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Pinatubo/ Pinatubo
(Halaw/ Excerpt)

1

 

Umulan ng abo hanggang dito

At tinuklaw kami ng ulingang retrato

Ng iyong pag-alimpuyo:

Kumukulong putik,

Lumilipad na bubog, troso't bato,

Payroklastik,

Lumalagaslas na lava, asupre't asido,

Sumasagitsit na alipato,

                        Daluyong

Ng kilo-kilometrong tipik ng lahar.

 

Para kang huklubang nag-alis

Ng tinik

                        At sukal ng dibdib.

Apo Malyari,

Mahigit apat na siglo kang umidlip

At tinaliptip ang iyong pangalan;

Nagbahay

                        Ang ahas at alakdan

Sa iyong gilagid.

Nagsasalita ka ngayon sa sinaunang tinig,

Namumugto sa titik ng pinuksang alitaptap

Ngunit nikelado

Nekrologo ang alingawngaw

Sa antena't duklay.

Nakararamdam kami ng bughaw bulanggaw

Pinatubo't pinagtubuang poot

            Sa pantig

                        Ng iyong pagyanig

Ngunit hindi namin matarok nang lubos

Ang ugat ng ulikbang pag-ungol.

 

Umulan ng abo hanggang dito.

Araw-araw,

                        Binabasa namin ang bangis mo

Sa listahan ng ulila, desperado't bakwet,

            Sa alarma ng salanta, guho't tibag,

                        At sa patalastas

            Ng daratal pang ligamgam.

Para kaming gamugamo,

Nagbabantay sa alab mong maharlikang sumusubo,

Naghahalungkat ng wastong dasal,

Nagigitla sa malindol mong kaluskos,

            Gumigibik at nagpapagibik,

At kung gabi'y napipikit

            Sa panaginip

                        Na hitik

Sa sambuntong parirala't parikalang abo:

1

 

The rain of ash reached us

And like serpent fangs the grey photograph

Of your whirling rage

Stung us:

Curdling ferment of mud,

            Flying shards, timber and rock,

                        Pyroclastic,

Roaring lava, seething sulfur and acid,

            Hissing sparks,

                        Surging

Kilometers of crackling lahar.

 

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EruptionMPinatubo.jpg
Pinatubo.jpg

Your were like a sulking dotard plucking

Thorns of resentment

            From the thickets of your breast.

Apo Malyari,

Your sleep of four centuries

Had encrusted your name;

Asp and scorpion

            Have nested

In the bare grin of your gums.

You speak now in ancient voice,

Fraught with the lyric of slain fireflies

But its echo,

                   Nickel-stained, necrological,

Hums among the branches and aerials.

We sense the rage, blue and berserk,

Pent up and exploited,[1]

                                 In the syllables

                                                        Of your quakes

But we cannot plumb

The root of your black howling grief. 

 

The rain of ash reached us.

Daily

            We read the tale of your ferocity

In the roster orphans, refugees and desperate,

            In the signals of calamity, landslide, rockfall,

                        In the warnings

            For more disquiet.

We were like moths,

Circling the regal glow of your bubbling cauldron,

Searching for proper prayers,

Stunned by the temblor of your stirring,

            Succoring and crying for succor,

And at night falling asleep

            In dreams

                        Heaving

With the symbols and ironies of ash:

 

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[1] “Pinatubo’t pinagtubuan…” word play lost in translation. Pinatubo means to make grow; the root tubo also means profit; thus, to make something and someone grow and to profit in that growth, at the expense of that something or someone.

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