DORADO
Translated from Filipino
You pin your faith to the levity of feeling, and like dawn ushered in by the iridescence of the rusted roof, the belief that, at times, not all suffering comes from sorrow; but the truth is I often want to say that this holiness too can gash, that the connections these things share are fragile—that even the wind drowns in the waves, that it is not only the changing season the flock of wild ducks flee from, that even the most constant star can lead astray. Look for the breeding grounds of locusts and find the nest of primordial fears. While, out in the open sea, the dorado’s agile darting—repetitive, thrashing against the line—changing its color at the brink of death: blue, green, yellow. It is often for beauty that our violence is concealed. All I want to say is, magnificence does not lie at such throes. Here, the newly mown grass can abrade. Here is a handful of salt and tell me the pain of being stung in the eye.
WHALE
Translated from Filipino
She was again seized by wonder. She saw Two long braids of cloudscape; white threads In the sky’s forehead. She knew the seagull and pelicans That pecked at the barnacles which had drifted, clinging To her body but it was not the wings that unfurled what so Astonished her. She longed to introduce herself. She suddenly let out a geyser from her blowhole, Taking chances at the abrupt turn. But further it went. Before submerging herself again, she felt the sprinkling Water coming back and while looking up, it was as if The cloudscape itself had unleashed the rain.
SEA TURTLE
Translated from Filipino
At the end of it all only your eyelids shall remain. Here By the coast. Flies examine the map you have left From your journey. Its moss gradually fading. There is no sadness in going on one’s own. You are Like an unexpected pilgrim succumbed to a town’s mysterious Plague. A bag clings on your shoulders and the burden To heal your wounds, you bring nothing else but Five petals of jasmine, four strands Of cat fur, two bands of broken Rosaries and a pair of clouded goggles. One by one you erase them from yourself while the language Of those you meet changes, oaths erased In the name of countries. Until you forget Where you have come from. How many times have you shed off Your scabs and scattered islands remain by your body before Having told yourself you’ve toiled enough. So you disrobe yourself. At the first instant you realize that the horizon Was within reach, you say never have I left.
CATFISH
Translated from Filipino
“We are attracted to every aspect of life that represents a last illusion yet unshattered…” —Barbara Cully
Watch, the catfish are crawling on their knees, crossing the newly soaked asphalt, the weather herding them to the unknown, and at a glance, they are like heirlooms handed down and lost: tickets from a departure and a homecoming, a bottle filled with sand, a dried stingray whip. The clouds’ reflections are still shadows in the field that had been flooded. In other words, this is what remains. Later, by the wick still unlit, the grandchildren will sit around their grandfather, begging for stories. Before, they used to pass the days harvesting and cooking spinach. From the mire, they dug out a helmet, after a while, a boot and later, a bayonet. The old man decides not to tell what else they’ve seen. And after, he will shift to his dazzling romance with their grandmother. Their storytelling will be interrupted by the gargling of the transistor radio: tomorrow will be clearer. Tomorrow as though a promise.
WHALE SHARK
Translated from Filipino
This is how large we know Of death: like a galley Subsumed by hunger or war. As it beached by the shore, We became pirates in search For whatever we could exploit. But what might we find beneath The scales of which we know not of? The unease caught us in a net, That a curse might befall anyone Who tasted its flesh. The sea held Countless secrets and here, one lay. Someone said, this one swallows up Those who have disappeared and drowned Whenever a storm reaches the sea. It is but a child, he said, Compared to Jonah’s whale. Many nodded at his words. Another added, this beast Is the sea spirit’s mystical steed. It might be its horse or if not, its elephant. Like a superstition in cooking, Some were convinced we might end up Finished like the fishes once we ate it. So it was with a picture taken That we were content To share this one memento.
Enrique S. Villasis is a poet and a scriptwriter. His first book of poems Agua was published by Librong Lira and a finalist for the National Book Awards. He worked for ABS-CBN as a television writer before the Philippine government politically harassed and denied the franchise of the network.
Bernard Capinpin is a poet and translator. He is currently working on a translation of Ramon Guillermo’s Ang Makina ni Mang Turing. He resides in Quezon City.
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