Poetry, Passion, Politics and F. Sionil Jose by Clarice "Melon" Bautista

I think I am a fan of Melon, a very admirable friend of mine. I have posted many entries with her as a reference -- and I did so without permission. But here, I do it again. :)

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Poetry, Passion, Politics and F. Sionil Jose by Clarice "Melon" Bautista

All ye poetry lovers and poets alike should shoot me but wait.
Having been trained in Journalism school not to mince words and master the 1H and 5Ws in writing, I used to really believe poetry was a waste of precious time. It couldn’t say things as they are and as straightforwardly as possible and it hides true meanings in figures of speech such as allegory, hyperbole, simile, to mention a few.
The next thing I knew, I confused it with prose. Thus, the more I stuck to the journalistic canons, that of the ABC in expressing, and not impressing as I was told: Accurate, Brief and Concise. Period.
I just couldn't get it. Say for instance, if a guy thought a woman is pretty and her eyes are beautiful, why compare her to a flower and her eyes to the moon, the sun or the stars?
Why waste so many words?
And I also hold this now not-so-secret assumption in my mind and I am deeply sorry now that this may sound hilarious yet offensive to some: the men, specifically, those who appreciate, write or read poetry to the love of their lives (e.g. friend, fiancée, wife or mother) must be gay. What I mean is that, why accessorize the simplest ‘I like/love you’ with so many adjectives?
Or if you ever feel mad, sad, or glad, why can’t you say it clearly?
Then I began to associate it with going to an opera concert where all notes are sung in falsetto which to me, at first, was another completely incomprehensible art form.
Until I obtain a copy of the lyrics of the Three Tenors Pavarotti, Carreras or Domingo, I would be truly certain they were, in fact, singing and not hyperventilating. (Now I plead guilty of malicious mischief vs. Classical Music so I could still post bail, plea bargain, or maybe, just maybe, the judge would be kinder and only allow me to render community service, by sweeping the Cultural Center of the Philippines’ halls with a G-Clef tied to my neck for a year in between flats and sharps!)
Or, so I assumed.
And how I laughed at the theatrical way the words (they can dance, scream, sigh, smile or laugh, they say) are crafted and the rhymes sounded.
Not that all poetry should rhyme I learned later.
I also notice that compared to the other literary pieces, it is one with the ever two, three, four or five-stanza way of presenting itself on paper---and with lots of spaces, too. How does one in his or her right senses but read it with rise and fall of eyes, nose, tongue and voice?
Now you can picture why I liken it to theater this time.
Like theater, poetry, to me then, lives in a completely make-believe world on-stage which can only be recited by a few aficionados and not really anchored on reality and something that I can truly say is empirical.
It is like art for the sake of art- meaningless, only aestheticized (pardon for the improvised term) words that do not accomplish anything substantial, except, amuse a limited audience for a brief time. (Am sure legions of Art lovers/enthusiasts, dead or otherwise, would like to hang me in a gallow like Saddam for crimes against Humanities :)
Call me a complete idiot or barbaric but that was before my ‘Eureka' moment, my ultimate enlightenment.
I admit I graduated from UP’s Humanities Division and supposedly the bastion of everything about the Arts and Letters but I think that shut-eye (as ever the Sleeping Queen) and a closed mind (and heart, mostly) got the better of me during my Arts Appreciation classes better known as Humanities I & II in college and even prior to that in high school as the integrated MAPE (Music, Arts and Physical Education).
Well, I had my share of nursery rhymes taught by my mother as early as I was two years old. But those are, of course, very elementary and memorized I did just for the sake of the candy or the cents after my repartee.
How devastatingly and despicably a disservice could I ever be?
To a dignified form of expression that has saved more souls than I never thought possible, here, please accept my deepest, sincerest, humblest apologies. Lest I die and be forever etched in infamy as persona non grata of my generation and those long reposed in their graves-grandfathers , grandmothers and great guardians of humanity and all its history.
My journey to poetry appreciation began when I got to know passionate (and deeply political) men, who, surprisingly, loved poetry that they can bite a bullet at one point.
Am talking about, for one, Dr. Jose Rizal, the Philippine national hero.
Rizal, a man of many talents, whether with words or with handiworks and who donned many hats during his lifetime - poet, sculptor, engineer, agriculturist, polyglot, youth leader, eye doctor, writer, debater, martial artist, teacher to name a few, for me, next to Christ, wrote the best ‘Adios’ charge to go about doing good.
I began researching on many valiant men, who, were at some point shaped or influenced by a poem --- or a lyrical taunt/encouragement using the fiercest, most moving words that fueled their heroic acts (Nazareth’s Christ, America’s Col. Sullivan, Ireland’s Michael Collins, Scotland’s Sir William Wallace).
Voila, I was in fact, discovering one of my life’s greatest frights!
These men, whose hearts were bigger than their heads, had such appetite for the poetic expressions, were actually objective realists!
Add to that the Samurai warriors of Japan, who, aside from their ‘bushido’ (the Warrior’s Code), simultaneously learn about poetry, crafts, literature, sword-making, among other things.
That got me into thinking, poetry, indeed is a language of passion (tantamount to sound character), of power (equal to positive influence/example) , and of politics (to lead by servanthood) that shaped—and it still does, the history of nations.
It is not after all, just flowery words or unintelligible mumblings.
And in his advanced years, I have my very own octogenarian living hero of Philippine Literature whom I fondly call, Sir F. Sionil Jose* to thank for!
He opened up my eyes to a better grasp of such great poets such as Robert Frost, Alfred Lord Tennyson, and Robert Browning—men of deeper thoughts and wisdom and armed with words even mightier than the sword.
This, my Filipino generation truly groans for a Renaissance first, a Revolution next!
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* Tears At Twilight – An Interview With Francisco Sionil Jose is published in the 2nd issue of the Unbound -Start Thinking Magazine. You may avail of copies at the B-Room, Crossroad 77, Mother Ignacia Cor. Scout Reyes Sts., Quezon City or you may address e-mails to inquiries@thinkunbound.com .