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Events by Dominique Gerald Cimafranca | May 17th, 2012
Ateneo de Davao University will hold its AdDU Writers Workshop 2012 from May 21 to May 25 at the university’s Jacinto Campus. The workshop is designed to reach out to young writers of Davao City, help them grow in their craft, and lead them to publication in order to give voice to the Mindanao youth. While geared primarily to students of Ateneo de Davao, the workshop also brings in guests from other schools in Davao.
Panelists for the workshop are Dr. Ricardo M. de Ungria (UP-M), Dr. Macario Tiu (PWC), Prof. Jhoanna Lynn Cruz (UP-M), and Don Pagusara, all of the Davao Writers Guild. Workshop director is Dominique Gerald Cimafranca.
The fellows for the workshop are:
Carl Christian T. Agunod
Rosanna Aliviado
Madel Catre
Raizza Mae D. Cinco
Vincent Carlo Cuzon
Karen Kae F. Dicdican
Mary Caryl Dichosa
Alexandra Victoria A. Eñeco
Kristine Angelique O. Falgui
Alfedo Carlos Montecillo
Jamille Peliña
Benrich Baysa Tan
Gracielle Deanne B. Tubera
John Rey A. Aleria (UIC)
Peachy Cleo F. Dehino (UIC)
Armando Fenequito, Jr. (USEP)
Farah Aimee S. Virador (USEP)
Opening ceremonies for the workshop will be at 9:30AM on Monday, May 21, at F513 of the Finster Building of the Ateneo de Davao University. Mrs. Aida Rivera-Ford, founder of the Ford Academy of the Arts and former chair of the Humanities Division of Ateneo de Davao, will be the keynote speaker during the opening ceremonies.
The workshop is an annual event funded entirely by Ateneo de Davao University. It is held with the assistance of the Davao Writers Guild.
Poetry by Jayson Parba | May 6th, 2012
Niagi ang kuwarenta minutos
Apan ang bus dili mo-isbog.
Ang akong tupad nga mga Hapon
Mikuhas ilang earphone,
Daw naminaw ug tukar o di ba balita,
Napungot kay ang mga sakyanan
Sa Beretania dili gasibog.
Sa akong atbang, dunay duha
Ka Amerkanang sigeg tan-aw
Sa ilang relo, dala yam-id
Kon ang bus mo-irog lag diyotay.
Sa way dugay, adunay mga nanganaug
Nga daw samas sundalong samdan.
Ug wa ko hipugngi ang pahiyom
Nga naumol sa akong mga ngabil
Sa dihang nikidlap sa kong panumdoman
Ang akong gigikanan.
—
Jayson Parba is currently enjoying his Fulbright Foreign Language Teaching Assistantship (FLTA) Program at the University of Hawaii at Manoa. He comes from Cagayan de Oro City and teaches literature and ESL courses at Capitol University.
Fiction by Dave Carl Cutler | May 6th, 2012
We have all your pens. Every single pen that you purchased and lost is now in our possession. The black ones, the blue ones, the red ones, the new ones, the old ones, the empty ones, the ones with bite marks, the ones that you think are in your bag, the ones that are important to you, and the ones that you’ve forgotten. We’ve got them all.
We keep them in a dark room somewhere between nowhere and everywhere. It’s an odd room now that we think about it. It is dimly lit by faint patches of sunlight that would fade from one spot then illuminate in another. The smell of dry ink and rusted pen-points pollutes the air and makes living here a pain. The sounds of pens being stored and sorted reverberate throughout the entire room, giving a rhythmic tick to the place that we find endearing. And there’s an unusual pewter-colored fog that would hover over an empty mahogany stool. All these make up the peculiarity of room. The room where we keep all your pens.
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Fiction by Dave Carl Cutler | May 6th, 2012
“Dino, did you know that there’s some really good toast served in a mysterious island somewhere around Samal? It’s rumored to be the greatest dish of toast ever toasted. One hell of a breakfast!”
“Rex, dude, are you serious? That sounds seriously interesting. The world’s best toast, huh? How do we get there? Is there like a secret boat that will take us there?”
“No. We’ll have to swim.”
“Swim? To Samal? From Davao? Fart yeah! How do we recognize the island though?”
“It breathes fire. I don’t think it’ll be that hard to miss.”
“Should we go now? I mean it is 2 am.”
“No better time than the present, bro.”
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Creative Nonfiction by Rowena Rose Lee | April 29th, 2012
Dear Ms. Long Lean Limbs,
Right off the bat, I would like to say that I have this unwavering need to decline your friend request on this social network site that we both subscribe to. For one thing, I have no idea who you are. At the same time, I doubt it very much that you know anything about me at all.
The truth is: before I saw your friend request in my message box, I was living a boring virtual and real life existence. I was actually pretending that the articles I was writing about would somehow change world views and rewrite history, despite the fact that my client had limited my online literary expertise to: how to cure athlete’s foot, and how to avoid smelly armpits, and how to eliminate other yeast-friendly environments on the human body.
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Fiction by Golda Ceniza | April 29th, 2012
As I am painting my nails on this 26th of January 2012, I wonder what my future husband is doing. He might be someone I haven’t met before. He might be someone who just got his heart broken, sad, angry, and alone.
Or he might be laughing at some joke his girlfriend just said or just buying milk from the grocery.
Or, I might have already met him.
He might be reading a book or pretending to listen to someone drone on and on and wishing I was there beside him. Or he might be thinking the same way as I am. Wondering if she may be the one?
As my nail polish dries and my toes glimmer from the paint, I wish someday I could look back and think that I got one thing right from all those things I just said now.
I don’t know what, but I wish I would be up to it all when it all hits very close to home.
—
Golda Ceniza is a graduate of San Pedro College and is Registered Nurse. She comes from Digos, the City of Mangoes. This is her first work featured in Dagmay.
Poetry by Zola Gonzalez-Macarambon | April 29th, 2012
The chess tables start to crowd in with old men in pillbox hats
on that hour when the sky turns the color of dishwater.
They repeat heroisms of ancient wars here on tiles, the focus
in their eyes pronounce as wattle under their chins. No sooner
than when a thousand lanterns are plugged on, hanging
like diamonds from knobby branches, vertical eyes prepared to drop
before the tears, the drifters come through the green gaps of bush.
They weld into the concrete around the trees; lean on the spray
of a three-tiered fountain, lay their heads against the thighs
of a whore who will later give massages in street corners. Now,
the old are fixed in permanent stoops like black birds
eyeing toppled carcasses of wooden kings. In the bygone sun,
the trees wear patches of dark like second skin, thick wedges
of quiet, unmoving but for the vagrant wind looking for dead
leaves on low branches. They crackle like eggshells under shoes
or the slow fire of cigarettes. Stray starlight sieve irregular
through a tree ceiling, liver spots on the skin of earth,
signs of lost manners, leavings of light, dirty grays below the brows,
signs of sun gone without telling.
—
Zola Macarambon heads the CDO Writers Bloc and has just given birth to a baby boy.
Poetry by Karen Mae del Puerto | April 29th, 2012
“Isda, isda” dungog nako sa pagaw nga tingog sa tindera,
“Baligya selopin” ingon pud sa gamay nga tingog sa bata.
Tuyok ligid pud sa kariton kang manong,
Nga ang sulod puros kangkong.
Sa agi-anan, aduna pud tagaktak sa sinsilyo,
Halin sa batang gapamaligyag sigarilyo.
Sa tindahan, sonata sa pirated nga DVD,
Gi-kawatan diay sa tao nga ga-ngisi.
Sa dalan, dyip niserbato atubangan sa motor,
“Hi-way, hi-way” siyaget pud sa konduktor.
Sa kilid-kilid, daghan gapamaligyaay,
Lumba sibat dayun dala siyaget, “naay mangdakopay!”
“Ngayo ko hinabang” ingon sa tigulang sa tungod,
“Prutas mga miga… suki” sa unahan pud ga-tukod.
Aduna pud gapanit-sit sa chiks sa atubangan,
Sa merkado, maski unsa imong madunggan.
Saba paminawon kung bu-ot huna huna-on,
Labi nag ikaw gahilom og sila imong paminawon.
Pero sa kadugay na nako diri nga lugara,
Mao nah ang imong matawag nga ilang musika.
—
Karen Mae O. del Puerto is reviewing for the NLE Board exam and is a part-time violin teacher in prep and elementary school in Cagayan de Oro City. This is her first work featured in Dagmay.
Poetry by Armando Fenequito Jr. | April 22nd, 2012
Ang umuusok mong init
Ang siyang umakit sa akin
Na ika’y aking tikman
‘di baleng bibig ko’y mapaso
Mula sa iyong naglalagablab na init,
Malasap ko lang ang taglay mo’ng sarap
Pero dumaan ang ilang minuto
Napagtanto ko na mas malalasap ko
ang iyong sarap kung init mo’y tama lang,
Kaya mas mainam na hihintayin ko na lang
Ang sandaling pwede ka na
Sa sandaling ako’y naghintay
Hindi ko namalayan –
Dahan-dahan ka ng lumalamig
Pero dahil ayokong masayang ka,
pinagtiyagaan na lang kita,
baka sakaling pwede pa?
Ngunit sa aking paglasap,
Sarap mo’y nawala
Mula na’ng init mo’y naglaho
—
Armando Fenequito, Jr. is a third Year Bachelor of Arts in Literature student of University of Southeastern Philippines.
Poetry by Paul Randy Gumanao | April 22nd, 2012
Long have I been loving to love
a nameless, whose face remains
faceless amidst all attempts
of masking her the looks of every
leading lady in the romance movies
I so dearly enjoy in the afternoons
when there is nothing better to do but
to pretend to love, be loved, to imagine.
This is also one reason why I’d like
to travel home to Kidapawan.
In the van, I like it when I lean
on my own shoulder, thinking
it was your breath wafting on
my skin as I imagine you
sleeping, while I look farther, until I
forget you because of the rubber trees
and the occasional drizzles of Makilala,
the signals of the proximal embrace
of a mother, perhaps, or an old friend,
or of our high school memories
of little fondness. And there, memories!
Ah, another reason why I love
to travel home to Kidapawan.
The nearer I get, the clearer
you appear, smiling.
Slowly, I remember your name.
—
Paul Randy Gumanao is BS Chemistry graduate of Ateneo de Davao University who loves words the way he loves elements.