poetry

Sa Pagtungtong Nakog Singkwenta
ni Linda Alburo

(Ang katunga sa mga tradisyunal nga balak
bahin man sa nagkalain-laing pagkapulak
ug sa pagwanglawos sa kanhi pulang mga bulak.

Karon kay puol-puol na ang samang pagpamulong
mangita gyud kon gbag-ong ikabudyong
samtang naghulat kanus-a motikungkong.)

Tinuod, kini diyang moabut og kalim-an
magsugod nagbalikbalik ang sud-an
kay daghan nang ginadilinglami-an.

Hait paminawon ang elektrik nga gitara
kay lagi na-anad ta sa huning Frank Sinatra
ug tungod kay promdi gimingaw sa karaang arpa.

Sa buntag modungaw samtang bag-ong mata
buot motugpa ang panan-aw sa lunhawang akasya
kanang walang masangit sa habog nga karatula.

Inigkagabii pod mohanggap unta sa sampaguita
sama ba adtong mibangaw sa kang Mamang arkada
apan unsa nang baho-a, di nauban ba nga serbesa?

Alang kanako, layo pa kaayong baklayon
ang dalan padulong sa Loyolang lungon
mangaway pa kog kinsay maayong sulngon:

Ga-i ko dihag dili makakanser nga hamonada
padungga kuno kog mananoyng Ave Maria
unya tamni kog malandong nga banaba
ug sa dili pa ko mopiyong, patagamtama
intawon kon unsay lami anang marijuana.

On Reaching the Age of Fifty
Translation by the author

(Half of the traditional poems
are about different ways of falling
and the withering of once crimson flowers.

Now that those discourses are tiring
I’m looking for some new things to be noisy about
while waiting them to curl up)

True, once the age of fifty comes
certain foods keep returning
because the delicious many are forbidden.

The electric guitar hurts
if one’s used to Frank Sinatra’s singing
and if from the province, she’ll long for the old harp/

In the morning at waking I look out the window
my eyes wanting to alight on the green acacia tree
one that doesn’t snag on a high billboard.

At night too I want to breathe in sampaguita
like those forming a rainbow arch at Mama’s
but what foul smell instead is that, of beer burning?

For me, it’s still a long walk
down the road to a coffin of Loyola
I’ll still pick a quarrel with whoever I can say these to:

Give me some noncancerous hamonada
let me hear a sweet Ave Maria
then plant for me a shady banaba
and before o close my eyes, let me savor
please, the taste of marijuana.

*Banaba – tree with lilac or pink flowers

From Sinug-ang, Women in the Literary Arts Inc., Cebu City, 1999

back to writing from the regions | poetry | home