(Photo courtesy of Bobby Wong)
DON PACO'S LOVE POEM
I rarely hear from old friends in the old country; but when I do, it’s about someone dying, an intractable signal that the twilight of our years is upon us.
We invariably make a checklist of things we have yet to do before we kick the bucket, a “bucket list”, really. Certainly in my list is to be able to say Voila! to this bereaved friend and celebrate the root of his poetic prowess --- to say: “the apple certainly did not fall far from the tree!” That might soothe anguish, somehow.
But the news of someone’s demise could ironically come in with a balm --- some palpable solace --- to soften the anguish of bereavement.
Last week, a brother in spirit and abiding friend, Rev. Francisco R. Albano, a seminary rector in Isabela, Northern Philippines, and one of that country’s important poets, wrote to inform me about his dear Mother’s (Mama Ising) demise at 89, and the uncannily happy discovery of an old poem written for her in 1948 by her husband, Francisco B. Albano, Jr. (Papa Paco), stashed neatly in her “baul” (ancestral treasure chest).
The love poem from the late Don Paco, a university professor and erstwhile politician from one of Isabela’s oldest political dynasties, came as a surprise to his son, Fr. Albano, who graciously sent me a copy of the poem written in 1948 while his father was in the United States of America on some assignment.*
There are purely personal and heartfelt reasons for publishing the poem in this literary blog, but most importantly, this poem represents a period in Philippine literary history where Filipino writers flaunted their mastery of the Spanish colonizer’s language, “colonized it themselves”, and wrote literary work that was certainly even better than those being written in Spain at that time.
It is also a proof of his translator son's mastery of both languages learned from the Spanish and American colonizers who had lost the wars of independence, but were triumphant in supplanting an indigenous national language with their own. Both translations were done by Fr. Albano who grew up with the language in Don Paco's household and mastered English as an English and Literature professor at San Beda College in Mendiola, Manila.
While he concedes that his late father's Spanish poem expresses the romantic fervor and deep anguish of separation better, his first translation was made to let the bereaved clan "in" on the treasured poem kept by his mother all these years.
His second translation is the poet's effort to render the original in a form that approximates Don Paco's emotions in a language akin to those writing in John Donne's or even Garcia Lorca's time. The linguistic conceits therein are the closest he could get at "capturing" the linguistic floridity of the Spanish poem. The metaphysical/confessional tradition embedded in the original poem requires the translator's superlatives in another language that tends to "tone" down such "effusive" (because sometimes maudlin) renditions of feelings urgently felt at the moment of creation. **
When Philippine sovereignty was recognized by the Americans in 1946, most Filipino writers were multilingual artists in a clime where Philippine diplomat (United Nations Secretary General) and scholar Carlos P. Romulo would be declared a Pulitzer Prize winner in literature. Before that, writers like Jose P. Rizal, Marcelo H. del Pilar, and the younger Manuel Bernabe were awarded sobresaliente recognitions for their work in Spanish journalism and literature.
Don Paco’s poem, therefore, illustrates the genius of the Filipino writer in “owning” a borrowed language and excelling in its use. It is reminiscent of work done in Spanish by the late Philippine Senator Claro M. Recto in his A Bajo de los Cocoteros, the floridity of its linguistic equipment, and certainly even bears more metrical integrity than those of contemporary poet Pablo Neruda who likewise writes about themes like those celebrated by Don Paco in this poem.
Before ruining the sheer sincerity of the poem by unnecessary hermeneutics, let me reprint Don Paco’s poem, the "rough" translation for the bereaved clan, and an unearthing and filial literary translation by his son, Rev. Albano:
“LA SEPARACION ES TRISTE,
PERO EL DESTINO DE DIOS ES DULCE. . .”
Ya van un ano y medio que ya te deje allá solita,
Oh dulce mujer que el santo Dios me dio y consagro.
Como fiel esposa mia, devota compañera en la vida,
Madre amantísima de mis hijos y Ángel que me inspira,
Para realizar acá en la tierra lo que es mi vida.
O mujer, fiel esposa mia, de puro y santo amor,
Tus dulces arrullos con que me solías acariciar
Con todo cariño y ternura de tu corazon lleno de fervor,
Anhelo cada vez más con afán y hambriento de tu candor;
Me muero si sigo sin ti a mi lado en este mundo engañador.
Compañera mia en la vida, aguantar más, ya no puedo,
Deprivandome de estarme a tu tiernísimo y dulce lado;
Y loco ya estoy sin ti, fiel amor mio, a consolarme,
Cuando cansado y harto estoy de esta trágica vida,
Sin aliento, sin solaz, ni alivio de tanta anhelarte.
Madre amantísima de mis tiernos y buenos hijitos,
Penas sin igual me da, de no verte noche y día
Con aquellos cuidados llenos de amor y paciencia
Con que acaricias a nuestros dulces pequeñuelos
A fin de que crezcan con amor y temor de Dios.
Esposa mia, madre amantísima y Ángel que me inspira,
Tantas veces necesito la luz de tu amor que me guía
Cuando en penosa tribulación fatalmente me engolfara,
Y nadie encuentro a mi lado que me fortalece y alienta
A tomar la cruz y decidir todo lo que hacer debiera.
Si, lejos de ti, O mujer pía, fiel sagrado amor mio,
Esta separación es sin duda y muy crucial sin par,
Y sino por la fe santa que me dice y consuela:
La separación es triste, pero el destino de Dios es dulce,
A la tumba fatal y fría, irme preferiría...
-- Por un marido que piensa y suena
siempre por su dulce mujer. . .
ROUGH LITERAL TRANSLATION:
“SEPARATION IS SAD, BUT THE PLAN OF GOD IS SWEET. . .”
Already have a year and a half gone by since I left you there alone,
Oh sweet woman whom the holy God consecrated and gave me
As my faithful spouse, a devoted companion in life,
A most loving mother of my children and an Angel who inspires me
To realize here on earth that which is my life.
O woman, my faithful spouse of pure and holy love,
Your sweet cooings with which you were accustomed to caress me
With all the love and tenderness of your heart full of devotion,
I long for each time with greater eagerness and hungry for your candor,
I die if I continue without you by my side in this tricky world.
My companion in life, I can no longer endure
Depriving myself of being by your most tender and gentle side;
And I am already crazy without you, my faithful love, to console me
When I am tired and fed up with this tragic life,
Without encouragement, without solace, nor relief from such longing for you.
Most loving Mother of my young and happy children,
You give me hardship without equal, of not seeing you night and day,
With those cares full of love and patience
With which you caress our sweet little ones
So that they grow with love and the fear of God.
My wife, most loving Mother and Angel who inspires me
Often do I need the light of your love which guides me
When I am terribly engulfed in painful tribulation
And I find no one at my side who strengthens encourages me
To carry the cross and to decide all what I ought to do.
Yes, far from you, O kind woman, my faithful sacred love,
This separation is doubtless most critical without par,
And but for holy faith that speaks to me and comforts --
Separation is sad, but the plan of God is sweet –
To a tomb, fatal and cold, I would prefer to go. . .
-- By a husband who always thinks
and dreams of his sweet woman. . .
[Francisco B. Albano, Jr.]
---0o0---
2nd Translation by Rev. Francisco R. (Dave) Albano (III)
“SEPARATION IS SAD,
BUT THE PLAN OF GOD IS GRACIOUS”
A year and a half have gone by since I left you there alone,
O sweet lady, by the Holy One consecrated and given to me
As my faithful spouse, a devoted companion in life,
As most loving mother of my children and an Angel of inspiration
To realize here on earth that which is my life.
O lady, my faithful spouse of love pure and holy,
Your sweet nothings with which you used to caress me
With much love and tenderness of your caring heart,
Ever do I eagerly yearn for, hungry for your candor,
I die if I continue without you by my side in this tricky world.
My companion in life, no longer can I endure
Depriving myself of being by your dear most tender side;
And I am crazed without you, to console me, my faithful love,
When I am tired and drained by this anguished life,
Without spirit and solace, nor relief from missing you.
Most loving Mother of my young and happy children,
You cause me untold hardship, in not seeing you
Night and day, with those cares filled with love and patience
With which you indulge our darling little ones
So that they grow with love and the fear of God.
My wife, most loving Mother and Angel of inspiration
Often do I need the light of your love to guide me
When I am terribly engulfed in painful tribulation
And I find no one at my side to strengthen and encourage me
To carry the cross and to decide all what I ought to do.
Yes, far from you, O kind lady, my faithful sacred love,
This separation is doubtless most critical without par,
But for holy faith that speaks to me and comforts ---
Separation is sad, but the plan of God is gracious ---
To a tomb, cold and final, I would prefer to go. . .
-- By a husband who always thinks
and dreams of his sweet woman. . .
[Francisco B. Albano, Jr.]
------------------------
*Emails from Rev. Albano to this writer:
I went home to visit, May 24. My brother, too, from the USA. The next day, in the evening, the family/clan (celebrated) the birthday of an apo, 24. Mama died in bed while we were celebrating. I was privileged to have anointed her twice in the past six months. She was 89. She got to see and hold the latest 2-mo old addition to the clan, great-grand child baby girl Louise. Mama was cremated on May 29, at 7:00a.a.m. RIP.
NOTE: Family and friends brought the ashes of Mama Ising, 89, in beautiful urn to my brother Cris’ home – where mama had long been cared for -- on Saturday, May 29, 2010. My sisters rummaged through Mama’s things and, lo!, discovered a love poem of Papa Paco, written sometime in 1948 when Papa Paco was in the US and Mama Ising in Cabagan, Isabela: “Por un marido que piensa y suena siempre por su dulce mujer . . .” Sadness gave way to amazement, joy, laughter as I translated for the family/clan.
--- On Sat, 6/5/10, ALBERT CASUGA
Subject: Your Mama's demise and Papa's poesia
To: "francisco albano"
Date: Saturday, June 5, 2010, 8:41 AM
Dearest Father Dave,
I am so sorry to learn of your Mama's demise. We will pray for her eternal rest in Our Lord's warm embrace.
I am happy that you gained solace from the love poem of Don Paco. I read it aloud to get the flavour of the recited Spanish verse, and I assure you the original is much more romantic than the translations (not for lack of competence in translating it, but the anguish is best expressed by the sound energies that harden the central image of pain from absence and distance.)
The apple did not fall far from the tree, hermano. It is good to know that your father was himself a poet. But, of course, the culture in those days includes expressions of ardour and profound emotions in terms of poetry. Those days are probably no longer pronounced after our generation, but I am happy and deeply touched to read of your father's love for your mother.
I would like to publish this poem with your translation in my litblog, with your permission.
I will include a brief critique of "what's added or lost in translation."
Para el fallecimiento de su Mama, hermano, lo siento mucho. Para su discubrimiento de una poesia ha escribido por su Papa, estoy feliz.
Much affection,
ALBERT, NICKY, and family.
(Dave Replied)
Dear Albert, Nicky and the clan,
Thank you for condolences and prayers. Sadness shared lightens the heart. We affirm the largeness and good of life. And new life for Mama and all our loved ones summoned from this world. Death shall have no dominion.
You may blog the poem. Definitely the clan liked the poem in the language of angels, better than my translation. The old romantic mode still contains/bestows a gift.
ERRATUM
** In a subsequent e-mail after the first posting of this blog, (June 8, 2010), Fr. Albano pointed out that both translations were his. This writer erroneously identified the first translation as that of Don Paco.
Fr. Albano said while his father was proficient in English, his first language was Spanish which he grew up with in the household of his father, Dave's abuelo Lolo Kikoy (Francisco I). Grandfather Kikoy was Ilocano, but Spanish and Ibanag (Isabela dialect) were frequently spoken in his home --- an illustration of how the colonizer's language became also the language of the Philippine "ilustrado" .
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