MAN OF EARTH
Amador T. Daguio
Pliant is the bamboo
I am a man of earth;
They say that from the bamboo
We had our first birth
Am I of the body,
Or of the green leaf?
Do I have to whisper
My every sin and grief?
If the wind passes by,
Must I stoop and try
To measure fully
My flexibility?
I might havr been the bamboo,
But I will be a man.
Bend me then, O Lord,
Bend me if you can.
WHERE IS MAY?
Fernando Ma. Guerrero
My happy days have passed away,
The hills and woods have lost their flower.
Where is May?
Where are its sweet and charming hours?
Cheer me, my star, and give me light
To see at least a pleasant way;
Show me your eyes so dear and bright
To find my way.
With thoughts of care I bend my head.
Where is my May?
I am alone, I eat my Bread
Away from yo so far away.
LIKE THE MOLAVE
R. Zulueta da costa
Not yet, Rizal. Sleep not in peace;
There are a thousand waters to be spanned;
There are a thousand mountains to be crossed;
There are a thousand crossed to be borne.
Our shoulders are not strong; our sinews are
Grown flaccid with dependence, smug with ease
Under another's wing.
Rest not in peace;
Not yet Rizal, not yet. The land had need
Of young blood and what younger than your own.
Forever spilled in the great name of freedom,
Forever oblate on the altar of the free?
Not yet alone, Rizal. O souls.
And spirits of the martyred brave, arise!
Arise and sour the land! Shed once again
Your willing lood! Infuse the vibrant red
Into our thin anemic veins; until
We pick up your Promethean tools and, strong,
Out of the depthless matrix of your faith
In us, and on the silent cliffs of freedom,
We carve for all time your marmoreal dream!
Until your people, seeing, are become
Like the molave, firm, resilent, staunch,
Rising on the hillside, unafraid,
Strong in his own fibre; yes, like the molave!
AMADOR T. DAGUIO
Amador T. Daguio was a poet, novelist and teacher during the pre-war. He was best
known for his fictions and poems. He had published two volumes of poetry, "Bataan Harvest"
and"The Flaming Lyre". He served as chief editor for the Philippine House of Representatives
before he died in 1966.
FERNANDO MA. GUERRERO
Fernando Ma. Guerrero was born in Ermita, Manila 1873. He studied at the Ateneo de
Manila and then took law courses in the University of Santo Thomas. After five years of law
practice, he took up journalism. He started writing during the revolution, during which he
contributed to the revolutionary papers. He began writing short poems in English after the
Spanish period. Since then he concentrated himself writing lyrics, short stories, novelettes and
miscellaneous articles. In his poetry he combined realism with idealism. His hobbies were music
and painting. He was a great lover of classical music while most of his paintings were
landscapes, sunsets, and dawns. At his death in 1929, the Philippines lost a national poet and
distinguishe writer and journalist.
R. ZULUETA DA COSTA
R. Zulueta da Costa was a graduate mof De La Salle College (now University) where he
especialized in busuness administration. He began writing poems in Spanish and later he also
wrote in English. "Like the Molave and Other Poems" won the Commonwealth Literary Award
for Poetry.
Sonnet I
By Jose Garcia Villa
First, a poem must be magical,
Then musical as a seagull.
It must be a brightness moving
And hold secret a bird’s flowering
It must be slender as a bell,
And it must hold fire as well.
It must have the wisdom of bows
And it must kneel like a rose.
It must be able to hear
The luminance of dove and deer.
It must be able to hide
What it seeks, like a bride.
And over all I would like to hover
God, smiling from the poem’s cover.
The Rural Maid
By Fernando M. Maramag
1.
Thy glance, sweet maid, when first we met,
Had left a heart that aches for thee,
I feel the pain of fond regret—
Thy heart, perchance, is not for me.
2.
We parted: though we met no more,
My dreams are dreams of thee, fair maid;
I think of thee, my thoughts implore
The hours my lips on thine are laid.
3.
Forgive these words that love impart,
And pleading, bare the poet’s breast;
And if a rose with thorns thou art,
Yet on my breast that rose may rest.
4.
I know not what to name thy charms,
Thou art half human, half divine;
And if I could hold thee in my arms,
I know both heaven and earth were mine
ORDER FOR MASKS
Virginia Moreno
To this harlequinade
I wear black tight and fool’s cap
Billiken*, make me three bright masks
For the three tasks in my life.
Three faces to wear
One after the other
For the three men in my life.
When my Brother comes
make me one opposite
If he is a devil, a saint
With a staff to his fork
And for his horns, a crown.
I hope for my contrast
To make nil
Our old resemblance to each other
and my twin will walk me out
Without a frown
Pretending I am another.
When my Father comes
Make me one so like
His child once eating his white bread in trance
Philomela* before she was raped. I hope by likeness
To make him believe this is the same kind
The chaste face he made,
And my blind Lear* will walk me out
Without a word
Fearing to peer behind.
If my lover comes,
Yes, when Seducer comes
Make for me the face
That will in color race
The carnival stars
And change in shape
Under his grasping hands.
Make it bloody
When he needs it white
Make it wicked in the dark
Let him find no old mark
Make it stone to his suave touch
This magician will walk me out
Newly loved.
Not knowing why my tantalizing face
Is strangely like the mangled parts of a face
He once wiped out.
Make me three masks.
Notable Allusions:
Billiken- a charm doll with a pointed ears and mischievous smile.
Philomela- According to Greek Mythology, Philomela was a daughter of King Pandion I of
Athens and a sister of Procne. In the story, King Tereus of Thrace (husband of Procne) raped
Philomela and cut out her tongue.
King Lear- A tragedy by William Shakespeare.
Exams 40%
Quizzes 30%
Projects 20%
Recitation 10%
Father
Alfred A. Yuson
Must everything begin and end with tensions
as with Father and son,
the memory of games and sins between?
In the hospital I watched your heart
tighten its flutter across a screen, a moty
blipping fom breath to breath
And finally arriving at a pin point
of dark, the last light a fient
that three me off your sorry hint.
Eutering your deathroom I came
upon a sad peace, bent towards time
and kissed you; you were him.
Pressed your hand and in wild
appeal to chance thumped a child’s
blow upon your chest, a field
I wanted to revive and roam
upon some more, though the dusk of a dream
hurried me along toward half a home.
