Poetry is spare, its economy of lines one where every word and punctuation contributes to the imagery of the verse, where these tiny things deepen the meaning of each line, building a whole that is more than the sum of its parts.
In Aida F. Santos’ latest collection of poems written in very beautiful Tagalog, “Pana-Panahon” (Gantala Press, 2019) the poet brings you into close proximity with her soul and every beat of her heart.
Beware: This book will make you cry. It will kick all your emotions into high gear. You will be sucked into her verse and come out seeing the world very differently after. Read it when you can find time to catch your breath after each poem.
A feminist, activist and lifelong human rights advocate, Santos’ life can be glimpsed clearly, in three stages, in this beautifully-presented book. It seems to have been arranged into a journal of sorts, in three parts: Pagdadalamhati (Mourning), Pagmamahal (Loving), and Pagsulong (Moving forward).
Santos uses her Inang Wika to devastating effect. The result is a book of poetry that will aim at the softest parts of your heart, and slice into your soul with the precision and utter control of targeting lasers.
Her poems are ruthless once they have you in their grasp—and they will from the very first line. Every word is a hook drawing you into the images she creates. Her last lines burst into your consciousness, with breath-taking force, and leave you stunned into contemplation.
This isn’t a genteel book. “Pana-Panahon” is an intellectual and emotional revolution that is armed to the teeth—and it will take no prisoners and grant you no quarter. It contains Santos’ work across decades, from 1981 to just last year, some poems of which I’d first read over Facebook, from her status messages.
The first poem, “Pangalawang Sulat (Second Missive),” opens with its persona sitting in a coffee shop in another, more affluent, country. She is watching and comparing the ease with which a mother feeds grapes to a young child and taking in the sights: “Sa bawat samyo at subo/ ng pagkaing ngayon lamang/ nakipagkilala sa di pihikang panlasa/ may anino ng batang aali-aligid/ sa restoran, handang sumunggab/ sa awa at tinapay. (With every aroma and mouthful/ of food that only now/ introduced itself to non-choosy tastebuds/ there is a shadow of children wandering at the periphery/ of the restaurant, ready to pounce/ on mercy and bread.)”
The rawness of the images Santos juxtaposes comes straight across, along with the weariness that comes over the poem’s persona, the sudden bitterness of the coffee in the persona’s mouth can (and will) make the coffee go cold and bitter in yours, as well.
In the second part, the poem “Hindi Ito Paglimot (This is Not Forgetting),” Santos writes: “Kayraming alaala:/ limanglibo’t apatnaraan pitumpu’t limang/ pintig ng buhay nating dalawa/ ay pulsong nasugatan/ at nawa’y paghilumin ng panahon./ Ito’y hindi paglimot, ito’y paghahanap ng sarili kong nakaligtaan:/ babae akong may sariling bahaghari (So many memories:/ five thousand four hundred seventy-five beats of our life together/of wounded pulse/ that time may heal./ This is not forgetting, it is facing the self I forgot:/ I am a woman with her own rainbow).”
The honesty with which Santos paints her images gives her poetry the formidable strength of both certitude and the courage to speak without holding back, to communicate with control and calm that are obviously hard won. This poem is tender in its sentiments and tough in its uncompromising candor.
The last poem of “Pana-Panahon,” written just last year, could well be a rallying cry: “Kahit sa hinahon ng Pagtangis o sa dahas ng Rebolusyon,/Kalayaan ang hiyaw sa huling hantungan! (Even in quiet Weeping or the violence of Revolution,/ Freedom is the cry at the tomb!)”
Each poem is intense, crafted with sublime tension. Each stanza of each verse projects crystalline images that bring you, perhaps, to the moment the poems were born.
Santos’ poetry, whether gentle or forceful, is elemental and her element is pure, unadulterated fire.
If anyone could write a sparring session with full weaponry down in black and white, it would be Aida F. Santos, in a book titled “Pana-Panahon.”
To borrow (and adapt) a phrase from Shakespeare: Bear with me, my heart is still in Aida’s book, and I must pause till it comes back to me.
While I’m on pause, do find it, buy it and read it—you will need restoratives after, but the beautiful poetry is so worth it.
Also published in the Philippines Graphic