Musing

a poem by Roger B Rueda

I wait for those biting days touched red
by the sun's inconsequence,
wasting leaves mingled
with rice straw,
the smell of decay in earth
overturned for planting -
not these rain-sodden days,
grass gangling with desertion,
openings of the modest mimosa
and the ground cherries sagging
from heavy water.
I see myself submerged
with the charm of the rain.
Face ruddy with labour,
each day granted purpose
by a calendar now drifting in time.
Even sluggishness
somehow sanctified -
the wish
of late-night laziness enflamed
by tea on the terrace
and the cool air
against my face.
For now, I sit inside,
a novel manuscript about aswangs
lying idle in my lap,
and listen to the gust of rain
on the leaves.  At times
I rise from the chair
beside the window,
force myself
to walk the mongrels
even though it's wet.
Tomorrow maybe
if the sun dries out the water
on the terrace, I will sit
outside and observe the last
of the sparrows,
the whirr of their wings
obscuring the austerity of the day.

The Difference Amongst ‘Nagbakál,’ ‘Ginbakál,’ ‘Ginbáklan,’ ‘Bákli,’ ‘Bákla,’ ‘Báklon,’ & ‘Ibakál’

an essay by Roger B Rueda

Hiligaynon also has the process by which some sets of nouns, adjectives, and verbs vary in form to show aspect, number, or grammatical case. Hiligaynon verb groups show whether an activity is continuing, is passive, is repeated, is completed, is standing, or is upcoming by the use of affixes, letters or groups of letters, which are added to either the beginning or the end of a word to form a different word with a different meaning.

For instance, we use the prefix nag- to stand for the past tense active (transitive and intransitive), e.g. ‘Nagbakál siá sing bayò’  (He bought a dress). ‘Nagsulát siá sing sugilámbong’ (He wrote a short essay.) ‘Sínö ang nagbúhat sinâ?’ (Who did it?/ Who has done it?) ‘Nagdálum ang búhò’ (The hole has become deep.) ‘Nagláin ang íya ginháwa’ (She (has) swooned/ She did not feel well.) ‘Naghalín na siá’ (He has gone away).

We use gin- to denote the past passive or (gina- for perfect passive), e.g. silíng (to say). Ginsilíng (ginasilíng) níya nga - (It has been (is being) said by him that-).

In ‘Nagbakál siá sing bayò’ the emphasis is the subject ‘siá.’  In ‘Ginbakál ko ang bayò’ (The dress was brought by me), the emphasis is the direct object. The emphasis is the indirect object in ‘Ginbáklan ko sia sing bayò’(She was brought a dress by me). The last two sentences indicate that the apparent subjects of the verbs are the person/thing undergoing, not performing, the action of the verb.

We use the suffix –an when the person/thing for whose advantage, or to whose detriment, an action (expressed by the root) is performed, e.g. Ginbuhátan níya akó sing asálan. He made a roasting spit for me. ‘Indì mo siá paghimóan sing maláin’ (Don’t harm him).

In ‘Bákli ako sing bayò,’ –i is used here for the passive impersonal imperative. It can also be used in the passive negative present, and in the passive negatived past of verbs having a passive. (Patindogí (walâ níya pagapatindogí, walâ níya pagpatindogí) sing baláy iníng lugár. Build (he is not building, has not built) a house on this spot.) It describes the mood or a form of a verb that expresses a command or request. Here, the focus is the indirect object.

In the passive impersonal imperative, we use the suffix -a. Bak(a)lá iní (Buy this). Higugmaá kag tahúda ang ímo ginikánan (Love and respect your parents). Here, the focus is the direct object.

Generally speaking the future passive in -on is used with verbs that denote a direct action on an object, an action that produces some change on, or modifies, the object, e.g. Báklon ko ináng  bayò. (I am going to buy that dress.) Other examples are búhat (to make), hímò (to do), hímos (to prepare, get ready), dágdag (to drop, let fall), hákwat (to lift up), útud (to sever), bíal (to split), gulút (to cut), támpà (to slap), súmbag (to box), gísì (to tear), and tábug (to drive away).

Evidently, the continuous is expressed by using the prefixes naga- and gina-: ‘Nagabakál siá sing bayò,’ ‘Ginabakál ko ang bayò,’ and ‘Ginabáklan ko sia sing bayò.’

We use maga- to denote the active future, e.g. Buás magabakál siá sing bayò (Tomorrow he will buy a dress.) Karón sa hápon magaabút gíkan sa Quézon City ang akon amáy. This afternoon my father will arrive from Quezon City. ‘Kon bayáan mo dirâ sa ínit ang bíno tínto magaáslum’ (If you leave the red wine there in the heat of the sun, it will go sour).

In expressing the idea of the means by which - , the instrument with which -, a thing is done, e.g. búhat (to make), we use the prefix i-: ‘Ibúhat iníng káhoy sang ákon baláy’ (Make use of this wood for building my house). ‘Iníng kalímän ka mángmang ibakál mo sing bágö nga kálò’ (Buy a new hat with these fifty pesos).

If you have any queries about Hiligaynon grammar, ring or message me on 09068541933 or email me at inkslinger215@live.com.

A Conversation with Denver Ejem Torres

Denver Ejem Torres: The actual attempt at production of poems can be traced back to High School A.D. But I believe that the act of writing starts necessarily with desire. And this desire to produce poetry started way back when I was in Grade One. As I have mentioned elsewhere, in my Grade One classroom at Ateneo (XUGS), I stumbled upon a world of beauty when I recited the poem Who Am I by Felice Holman. Since then, looking in hindsight, I have dreamt, wished, desired to produce something as lovely, captivating and beautiful. I wanted to become a poet. Therefore, this desire of aesthetics is the starting point, the Point A of my writing.

Roger B Rueda: Why do you write poetry?

Denver Ejem Torres: I write (poetry or otherwise) for two reasons: aesthetics and nostalgia. I am an aesthete, and nostalgic too. I like everything that is beautiful. Poetry is the first beautiful thing to show up in my doorsteps. I fell in love with him, Poetry, at first sight. And because all things, even beautiful ones pass by and fade away, I make certain that they will be memorialized, remembered through words, through poetry.

Roger B Rueda: How long does it take you to write a poem?

Denver Ejem Torres: The actual jotting down of a poem for me is a fast as finishing a cup of cappuccino. It usually takes few minutes – it has to be quick, the harvesting of the wild words must be done quickly, lest if it is delayed, I will feel that I have lost something. And if that feeling sets in, I am certain that I will lose the appetite to pursue the piece. The taming, though, of these wild words (editing and polishing) to become a respectable work, a poem is what takes time. Sometimes, it can take up to one whole day to one week to one month to one year even. Mostly, it takes less than a week. Or at least, when the poem does not nudge me anymore – then it means that it’s finished - it’s already a poem.

Roger B Rueda: How do you write your poems?

Denver Ejem Torres: I write my poems first by staring at the ceiling; if my eyes do not see the actual ceiling then, I know I am ready to write. I give it some few minutes and when the story, the central image or the working idea or theme are clear in my head, I then proceed to write the draft in my notebook. It has to be written there first. Then, while encoding the words to Word, I edit and add some words and rarely delete words. I read, read and read the piece until it bleeds. I wipe away the blood and if it is still alive after the violence applied, then it’s done, it’s a poem. This is how I write my poems, almost invariably at least in this manner.

Roger B Rueda: Where do you write your poems?

Denver Ejem Torres: In this age of e, it is quite peculiar to find someone writing on paper, in the manner you will find it funny and weird for someone to be using a hand-me-down Olympia typewriter. Here I confess, while I do not use the typewriter, I still have to write it down on my notebook first then migrate the words to Word. So first, my poems are usually born in my notebook. This practice however has been flouted at one point - when I wrote the poem where my Barbie was safe, lest, if it came out in the open.

Roger B Rueda: What part does music play in your poetry?

Denver Ejem Torres: I have not given this much thought before really. But I think that the sentimentality found in music/songs is also prevalent in my poems or at least in the images or stories they try to show.




Denver Ejem Torres: I like to paint whenever I have free time. Mostly, I like to sleep or sit by the verandah with a hot coffee (with or without a hot guy beside me). I like to eat pasta and everything else (posh dish or not) and I blog about them, among others. With the knowledge that this skill, este, habit (indiscriminate eating) is not good for the health and well being, I sometimes allow Jogging to drag me up the well manicured roads of Beverly Hills or Ma Luisa Village or Abellana Sports Complex (all in Cebu City). And when I don't feel like doing all these things I get some massage and sauna somewhere I should not share to you. I shall share however that I like talking, and I talk a lot when my friends are around.



DENVER EJEM TORRES


[Denver Ejem Torres is a poet from Cebu City. He has been anthologised in Under the Storm: An Anthology of Contemporary Philippine Poetry and has poems in The Asia Writes Project, Red  River Review, and Bisaya. He holds a BA in English Language and Literature Studies from Xavier University-Ateneo de Cagayan. He is also a recipient of a Literary Fellowship from Mindanao State University-Iligan Institute of Technology; too, from Faigao.]

To Mr Lackey, the Model of Clean Politics and Virtues

a poem by Roger B Rueda

Is it the road that you promised
that would keep us sweet?
Some hope.
Here, law exists rather uselessly,
like rotting piles of garbage,
civil liberties not sacred,
your politics being cut-throat
and consisting of power-plays.
Your friends operate
with apparent impunity,
you've tranformed them
into little gods.
It is magic - one of the best days
of their life.
They've become your avatar,
a bunch of leeches,
a bunch of turncoats
a bunch of avengers of wrongs.
The spell you cast on us
has already been broken,
we've been filled
with tales of her horror,
of her skeletons in the cupboard,
of her evils.
You're tremendously biased
towards her rather than your
bosses protesting soaring prices,
fighting and resenting injustice,
living in poverty,
being damaged by unemployment.
You are the chief antagonist
in a row now, so don't pull
the wool over our eyes,
you dirty liar.
You've led our hope astray.
Soon, you'll, we know, annihilate it.
No one has told us a worst joke
than you.
Ooh, dream on!
You are your own boss as
you enjoy the taste
of sweet revenge.
Your private daemons drive you
to go back on your promises,
letting out a string
of roaring barks,
regressing into childishness.

 

Justice for the Victims of the Maguindanao Massacre

a poem by Roger B Rueda

No matter how soft the light is,
it still plays havoc,
fading my black dress,
it's been two years now.
I am still in floods of tears.
The bodies under my feet
in the fine ash
slowly decayed, the lush grass
sprawling calmly.
Their voiceless lips form the word
'justice,' in my memory,
as the birds waiting forlornly
in the rain.
It must have slipped
into deep and dreamless oblivion.

Pets

a poem by Roger B Rueda

The pets showed us how to be better
than our mechanisms;
they made our brains bigger
of any sentimentality we were bereft of,
and warbled back at us our own despair.
We wanted to be unyielding,
to burst from calm shucks and mature.
The pets, with their silky skins,
supple flaps of sinew, padded feet
and jagged teeth,  directed us there
and they were faithful, submissive, caring.
We fooled around in the shrubs
and swapped piece of music.
When their pens were dirty,
we took out brooms and tidied it up
with a meticulousness  we hardly practised
in our own homes.
We treated their wounds,
hid the skeletons of the dead and
hummed like homo sapiens when they
kissed us renewed, absolved us of our evils.

Childhood

a poem by Roger B Rueda

The child opens the world in the first dawning of hope
with his eyes -  what a carefree
generosity, what a grace
in the world reveals
from the even’s dream work.
A blessed dozing over cornflakes.
The quietness of the house
breathing in its slumber.
A parent’s egg lumps on a serving dish,
a pierced roll-up in the middle.
Then the clothes, the bus,
the viscous hours of school.
The black and white timepiece
on the wall was like
an operating theatre’s,
like an egress ticking open
to the frightened inconsolable
world of adults.
How the turbulent depths inside the child
begin their slow fading.
A white crust, a silt stops up
the blood. A tree aflame
with talking leaves.
This droning rhetoric
of the dead. Ooh child,
inside his pit of light,
how with a puppet’s uneven walk
he mounts the bus at the end of day.
He steers for the harbour
of his room, the soft toys
awaiting dissertation and the night
with its disconsolate lessening magnificence.

Directions on How to Read a Poem

a poem by Roger B Rueda

for Dolly Palisada

Don’t hold this poem as you would
a goblet,
with your fingers twirled
about its stem,
harmonising the dark ball
of it shuffles
from your mouth -
carry it like the plastic pail
you use
when collecting sea shells,
its handle peppered with bits
of grit and sand
and slick
with sunblock
from your palm.
Let it bump against your knee
as you stroll,
fill it with the pearled pod
of some animal
whose name you once spoke
but have long since disremembered.

Some West Visayan Dishes

an essay by Roger B Rueda

There's always a wide selection of delicious dishes to choose from, when you visit the West Visayas. Here are some dishes that complete the West Visayan culinary delights.

Adóbo - a dish of báboy (pork) or manók (chicken) or páto (duck) cut up or sliced, sautéed  in a little mantécà (cooking oil) and garlic, and mixed with lánggaw (vinegar), bay leaf, pimiénta (black pepper), and estiwítis (annatto) - is one of the most popular West Visayan dishes. It can also be dried up by cooking out the liquid and concentrating the essence. Tákway (a taro root tendril) and lángka (jackfruit) can also be cooked in an adóbo way. The savoury sour taste of adobo is very scrumptious.

Bístek consists of lightly sliced cárne (beef) soaked in toyò or salsa de soya (soy sauce) and suhâ (calamondin) and then fried in a frying pan that is typically served with onions.

Dinuguán is a food consisting usually of pork (or beef) innards cooked slowly in pork (or beef) blood and vinegar and seasoned with katúmbal (chilli peppers). It is usually brown when cooked, like chocolate.

Pinamalahán refers to different vinegar-based stews that are at variance greatly from one another based on the kind of meat used. Pinamalahán nga isda uses fish, say tilapia, milkfish, perch, or búlgan (seabass) and usually includes the addition of ginger, patís (fish sauce), and maybe katúmbal. Pinamalahán nga báboy is a pinamalahán using pork, usually pork hocks, and often sees the addition of sugar, pósò  (banana blossoms), and water so that the meat is stewed in a sweet sauce. A similar dish called húmba adds fermented black beans. Both dishes are perhaps related to páta tim. Pinamalahán nga litsón is made from litsón meat and features the addition of ground liver or liver spread. This adds flavour and thickens the sauce so that it starts to caramelise around the meat by the time dish is finished cooking. Though some styles of pinamalahán dishes are made using the same basic ingredients as adóbo, they are prepared in a different way, with other ingredients added and the proportions of ingredients and water being different.

In crispy páta, pork knuckles are marinated in garlic-flavoured vinegar then deep fried until crisp and golden brown, with other parts of the pork leg prepared in the same way.

Litsón manók is the West Visayan take on rotisserie chicken. (A rotisserie is a cooking appliance for roasting meat using a rotating spit.) It is usually a specially seasoned chicken roasted over a charcoal flame served with litsón sauce. Its meat taste is also enhanced by a roll of tánglad (lemon grass) slotted in the chicken.

Mechádo, kalderéta, and afritáda are Spanish influenced tomato sauce-based dishes that are to some degree similar to one another. In these dishes meat is prepared in tomato sauce, minced garlic, and onions. Mechado gets its name from the pork fat that is inserted in a slab of beef making it look like a mítsa (wick) coming out of a beef ‘candle.’ The larded meat is then cooked in a seasoned tomato sauce and later sliced and served with the sauce it was cooked in. Kalderéta can be beef but is also associated with goat. Chunks of meat are cooked in tomato sauce, minced garlic, chopped onions, peas, carrots, bell peppers, and potatoes to make a stew with some recipes calling for the addition of soy sauce, fish sauce, vinegar, chillies, ground liver or some combination thereof. Afritáda tends to be the name given to the dish when chicken or pork is used.

Putséro is a sweeter stew that has beef or pork and sabä (plantain) slices, potatoes, and pítsay (bok choy) simmered in tomato sauce.

West Visayans also eat tosíno (sweetened pork) and chorizo (sausage). Tosíno is a sweetened cured meat made with either pork or chicken and is marinated and cured for a number of days before being fried.

Chorízo is a sweet or spicy sausage, usually made from pork though other meats can also be used, and are often colour red traditionally through the use of the estiwítis. It’s packed in trepílya (the small intestines of a pig) and hung up at meat shops.

Sinámbagan nga baboy (pork in tamarind soup) is another delicious dish. West Visayan soups tend to be very hearty and stew-like containing large chunks of meat and vegetables or noodles. They are usually intended to be filling and not meant to be a light preparatory introduction for the main course. They tend to be served with the rest of the meal and eaten with rice when they are not meals unto themselves. It is usually made with either pork, beef, chicken, or seafood and made sour with tamarind or other suitable souring ingredients. Some variants for example can be made sour by the use of bayábas (guava fruit), bátwan (binucao), íbà (sorrel), lábug (roselle), páhò (green mangoes), sántol (faux mangoustanier), búgnay (salamander), and libás (pinnata).

Another dish is tinóla. It has large chicken pieces and slices of kapáyas (green papaya) cooked with chilli, spinach, and balúnggay (moringa leaves) in a ginger-flavoured broth. It’s very mouth-watering and moreish.

Ginátän nga támbò (sucker) is a dish of támbò with gatâ (coconut milk), pasáyan (shrimp), kaság (crab), or bágongon (telescope shell), tugábang (jute), and maís (corn kernel). It’s both low in calories and healthful aside from being very smooth. The jute thickens the soup of ginátän nga támbò.

Ginátän nga dágmay is dasheen (its corm and stem) with gatâ, bágongon, and ginámus. It’s gorgeous when the dasheen is tapól (purplish). Its stem is succulent and its crom, done to a turn. You can suck in the soft, greenish body of the telescope shell out - though its taste is in the chowder-  after you’ve broken off the end of the shell; it’s called ‘bíntig’ in Hiligaynon.

Piniríto is chicken or fish cooked in fat over high heat. Manók nga piniríto is deep-fried chicken. Bángrus nga piniríto is fried milkfish; it’s not deep-fried. The bángrus is usually deboned in fillet, or in cutlet.

Linagâ is a beef stew made with ripólyo (cabbages) or jackfruit. It’s sold 24/7 in the West Visayan cities, in places near the plazas – or in crowded places.

Binakól is a warm chicken soup cooked with coconut water and served with strips of coconut meat.
Linágpang is a soup dish made of shredded broiled chicken meat or fish mixed with chopped hot chilli, tomatoes, and MSG, then poured with a scoop of freshly boiled water.

Noodle dishes are commonly called pánsit or talyarín. Pánsit recipes largely consist of noodles, vegetables, and slices of meat or pasáyan with distinctions often distinguished by the kind of noodles used. Some pánsit, such as mámi and La Paz-styled batchóy, are noodle soups while the ‘dry’ varieties are comparable to chow Mein in preparation. La Paz batchóy is a noodle soup garnished with pork innards and crushed pork cracklings; it uses míswa (fine vermicelli), tagiposóon (beef heart), tagimíslon (kidneys), and kasúdlan (intestines), but does not contain eggs or vegetables. Mámi is a noodle soup made from chicken, beef, pork, wonton dumplings, or intestines. Another chicken noodle soup is sotánghon (vermicelli), consisting of cellophane noodles, chicken, and sometimes óhong (mushroom).

Pánsit-Molo is one of the simplest, most popular and delicious foods in the West Visayan cookery. This dish is made with dumplings and meat broth. Similar to siomai soup, except that the dumplings in pánsit-Molo are not steamed but cooked in the broth itself. I suppose you know where it originated.

There are several rice gruels that are common in the West Visayas. One is arróz cáldo which is a rice gruel cooked with chicken, ginger, and at times turmeric powder, garnished with spring onions (chives), toasted garlic, and coconut milk to make a kind of gruel. There is also another much different rice gruel called champorádo which is sweet and flavoured with tablíya (chocolate) and often served at breakfast paired with ugá (dried salted fish).

Another rice-based dish is arróz a la valenciána, a Spanish paella named after the Spanish region Valencia. It is made of pilít (sticky rice), batikólon (gizzard), atáy (pork or chicken liver), pork, pásas (raisins), and guisántes (peas). It’s added with turmeric powder.

For veggies, there is pinahúyak, stewed vegetables heavily flavoured with ginamús (pickled shrimp). The basic vegetables used in this dish include native amargóso (bitter melon), talóng (aubergine), tomato, okra, balátong (string beans), chilli peppers, and balagáy (winged beans). Root crops and some beans like camote (sweet potato), patani (lima beans), kadios (pigeon peas) are also optionally added. The young pod of balúnggay is also added. It is usually spiced with ginger, onions, or garlic. It also includes calabáza or calabacéra (squash) sometimes. Most of these vegetables are easily accessible, and are grown in backyards and gardens of most West Visayan households. As its name puts forward, it is usually cooked until almost dry and shrivelled; the flavours of the vegetables are emphasised with ginamús. In some cases, litsón, tsitsarón (crackling), or other meats, most commonly pork, are added. It is considered a very healthful dish.

A kind of seafood salad known as kinílaw (ceviche) is made up of raw fish or pasáyan cooked only by steeping in vinegar, sometimes with gatâ, onions, langkawás, and kotíkot nga katúmbal (hot red pepper fruits).

Pulá nga ítlog (red eggs) are duck eggs that have been cured in brine or a mixture of clay-and-salt for a few weeks, making them salty. They are later hard boiled and dyed with red food colouring, hence its name, to differentiate them from chicken eggs before they are sold over the shelves. They are often served mixed in with chopped tomatoes.

Atsára is a side dish of pickled papaya, támbò, or pósò -  strips similar to sauerkraut. It's a common garnish to fried dishes like ugá.

Útan nga lupô (manyfruit primrosewillow stew) is made of lupô, pasáyan, and tomatoes. Its greenish soup has a little tipoff of pleasantness. It smells delicious.

KBL (kádios, báboy, kag lángka) is a very simple dish made of pigeon peas, broiled pork, unripe jackfruit and greened with camote shoots.

Inásal nga pántat (roast catfish) is catfish roasted on a spit. It has a fairly strong and pleasant flavour which makes it good to eat. Bángrus and chicken are also good variants.

Binóro nga bángrus is salted milkfish. After the entrails have been removed and the milkfish is washed, the fish is placed inside a plastic bag with a lot of salt, which preserves it for a long time. It is cooked by frying it, having been washed to remove the salt.

Hípon nga linusgusán is krills boiled in water with salt in such a way that all the water evaporates before the cooking is properly done. The quantity of water required has to be accurately calculated beforehand. Shrimps, lokón (prawns), and alimángo (mud crabs) can also be cooked this way.

Kalókálo is cold rice warmed up and stirred in a pan either with or without cooking oil. It is sometimes added with garlic, peas, shrimps, or salchicha (hotdogs). It can match up with pinamalahán, at breakfast.

Cárne kag alugbáti (beef and Malabar spinach) is a delicious West Visayan dish. The sautéed beef is simmered until it becomes tender. The alugbáti is added along with optional ingredients (balátong, aubergine, and calabáza).

Amargóso kag ítlog is a simple dish of bitter melons and chicken’s or duck’s eggs. The amargóso is stirred in the oil and added with scrambled eggs. It is sprinkled with salt.

Talóng kag ítlog is a broiled aubergine, its seared skin peeled. It’s dipped into the scrambled egg and fried.

Eskabétse is a dish made of fried fish mixed with vinegar and spices. Alóy (skipjack tuna), bángrus, lagáw (threadfin), and tamúdyos (hard-tail mackerel) are best for this fare.

Manók sa úbad is chicken in the soft pith of a banana plant. It is more savoury when the poultry is of a Bisayà chicken, which is organically raised. The pith is chopped up and then squeezed to get the bitter juice out of it. It can be added with mónggo (mung beans).

[All spellings of Hiligaynon words here are based on Roger B Rueda's Hiligaynon-English Dictionary (11 X 8 1/2, 855 pp, Centralbooks, 2012).]

A Conversation with Peter Solis Nery

Roger B Rueda: Could you tell me a little about you as a writer? When you began writing seriously, how you got into your chosen genre, some of your favourite publications?
Peter Solis Nery: After 25 years, I’m still evolving as a writer. I started with short stories, got into poetry, dabbled into screenplay, wrote award-winning plays. I’m still dipping my fingers into everything, and you haven’t seen the best of me yet.

Roger B Rueda: What is your personal philosophy?
Peter Solis Nery: Three things: Try not to hurt others. Always better yourself. Believe in something.

Roger B Rueda: Did you find a lot of encouragement from the adults around you, or was it more a self- generated confidence - the positive response from your peers? What kept you focused on writing rather than some other enterprise through the early years?
Peter Solis Nery: Encouragement from adults, no! My parents were poor. What kept me writing were the awards, the grants, the publications.

Roger B Rueda: Are you currently working on anything?
Peter Solis Nery: I’m always working on something. That’s how I keep my fans and critics guessing. Now, that I’ve been winning in the English division of the Palanca Awards, who can stop me?

Roger B Rueda: Do you consider yourself a certain type of poet? Have you been termed a certain type of poet by others? If so has it frustrated you or has it reinforced your own feelings on who you are as a poet?
Peter Solis Nery: As early as 1999, my literary peers in Iloilo have crowned me as The Prince of Ngoyngoy [Sob Poetry] because of my obvious lyricism. I guess you can call me a lyric poet. I like my works charged high with emotions and sentiments, and I find nothing wrong with that. One of the funnier monikers I earned was “The Millionaire Writer,” fueled by my big money wins at the 1998 Centennial Literary Prize (which awarded one million pesos to first prize winners), and the 2001 Cinemanila International Film Festival Scriptwriting Contest (which published a pot prize of half a million pesos). My total combined earning between 1998 and 2003 was nowhere near the million peso mark, but that’s between me and the BIR. Haha. I wouldn’t challenge that title now. I became a millionaire before I was forty.

Roger B Rueda: Are there truths in the sound of poetry that are lost when poetry is read silently? Are there poems that are meant to be read in silence, perhaps a silent meditation on meaning, that don't need to be read out loud? What kind of poems do you write? Which ones do you prefer?
Peter Solis Nery: I’m sure there are poems that are better read silently; and in the case of concrete poems, they have to be seen on the page for their maximum impact. I lean more towards the oral/aural type of poetry. I want my poems read aloud and heard, because that’s how I write them.

Roger B Rueda: Where is home, the one in your heart?
Peter Solis Nery: Home is where my fans are. What can I say? I love being idolized! Which hypocritical writers say they don’t?

Roger B Rueda: Who are your influences?
Peter Solis Nery: Oh, they are many. The big three are: Rainier Maria Rilke (Austrian), Antoine de Saint-Exupery (French), Matsuo Basho (Japanese).

Roger B Rueda: Did reading a poem first spark the desire to write poetry or was it an experience?
Peter Solis Nery: Learning poetry in elementary school made me say, ‘Hey, I can do that!’

Roger B Rueda: What goal do you seek through your poetry, to discover, to influence, to re-vision history?
Peter Solis Nery: I write poetry to express my emotions. Everything else is either a bonus, or crap.

Roger B Rueda: How do you know a poem you have written is good?
Peter Solis Nery: Simply because I wrote it? Haha. Seriously, when I have said all that I wanted to say in a way that drains me, I feel pretty confident that what I have written is good. What others say negatively has no bearing to me. I only care about what good things critics say about my work.

Roger B Rueda: Do contemporary poets inspire you?
Peter Solis Nery: I should think so, but I prefer the old masters like Rumi, Petrarch, Li Po, and the Japanese of the Heian period.

Roger B Rueda: What nourishes your creativity?
Peter Solis Nery: Films, theatre, travel, and reading; and but mostly, films.

Roger B Rueda: Did you have as wonderful a childhood as I suspect you did? Any special memories?
Peter Solis Nery: Other than being poor, I had a decent childhood. At age 9, I won our town’s version of “Dancing with the Stars,” besting other dancers twice, thrice, four times, or even six times my age. My most special memory though is that of graduating from elementary school with so many medals and ribbons that there wasn’t enough space on my barong, and they had to be pinned on my pants!

Roger B Rueda: How do you submit your articles for publication?
Peter Solis Nery: Mostly by email, but sometimes my beloved Uncle Jun delivers them in person.

Roger B Rueda: What more, indeed! What is your favourite type of music?
Peter Solis Nery: I’m a big fan of musical theatre. I collect cast albums. I also have a penchant for the eclectic and obscure like 17th century funeral music, or royal music for medieval banquets.

Roger B Rueda: If you could have dinner with any famous person, who would it be?
Peter Solis Nery: With any famous person in history, no question that my choice would be Jesus of Nazareth. With any person alive today, I’d settle for the Pope.

Roger B Rueda: What are your plans for the future?
Peter Solis Nery: To establish the Peter Solis Nery Foundation for the Promotion and Preservation of Hiligaynon Literature and Ilonggo Arts.

Roger B Rueda: What is the importance of grammar for a writer?
Peter Solis Nery: I’m not very keen on grammar. I write and speak decent English. I think grammar serves an editor better. Haha.

Roger B Rueda: Do you want to say a little about it before we close? Or, if you had one bit of advice for unpublished authors looking for inspiration, what would it be?
Peter Solis Nery: I’ve been a newspaper editor in Iloilo for well over five years so I know that not a few Ilonggos writing in English have terrible grammar, but I don’t let that get in the way of judging a good copy. As for advice to new authors, I seriously suggest writing in the language they are most comfortable with. Remember that for me, writing is for the full expression of emotions and ideas.

Roger B Rueda: Are experiences based on someone you know, or events in your own life?
Peter Solis Nery: What is real to me is what I feel—and that extends to what I feel when I see or hear other people. I have a great sense of empathy, and that’s how I appropriate other people’s experiences.

Roger B Rueda: Could you say a bit about the mechanics of your writing process? Do you work regular hours or in bursts of inspiration? Do you edit yourself? Do you approach writing in a workmanlike way?
Peter Solis Nery: I’m not just a writer. I am also a nurse trying to earn a living in America, so I cannot really write as much as I want to. My writing process? I ruminate ideas a lot. On non-writing days—on days that I work at the hospital—I try to see the story arc, flesh out my characters, jot down vocabularies that I would want to use. Then, on my days off at the hospital—and when I am not traveling, I write in heat, sometimes four to six hours in a stretch. I edit for grammar after the first draft. After that, revisions and more revisions until I feel that the piece is flawless and perfect. I am my worst critic, so I can afford to ignore other critics.

Roger B Rueda: What's your own favourite thing about being a Filipino writer in Los Angeles?
Peter Solis Nery: Call it the ‘big fish in the small pond’ syndrome, but I would really rather like to write for Filipinos more than Angelenos. L.A., and the U.S. for that matter, just informs me because I have access to a wide array of films, theatre, museums, festivals, and bookshops. I would really rather like to write for Ilonggos—in the Hiligaynon language. If I am not already, I would like to be the towering name in the renaissance of Hiligaynon literature.

Roger B Rueda: Are there any new authors that have grasped your interest?
Peter Solis Nery: Not particularly. But I’ve been discovering “old” writers like Donald Barthelme and John Cheever. And don’t forget Petrarch, Octavio Paz, Federico Garcia Lorca in new translations.

Roger B Rueda: How did you come up with the title?
Peter Solis Nery: I’m a title person. Sometimes, I feel that my titles are better than the works themselves. Haha. I guess it has to do with my advertising sense. Read my titles: “I Flew a Kite for Pepe,” “The Essential Thoughts of a Purple Cat,” “Fireflies for a Yuppie,” “A Loneliness Greater than Love.” How can you be not intrigued by those?

Roger B Rueda: If you had to choose, which writer would you consider a mentor?
Peter Solis Nery: After all the explications of scholars, it must be Basho. But you have to understand the history and the subtleties of haiku to appreciate Basho. Still, I follow him more closely than any other writers.

Roger B Rueda: What book are you reading now?
Peter Solis Nery: “Tennessee Williams’ Notebooks” edited by Margaret Bradham Thornton, and “Dr. Tatiana’s Sex Advice to All Creation: The Definitive Guide to the Evolutionary Biology of Sex” by Olivia Hudson.

Roger B Rueda: How much of your stories is realistic?
Peter Solis Nery: Is the image in the mirror real? My stories are often set in the real world even if the events happening to them are artfully plotted. Or, if they are fantasy stories, I project real-life struggles in my fantastic characters and magical worlds. My job is to make some art in my work and my life. Your job is to figure out what’s real and what’s not.

[Peter Solis Nery, an Ilonggo writer, is an icon for many people. So far, he's the best writer in the West Visayas and one of the best in the Philippines. He's the writer that every Filipino must read.]

Mouthwatering Delicacies of the West Visayas

an essay by Roger B Rueda

With regard to something delightful or pleasing, especially a choice food considered as to its rarity and costliness the West Visayas has a lot of the great delicacies its people are proud of. Here are some of them:

Muási is a small, flat, sweet rice cake eaten in the West Visayas. It is made from ground pilít (sticky rice). Scoops of the batter are dropped into boiling water where they float to the surface as patties - an indication that they're done. When served, the patties are dipped in grated coconut, and presented with a separate dip made of  moist sugar and toasted sesame seeds. It is very moreish.

Íbus is made from pilít cooked in coconut milk, and often steamed in coconut leaves. It is usually eaten with ripe mangoes or white sugar.

Butöng is made from pilít cooked in coconut milk and steamed in banana leaves. The banana leaf adds aroma to it aside from giving a special taste to it.

Kalámayháti is made of ground pilít, moist sugar, and coconut oil. It is stirred until there’s minimum lumping in the mixture. It is incredibly smooth and rich.

Bayébáye is a roll made of toasted pilít that is ground, mixed with moist or white sugar and coconuts, and pounded until well blended and sticky. It has also the corn variant. The food is thought to have originated amongst the native people of Barotac Nuevo and Pototan.

Pótobúngbung is traditionally made from a special variety of heirloom pilít called pirurutong which has a distinctly purple colour, soaked in salted water and dried overnight and then poured into búngbung or bamboo tubes and then steamed until done or steam rises out of the bamboo tubes. It is served topped with butter or margarine and shredded coconut mixed with white sugar.

Pótolánson or arépahol is made of grated cassava, and is foamy when cooked.

Pótomanápla is cooked specifically with saba banana leaves underneath for the flavour.

Súman is made of pilít, moist sugar, and coconut oil.

Indáyindáy is made of a pilít flour patty topped with bukáyò, a coconut dessert.

Linúgaw is rice-flour boiled in generous allowance of water and coconut milk. Some of its ingredients are  tapioca, cubed tubers, and gummy balls made of pounded pilít.

Kúmbò is a cake made of flour and thinly-sliced plantain bananas mixed with white sugar and then fried.



Alopí is a cake made of rice-flour or cassava mixed with sugar and coconut-meat, wrapped up in banana-leaves and boiled. It is makídöl (done to a turn).

Linúpak, mashed green plantain bananas with moist sugar, is crushed into a paste using a pestle and mortar. It is laden with butter or margarine and normally wrapped in banana leaf.

Bútse is a kind of cake made from flour and with mung beans inside.

Bibíngka is a cake made of rice-flour mixed with coconut meat and white sugar, and baked.

Pinasúgbo is plantain bananas that are thinly sliced, deep fried to a crisp, and coated in really thick caramel and sprinkled with sesame seeds. The banana slices are then bunched together and wrapped in cone-shaped paper.

Súmanlatík is a rice cake wrapped triangularly with the latík on top of it.  Latík is the dregs, lees, or sediment formed in refining coconut-oil.

Bukáyò is coconut candy or a cake of moist sugar mixed with shreds of coconut meat.

Butóngbútong is kind of sugar-candy. It is made from thick molasses and repeatedly drawn out till it turns white. Hence the name.

Bitsóbítso is small, round, crispy bread made of rice flour and coated with moist sugar.

Dinólse nga Úbi is a dessert made from boiled and grated purple yam mixed with white sugar and coconut milk, and cooked until thick.