Monday, September 28, 2009

Plight of the Indefinite (Pronoun)

by Ewong Martines

i’d do it all and expect nothing in return.
all I ask of you is to not do anything
that’d turn everything into nothing.
but this is the start of something sullen,

and this is the song of the heartbroken:
*&100%=dvdc*… 0^+@> holy>gx!
6*0… $%#r@lo…ve%2$…@E”!
j^s/kd3…f(x)mac…^w#Q! xyz=f*k!


(indefinite integral of x; love is like calculus--it doesn't make sense. hehe)

Sunday, September 27, 2009

Ondoy ng buhay ko

ni Ewong Martines

At ngayon ngang humupa na ang unos
Kay sarap sanang may mayakap at mahaplos.
O Ondoy, mahal kong Ondoy,
lintik kang bagyo ka—
‘Wag ka nang magbabalik!
‘Pagkat ‘twing lilisan ang tulad mo’y
Lalo lamang akong nananabik
Sa mahigpit niyang yapos
at matatamis niyang halik.
Ano pa’ng silbi ng mabuhay at makaligtas
Kung kami’y magkawalay (pa rin) ng landas?
Kaya naman, Ondoy, dinggin ‘tong pakiusap:
Dito’y ‘wag na ‘wag ka nang magagawi
At muling salantain ang puso kong sawi.

Saturday, September 26, 2009

Love song disguised as poetry

By Ewong (Sept. 26)

And yes, my love,
this is another pop song
for you, my love,
disguised as poetry.*

(Repeat*, my love, 3X)

Music would break,
poems go forgotten.
But my heart goes on,
my love has no end.

(Repeat*, my love,
1 last time)


Tuesday, September 22, 2009

Monologue at the terminal

by Ewong

Maybe it's best this way.
I'm letting go,
and I'm going.
Now you are a painting,
and I need some distance--
some perspective--
to observe your whole being,
to contemplate you
without seeing you.
And only from afar
can I relish and realize
how beautiful you really are.

"I Can Dream" (oil on canvas) by Ivan Chan.

Monday, September 21, 2009

(isang tula ni Makoy*)

Bakit ba hindi manahan ang puso?
Hanap-hanap pa ang ngiti mo
Itinatanggi ko ang iyong paglayo
Ngayon lang naman ako nakadama ng ganito
Pwede bang pakisalo,
nahuhulog ang puso ko

(tula ni Mark Angeles; sent thru text, hehe. Thanks, man.)

Cold Turkey

by Ewong

I will finally quit smoking,
just as I am quitting you.
But that will be so hard
because smoking a lot
is what we used to do.

Sunday, September 20, 2009

You-who-must-not-be-named

by Ewong

Wish stick, Red horse,
green shirt, green mind,
Damien Rice, elevators,
abortion, mix tapes,
Champ, music, museum,
a pink rose, a second rose,
a third one, So Close—
you are too many things!
swimming, fishballs,
caregiving, eyeglasses,
meringue, Kisses, kisses,
twenty world languages,
Marlboro Black, hickeys,
rest-“room,” Kris Allen,
spinach and artichoke fondue.
I may forget your name.
But not us. Not you.

Saturday, September 19, 2009

Only You

by Ewong

Only u--
& nt even
a thousnd
umlauts--
cn truly
make me
smyl.
ü


Esta noche kaya kong magbitiw ng saddest lines


Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche
por Pablo Neruda

Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.
Escribir, por ejemplo : 'La noche está estrellada,
y tiritan, azules, los astros, a lo lejos'.

El viento de la noche gira en el cielo y canta.

Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.
Yo la quise, y a veces ella también me quiso.

En las noches como ésta la tuve entre mis brazos.
La besé tantas veces bajo el cielo infinito.

Ella me quiso, a veces yo también la quería.
Cómo no haber amado sus grandes ojos fijos.

Puedo escribir los versos más tristes esta noche.
Pensar que no la tengo. Sentir que la he perdido.

Oir la noche immensa, más inmensa sin ella.
Y el verso cae al alma como al pasto el rocío.

Qué importa que mi amor no pudiera guardarla.
La noche está estrellada y ella no está conmigo.

Eso es todo. A lo lejos alguien canta. A lo lejos.
Mi alma no se contenta con haberla perdido.

Como para acercarla mi mirada la busca.
Mi corazón la busca, y ella no está conmigo.

La misma noche que hace blanquear los mismos arboles.
Nosotros, los de entonces, ya no somos los mismos.

Ya no la quiero, es cierto pero cuánto la quise.
Mi voz buscaba el viento para tocar su oído.

De otro. Será de otro. Como antes de mis besos.
Su voz, su cuerpo claro. Sus ojos infinitos.

Ya no la quiero, es cierto, pero tal vez la quiero.
Es tan corto al amor, y es tan largo el olvido.

Porque en noches como ésta la tuve entre mis brazos,
mi alma no se contenta con haberla perdido.

Aunque ésta sea el último dolor que ella me causa,
y éstos sean los últimos versos que yo le escribo.


Tonight I can write the saddest lines
translated into English by W.S. Merwin

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
Write, for example,'The night is shattered
and the blue stars shiver in the distance.'

The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.

Through nights like this one I held her in my arms
I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.

She loved me sometimes, and I loved her too.
How could one not have loved her great still eyes.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.

To hear the immense night, still more immense without her.
And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.

What does it matter that my love could not keep her.
The night is shattered and she is not with me.

This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.
My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.

My sight searches for her as though to go to her.
My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.

The same night whitening the same trees.
We, of that time, are no longer the same.

I no longer love her, that's certain, but how I loved her.
My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.

Another's. She will be another's. Like my kisses before.
Her voide. Her bright body. Her inifinite eyes.

I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her.
Love is so short, forgetting is so long.

Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms
my sould is not satisfied that it has lost her.

Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer
and these the last verses that I write for her.


Kaya kong magbitiw ng bitter words
nakakaaliw na version ni Mark Angeles

Kaya kong magbitiw ng bitter words ngayong gabi.
Mag-scribble-skribulan halimbawa: "Ang gabi ay pilantod
at nangangalantutay, bugbog-sarado, ang mga bituin sa malayo.
Paruo't parito ang hangin at ngumangawang parang baka.

Kaya kong magbitiw ng bitter words ngayong gabi.
Labs ko sya, at minsan daw labs niya rin ako.

Sa mga gabing tulad nito, nilalamas ko siya sa aking kandungan.
Nilalaplap ko siya sa silong ng marvelous na kalangitan.
Labs niya ko, at minsan labs ko rin siya.
Panong di ko mamahalin ang malalaki't bilugan niyang mga mata—
parang pugita?

Kaya kong magbitiw ng bitter words ngayong gabi.
Imagine kong wala siya sakin. Ma-feel kong na-lost ko na siya.

Mapakinggan ko ang gabing OA, mas lalong OA dahil wala siya.
At ang talinghaga ay dumidila sa malay tulad ng hamog sa talahib.
Ano pa ba’ng meron diyan, Ineng, kung hindi siya mapapasaakin?
Period. Sa malayo, may ngumangawa. Sa malayo.
Aburido ang multo ko sa pagkawala niya.

At para bagang nandyan lang siya sa tabi-tabi, hinahanap ko pa siya.
Hinahanap siya ng puso ko, kapag wala siya sa tabi ko.
Ang gabi ring ito'y nagkukulapol ng dirty white sa mga troso.
Hindi na kami ang dating kaming kami.

Hindi ko na siya labs, pramis, pero labs na labs ko siya dati.
Hinahagilap ng hininga ko ang hangin para bugahan siya.

Nilalaplap na siya ng iba, tulad ng paglaplap ko sa kanya.
Ang boses niya, ang seksi nyang wankata, ang for layp niyang mga mata.

Hindi ko na siya labs, pramis, pero medyo labidabs ko pa rin siya.
Maigsi lang ang lablayp ko pero ang makalimot
sangkatutak na 50 golden years ang inaabot.

Dahil sa mga gabing ganito nilalamas ko siya sa aking kandungan,
aburido ang multo ko sa pagkawala nya.

Kahit ito na ang last chance ko para magmaasim
at ito na rin ang huling chuminess ko sa kanya.

Friday, September 18, 2009

Beautiful Sin

by Ewong

I want to touch your face again
and kiss the mole on your cheek.
I want to hit you in the arm
and embrace you afterward.
I want to be hugged by you,
and suffocate in your tenderness.
I miss the way you brush my hair
with your frail, lovely fingers.
I long for our long and gentle
and wet and savage kissing,
even the brief, impeccably timed
(not-so-private place) sessions.
Everyday I reminisce when we made out
in the (not-so-private place)--
the thrill and the passion,
the odd pride of having done it.
I yearn for our nights together,
naked and exhausted and guilty
like two criminal lovers.
Without your hickeys on my neck and chest,
I feel incomplete and worthless.
I still crave for your body,
and your nipples I loved to suckle,
and your smell, and your little hairs,
and your deep, sweet navel.
I would die to taste
your every inch once more.
We have been sinners, (your name),
but you are one beautiful sin
I would gladly commit
over and over and over again.

Thursday, September 17, 2009

Home is where the heart(break) is



Fuck,
what with my big heart,
I still feel so small
for not being loved
in return...

Wednesday, September 16, 2009

Irony

by Ewong

I, write
for, you,
but, you
do, not
read, me.