Going Nova by Alma Anonas-Carpio

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Photo by Ferdinand G. Mendoza

They say you slipped away

In the glorious morning sun.

Yet even the quietest leave-taking

Is beyond you who are now purest light.

 

All that you held

Barely contained

Burst forth in fire

Consuming all tears.

 

Each word crafted

Shines forth brighter than stars.

Each image holds itself aloft

With no effort at all:

 

Masterfully done.

Your hands never wavered

Or shook when guiding the pen:

Yours, ours, all who would

Partake of your courage,

All who took of your

Boundless strength and grace.

 

You have gone nova,

As befits a star that

Lights the paths of the heavens

In echoes and blinding luminescence

For eons after.

 

There is no dark

In your shadow:

Only poetry in the sun

Of an eternal summer

Spent basking in your words.

 

We will ever see you,

Set where you belong:

Beyond our reach now,

Shining on. Your canvas is the sky.

 

Paalam, Cirilo.

Salamat po.

 

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The World in the time of Nick Joaquin

Europe, the seat of everything that was grand, powerful, and prosperous, was caught in the teeth of the First World War, the year Nicomedes Márquez Joaquín was born on May 4, 1917. It was half a world away from a boy who would emerge half a century later as one of the greatest literary minds in a poor and exploited country still caught in its own, long drawn-out war of independence in 1917.

They who wrote for the Philippines Graphic

“Our sense ... of our country is a sustained act of imagination. From that vantage, it can be said that our writers and artists, who are men and women of imagination, create our country (italics mine). That is to say: they evoke those images of ourselves as we live life day and night, those images of ourselves which we share and by which we recognize our nativity. We are our own best interpreters of our history and culture because it is we who have lived through that history and created our own values by which we live.” —National Artist for Literature Gemino Abad