"Si AnabeLLa " By: M. Jalandoni
“SI ANABELLA” ni Magdalena
Jalandoni
Rosario Lucero
Unang inilathala ang maikling kuwentong “Si Anabella” ni
Magdalena Jalandoni sa libro ni Corazon Villareal,
Translating the Sugilanon (1994, 135-141). Kalakip ang
orihinal nito sa isang lupon ng mga makiniladyong maikling kuwento
ni Jalandoni, na pinamagatang Hinugpong nga mga Sugilanon 1936-
1938. Nailathala din ang saling Filipino ni Villareal sa nirebisang
edisyon ng antolohiyang Philippine Literature: A History and
Anthology (1997, 151-154) ni Bienvenido Lumbera.
Sa unang pagsipat ng kuwentong “Si Anabella,” ating iisiping
taglay nito ang pormula ng mga romantikong kuwentong laganap
noong panahong ito’y nasulat, sa pagitan ng mga taong 1936-1938.
Magsisimula ang melodramatikong banghay sa pag-iibigan ng
dalawang magkaiba ng estado sa buhay, hahadlangan ito ng palalong
ina ng mayaman, susubukin ang katapatan ng magkasintahan, aangat
ang estado ng mahirap sa di inaasahang paraan upang sa wakas ay
magsasama uli sila, at magtatagumpay ang kanilang wagas na pag-
ibig.
Sa pagbubuod ni Villareal sa banghay ng kuwento, may
naidagdag siyang ilang detalyeng hindi binabanggit sa kuwento.
Halimbawa, na sumayaw ang magkasintahan sa tahanan ng binata,
at kinainggitan sila ng lahat; na nagsanib ang liwanag ng buwan at
ningning ng bituin sa loob ng isang gabi (1994, 13; aking salin mula
sa Ingles):
4748
“Si Anabella”
Isang pagunitang paglalakbay sa panahon ng dekada
treinta ang kuwentong “Si Anabella.” Isang gabing
maliwanag ang buwan at mga bituin, hinarana ng
binata ang dilag ng kaniyang biyolin. Sa himig ng
isang buong orkestra, sumayaw sila sa malawak na
sala ng malapalasyong tahanan ng binata. Nguni’t
ang binata’y mayaman, at inilayo siya ng kaniyang
ina sa kaniyang pinupusuan. Subalit buong tiyagang
naghintay si Anabella sa pagbabalik nito, at sa wakas
sila ay muling nagsama. (“Anabella” is a nostalgic
trip to the ‘30s. The beau serenades his love with a
violin on a moonlit and starry night, they dance in
the spacious sala of his palatial home to the strains
of a full orchestra, they are the envy of everyone
on the dancefloor. But he is rich and his mother
takes him away from his lover. Anabella, however,
waits patiently for his return and eventually they
are reunited.)
Kung magpatianod ang isang mambabasa sa romantikong
tradisyon, maaari ngang aakalin niyang may taglay itong mga
romantikong sangkap na sa katunayan ay hindi naman makikita sa
kuwento mismo. Hindi naman lubhang mali ang ganitong paraan
ng pagbasa kung ipinapalagay na ang kuwentong “Si Anabella” ay
akmang halimbawa ng isang makaluma’t romantikong kuwento.
Dagdag pa ni Villareal bilang komentaryo sa kuwento (1994, 13):
Maaaring sabihing pinapatibay ng “Si Anabella” ang
puna ng mga manunuri hinggil sa kahinaan ng
panitikang bernakular sa Pilipinas: na ito’y dulot
ng “malagkit na romantisismo,” “walang kaingatan
sa teknik,” pagkabuhaghag ng estruktura,
“didaktisismo,” at “sentimentalismo.” (In a way,
“Anabella” confirms what critics have listed as the
weaknesses of vernacular literature in the
Philippines: “a cloying romanticism,” “
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Saturday, February 26, 2011
The Boy Who Became a Stone Tinguian
FOLK TALE
One day a little boy named Elonen sat out in the yard making a bird snare, and as he worked, a little bird called to him: "Tik-tik-lo-den" (come and catch me)."I am making a snare for you," said the boy; but the bird continued to call until the snare was finished.
Then Elonen ran and threw the snare over the bird and caught it, and he put it in a jar in his house while he went with the other boys to swim.
While he was away, his grandmother grew hungry, so she ate the bird, and when Elonen returned and found that his bird was gone, he was so sad that he wished he might go away and never come back. He went out into the forest and walked a long distance, until finally he came to a big stone and said: "Stone, open your mouth and eat me." And the stone opened its mouth and swallowed the boy.
When his grandmother missed the boy, she went out and looked everywhere, hoping to find him. Finally she passed near the stone and it cried out: "Here he is." Then the old woman tried to open the stone but she could not, so she called the horses to come and help her. They came and kicked it, but it would not break. Then she called the carabao and they hooked it, but they only broke their horns. She called the chickens, which pecked it, and the thunder, which shook it, but nothing could open it, and she had to go home without the boy.
Then Elonen ran and threw the snare over the bird and caught it, and he put it in a jar in his house while he went with the other boys to swim.
While he was away, his grandmother grew hungry, so she ate the bird, and when Elonen returned and found that his bird was gone, he was so sad that he wished he might go away and never come back. He went out into the forest and walked a long distance, until finally he came to a big stone and said: "Stone, open your mouth and eat me." And the stone opened its mouth and swallowed the boy.
When his grandmother missed the boy, she went out and looked everywhere, hoping to find him. Finally she passed near the stone and it cried out: "Here he is." Then the old woman tried to open the stone but she could not, so she called the horses to come and help her. They came and kicked it, but it would not break. Then she called the carabao and they hooked it, but they only broke their horns. She called the chickens, which pecked it, and the thunder, which shook it, but nothing could open it, and she had to go home without the boy.
Maynila pagkagat ng dilim
MAYNILA,PAGKAGAT NG DILIM
Ang May Akda
Ang pagsinop sa mga natatanging pelikula ng Dekada '70 at '80 ay isang paghabi sa kasaysayang pampelikula ng ating panahon. Ang proseso ng pagsusulat at pagbabalik-tanaw ay paghahain ng mga makabagong metodo para hubugin ang isang makapagbagong histriyograpiya ng Pelikulang Pilipino.
Bakit itinuturing na isa sa mga pinagpipitagang pelikula ni Direktor Ishmael Bernal ang Manila By Night (Regal Films, Inc.)? Ating balikan ang pelikulang umani ng papuri mula sa mga kritiko noong taong 1980. Kilala si Bernal sa paggawa ng mga pelikulang puno ng iba't-ibang pangunahing tauhan. Tahasang isinaad sa pelikula ang suliraning pang lipunan sa kalakhang Maynila. Mula sa isang simpleng tinedyer (William Martinez) na anak ng dating iba na nagbagong buhay (Charito Solis) hanggang sa isang tomboy na drug pusher (Cherie Gil), may bulag na masahista (Rio Locsin), nariyan din ang taxi driver (Orestes Ojeda), ang kabit niyang nagkukunwaring nars (Alma Moreno), mayroon ring probinsyanang waitress (Lorna Tolentino) at ang baklang couturier (Bernardo Bernardo) na bumubuhay sa kanyang pamilya. Iba't-ibang buhay ng mga taong pinagbuklod ng isang malaking siyudad. Tinalakay ng pelikula ang problema sa droga, prostitusyon, relihiyon at kahirapan na magpasahanggang ngayon ay mga suliraning hinahanapan pa rin natin ng solusyon. Maraming nagkumpara ng Manila By Night sa obra ni Direktor Lino Brocka ang Maynila Sa Mga Kuko Ng Liwanag. Kung saan nagkulang ang pelikula ni Brocka ito naman ang landas na tinahak ng obra ni Bernal. Hindi lamang nito ipinakita ang lumalalang situwasyon ng kahirapan sa Maynila sa halip ay hinarap nito ang ibang mga isyung hindi tinalakay sa pelikula ni Brocka. Sa aspetong ito mababanaag ang malaking pagkakaiba ng dalawang pelikula. Kung panonoorin sa ngayon ang Manila By Night masasabing may kalumaan na ang tema nito, di tulad ng unang ipinalabas ang pelikula sa mga sinehan.
Makaraan ang dalawampu't anim na taon mula ng ipalabas ang Manila By Night ay masasabing halos walang binago ang panahon kung susuriin natin ang mga suliraning pang lipunan ng Pilipinas. Nariyan pa rin ang problema sa mga ipinagbabawal na gamot, ang prostitusyon at kahirapan. Sino ba talaga ang dapat sisishin sa lahat ng mga ito? Ang pamahalaan ba? Tayong mga mamayan? Hanggang ngayon wala pang sagot sa mga tanong na ito. Nararapat nating pasalamatan ang mga direktor na tulad ni Ishmael Bernal na sa pamamagitan ng paggawa ng mga obrang tulad ng Manila By Night, isang pelikulang nagmulat sa ating kaisipan sa suliranin ng bansang Pilipinas.
Dulang Pampelikula At Direksyon: Ishmael Bernal
Sinematograpiya: Sergio Lobo
Musika: The Vanishing Tribe
Editing: AugustoSalvador
Disenyong Pamproduksyon: Peque Gallaga
Prodyuser: Regal Films, Inc.
Dulang Pampelikula At Direksyon: Ishmael Bernal
Sinematograpiya: Sergio Lobo
Musika: The Vanishing Tribe
Editing: Augusto
Disenyong Pamproduksyon: Peque Gallaga
Prodyuser: Regal Films, Inc.
Sa Gabi ng Isang Piyon
SA GABI NG ISANG PIYON
Paano ka makakatulog?
Iniwan man ng mga palad mo ang pala,
Martilyo, tubo’t kawad at iba pang kasangkapan,
Alas-singko’y hindi naging hudyat upang
Umibis ang graba’t semento sa iyong hininga.
Sa karimlan mo nga lamang maaaring ihabilin
Ang kirot at silakbo ng iyong himaymay:
Mga lintos, galos, hiwa ng daliri braso’t utak
Kapag binabanig na ang kapirasong playwud,
Mga kusot o supot-semento sa ulilang
Sulok ng gusaling nakatirik.
Binabalisa ka ng paggawa —
(Hindi ka maidlip kahit sagad-buto ang pagod mo)
Dugo’t pawis pang lalangkap
Sa buhangin at sementong hinahalo na kalamnang
Itatapal mo sa bakal na mga tadyang:
Kalansay na nabubuong dambuhala mula
Sa pagdurugo mo bawat saglit; kapalit
Ang kitang di-maipantawid-gutom ng pamilya,
Pag-asam sa bagong kontrata at dalanging paos.
Paano ka matutulog kung sa bawat paghiga mo’y
Unti-unting nilalagom ng bubungang sakdal-tayog
Ang mga bituin? Maaari ka nga lamang
Mag-usisa sa dilim kung bakit di umiibis
Ang graba’t ‘semento sa iyong hininga...
Kung nabubuo sa guniguni mo maya’t maya
Na ikaw ay mistulang bahagi ng iskapold
Na kinabukasa’y babaklasin mo rin.
Paano ka makakatulog?
Iniwan man ng mga palad mo ang pala,
Martilyo, tubo’t kawad at iba pang kasangkapan,
Alas-singko’y hindi naging hudyat upang
Umibis ang graba’t semento sa iyong hininga.
Sa karimlan mo nga lamang maaaring ihabilin
Ang kirot at silakbo ng iyong himaymay:
Mga lintos, galos, hiwa ng daliri braso’t utak
Kapag binabanig na ang kapirasong playwud,
Mga kusot o supot-semento sa ulilang
Sulok ng gusaling nakatirik.
Binabalisa ka ng paggawa —
(Hindi ka maidlip kahit sagad-buto ang pagod mo)
Dugo’t pawis pang lalangkap
Sa buhangin at sementong hinahalo na kalamnang
Itatapal mo sa bakal na mga tadyang:
Kalansay na nabubuong dambuhala mula
Sa pagdurugo mo bawat saglit; kapalit
Ang kitang di-maipantawid-gutom ng pamilya,
Pag-asam sa bagong kontrata at dalanging paos.
Paano ka matutulog kung sa bawat paghiga mo’y
Unti-unting nilalagom ng bubungang sakdal-tayog
Ang mga bituin? Maaari ka nga lamang
Mag-usisa sa dilim kung bakit di umiibis
Ang graba’t ‘semento sa iyong hininga...
Kung nabubuo sa guniguni mo maya’t maya
Na ikaw ay mistulang bahagi ng iskapold
Na kinabukasa’y babaklasin mo rin.
Another invitation for the pope to Tondo
ANOTHER INVITATION TO THE POPE TO VISIT TONDO (EmManuel TorRes)
Next time your Holiness slums through our lives,
we will try to make our poverty exemplary.
The best is a typhoon month. It never fails
To find us, like charity, knocking on
all sides of the rough arrangements we thrive in.
Mud shall be plenty for the feet of the pious.
We will show uoi how we pull things together
from nowhere, life after life,
prosper with children, whom you love. To be sure,
we shall have more for you to love.
We will show you where the sun leaks on
our sleep,
on the dailiness of piece meals and wages
with their habit of slipping away
from fists that have holes for pockets.
We will show you our latest child with a sore
that never sleeps. When he cries,
the dogs of the afternoon bark without stopping,
and evening darkens early on the mats.
Stay for supper of turnips on our table
since 1946 swollen with the same hard tears.
The buntings over our one and only window
shall welcome a short breeze.
And lead prayers for the family that starves
and stays together. If we wear roasries round
our nexks
it is not because they never bruise our fingers,
(Pardon if we doze on a dream of Amen.)
But remember to remember to reward us
with something . . . more lush, greener than all
the lawns of memorial parks singing together.
Our eyes shall belss the liveliness of dollars.
Shed no tears, please, for the brown multitudes
who thicken on chance and feast on leftovers
as the burning garbage smuts the sky of Manila
pile after pile after pile.
Fear not. Now there are only surreal assassins
about who dream of your death in the shape
of a flowering kris.
Next time your Holiness slums through our lives,
we will try to make our poverty exemplary.
The best is a typhoon month. It never fails
To find us, like charity, knocking on
all sides of the rough arrangements we thrive in.
Mud shall be plenty for the feet of the pious.
We will show uoi how we pull things together
from nowhere, life after life,
prosper with children, whom you love. To be sure,
we shall have more for you to love.
We will show you where the sun leaks on
our sleep,
on the dailiness of piece meals and wages
with their habit of slipping away
from fists that have holes for pockets.
We will show you our latest child with a sore
that never sleeps. When he cries,
the dogs of the afternoon bark without stopping,
and evening darkens early on the mats.
Stay for supper of turnips on our table
since 1946 swollen with the same hard tears.
The buntings over our one and only window
shall welcome a short breeze.
And lead prayers for the family that starves
and stays together. If we wear roasries round
our nexks
it is not because they never bruise our fingers,
(Pardon if we doze on a dream of Amen.)
But remember to remember to reward us
with something . . . more lush, greener than all
the lawns of memorial parks singing together.
Our eyes shall belss the liveliness of dollars.
Shed no tears, please, for the brown multitudes
who thicken on chance and feast on leftovers
as the burning garbage smuts the sky of Manila
pile after pile after pile.
Fear not. Now there are only surreal assassins
about who dream of your death in the shape
of a flowering kris.
The New Yorker in Tondo
The New Yorker in Tondo : A Satiric Comedy Play
"New Yorker in Tondo" is a classic Filipino Play by Marcelino Agana, Jr. It is a satire written in the 50's. It is a story about a girl named Kikay who goes to New York and fell in love with it. She acquires all the New Yorkish things - style, looks, language and manners. These things are very obvious when she arrives in the Philippines specifically in Tondo.
Aling Atang, mother of Kikay, has been carried away by her daughters way of living. She tries to converse with everybody in broken English.
Tony, childhood sweetheart of Kikay, decides to visit and catch things up with her friend. He is a simple guy who got secretly engaged with their other childhood friend, Nena.
Nena is a tomboyish type of girl. On her visit in Kikay's house, she finds her friend different and weird. She gets irritated and even imitates Kikay's ways.
Totoy, the Tondo "canto boy" is their other friend who is funny and has a secret love for Nenan which has only been revealded when the two females had a clash.
Near the end, the secret love of the characters in the story is revealded. And the two pairs end up in each other's arms. Kikay is back to her old self -- simple and kind. Most of all, the Filipino value learned by the protagonist which is "there is no place like home", is a lesson on love of country and its culture.
Aling Atang, mother of Kikay, has been carried away by her daughters way of living. She tries to converse with everybody in broken English.
Tony, childhood sweetheart of Kikay, decides to visit and catch things up with her friend. He is a simple guy who got secretly engaged with their other childhood friend, Nena.
Nena is a tomboyish type of girl. On her visit in Kikay's house, she finds her friend different and weird. She gets irritated and even imitates Kikay's ways.
Totoy, the Tondo "canto boy" is their other friend who is funny and has a secret love for Nenan which has only been revealded when the two females had a clash.
Near the end, the secret love of the characters in the story is revealded. And the two pairs end up in each other's arms. Kikay is back to her old self -- simple and kind. Most of all, the Filipino value learned by the protagonist which is "there is no place like home", is a lesson on love of country and its culture.
Valediction sa Hill Crest
Valediction sa hill crest
Pagkacollect ng Railway Express sa aking things
(Deretso na iyon sa barko while I take the plane.)
Inakyat kong muli ang N-311, at dahil dead of winter,
Nakatopcoat at galoshes akong
Nagright-turn sa N wing ng mahabang dilim
(Tunnel yatang aabot hanggang Tundo.)
Kinapa ko ang switch sa hall.
Sa isang pitik, nagshrink ang imaginary tunnel,
Nagparang ataol.
Or catacomb.
Strangely absolute ang impression
Ng hilera ng mga pintong nagpuprusisyon:
Individual identification, parang mummy cases,
De-nameplate, de-numero, de-hometown address.
Antiseptic ang atmosphere, streamlined yet.
Kung hindi catacomb, at least
E filing cabinet.
Filing, hindi naman deaths, ha.
Remembrances, oo. Yung medyo malapot
Dahil alam mo na, I’m quitting the place
After two and a half years.
After two and a half years,
Di man nagkatiyempong mag-ugat, ika nga,
Siyempre’y nagging attached, parang morning glory’ng
Mahirap mapaknit sa alambreng trellis.
At pagkabukas ko sa kuwarto,
Hubo’t hubad na ang mattresses,
Wala nang kutson sa easy chair,
Mga drawer ng bureau’y nakanganga,
Sabay-sabay nag-ooration,
Nagkahiyaan, nabara.
Of course, tuloy ang radiator sa paggaralgal:
Nasa New York na si Bob and the two Allans,
Yung mga quarterbacks across the hall
Pihadong panay ang display sa Des Moines.
Don ang Cosntance aren’t coming back at all.
Gusto ko nang magpaalam–
to whom?
The drapes? The washbowl? Sa double-decker
Na pinaikot-ikot naming ni Kandaswamy
To create space, hopeless, talagang impossible.
Of course, tuloy ang radiator sa paglagutok.
(And the stone silence,
nakakaiyak kung sumagot.)
Bueno, let’s get it over with.
It’s a long walk to the depot.
Tama na ang sophistication-sophistication.
Sa steep incline, pababa sa highway
Where all things level, sabi nga,
There’s a flurry, ang gentle-gentle.
Pagwhoosh-whoosh ng paa ko,
The snow melts right under:
Nagtutubig parang asukal,
Humuhulas,
nagsesentimental.
-Rolando Tinio
(Deretso na iyon sa barko while I take the plane.)
Inakyat kong muli ang N-311, at dahil dead of winter,
Nakatopcoat at galoshes akong
Nagright-turn sa N wing ng mahabang dilim
(Tunnel yatang aabot hanggang Tundo.)
Kinapa ko ang switch sa hall.
Sa isang pitik, nagshrink ang imaginary tunnel,
Nagparang ataol.
Or catacomb.
Strangely absolute ang impression
Ng hilera ng mga pintong nagpuprusisyon:
Individual identification, parang mummy cases,
De-nameplate, de-numero, de-hometown address.
Antiseptic ang atmosphere, streamlined yet.
Kung hindi catacomb, at least
E filing cabinet.
Filing, hindi naman deaths, ha.
Remembrances, oo. Yung medyo malapot
Dahil alam mo na, I’m quitting the place
After two and a half years.
After two and a half years,
Di man nagkatiyempong mag-ugat, ika nga,
Siyempre’y nagging attached, parang morning glory’ng
Mahirap mapaknit sa alambreng trellis.
At pagkabukas ko sa kuwarto,
Hubo’t hubad na ang mattresses,
Wala nang kutson sa easy chair,
Mga drawer ng bureau’y nakanganga,
Sabay-sabay nag-ooration,
Nagkahiyaan, nabara.
Of course, tuloy ang radiator sa paggaralgal:
Nasa New York na si Bob and the two Allans,
Yung mga quarterbacks across the hall
Pihadong panay ang display sa Des Moines.
Don ang Cosntance aren’t coming back at all.
Gusto ko nang magpaalam–
to whom?
The drapes? The washbowl? Sa double-decker
Na pinaikot-ikot naming ni Kandaswamy
To create space, hopeless, talagang impossible.
Of course, tuloy ang radiator sa paglagutok.
(And the stone silence,
nakakaiyak kung sumagot.)
Bueno, let’s get it over with.
It’s a long walk to the depot.
Tama na ang sophistication-sophistication.
Sa steep incline, pababa sa highway
Where all things level, sabi nga,
There’s a flurry, ang gentle-gentle.
Pagwhoosh-whoosh ng paa ko,
The snow melts right under:
Nagtutubig parang asukal,
Humuhulas,
nagsesentimental.
-Rolando Tinio
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