‘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 the 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
poem is 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 of 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
in his crib
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