DALAWANG TULANG SALIN (Szymborska at Sexton)

PAGKAHAYAG

salin ni J. G. Dimaranan

ng salin sa Ingles mula Polish ni Joanna Trzeciak

 

para kay Banahaw

 

Naririto tayo, hubad na mga mangingibig,

 

maganda sa isa’t isa—at iyon ay sapat na.

 

Tanging dahon ng ating mga talukap ang saplot,

 

habang naglililim sa lalim ng gabi.

Ngunit alam nila ang tungkol sa atin, alam nila,

 

ang apat na sulok, at ang mga upuang malalapit.

 

Alam din ng mga nangingilalang anino,

 

kahit ang lamesa’y nananatiling tahimik.

Alam na alam ng ating mga tasa

 

kung bakit ang tsaa’y lumalamig.

 

At ang lumang Swift ang sadyang makapagsasabi

 

kung bakit ang libro niya’y isinantabi.

Kahit ang mga ibon ay batid:

 

Nakita ko silang isinusulat sa langit,

 

walang patitimpi’t pagpapatumanggi,

 

ang tanging ngalang itinatawag ko sa iyo.

Ang mga puno? Maaari mo bang ipaliwanag sa akin

 

ang kanilang walang humpay na pagbulong?

 

Marahil alam ng hangin, sabi mo sa akin,

 

ngunit kung paano lamang ito isang misteryo.

Isang mariposa ang sumurpresa sa atin sa pagitan ng bintana,

 

mahinhin ang wagayway ng mga pakpak.

 

Ang tahimik nitong paglipad—tingnan kung paano ito pumagaspas

 

sa isang sutil na disenyo.

Siguro’y nakikita nito ang mga bagay na di natin nakikita

 

gamit ang likas nitong pagkamatalas.

 

Hindi ko kailanman naramdaman, o iyong nalaman

 

na ang mga puso nati’y nagliliwanag sa kadiliman.

____________________

OPENNESS

by Wislawa Zsymborska

translated from Polish by Joanna Trzeciak

 

Here we are, naked lovers,

 

beautiful to each other—and that’s enough.

 

The leaves of our eyelids our only covers,

 

we’re lying amidst deep night.

But they know about us, they know,

 

the four corners, and the chairs nearby us.

 

Discerning shadows also know,

 

and even the table keeps quiet.

Our teacups know full well

 

why the tea is getting cold.

 

And old Swift can surely tell

 

that his book’s been put on hold.

Even the birds are in the know:

 

I saw them writing in the sky,

 

brazenly and openly,

 

the very name I call you by.

The trees? Could you explain to me

 

their unrelenting whispering?

 

The wind may know, you say to me,

 

but how is just a mystery.

A moth surprised us through the blinds,

 

its wings in fuzzy flutter.

 

Its silent path—see how it winds

 

in a stubborn holding pattern.

Maybe it sees where our eyes fail

 

with an insect’s inborn sharpness.

 

I never sensed, nor could you tell

 

that our hearts were aglow in the darkness.

____________________

MAKATA NG KAMANGMANGAN

salin ni J.G. Dimaranan

 

para kay Hannah

 

Marahil ang mundo’y lumulutang,

hindi ko batid.

Marahil ang mga bituin ay maliliit na papel

na ginupit ng dambuhalang gunting,

hindi ko batid.

Marahil ang buwan ay nanigas na luha,

hindi ko batid.

Marahil ang Diyos ay isa lamang malalim na boses,

na bingi lamang ang nakaririnig,

hindi ko batid.

 

Marahil ay walang ako.

Tunay, ako ay may katawan

at hindi ko ito matatakasan.

Nais ko sanang lumipad palabas sa aking isip

ngunit hindi na dapat ito tanungin pa.

Nakasulat na sa mga bato ng kapalarang

ako’y nakahugpong sa aking katawang-tao.

At dahil ito ang kaso,

gustong ko sanang tumawag ng atensiyon sa aking suliranin.

 

Mayroong hayop sa loob ko,

mabilis na nakasipit sa aking puso,

isang malaking talangka.

Ang mga doktor ng Boston

ay isinuko na ang husay ng kanilang mga kamay.

Sinubukan na nila ang scalpel,

karayom, lasong hangin at iba pa.

Nananatili pa rin ang talangka.

Napakabigat nito.

Sinusubukan kong kalimutan, gawin ang mga gawain,

lutuin ang broccoli, magbukas-sara ng libro,

magsipilyo ng ngipin at itali ang sintas ng sapatos.

Sinubukan ko ring magdasal

ngunit tuwing magdarasal ang talangka’y lalong ididiin ang sipit

at ang sakit ay lalala.

 

Minsan akong nanaginip,

siguro ay panaginip nga,

na ang talangka ay ang aking kamangmangan sa Diyos.

Ngunit sino ba ako upang maniwala sa panaginip?

____________________

POET OF IGNORANCE

by Anne Sexton

 

Perhaps the earth is floating,

I do not know.

Perhaps the stars are little paper cut-ups

made by some giant scissors,

I do not know.

Perhaps the moon is a frozen tear,

I do not know.

Perhaps God is only a deep voice,

heard by the deaf,

I do not know.

 

Perhaps I am no one.

True, I have a body

and I cannot escape from it.

I would like to fly out of my head,

but that is out of the question.

It is written on the tablet of destiny

that I am stuck here in this human form.

That being the case

I would like to call attention to my problem.

 

There is an animal inside me,

clutching fast to my heart,

a huge crab.

The doctors of Boston

have thrown up their hands.

They have tried scalpels,

needles, poison gases and the like.

The crab remains.

It is a great weight.

I try to forget it, go about my business,

cook the broccoli, open and shut books,

brush my teeth and tie my shoes.

I have tried prayer

but as I pray the crab grips hardens

and the pain enlarges.

 

I had a dream once,

perhaps it was a dream,

that the crab was my ignorance of God.

But who am I to believe in dreams?

###

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Lessons at the Baguio Public Market: The water cycle

Yesterday, I was sold the worst bundle of mountain tea for 50php. A few years back lush bundles were being sold for 10-20php. But in my luck, the stalks I got were very old, top leaves are so dry they can no longer be boiled and drank. I opened the bundle to take out the bad ones and keep the good stuff, a familiar act. After weeding it, I had to throw almost half of the herbs. I felt cheated by the market lady. Observing my feeling of being cheated, it made my heart heavy sending a storm of thoughts in my head. Disappointment rained precipitating from all past swindles and deceit. I bathed in it for a while, acknowledging the truth of being under its atmosphere, but I also saw who is really soaked: The one seeing the seeing sees that seeing the emotion is not the emotion, the observer of the observance of thought is not the thought yet the observer is not separate from the observed.

My feelings evaporated, realizing I was lucky to have the bad bundle to be able to process something like this. An opportunity to master attention and presence.

After I bought the bundle, my friend bought another one. Seeing that her bundle was so much better than mine, I felt good. The bundle I had was really for me, that all the other bundles available after mine were good and all buyers after me get the better ones. It doesn’t change the fact that the market lady is an ass for selling bad bundles for a very high price (this economic cycle needs careful and strategic confrontation to end, hopefully creating a new one that gives justice to exchange), but receiving the bad bundle with purposeful attention taught me something deliberate. It lessened the probable birth of an angry customer shaming a saleslady which could have created judgments from nearby salesladies, further affecting all the other possible customers of the stall, all possible customers in the market. If there were more people buying from her (she is not selling something bad for your body, it’s a local cleansing herb disregarded because of Lipton), there will be less possibility of bundles turning bad.

Deception is converted to abundance. Water transformed.