‘Breakfast’is a poem, which has in a way
enkindled me to write more poems, something that is tangible and lifelike but
whose effect is analytical and unbounded. I happened to read the poem in Philippine Panorama and later in Mantala, an anthology of Philippine
Literature edited by Dr Leoncio Deriada, where my two poems appear, too. It is
by an Ilonggo poet Alain Russ Dimzon, a friend of mine since 1997 when I was a
sophomore mass comm student. His brand
of writing is one of the best so far amongst the Filipino poets I’ve ever
read. An influence to me, he leaves the
door open to secretive experiences of a mystical, existential nature. The
characters he creates sometimes enter imaginary worlds of equal importance to
the real world. He combines ingenuousness and sharp intellect with great
understanding of the importance of the imaginings. And I think ‘Breakfast’ is
one – a fiction poem.
Dimzon is a realist, and perhaps a feminist.
His poems are in the vein of the poems published in The New Yorker. They are
integrational, wisdom-oriented, and improvisational beyond concepts of
settlements in ever-changing situational simulacrum. (The other poems of
Dimzon, which I like, are ‘The Timekeeper’ and ‘A Rain Scene,’ which won him
First Prize in a Home Life Poetry
Contest.)
‘Breakfast’ is so simple, but its effects
are very multifaceted to a mind – to my mind then, even till now, I’ve realised.
The utterance is easy, so lucid at first.
It is a subtle poem, yet it contains an elusive level of contradiction. It
is the compression of intensely felt experience into the sound waves of poetry
and the decompression of intense experience through the catharsis of poetry by
a son who grew up deprived of a father and still longing perhaps to be with his
father.
Breakfast here is very figurative, as it is eaten in the early part of the
day.It offers a timeline, an inception. It is like his childhood, untimely and
wet behind the ears. I think the reading of this poemis inexpressibly poignant.A
cry inside me broke from me, as the poem starts soft and melancholy.
There is an intellectual energy and daring
in this work, as the faint misery of his mother is the main point of the poem.
Her virtue confined to her being a Christian, perhaps, and a natural
monogamous, is hidden starting from that very first breakfast and at every
breakfast that comes next.
His telling the father that he still owns
the seat at the table tells his and his mother’s deep sense of humility – a
signal to the father to forget about his pride and shame.
The grandson in the crib lets slip how so
kind a son he is. Being a good son to his mother is his first priority, as he
is still hoping to keep the family his mother has set her heart on. It is saving the matrimony and the family
both his mother and he himself are keen on to hold their fire. Thus, perhaps,
he can’t leave his mother though he has a younger brother to take care of her. And it shows how everlasting fatherhood is.
The poem is given space to take breaths,
and the small details – the tiny symbols, the deft word choices, and the
slenderness of the lines – give the poem a quality of care and taste that is
enviable. Its narrow lines, too, are enough to make the reading discoveries
fresh as readers plough through the entire poem.
Anyway, here is the poem:
Breakfast
for
Father
One morning
when the family
ate breakfast
you were not there
on your seat
at the table
The night before
through my blanket
I saw you
slap Mother
She was sobbing now
as she drank
her glass of milk
and bottlefed
my youngest brother
I hurried
on my boiled egg
to be in time
for my Grade Two Class
(The years
doused our anger
in the pool
of our tears)
You may come
and eat breakfast
with us again
You still own
your seat
at the table
You can sip
your black coffee
and read
your newspaper
while my son
your first grandchild
is babbling
inhis crib
No comments:
Post a Comment