nameabledays Archive One

It is the middle of the dry season. Whatever the inconvenient truth, this seems to be the hottest summer in years. I've had the chance to go up north to the Ilocos, down southern Tagalog to Marinduque, and further down and west to Palawan, and it's the same thing: the stern eye of the summer pierces through all the remaining foliage, boils the sap out of our skin and soaks our sleeveless undershirts, sends the sweat down to the seat of our underpants and wreaks itchy havoc in our singit; every green patch is brown and the dust clings to the bare parts of our feet in our sandals or flipflops. The whole world has gone to Boracay and I am glued to my aging Powerbook, my skin prickling in the sweat, and I am searching my files for an old poem for or out of the rainy season. And I am savoring the thought of a cold bath, and here is one poem found (composed of three), from when my heart was younger...




MONSOON SUITE

1. Allegretto

Handmaiden of cement mornings,
Fishwife, meat-monger, widow, whore,
My town rises in a sea of slime and mist,
Smoke of motors, rain, water from washing.

Riding her tremulous scallop of sun,
Nimble Venus, wiry peasant woman,
Floats in her market-day dress of apron and tapis,
And along her path sprout and unfold
The awnings, lean-tos and makeshifts.

She alights with briskness and grace.
At the beat of her hear hand, her retinue
Of serfs unloads her merchandise
From pickup truck or jeep.

Dark, muscular, devoted,
Burnt by the wind of swidden or seashore,
They set down vats, panniers, pallets,
They unpack baskets and crates,
They hang steelyards and hooks,
They set up low tables
And spread out plastic sheets.

There she arrays her
Quicksilver harvest of bay and gulf,
Gold-ore of roots, gemstones of fruits,
Bounty from the Volcano’s slopes,
Blessings from mountain and valley in the north.

She conducts the quickening chorus
Cleaving the quivering hunks of pork,
Slicing through belly and gill of fish,
Pouring freshness over tubers and leaves,
Weighing, apportioning, adding
An extra sliver or piece into the bargain,
Calling, cajoling, accosting me
With the vile endearments of her trade:

Come, Suki, poke, touch, inspect!
And I pause to handle her goods,
As the marketplace awakes,
And the morning rises to a pitch.


2. Lento

Wings of all colors open
As the monsoon pours its largesse
On the stall-lined market street.

Umbrellas flap. Rustling
Of blanket cloth, tarpaulin sheets—
But not to take flight.

Everything freezes
As the sky pelts the awnings
And galvanized roofs.

Air is rank, vapors mix:
Cheap meals, ground coffee,
Rotting fruit, smoked fish.

Over the walks spill
The slime of many days:
Mud, soot, grime wash down

From wheel, hoof, feet.
Crumbs of dead skin peel
From wall, asphalt, concrete.

Then the sky stops—
A hiccup! And the dusk
descends—a sigh,

Unfurling more tarpaulin.
And the kerosene lamps awake.
And the cold reaches our feet.




3. Precioso

Across the street
They roast those grubby bits
Of fat and meager meat.

Soy and vinegar drip
Over glowing charcoal.
The odor drifts

As they fan the embers.
Smoke wafts
Among walls of shadow

In the corner
Where they seem to cringe
In their smallness,

In the dim light
Of a kerosene sadness.
They are folding up.

It must be late.


Marne L. Kilates
(rev. May 17, 2002)

[Again I am unable to reproduce the original indentions of the book form of the poem so please bear with its all-flushed-left format. Anyone out there can teach me the codes, help! Photos: a fishwife in Palawan and one from a shaken camera during a garden party in our subdivision.]