Monday, January 30, 2012

I was in Love with Margaret Salinger

(Image from Media.smashingmagazine.com)

I was in love with Margaret Salinger
J.D. would have not approved
But he normally didn't care
So the coast is clear of doting father

Beyond pretty, Meg is a gem
She’s smart, got her father’s genes
She’s pretty, her mother is the same
Her parents split, what a shame

Margaret was her daddy’s little girl
They watched classic movies on reel
Amidst the New England woods
Fairy-tale setting, ideal for moods

Imagine Meg growing up to be Margaret
Went to college, worked as a mechanic
Jerome David could have made it easier
For her to earn a diploma, plus money for beer

But, no, daddy loved his isolation
Her daughter’s desolation forced her
To find a man of his image, futile
She hated him like Plath hated Hitler

The dream catcher wasn’t much help
All it did was give a catchy title
For a book like Mommie Dearest
With daddy stepping in for the beast

Sure, J.D.’s lover came out with her own tell-all
You can’t blame Joyce, she will always be
A little girl whining about the world
Making a living on bones in her wallet

But how could Meg do a Joyce?
Get back at an absentee daddy?
Get royalties for a book well done
Even if it hurts her as much as it did J.D.?

Should anyone care as long as we get to read
A book as fun as a day on the beach
A whale struck by a bus
A train crashing into a truck

Meg turned out OK
She married, got kids
She looks happy on the Web
She’s a Christian minister

I write this down using Courier New font
Ten-point-five points small
A boy turning fifty
Throwing rhymes, so nifty


Monday, January 2, 2012

Stories High

(Image from http:1.bp.blogspot.com)

Stories are told in ways
As numerous as heroes’ names
Sizes various as egos wandering

The best storytellers are mothers weaving tall tales
To children who imbibed their milk
In soothing tones of silenced cries, cooing contentment

The saddest sight is a widower
Who whistles in the lonely afternoon
Against the wind, sees his wife in whirlpools of dust

The happiest sound is a bird chirping
Who knows not it has wings
But sees people shuffle their feet

Attempts at Translating Neruda


(Image from fc06.deviantart.net)

An Attempt at Translating Pablo Neruda's 'Soneto XI'
from the Cebuano from the English

I yearn for your lips, your voice, your hair
Quiet, famished, I stalk the streets
Bread cannot sate my hunger, dawn intrudes
Throughout the day I search for water measuring your steps

I hunger for your slippery laughter
Your hands the hue of fierce reaping
I hunger for the pale pebbles of your fingernails
I want to consume your skin like an almond whole

I want to eat the sunshine ablaze in your body beautiful
The queenly nose on your haughty face
Desiring to consume the passing gloom of your eyelashes

I lie in wait ravenous, breathing in the twilight
Hounding you, for the warmth of your heart
Like a cougar on Quitratue’s wastelands




Sulay nga Paghubad sa Kang Pablo Neruda nga 'Soneto XI' 
Guikan sa Iningles nga Guikan sa Kinatsila

Gipangandoy ko ang imong ngabil,
imong tingog, imong buhok,
Hilom ug gutom, gaukoy ako sa mga kadalanan,
Ang pan dili makabusog kanako, gibalda ako sa kadlawon,
Tibuok adlaw gipangayam ko ang tubig nga sukod
sa imong mga lakang

Gigutom ako sa mimis mo nga katawa,
ang imong mga kamot nga bulok,
Sama sa usa ka bangis nga ani,
Gigutom sa mga luspad nga bato sa imong mga kuko,
Buot ko nga kaunon ang imong panit
sama sa usa ka tibuok nga almendro

Buot ko nga kaunon ang bidlisiw nga gasiga
sa imong matahum nga lawas,
Ang maraynahon nga ilong sa imong mapahitas-on
nga nawong,
Buot ko nga kaunon ang lumalabay'ng landong
sa imong mga pilok,

Ug galakat-lakat ako nga gutom, gasimhot sa salumsom,
Nangayam kanimo, alang sa imong kasing-kasing,
Sama sa usa ka puma sa pagawpaw sa Quitratue.

Pablo Neruda's Spanish text for 'Soneto XI'