, the girl brought to my attention by my cousins some five years before, who corresponded with me off and on at long intervals, and whom I courted beginning the previous year, had finally given signs of "surrender" by writing lines like "If friendship comes, can loving be far behind?…As a matter of fact, I am fond of you" and "Whatever you want, you get." She also expressed her desire to see me more often.
I could not believe that I had two girlfriends. In the beginning I was triumphant but as time passed by, the demands got heavy and conflicting. Finally I decided to keep Girl No. 3 because I really loved her.
That Monday, I chanced upon my schoolmate who made it possible for me to meet Girl No. 2. She asked me why I did not attend the dance the previous Sunday night. I told her that I had to visit my other girlfriend in Manila. Naturally she informed the other girl and was furious and did not want to see me again.
My conscience bothered me and various sonnets furnished the comforting words:
Sonnet 39: If we must part, Beloved, let us part in peace…
Sonnet 40: When we shall part (for this we surely shall | In time)….
Sonnet 41 : Farewell, my love, the end is yet to be …..
Fittingly, Sonnet 1 articulated most of the things I wanted to tell my Girl No. 3.
Make me the liquid by your vase contained.
Make me the clay that you would shape and mould.
Make me the puppet of your wish ordained,
The shadow and reflection of your would.
Make me the memory of your smile when this
Is fled. The glimmer of your tears before
They fall. The sigh suspended from a kiss
Conceived and born in your heart’s inmost core.
Let me be the music that your fingers play
The instrument beneath your singing hands.
The echo of your voice, the midnight of your day,
The eddy following your soul’s response.
For, Love, I would be paint beneath your brush:
Distinct and yet united, we two at last.
In addition to this full submission, I wanted to fill up whatever might be missing or forgotten in her life. Hence, I poured out "all there is" from my heart to testify to the purity of my love:
All There Is
I live your love
like the dark green moss patching the cracks on the rocks
like the tranquil water of the dancing brook flowing thru the thirsty banks
like the restless air scampering the hills, valleys and heights
like the pure white smoke crowding a room when a maiden builds fire
I live your love
like a gardener caring the flower’s bloom
like a painter drawing details of a glorious dawn
like a shepherd leading his flocks at the break of morn
like a poet fitting out words in rime adorned
For my love is not a sculptor shaping a form
My love is all there is to fill a vacuum
My love devotedly traced the contours of Nina Estrada’s poetic landscape. Her poems harmonized well with my life situations. I often verbalized my constant need for my beloved in imitation of Sonnet 6:
There is no answer to his "Wherefore? Why?"
I only know my need for you is great….
I whispered to her every now and then what Sonnet 11 practiced:
To think at all would be to think of you.
Just like Nina Estrada’s poems, my beloved Girl No. 3 never told me the frank, direct and categorical "I love you." Perhaps women preferred to express their intimate feelings by beating around the bush or by way of the subtle body language.
Re-reading the book brings back the excitement of courtship. It recalls the faltering initiation at romance. While it remembers the depressing feeling of betrayal and deception it cements the foundations of the resulting relationship.
The volume continues to be my life’s flavor to savor, my pleasure without measure, and my treasure to nurture.
It is my long-time favorite book.
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