Poetry&Stuffby
MARNE KILATES
MARNE
S
KRIPTS
from
Antinostalgia & the Tokhang
Rhapsodies
from
Antinostalgia & the Tokhang
Rhapsodies
From Mga Biyahe, Mga Estasyon
From Journeys, Junctions
(a collection of travel poems)
from
Antinostalgia & the Tokhang
Rhapsodies
Poems 2022
Poems 2022
Poems 2022
Poems 2022
From Mga Biyahe, Mga Estasyon
From Journeys, Junctions
(a collection of travel poems)
From Mga Biyahe, Mga Estasyon
From Journeys, Junctions
(a collection of travel poems)
From Mga Biyahe, Mga Estasyon
From Journeys, Junctions
(a collection of travel poems)
From Mga Biyahe, Mga Estasyon
From Journeys, Junctions
(a collection of travel poems)
From Mga Biyahe, Mga Estasyon
From Journeys, Junctions
(a collection of travel poems)
From Mga Biyahe, Mga Estasyon
From Journeys, Junctions
(a collection of travel poems)
From Mga Biyahe, Mga Estasyon
From Journeys, Junctions
(a collection of travel poems)
Mike L. Bigornia
Maagang Gabi
Sa labas ng bintana,
nakadikit sa salamin
ang himbing na mga kulisap.
Ang mga balingkinitang pino
ay rehas ng dalisdis.
Ang kaliligo't pinilakang bahay
ay pinalalabo ng gumagapang na hamog
na nakikiisa sa usok ng tsimniya.
Pinaaga ng biglang ulan
kangina ang gabi.
Maya-maya, masayang dadamba't aawit
ang mga putikang paa at botas
sa sahig ng malamlam na kantina.
Pagkat kahit umuungol pa ang langit
at paminsan-minsang nagpupukol
ng matalim na liwanag,
sangmilya na ang layo ng kidlat
na nagtaboy sa patpating aso
patungo sa ilalim ng punong alnus.
Nagbuntong-hininga ang lagarian.
Samantala, limang uhuging bata
na may balikat na panggatong
ang bumabagtas sa giniginaw na daan,
at gaya ng ulilang ibong
nasa kampanaryo ng kapilya
ay muli't muling nagpapagpag
ng basang pakpak.
Early Evening
At the window,
clinging to the other side of the glass pane,
the moths are fast asleep.
Beyond, the slim pines
stripe the slope like grilles.
A house, rinsed with silver,
fades in the creeping mist
now mingling with chimney smoke.
A sudden rain
hastened the evening.
In a moment, mud-caked feet and boots
will step lightly, as if with music,
into the dimly-lit canteen,
for while the sky might still grumble
and hurl its knives of light,
the storm that sent the scrawny mongrel
into the alnus’ shade has passed.
The sawmill gives a sigh.
Meanwhile, five sniveling urchins
shouldering bundles of kindling
traverse the cold-stricken path,
and like the lone bird
perched atop the belfry,
they flap, from time to time,
their dripping wings.
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Mike L. Birgornia was one of our finest poets. He was also a translator, editor and fictionist. He was a founding member of the GAT,
and chairman of Umpil, and managing editor at Phoenix Publishing. He was a consistent
winner of the Palancas and the National
Book Awards. He also received the
SEA Write Award from the King of Thailand. His books include Puntablangko, Prosang Itim, and the postumous Salida.
He succumbed to a heart attack at age 50.
