The Bells by Edgar Allan Poe

Hear the sledges with the bells-
Silver bells!
What a world of merriment their melody foretells!
How they tinkle, tinkle; tinkle,
In the icy air of night!
While the stars that over sprinkle
All the heavens, seem to twinkle
With a crystalline delight;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells
From the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells-
From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells.







Hear the mellow wedding bells,
Golden bells!
What a world of happiness their harmony foretells!
Through the balmy air of night
how they ring out their delight!
From the molten-golden notes,
And an in tune,
What a liquid ditty floats
To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats
On the moon!
Oh, from out the sounding cells,
what a gush of euphony voluminously wells!
How it swells!
How it dwells
On the Future! How it tells
Of the rapture that impels
To the swinging and the ringing
Of the bells, bells, bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells-
To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells!






Hear the loud alarum bells-
Brazen bells!
What a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells!
In the startled ear of night
how they scream out their affright!
Too much horrified to speak,
They can only shriek, shriek,
Out of tune,
In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire,
In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire,
Leaping higher, higher, higher,
With a desperate desire,
And a resolute endeavor,
Now- now to sit or never,
By the side of the pale-faced moon.
Oh, the bells, bells, bells!
What a tale their terror tells
Of Despair!
How they clang, and clash, and roar!
What a horror they outpour
On the bosom of the palpitating air!
Yet the ear it fully knows,
By the twanging,
And the clanging,
How the danger ebbs and flows:
Yet the ear distinctly tells,
In the jangling,
And the wrangling,
How the danger sinks and swells,
By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells-
Of the bells-
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells,
Bells, bells, bells-
In the clamor and the clangor of the bells!






Hear the tolling of the bells-
Iron Bells!
What a world of solemn thought their monody compels!
In the silence of the night,
How we shiver with affright
At the melancholy menace of their tone!
For every sound that floats
From the rust within their throats
Is a groan.
And the people- ah, the people-
They that dwell up in the steeple,
All Alone
And who, tolling, tolling, tolling,
In that muffled monotone,
Feel a glory in so rolling
On the human heart a stone-
They are neither man nor woman-
They are neither brute nor human-
They are Ghouls:
And their king it is who tolls;
And he rolls, rolls, rolls,
Rolls
A paean from the bells!
And his merry bosom swells
With the paean of the bells!
And he dances, and he yells;
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the paean of the bells-
Of the bells:
Keeping time, time, time,
In a sort of Runic rhyme,
To the throbbing of the bells-
Of the bells, bells, bells-
To the sobbing of the bells;
Keeping time, time, time,
As he knells, knells, knells,
In a happy Runic rhyme,
To the rolling of the bells-
Of the bells, bells, bells:
To the tolling of the bells,
Of the bells, bells, bells, bells-
Bells, bells, bells-
To the moaning and the groaning of the bells.

This poem can be interpreted in many different ways, the most basic of which is simply a reflection of the sounds that bells can make, and the emotions evoked from that sound. For example, "From the bells bells bells bells/Bells bells bells!" brings to mind the clamoring of myriad church bells. Several deeper interpretations exist as well. One is that the poem is a representation of life from the nimbleness of youth to the pain of age. Growing despair is emphasized alongside the growing frenzy in the tone of the poem. Another is the passing of the seasons, from spring to winter. The passing of the seasons is often used as a metaphor for life itself. The poem also suggests a Poe theme of mourning over a lost wife, courted in sledge, married and then killed in a fire as the husband looks on. The tolling of the iron bells reflects the final madness of the grief-stricken husband.
The sounds of the verses, specifically the repetitive "bells, bells, bells, bells, bells, bells, bells," lie on a narrow line between sense and nonsense, causing a feeling of instability. The series of "bells" echo the imagined sounds of the various bells, from the silver bells following the klip-klop of the horses, to the "dong, ding-dong" of the swinging golden and iron bells, to screeching "whee-aaah" of the brazen bells.


THINGS TO REMEMBER

A. Students must observe the following.
a. Pitch
b. Loudness
c. Flexibility
d. Emphasis
e. Pronunciation
f. Posture
g. Gesture
h. Rate
i. Enunciation
j. Delivery


B. Make sure that you look up the meanings of unfamiliar words contained in the poem.


C. Employ actions in your poem. See to it that they suit to the meaning or interpretation of the poem.

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One of These Days by Gabriel Garcia Marquez (1928)

Monday dawned warm and rainless. Aurelio Escovar, a dentist without a degree, and a very early riser, opened his office at six. He took some false teeth, still mounted in their plaster mold, out of the glass case and put on the table a fistful of instruments which he arranged in size order, as if they were on display. He wore a collarless striped shirt, closed at the neck with a golden stud, and pants held up by suspenders He was erect and skinny, with a look that rarely corresponded to the situation, the way deaf people have of looking.

When he had things arranged on the table, he pulled the drill toward the dental chair and sat down to polish the false teeth. He seemed not to be thinking about what he was doing, but worked steadily, pumping the drill with his feet, even when he didn't need it.

After eight he stopped for a while to look at the sky through the window, and he saw two pensive buzzards who were drying themselves in the sun on the ridgepole of the house next door. He went on working with the idea that before lunch it would rain again. The shrill voice of his elevenyear-old son interrupted his concentration.

"Papa."

"What?"

"The Mayor wants to know if you'll pull his tooth."

"Tell him I'm not here."

He was polishing a gold tooth. He held it at arm's length, and examined it with his eyes half closed. His son shouted again from the little waiting room.

"He says you are, too, because he can hear you."

The dentist kept examining the tooth. Only when he had put it on the table with the finished work did he say:

"So much the better."

He operated the drill again. He took several pieces of a bridge out of a cardboard box where he kept the things he still had to do and began to polish the gold.

"Papa."

"What?"

He still hadn't changed his expression.

"He says if you don't take out his tooth, he'll shoot you."

Without hurrying, with an extremely tranquil movement, he stopped pedaling the drill, pushed it away from the chair, and pulled the lower drawer of the table all the way out. There was a revolver. "O.K.," he said. "Tell him to come and shoot me."

He rolled the chair over opposite the door, his hand resting on the edge of the drawer. The Mayor appeared at the door. He had shaved the left side of his face, but the other side, swollen and in pain, had a five-day-old beard. The dentist saw many nights of desperation in his dull eyes. He closed the drawer with his fingertips and said softly:

"Sit down."

"Good morning," said the Mayor.

"Morning," said the dentist.

While the instruments were boiling, the Mayor leaned his skull on the headrest of the chair and felt better. His breath was icy. It was a poor office: an old wooden chair, the pedal drill, a glass case with ceramic bottles. Opposite the chair was a window with a shoulder-high cloth curtain. When he felt the dentist approach, the Mayor braced his heels and opened his mouth.

Aurelio Escovar turned his head toward the light. After inspecting the infected tooth, he closed the Mayor's jaw with a cautious pressure of his fingers.

"It has to be without anesthesia," he said.

"Why?"

"Because you have an abscess."

The Mayor looked him in the eye. "All right," he said, and tried to smile. The dentist did not return the smile. He brought the basin of sterilized instruments to the worktable and took them out of the water with a pair of cold tweezers, still without hurrying. Then he pushed the spittoon with the tip of his shoe, and went to wash his hands in the washbasin. He did all this without looking at the Mayor. But the Mayor didn't take his eyes off him.

It was a lower wisdom tooth. The dentist spread his feet and grasped the tooth with the hot forceps. The Mayor seized the arms of the chair, braced his feet with all his strength, and felt an icy void in his kidneys, but didn't make a sound. The dentist moved only his wrist. Without rancor, rather with a bitter tenderness, he said:

"Now you'll pay for our twenty dead men."

The Mayor felt the crunch of bones in his jaw, and his eyes filled with tears. But he didn't breathe until he felt the tooth come out. Then he saw it through his tears. It seemed so foreign to his pain that he failed to understand his torture of the five previous nights.

Bent over the spittoon, sweating, panting, he unbuttoned his tunic and reached for the handkerchief in his pants pocket. The dentist gave him a clean cloth.

"Dry your tears," he said.

The Mayor did. He was trembling. While the dentist washed his hands, he saw the crumbling ceiling and a dusty spider web with spider's eggs and dead insects. The dentist returned, drying his hands. "Go to bed," he said, "and gargle with salt water." The Mayor stood up, said goodbye with a casual military salute, and walked toward the door, stretching his legs, without buttoning up his tunic.

"Send the bill," he said.

"To you or the town?"

The Mayor didn't look at him. He closed the door and said through the screen:

"It's the same damn thing."

The Last Judgment by Karel Čapek

The notorious multiple-killer Kugler, pursued by several warrants and a whole army of policemen and detectives, swore that he’d never be taken. He wasn’t either – at least not alive. The last of his nine murderous deeds was shooting a policeman who tried to arrest him. The policeman indeed died, but not before putting a total of seven bullets into Kugler. Of these seven, three were fatal. Kugler’s death came so quickly that he felt no pain. And so it seemed Kugler had escaped earthly justice.

When his soul left his body, it should have been surprised at the sight of the next world – a world beyond space, grey, and infinitely desolate – but it wasn’t. A man who has been jailed on two continents looks upon the next life merely as new surroundings. Kugler expected to struggle through, equipped only with a bit of courage, as he had in the last world.

At length the inevitable Last Judgment got around to Kugler. The judges were old and worthy councilors with austere, bored faces. Kugler complied with the usual tedious formalities: Ferdinand Kugler, unemployed, born on such and such a date, died… at this point it was shown Kugler didn’t know the date of his own death. Immediately he realized this was a damaging omission in the eyes of the judges; his spirit of helpfulness faded.

“Do you plead guilty or not guilty?” asked the presiding judge.
“Not guilty,” said Kugler obdurately.
“Bring in the first witness,” the judge sighed.

Opposite Kugler appeared an extraordinary gentleman, stately, bearded, and clothed in a blue robe strewn with golden stars.

At his entrance, the judges arose. Even Kugler stood up, reluctant but fascinated. Only when the old gentleman took a seat did the judges again sit down.

“Witness,” began the presiding judge, “omniscient God, this court has summoned you in order to hear your testimony in the case against Kugler, Ferdinand. As you are the supreme truth, you need not take the oath. In the interest of the proceedings, however, we ask you to keep to the subject at hand rather than branch out into particulars – unless they have a bearing on this case.”

“And you, Kugler, don’t interrupt the witness. He knows everything, so there’s no use denying anything.”

“And now, witness, if you would please begin.”
God, the witness, coughed lightly and began:

“Yes. Kugler, Ferdinand. Ferdinand Kugler, son of a factory worker, was a bad, unmanageable child from his earliest days. He loved his mother dearly, but was unable to show it, this made him unruly and defiant. Young man, you irked everyone! Do you remember how you bit your father on the thumb when he tried to spank you? You had stolen a rose from the notary’s garden.”

“The rose was for Irma, the tax collector’s daughter,” Kugler said.

“I know,” said God. “Irma was seven years old at that time. Did you ever hear what happened to her?”


“No, I didn’t.”


“She married Oscar, the son of the factory owner. But she contracted a venereal disease from him and died of a miscarriage. You remember Rudy Zaruba?”


“What happened to him?”


“Why, he joined the navy and died accidentally in Bombay. You two were the worst boys in the whole town. Kugler, Ferdinand, was a thief before his tenth year and an inveterate liar. He kept bad company, too: old Gribble, for instance, a drunkard and an idler, living on handouts. Nevertheless, Kugler shared many of his own meals with Gribble.”


The presiding judge motioned with his hand, as if much of this was perhaps unnecessary, but Kugler himself asked hesitantly, “And… what happened to his daughter?” “What’s she doing right now?”


“This very minute she’s buying thread at Wolfe’s. Do you remember that shop? Once, when you were six years old, you bought a colored glass marble there. On that very same day you lost it and never, never found it. Do you remember how you cried with rage?”


“Whatever happened to it?” Kugler asked eagerly.


“Well, it rolled into the drain and under the gutterspout. Right now it’s still there, after thirty years. Right now it’s raining on earth and your marble is shivering in the gush of cold water.”


Kugler bent his head, overcome by this revelation. But the presiding judge fitted his spectacles back on his nose, and said mildly, “Witness, we are obliged to get on with the case. Has the accused committed murder?”


“He murdered nine people. The first one he killed in a brawl, and it was during his prison term for his crime that he became completely corrupted. The second victim was his unfaithful sweetheart. For that he was sentenced to death, but he escaped. The third was an old man whom he robbed. The fourth was a night watchman.”


“Then he died?” Kugler asked.


“He died after three days in terrible pain,” God said. “And he left six children behind him. The fifth and sixth victims were an old married couple. He killed them with an axe and found only sixteen dollars, although they had twenty thousand hidden away.”


Kugler jumped up. “Where?”


“In the straw mattress,” God said. “In a linen sack inside the mattress. That’s where they hid all the money they acquired from greed and penny-pinching. The seventh man he killed in America, a countryman of his, a bewildered, friendless immigrant.”


“So it was in the mattress,” whispered Kugler in amazement.


“Yes,” continued God. “The eighth man was merely a passerby who happened to be in Kugler’s way when Kugler was trying to outrun the police. At that time Kugler had periostitis and was delirious from the pain. Young man, you were suffering terribly. The ninth and last was the policeman who killed Kugler exactly when Kugler shot him.”


“And why did the accused commit murder?” asked the presiding judge.


“For the same reasons others have,” answered God. “Out of anger or desire for money, both deliberately and accidentally-some with pleasure, others from necessity. However, he was generous and often helpful. He was kind to women, gentle with animals, and kept his word. Am I to mention his good deeds?”


“For the same reasons others have,” answered God. “Out of anger or desire for money, both deliberately and accidentally – some with pleasure, others from necessity. However, he was generous and often helpful. He was kind to women, gentle with animals, and kept his word. Am I to mention his good deeds?”


“Thank you,” said the presiding judge, “but it isn’t necessary. Does the accused have anything to say in his own defense?”


“No,” Kugler replied with honest indifference.


“The judges of this court will now take this matter under advisement,” declared the presiding judge, and the three of them withdrew.


Only God and Kugler remained in the courtroom.


“Who are they?” asked Kugler, indicating with his head the men who just left.


“People like you,” answered God. “They were judges on earth, so they’re judges here as well.”


Kugler nibbled his fingertips. “I expected… I mean, I never really thought about it. But I figured you would judge since…”


“Since I’m God,” finished the stately gentleman. “But that’s just it, don’t you see? Because I know everything, I can’t possibly judge. That wouldn’t do at all. By the way, do you know who turned you in this time?”


“No, I don’t,” said Kugler, surprised.


“Lucky, the waitress. She did it out of jealousy.”


“Excuse me,” Kugler ventured, “but you forgot about that good-for-nothing Teddy I shot in Chicago.”




“Not at all,” God said. “He recovered and is alive this very minute. I know he’s an informer, but otherwise he’s a very good man and terribly fond of children. You shouldn’t think of any person as being completely worthless.”


“But I still don’t understand why you aren’t the judge,” Kugler said thoughtfully.
“But why are they judging… the same people who were judges on earth?”


“Because man belongs to man. As you see, I’m only the witness. But the verdict is determined by man, even in heaven. Believe me, Kugler, this is the way it should be. Man isn’t worthy of divine judgment. He deserves to be judged only by other men.”


At that moment, the three returned from their deliberation. In heavy tones the presiding judge announced, “For repeated crimes of first – degree murder, manslaughter, robbery, disrespect for the law, illegally carrying weapons, and for the theft of a rose; Kugler, Ferdinand, is sentenced to lifelong punishment in hell.


“Next case please: Torrance, Frank.”

“Is the accused present in court?”

Uhaw ang Tigang na Lupa ni Liwayway Arceo

1

Ilang gabi nang ako ang kapiling niya sa higaan. Tila musmos akong dumarama sa init ng kanyang dibdib at nikikinig sa pintig ng kanyang puso. Ngunit, patuloy akong nagtataka sa malalim na paghinga niya, sa kanyang malungkot na pagtitig sa lahat ng bagay, paghikbi...



2

Ilang araw ko nang hindi nadadalaw ang aklatan: ilang araw ko nang hindi nasasalamin ang isang larawang mahal sa akin: bilugang mukha, malapad na noo, hati-sa-kaliawang buhok, singkit na mga mata, hindi katangusang ilong, mga labing duyan ng isang ngiting puspos-kasiyahan...Sa kanya ang aking noo at mga mata. Ang aking hawas na mukha, ilong na kawangki ng tuka ng isang loro, at maninipis na labi, ay kay Ina...



3

Sa Ina ay hindi palakibo: siya ay babaing abilang at sukat ang pangungusap. Hindi niya ako inuutusan. Bihira siyang magalit sa akin at kung nagkakagayon ay maikli ang kanyang pananalita: Lumigkit ka!...At kailangang ‘di ako makita. Kailangang ‘do ko masaksihan ang kikislap na poot sa kanyang mga mata. Kailangang ‘di ko namamalas ang pagkagat niya sa kanyang labi. Kailangang ‘do ko na makita ang panginginig ng kanyang mga daliri. Ito rin ang katumbas ng kanyang mariing huwang kung mayroon siyang ipinagbabawal.

Ang ngiti ni Ina ay patak ng ulan kung tag-araw: ang bata kong puso ay tigang na lupang uhaw na uhaw...



4

Minsan man ay hindi ko narinig na may pinagkagalitan sila ni Ama bagama’t hindi ko mapaniwalaang may magkabiyak ng pusong hindi nagkakahinampuhan. Marahil ay sapagkat kapwa sila may hawak na kainawaan: ang pagbibigayan sa isa’t isa ay hindi nalilimot kailanman.



5

Kung gabi ay hinahanap ko ang kaaliwang idinudulat ng isang amang nagsasalaysay tungkol sa mga kapre at nuno at tungkol sa magagandang ada at prinsesa; ng isang nagmamasid at nakangiting ina; ng isang pulutong ng nakikinig na magaganda at masasayang bata.

Ngunit, sa halip niyon ay minalas ko si Ama sa kanyang pagsusulat; sa kanyang pagmamakinilya; sa kanyang pagbabasa. Minamasdan ko kung paano niya pinapangunot ang kanyang noo; kung paano niya ibinubuga ang asong nagbubuhat sa kanyang tabako; kung paano siya titingin sa akin na tila may hinahanap; kung paano niya ipipikit ang kanyang mga mata; kung paano siya magpapatuloy sa pagsulat...

Si Ina ay isang magandang tanawin kung nanunulsi ng mga punit na damit; kung nag-aayos ng mga uhales at nagkakabit ng mga butones sa mga damit ni Ama. Sa kanyang pagbuburda ng aking mga kamison at panyolito – sa galaw ng kanyang mga daliri – ay natutunghan ko ang isang kapana-panabik na kuwento. Ngunti, ang pananabik na ito’y napapawi.

Kabagu-tbagot ang aking pag-iisa at ako ay naghahanap ng kasama sa bahay: isang batang marahil ay nasa kanyang kasinungalingang gulang o isang saggol na kalugud-lugod, may ngiti ng kawalang-malay, mabango ang hininga, may maliit na paa at kamay na nakatutuwang pisilin, may mga pisngi at labing walang bahid-kasalanan at kasiya-siyang hagkan, o isang kapatid ba kahulihan ng gulang, isang maaaring maging katapatan...



6

Sakali mang hindi nagkagalit si Ina at Ama, o kung nagkakagalit man ay sadyang hindi ipinamamalay sa akin, ay hinahanap ko rin ang magiliw na palitan ng mga titig, ng mga ngiti, ng mga biruan.

Sapat na ang isang tuyot na aalis na ako sa pagpapaalam ni Ama. Sapat na ang naningil na ang maniningil sa ilaw o sa tubig o sa telepono upang sakupin ang panahong itatagal ng isang hapunan. Sapat na panakaw sa sulyap ni Ama upang ipadamang may naririnig siya.

Mabibilang sa mga daliri ng aking dalawang kamay kung makailan kaming nagpasyal: Si Ama, si Ina at ako. Malimit na ako ang kasama ni Ina; hindi ko nakitang sinarili nila ang pag-aaliw.



7

Inuumaga man si Ama sa pag-uwi kung minsan ay hindi ko kinapapansinan ng kakaibang kilos si Ina. Nahihiga rin siya pagdating ng mga sandali ng pamamahinga at kung nakatutulog siya o hindi ay hindi ko matiyak.

Marahil ay ito ang tunay na madarama ng kataling-puso ng isang taong inaangkin ng madla...

Ngunit, walang pagsisisi sa kanyang tinig.



8

Ilang taon na ngayon ang nakaraan nang minsang may ibinalik na aklat ang aming tagapaglaba: yaon daw ay nakuha niya sa isang lukbutan ng amerikana ni Ama. Ibinigay ko yaon kay Ina: yaon daw ay talaarawan ni Ama.

Kinabukasan ay may bakas ng luha ang mga mata ni Ina. Kapansin-pansin ang lalo niyang hindi pagkabo buhat noon. Lalo siyang naging malungkot sa aking paningin.

Ano ang nasa isang talaarawan?



9

Lasing na lasing si Ama. Karaniwan nang umuuwing lasing si Ama ngunit, kakaiba ang kalasingan niya nagyong gabi. Hinihilamusan siya ni Ina ng malahiningang tsaa, ngunit wala itong naibigay na ginhawa.

Hindi rin kumikino si Ina: nasa mga mata niya ang hindi maipahayag na pagtutol.

Sapagkat may isusulat ako...sapagkat ikamamatay ko ang pighating ito...sapagkat...sapagkat...sapagkat...



10

Idinaraing ngayon ni Ama ang kanyang dibdib at ulo: hindi raw siya makahingang mabuti.

Marahil ay may sipon ka, ani ina. Sinisinat ka nga.

Isang panyolitong basa ng malamig na tubig ang itinali ko sa ulo ni Ama. Wala siyang tutol sa aking ginagawa. Sinusundan niya ng tingin ang bawat kilos ko.

Ang kanyang mga bisig, buhat sa siko hanggang sa palad, at ang kanyang binti, buhat sa tuhod hanggang sa mga talampakan, ay makailan kong binuhusan ng tubig na mainit na inakala kong matatagalan niya – tubig na pinaglagaan ng mga dahong ng alagaw. Kinulob ko siya ng makakapal na kumot matapos na inumin niya ang ibinigay kong mainit na tubig na pinigaan ng kalamansi.

Nakangiti si Ama: Manggagamot pala ang aking dalaga!

Sinuklian ko ng isang mahinang halakhak ang ngiti niyang yaon: hindi ako dating binibiro ni Ama.

Sana’y ako si na sa mga sandaling yaon: sana’y lalo kong ituturing na mahalaga ang nadarama kong kasiyahan...



11

Nabigo ako sa aking pag-asa: nakaratay nang may ilang araw si Ama. Halos hindi siya hinihiwalayan ni Ina: si ilalim ng kanyang mga mata ay may mababakas na namang maiitim na guhit.

Anang manggagamot ay gagawin niya ang lahat ng kanyang makakaya. Ngunit, ayaw niyang ipagtapat sa akin ang karamdaman ni Ama.



12

Ipinaayos ngayon ni Ama ang kanyang hapag. Nililinis ko ang kanyang makinilya. Idinikit ko ang kagugupit na kuwentong kalalathala pa lamang. Pinagsama-sama ko ang mga papel sa kanyang mga kahon.

Ang pang-ilalim na kahon ng kanyang hapag ay nagbigay sa akin ng hindi gagaanong pagtataka: may isang kahitang pelus na rosas at isang salansan ng mga liham. Maliliit at mga bilugang titik bughaw na tinta sa pangalan ni Ama sa kanyang tanggapan ang mga nasa sobre.



13

Ang larawan sa kahitang pelus ay hindi yaong hawas na mukha, may ilong na kawangki ng tuka ng isang loro, maninipis na labi. Sa likod niyon ay nasusulat sa maliliit at bilugang mga titik sa bughaw na tinta: Sapagkat ako’y hindi makalimot... Ang larawan ay walang lagda ngunit nadama ko ang biglang pagkapoot sa kanyang at sa mga sandaling yaon ay natutuhan ko ang maghinanakit kay Ama.



14

Bakit sa panahong ito lamang tayo pinaglapit ng pangyayari? Higit marahil ang aking katiwasayan kung hindi ka dumating sa aking buhay, bagamat hindi ko rin marahil matitiis na hindi maipagpalit ang aking kasiyahan sa isang pusong nagmamahal. Totoong ang kalagayan ng tao sa buhay ang malimit maging sagwil sa kanyang kaligayahan...



15

Naiwan na natin ang gulang ng kapusukan; hindi na tayo maaaring dayain ng ating nadarama. Ngunit, nakapagitan sa atin ngayon ang isang malawak na katotohanang pumupigil sa kaligayahan ang hindi natin maisakatuparan ay buhayin na lamang natin sa alaala. Panatilihin na lamang natin sa diwa ang katamisan ng isang pangarap; sana’y huwag tayong magising sa katotohanan...



16

Nakita ko siya kagabi sa panaginip; sinusumbatan niya ako. Ngunit, hindi ko balak ang magwasak ng isang tahanan. Hindi ko maatim na mangnakaw ng kanyang kaligayahan; hindi ko mapababayaang lumuha siya dahil sa akin. Ang sino mang bahagi ng iyong buhay ay mahal sa akin; ang mahal sa akin ay hindi ko maaaring paluhain...



17

Ang pag-ibig na ito’y isang dulang ako ang gumaganap ng pangunahing tauhan; sapagkat ako ang nagsimula ay ako ang magbibigay-wakas. Ipalagay mo nang ako’y nasimulang tugtuging nararapat tapusin. Gawin mo akong isang pangarap na naglalaho pagkagising. Tulungan mo akong pumawi sa kalungkutang itong halos pumatay sa akin...



18

Ngunit, bakit napakahirap ang lumimot?



19

Nadama ko ang kamay ni Ina sa aking kanang balikat: noon ko lamang namalayan na may pumasok sa aklatan. Nakita niya ang larawang nasa kahitang pelus na rosas. Natunghan niya ang mga liham na nagkalat sa hapag ni Ama.

Si Ina ay dumating at lumisang walang binitiwang kataga. Ngunit, sa kanyang paglisan ay muling binati ng kanyang palad ang aking balikat at nadarama ko pa ang salat ng kanyang mag daliri; ang init ng mga iyo, ang bigat ng kanilang pagkakadantay...



20

Ang katahimikang namagitan sa amin ni Ina ay hindi pa napapawi. Iniiwasan ko ngayon ang pagsasalubong ng aming mga titig; hindi ko matagalan ang kalungkutang nababasa ko sa mga paninging yaon.



21

Hiningi ni Ama ang kanyang panulat at aklat-talaan. Nguni, nang mapaniwala ko siyang masama sa kanyang ang bumangon ay kanyang sinasabi: Ngayon ay ang aking anak ang susulat nang ukol sa atin...At sa anya’y isang dalubhasang kamay ang uukit niyon sa itim na marmol. Ngunit, hindi ko maisatitik ang pagtutol na halos ay pumugto sa aking paghinga.

Nasa kalamigan ng lupa ang kaluwalhatian ko!

Kailanman ay hindi ko aangkining likha ng aking mga daliri ang ilang salitang ito.



22

Huwag kang palilinlang sa simbuyo ng iyong kalooban; ang uang tibok ng puso ay hindi pag-ibig sa tuwina...Halos kasinggulang mo ako nang pagtaliin ang mga puso namin ng iyong Ina...Mura pang lubha ang labingwalang taon...Huwag ikaw ang magbigay sa iyong sarili ng mga kalungkutang magpapahirap sa iyo habang-buhay...

Muli kong nadama ang tibay ng buhol na nag-uugnay ng damdamin ni Ama sa akin.



23

Kinatatakutan ko na ang malimit na pagkawala ng diwa ni Ama.

Si Ina ay patuloy sa kanyang hindi pagkibo sa akin, patuloy sa kanyang hindi pag-idlip, patuloy sa kanyang pahluha kung walang makakita sa kanya...



24

Ang kanang kamay ni Ina ay idinantay sa noo ni Ama at ang pagtatanan ng isang nais tumakas na damdamin sa kanyang dibdib ay tinimpi ng pagdadaop ng kanyang ngipin sa labi.

Naupo siya sa gilid ng higaan ni Ama at ang kaliwang kamay nito ay kinulong niya sa kanyang mga palad.

Magaling na ako, mahal ko...magaling na ako...sa muli mong pagparito ay sabihin mo sa akin kung saan tayo maaaring tumungo...ang moog na itong kinabibilangguan ko’y aking wawasakin...sa ano mang paraan...sa ano mang paraan...

Ang malabubog na tubig na bumabakod sa mga pangingin ni Ina ay nabasag at ilang butil niyo ang pumatak sa bisig ni Ama. Mabibigat na talukap ang pinilt na iminulat ni Ama at sa pagtatagpo ng mga titig nila ay gumuhit sa nanunuyo niyang labi ang isang ngiting punung-puno ng pagbasa. Muling nalapat ang mga durungawang yaon ng isang kaluluwa at hindi niya namasid ang mga matang binabalungan ng luha: ang mga salamin ng pagdaramdam na hindi mabigkas.



25

Nasa mga palad pa rin ni Ina ang kaliwang kamay ni Ama: Sabihin mo, mahal ko, na maaangkin ko na ang kaligayahan ko...

Kinagat ni Ina nang mariin ang kanyang labi at nang siya’y mangusap ay hindi ko naaming kay Ina ang tinig na yaon: Maaangkin mo na, mahal ko!
Ang init ng mga labi ni Ina ang kasabay ng kapayapaang nanahanan sa mga labi ni Ama at nasa mga mata man niya ang ilaw ng pagkabigo sa pagdurugtong sa isang buhay na wala nang luhang dumadaloy sa mga iyon: natitiyak niya ang kasiyahang nadama ng kalilisang kaluluwa...

BABANG LUKSA ni Diosdado Macapagal

“Tulang Pampango"

Salin ni Olivia P. Dantes ng "PABANUA” ni DIOSDADO MACAPAGAL

Isang taon ngayon ng iyong pagpanaw
Tila kahapon lang nang ika’y lumisan;
Subalit sa akin ang tanging naiwan,
Mga alaalang di – malilimutan.



Kung ako’y nasa pook na limit dalawin
Naaalala ko ang ating paggiliw;
Tuwa’y dumadalaw sa aking paningin
Kung nagunita kong tayo’y magkapiling.

Kung minsan sadya kong dalawin ang bahay
Na kung saan unang tayo’y nag-ibigan ;
Sa bakura’t bahay , sa lahat ng lugar ,
Itong kaluluwa’y hinahanap ikaw.

Sa matandang bahay napuno ng saya
Sa araw na iyo’y pinagsaluhan ta;
Ang biyayang saglit , kung nababalik pa
Ang ipapalit ko’y ang aking hininga.

Bakit ba, mahal ko, kay- agang lumisan
At iniwan akong sawing – kapalaran
Hindi mo ba talos , kab'yak ka ng buhay
At sa pagyaon mo’y para ring namatay ?

Marahil tinubos ka ni bathala
Upang sa isipa’y hindi ka tumanda ;
At ang larawan mo sa puso ko’t diwa
Ay manatiling maganda at bata.

Sa paraang ito kung nagkaedad na
Ang puting buok ko’y di mo makikita
At ang larawan kong tandang tanda mo pa
Yaong kabataan taglay na tuwina

At dahil nga rito, ang pagmamahalan
Ay hanggang matapos ang kabataan,
Itong alaala ay lalaging buhay,
Lalaging sariwa sa kawalang-hanggan.

Kaya, aking , mahal , sa iyong pagpanaw
Tayo’y nagtagumpay sa dupok ng buhay,
Ang ating pagsintang masidhi’t marangal
Hindi mamamatay, walang katapusan

Ang kaugalian ng ninuno natin
Isang taon akong nagluluksa mandin;
Ngunit ang puso ko’y sadyang maninimdim;
Hanggang kalangitan tayo’y magkapiling.

Panambitan (Tula/Bikol)

Salin ni Ma. Lilia F. Realubit ng "PANAMBITAN" ni Myrna Prado


Sa pagsulat ng tula, dapat ay piling-pili ang mga salitang gagamitin. Sa pamamagitan ng mga salitang pinili dapat mapalutang ang matingkad na diwang nais ipahayag ng makata. Napakahalagang sangkap ng tula ang kagandahan at kariktan. Kinakailangan din na ang mga larawang diwa ay pumukaw ng imahinasyon ng mambabasa.

Sa paggamit ng simbolismo at tayutay ay may mga impresyon at kakintalan na maiiwan ang tula sa isipan ng mambabasa. Ang imahismo ay isang teoryang pampanitikan na nagsasaad ng mga imahe na nagpapahayag ng kahulugan.

Sa tulang Panambitan, isang tulang Bicol na isinulat ni Myra Prado na isinalin sa Filipino ni Lilia Realubit ay ito ang kalalabasan ng paglalapat ng teoryang imahismo sa bawat saknong ng tula.



Panambitan (Tula/Bikol)

Bakit kaya dito sa mundong ibabaw
Marami sa tao'y sa salapi silaw?
Kaya kung isa kang kapus-kapalaran,
Wala kang pag-asang makyat sa lipunan.


Mga mahihirap lalong nasasadlak,
Mga mayayaman lalong umuunlad,
Maykapangyarihan, hindi sumusulyap,
Mga utang-na-loob mula sa mahihirap.


Kung may mga taong sadyang nadarapa,
Sa halip na tulungan, tinutulak pa nga;
Buong lakas silang dinudusta-dusta
Upang itong hapdi'y lalong managana.


Nasaan, Diyos Ko, ang sinasabi Mo
Tao'y pantay-pantay sa balat ng mundo?
Kaming mga api ngayo'y naririto
Dinggin Mo, Poon ko, panambitang ito.

Former President Corazon Cojuangco Aquino Died

This Article came from INQUIRER.net

Cory Aquino dies

By Maila Ager
INQUIRER.net
First Posted 05:18:00 08/01/2009




MANILA, Philippines – Former President Corazon Cojuangco Aquino has passed away.

She was 76.

Her son Sen. Benigno “Noynoy” Aquino III confirmed that she died of cardio-respiratory arrest at exactly 3:18 a.m. Saturday at the Makati Medical Center.

Mrs. Aquino has been diagnosed with colon cancer early in 2008 and has been confined at the Makati Medical Center for more than a month.

Mrs. Aquino, widow of Senator Benigno Aquino Jr., will be remembered as an icon of democracy, having led a military-backed popular revolt in 1986 that ousted a dictator who ruled the country for 20 years.

At about 5 a.m. outside the hospital, Noynoy read a statement announcing the death of his mother.

The statement read:

"Our mother peacefully passed away at 3:18 a.m., August 1, 2009, of cardio-respiratory arrest.

“She would have wanted to thank each and every one of you for all the prayers and your continued love and support. It was her wish for all of us to pray for one another and for our country.

“Hinihiling po ng aming pamilya ang kaunting panahon para makasama namin ang aming mahal na ina.

“Later today, we will be announcing further details of her wake para sa lahat ng ating mga minamahal na kababayan na nais magbigay ng respeto sa aming ina. Maraming salamat po.”

President Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo expressed her condolences to the family of the former President, Arroyo's press secretary said.

The President is set to declare a week of national mourning, said Press Secretary Cerge Remonde in a live phone patch from the US where he is accompanying Arroyo who is on official visit there.

Remonde said the President could cut short her trip but that they were going to discuss the matter when they get to New York, their next stop after Washington D.C. where she met President Barack Obama at the White House.

Arroyo is expected to be back in Manila on August 5.

Remonde also said that under the law, all presidents were entitled to a state funeral but added that this would be subject to the family's approval.

Popular TV host Boy Abunda, a close friend of the Aquino family, told reporters on Saturday that the Aquinos were praying the Sorrowful Mystery of the Rosary when Cory gave her "last deep breath.”

Abunda said all five children of Mrs. Aquino, and her close friends and relatives were at her bedside when the former leader passed away.

After that last breath, Abunda said, Mrs. Aquino's children quietly cried.

"Malungkot. Tahimik na nag-iiyakan. Tahimik, except for Kris who was very quiet," he said, referring to the youngest daughter of Mrs. Aquino.

"Kris was very quiet. She was displaying such courage pero noong dindadala palabas mga labi ni Tita Cory... because you have to remember that Kris was in the hospital, Kris was by the side of her mother since July 20 hanggang sa mga oras na yun. Hanggang ngayon si Kris ay nasa tabi ng kanyang ina," Abunda said.

He said a Mass, officiated by Fr. Catalino Arevalo, was held after Mrs. Aquino's death.

Abunda said Arevalo is a very close friend of the former leader and had been officiating a Mass for her at the hospital.

A family driver of the Aquinos was seen loading stuff into a white Toyota Hi-Ace van parked at the back entrance of the hospital. He said the boxes and luggage belonged to Kris who left the hospital early Saturday morning. With a report from Niña Calleja and Gil Cabacungan Jr., Philippine Daily Inquirer