Sariling Wika / Own Tongue
Yesterday, 3 February, was my youngest sister's birthday. I tried to phone her to say some words, but somehow the line was down both times.
Bunso is the word for the youngest child in a Filipino family. I thought perhaps I could write a poem for her with that as a title. But I had neither time nor inspiration. Then I remembered I wrote a poem for her in 1992, one I never had the courage to show her or anyone else who knows her.
The poem is included in my new book of poetry in Filipino, Baha-bahagdang Karupukan (UST Publishing House, Manila 2011). Here is the poem with my attempt at translation. And no, she has no internet access so cannot even read this yet. This is not even a good poem anyway. Worse in translation, but this is all I have.
-o-
3feb92
am904-920
pb
Sariling Wika
Hindi manika ang ipinunla
sa iyong sinapupunan.
Alam mo iyan.
Ngayon. Uha lamang
ang alam na wika
nitong sanggol.
Nakikipaghulaan ka
sa kahulugan
ng kanyang mga ungol at palahaw
maghapon, magdamag.
May hiwagang hindi ko marahil
malalaman kahit kailan:
ang bata't sanggol
na mag-ina, may
sariling wika.
Mahabang panahon
kayong mag-uusap
at sana isang umaga
maunawaan niyang
kailangan mong hubarin
ang maluwag na daster
at isuot muli
ang damit pang-eskuwela,
balikan ang kabataang
ipinagpaliban.
Darating din ang araw
ikaw ang mag-aalala
sa hindi niya pag-uwi
o pagsabi ng mga ginawa.
Maglilihim siya ng katotohanan,
ng mga pangangailangan.
Mananahimik.
At hahanapin mo
ang dating tinig
ang dating wika
na sa iyo lamang
at sa kanya.
-o-
4pebrero2011
00150029
7woodpecker
Own Tongue
What has taken root
in your womb is no doll.
You know this.
Now. The only language
this baby knows
has but one word: Uha.
You grasp in the air
for the meaning
of his grumbling and wailing
all day, all night.
There is a mystery
I will likely never crack:
the baby and young
mother have a tongue
all their own.
You will speak to each other
as if forever
until some day I hope
he understands
why you must leave
your ragged home clothes
and try to fit in
a fading school uniform,
return to a childhood
that was set aside.
The day will come
when you will be the one
to feel the weight of worry
when your son fails to return
home, or refuses to say
what he's done. He will keep
secrets, hide urges.
Go silent.
And you will seek
that lost voice
that lost tongue
that was yours
and his alone.
-o-
Flash forward to now. Her teenage son has a three-year-old daughter. This year he returns to his studies.
Filed under: Fragments and Moments, Literary News & Articles, Mga Tula / Poetry, poetry, Uncategorized Tagged: Baha-bahagdang Karupukan, birthday, childhood, Jim Pascual Agustin, lost childhood, teenage pregnancy, UST Publishing House
