Blackhole
October 24, 2009There is a scar on the city that never seems to heal
It reveals its history with each wound
The scrape of hooves on Intramuros, the patter of feet in Fort Santiago
The feet chose to draw its own destiny in bronze
Amidst the fray of muffled bullets silenced by lips
We never seem to hear the sound of trains
passing through tunnels
as memory walks down the stairs
to buy its ticket
and look for a seat
between two bent elbows
The doors slide open the I comes out and hears the sound of bullets
The gun loaded with footsteps whizzing by the wounded street
It is not 1896 the I is unabashed the bronze is covered with dust
Guns have been replaced with sweet promises
The wound grows bigger as the I reaches out to buy a Sampaguita
The city bleeds as the sound of trains blur into the tunnels
Light fades inside the tunnel
it is frightened by the
future hidden on the other side
it holds onto time
it refuses to let it go
the I is frozen
on the seat between
two bent elbows
The I leaves behind a trail of shadows it enters the train again
This time in Katipunan, the I no longer hears bullets
Just the sound of wind and walking grass
The I remembers memory on a stone of how moths
Linger under a tree waiting for a playful child to touch its cheek
A flick of the wrist a ticket comes out of a tunnel
The doors close leaving behind memories on a stone, it is dark again
The I is no longer alone
between two bent elbows
it is sitting next to You
the I does not notice the wound
it thinks of the city
its old streets and
bronze footsteps
It is the same day again 1896 the firing squad prepares the bullets
All the I can hear is fuego the body is falling into the ground
Suddenly frozen in stone and bronze
The last uttered word written on paper hidden in a lamp
The bronze footsteps leave behind a trail for the fireflies to light the way
The I notices it is no
longer alone between two
bent elbows reaching out
reluctantly to You
it sees the wound
I waivers it sees the
wound getting bigger
it pulls back its hand
with a faint whisper
it suddenly found itself
upon the wound
it stops bleeding
there was no blood just a scar
The train stops the doors slide open the half light bathes the station slowly
Upon the landing of yellow lines were pieces of stone
A tint of bronze and dust and faded memories found
There was nothing left of I but You.
I’m already going to warn you beforehand. Please do not take any of my remarks personally. I’m judging this poem according to the best of what I know of formalism (reading a text based on dramatic situation, metaphor, organic unity etc. and how they work in a poem) and I obviously don’t know you and thus have nothing against you as a person.
Dramatic situation from what I could get: The protagonist seems to be suffering the pain of heartbreak which he likens to Rizal’s immortalized heroic death in 1898 and which he can’t seem to move on from. The scene shifts to the subway where a gunman shoots a number of people (a not so heroic death after all since it is not 1898) and the “I” steps into the train but is unable to move forward (along with the train). The “I” momentarily remembers a scene from his childhood and when he returns to the train he finds that there is a You sitting next to him (the You who is probably the source of the I’s anguish). The I realizes that the pain is gone though when he steps out of the train he realizes he is dead and the You has killed him (“There was nothing left of I but You”)
The first thing you have to understand is that poems fundamentally work on a literal level. I had trouble trying to understand what was happening in the poem because there was the poem jumped a lot (from Rizal’s execution to the train to the childhood memory to the train again). Not only does the flow in the poem have to be coherent but the images themselves have to make sense as well. Take for instance the line “Gun loaded with footsteps”(I saw what you were trying to do though juxtaposing it over the execution scene) or the idea of memory walking down the stairs (maybe the I was remembering himself walking down the stairs) These things made it difficult for me to grasp what was actually happening in the poem (I’m not going to nitpick every line because I don’t want you to feel terrible or anything). I’m curious as to why you picked Rizal’s execution as being metaphorical to the persona’s situation. Is there a connection between the patriotic love for his country that Rizal died for and the romantic love and rejection of the persona aside from his death? It seems also a bit contrived that the persona could make the train stop and also have a gunman appear in his memory.
Please keep writing. Just because I had a lot of criticisms about the poem doesn’t mean I’m telling you to quit. Pratice makes perfect (along with criticism on the side). I suggest you read “A Poetry Handbook” by Mary Oliver which is helpful (there’s a copy in Rizal lib actually).
Pahabol: Some of the line cuts were too long btw.