Jaime Jesus Borlagdan

Jaime Jesus Borlagdan Poems

Jaime Jesus Borlagdan Biography

Jaime Jesus Borlagdan is, by all indications, one of the main tributaries from the Albay sector feeding into the onrushing river of writing that's happening in the Bikol language today. One of the most active in literary writing in the Web today, Borlagdan, maintains two sites: a website for his works at www.jimplejimple.blogspot.com/ and Karangahan (Pagranga sa Pagsurat Bikolnon) at http: //karangahan.multiply.com/, a site " honoring Bikol literature that has been written and still being written in contemporary times." Of his own poetry, Jimple, as he his called by friends, says (in Bikol, which I essay in translation) , " ...all this is at the back of what I say, and it cannot be molded by words, it cannot be put within gun sight, but if in reading my work you run into a fugitive emotion that you can't utter..." the rest is a passionate enumeration of possibilities. Bikol critic Tito Genova Valiente reacts to his poetry by saying that it is " heartbreaking to feel the forms." --Marne Kilates, poet * * * The first time I read the poems of Jesus Jaime Borlagdan, Jimple to those who know him, I felt immediately the seething movement of the words. There was a rush of metaphors in his works. I immediately liked the feeling that the rhythm caused in one's reading for poetry, in my book, should always be read aloud. I was hearing the voice. It was a voice that happened to sound from afar and it was struggling to link up with a present that would not easily appear. It was heartbreaking to feel the form. I felt the lines constricting. I saw the phrases dangling to tease, breaking the code of straight talk and inverting them to seduce the mind to think beyond the words. Somewhere, the poems were reverting back to direct sentences, weakening the art of poetry with its universe of ellipses and nuances, but then as suddenly as the words lightened up, the poems then dipped back into a silent retreat, into a cave, to lick its own wounds from the confrontation that it dared to initiate. For this column, I decide to share parts of the longer paper I am writing about this poet. In Karangahan, the poet begins with: Bulebard, ikang muymuyon na salog/ki gatas buda patenteng nakahungko, /ako ngonian kahurona. Borlagdan translates this into: Boulevard, you forlorn river/ of milk and downcast lights/ speak to me now. Savor the translation, for in Bikol that which is a dialog has become an entreaty.) The poet is always talking to someone but in An istorya ninda, an osipon ta, he talks about a the fruits of some narrative: Ta sa dara nindang korona kita an hadi/ sa krus, kita su may nakatadok na espada./Naitaram na ninda an saindang istorya./Punan ta na man su satong osipon./This I translate as: For in the crown they bear we are the King/ on the cross, with the embedded sword./ Marvel at this construction, as the poet cuts at the word " hadi" and begins the next line with " krus" and the " espada." Marvel, too, at how he looks at conversion and faith, a process that made us special but also wounded us with ourselves stuck with the sword. Finally, the poet says those lines of the true believer: They have already spoken their story, now let us begin with our tale. The poet does not have a translation but will the istorya in this line be " history" and osipon be " myth." Shall these last four lines in the first stanza be both a subversion of our faith embedded in a foreign culture or a celebration of what we are not, and what we have not become? Puni na an paghidaw. Puni na an pagluwas/hali sa kwartong pano ki luha, puni na/an paghiling sa luwas kan bintana./Puni na an paghidaw para sa binayaan./Puni na an pagsulit sa daluging tinimakan./Puni na an paghidaw sa mga sinugbang utoban. Terrifying lines as the poet calls us to begin the remembering and also begin the moving out from the room full of tears. In the poet's mind, the lacrimarum vale or valley of tears had become an intimate area for instigating his own release. The rhythm is there as in a prayer. But it is no prayer. There is the repetition but it is not a plea. There is the self but it is one that has turned away from itself into something else. That self is one that shall face the recollection of the faith that has been burned. And yet the poet, resolute when he wants to, loves to sing and hint of fear and anxiety. Even when he is merely observing children playing in the rains, he summons images of terrible beauty. The skies become diklom na pinandon na " may luho" (with hole) . From this hole, comes the sarong pisi ki sildang/ tisuhon na buminulos. The poet stays with this metaphor with such intensity that the silken thread coming from the hole justifiably becomes luhang garo hipidon na busay/paluwas sa mata/kan dagom. Dark wit and a penchant for the horrifying are tandem graces in these lines. This is the poet who can, without self-consciousness, tell us of the …haya/kan mga ayam na namimibi/nakakapabuskad ki barahibo/nakakaulakit ki lungsi. He whispers of " halas na rimuranon, malamti/sa hapiyap kan mga bituon." This is a startling universe, where dogs pray (and bay) , and where fears bloom and paleness afflicts and infects, and serpents are caressed by the stars. A Rush of Metaphors, Tremor of Cadences, and Sad Subversions Notes on the Poetry of Jaime Jesus Borlagdan By Tito Genova Valiente Jaime Jesus Uy Borlagdan (born on 6 March 1979 in Tabaco City, Albay) is a contemporary Bicolano writer, musician, graphic artist, teacher and cultural worker. He is an awardee of several Premio Tomas Arejola for Bicol Literature both for his poetry and fiction: his collections " Karangahan" and " Ini, an mga buhay ta" won first prize for poetry in 2006 and 2007. " Hamot kan Narumdom" a collection of prose poems and the short story " Pagsarado" both won the grand prizes in the same literary contest in 2009. In that year he was also named by the Tomas Arejola Foundation as Parasurat kan Taon (Writer of the Year) for 2009. In 2008, his short story " Daramlagon" won 2nd prize in the Gawad Komisyon ng Wikang Filipino literary contest. He was awarded by the Provincial Government of Albay the 2015 Outstanding Albayano Artist for Literature. Borlagdan is the author of four books" Maynila: Libro ng Pobya (1999) , Que lugar este kan dayo sa sadiring banwa (2009) , Suralista (2010) , and X (2014) . His other books that are in e-book format are: Hamot kan Narumdom (2011) , Ha'dit sa biyahe (2013) , X (2012) , and Buhay-gadan (2013) , Ako, Kalag, Omay (2015) , Dios Mabalos (2017) . He edited " Ugbos: An anthology of Albayano Writers (2013) . He is a fellow at the Taboan International Writers Festival in 2009 and at the 10th Ateneo National Writing Workshop in 2010. Borlagdan was the convenor of and panelist in the Albay Writers' Workshop in 2011 and 2012. He is the founder of Tabaco Writers' Workshop (TAWO) , and is a member of UP Quill, An Banwa: Kultura buda Artes kan Tabaco Inc. (ABKAT) , Kabulig Bicol Inc., and Bicol X. As a musician, he fronts and writes music for Krear Bathala and AkoKalag, these bands are characterized by their original songs written in the Bikol Language. In 2010, he released his two songs " Istorya" and " Turog na an Gabos" . His song " BatangTulisan" composed for the movie Sundalong Kanin was nominated in the Star Awards for Movies 2015 in the category Indie Movie Original Song of the Year. His song " Gabos na pagkamoot sa kinaban makulog" will be included in the 3rd DaragangMagayon Song Co compilation. Borlagdan is a staunch advocate and supporter of the Mother Tongue-Based Multilingual Education and has worked with its proponents Dr. Ricardo Nolasco and Dr. Ched Azardon in its implementation in the Bicol Region. His article " An Muya ko kutang taramon sa paggawad kan Premyo Tomas Arejola para sa Literaturang Bikolnon 2007" is published in the book " Starting Where the Children Are (a collection of essays on Mother Tongue-Based Multilingual Education and Language Issues in the Philippines.) " As an entity in the world of social media, Borlagdan is the creator of the pages " Kun Bikalano Ka, Mag-Bikol Ka" and " Tirigsikan sa FB." The objective of the page " Kun Bikolano Ka, Mag-Bikol Ka" is to encourage Bicolanos to use and develop the mother language as a primary step in the realization of actual selfhood. In the page " Tirigsikan sa FB, " Borlagdan hosts " Aragyatan" (jousts) to engage members to try Tigsik, which is an ancient form of short poetry that demonstrates the natural and spontaneous literary talent of the Bicolanos. He is a volunteer for Science of Identity, Chaitanya Mission, and Yoga Meditation Tabaco City.)

The Best Poem Of Jaime Jesus Borlagdan

An Estranghero / The Stranger

Sa tahaw kan paoro-otro nindang piggigibo
nag-abot su estranghero.
Arog an lagapak kan sarong gabat
sa dai naghahangos na tubig. Guminibo
ining singsing ki pagmuklat.

Pinalibutan ninda siya sa talimon
kan saindang pagmaan
arog an nadudurat na ayam.

Mala sa pandok niya an pinilaan na labod
kan ogma na aram nindang gibo sana
kan sarong bulawan na panahon
na dai na ninda naabutan.

Muya garo nindang hapruson
an lawas niyang ibidensiya
kan sarong suanoy na osipon
pero takot na magduot
ta garo pakpak kan kalibambang
baka marunot.

Para sa osipon na ini
sa daghan ninda duminaguso
an sarong dayong pagmate: pagmawot.
Dai ninda aram kun ano an dapat gibuhon
kaya pinadagos ninda ini—siya.
Dangan sa lambang saro
naghanap ki pandok
na baka lamang makamidbid
o makarumdom kan mga gawi
na bako naman sainda.

Bako para saiya
kundi sa tataramon niya
kaya tinao muna ninda an tukawan
kan kagurangnan.
Dinulot saiya an mga pagkaon
na mga batala sana an nagkakakan.
Pinadurog saiya an mga babaying
dai pa nadudutan.
Dangan dai man ninda sierto
pero garo kaipuhan,
nag-ogma sinda, nagtaong atang,
bako para saiya
kundi sa saiyang itataram.

Kan nahubas na su mga dulay
na pigkakaturugan kan alak
para ki Gugurang,
kan dai nang bunuon
sa gastadong kadlagan,
kan su aning tinagama
kan pirang henerasyon
naluwag na sa tuludan,
su lugar na nawalat
pagkatapos kan kaogmahan
guminabat sa paghalat.

Maalangaangon sa dakol na iuran
su bangging nagtiripon sa mga tawo
sa estranghero.
Sa dampog hirigot
su mga kikilat
na nagkasarabod
na garing mga ugat.

Su katoninungan
arog kan paghalat na maglaylay
su bitis kan bibitayon.
Su mga duli-duling kinadakulaan
na an paghuni dai naghuni
ta garo may tataramon na importante.

Dangan
hali sa estranghero
kuminamang su Tataramon
na garo bangog
kan ngimot na haloy na nakasara
pasiring sa mga tawong nagkamurungnan.

Haluyon sinda duman mga estatwang laman.
Kun dai niyani huminugpa su uran
dai sinda maburuklusan
pasiring sa saindang lambang kubo.
Duman gabos sinda nakahiling sa baba
garo mga naumayan na gadan
mantang pigrurunot su daga
kan mapanason na uran.

English:

In the middle of things they have always been doing
the stranger arrived.
Like the crash of a weight
on breathless water. It made rings of awakening.

They surrounded him in a circle
made by their stares
like dogs in heat.

For in his face were lash-scars
of an ecstasy they know possible only
in a golden age
which they have not seen.
Perhaps, they wanted to caress
his body which is proof
of an ancient tale
but dared not to touch
for like the wings of butterflies
it would seem that he'd crumble.

For this tale
in their chests surged
a foreign feeling: yearning.
They didn't know what to do
so they just welcomed this—him.
Then they searched each other's faces
hoping one amongst them might know
or remember the rites of old
which is no longer theirs.

Not for him
but for what he's going to tell,
they seated him to the throne
of Kagurangnan, The Oldest.
They offered him the food
only a batala, god, is allowed to eat.
They have laid with him women
no one has ever touched.
And though they were uncertain
yet seem to think as appropriate,
they celebrated, they sacrificed,
not for him,
but for what he was going to tell.

When the jars where the wine for Gugurang, The Ancient, sleeps
became dry,
when there was nothing left to slaughter
in the exhausted wilderness,
when the harvests kept for generations to come
were served,
the place left behind by the festivities
grew heavy with waiting.

Humid with expectancy of rain
was the night the people gathered
around the stranger.
In the clouds
the lightning were tight
tangled like veins.

The silence
was like the waiting
for the feet of the hanged
to dangle.
The crickets who are used to chirping
did not chirp
for as if something important was about to be said.

Then
from the stranger
The Word crawled out
like a foulness
from a mouth long shut
to the people who were stunned.

For a long time, they were there, statues of flesh.
If the rain hadn't fallen
they will not flee
for their huts.
Here they were all stooped down
gazing like resurrected dead
while the earth is being crushed
by the sharp rain.

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