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ALBERT B. CASUGA, a Philippine-born writer, lives in Mississauga, Ontario, Canada, where he continues to write poetry, fiction, and criticism after his retirement from teaching and serving as an elected member of his region's school board. He was nominated to the Mississauga Arts Council Literary Awards in 2007. A graduate of the Royal and Pontifical University of St. Thomas (now University of Santo Tomas, Manila. Literature and English, magna cum laude), he taught English and Literature (Criticism, Theory, and Creative Writing) at the Philippines' De La Salle University and San Beda College. He has authored books of poetry, short stories, literary theory and criticism. He has won awards for his works in Canada, the U.S.A., and the Philippines. His latest work, A Theory of Echoes and Other Poems was published February 2009 by the University of Santo Tomas Publishing House. His fiction and poetry were published by online literary journals Asia Writes and Coastal Poems recently. He was a Fellow at the 1972 Silliman University Writers Workshop, Philippines. As a journalist, he worked with the United Press International and wrote an art column for the defunct Philippines Herald.

Monday, March 19, 2012

SHUTTERED DESIRE



SHUTTERED DESIRE



What remains after/ the marks are erased? Not nothing, say the physicists. / Not nothing, but poetry— says the artist. And I pause/  for a moment, trying to look harder into the corridor/ of darkness, knowing that everywhere I go, I have/ no idea how much I am seeing… / You could be the sound of a shutter, the blank/ accordion surface of blinds turned down for the night. ---Luisa A. Igloria, “Erasure”, Via Negativa, 03-13-12



Look harder into the darkened corridor
after the shutters have gone down,  

ignore the clipped clatter of slats slapped
shut with peremptory indifference; 

blurred shadows should start jumping
through them  as lingering sunrays 

slither like paper-thin serpents flapping
languidly with the stale air. I am there. 

How else will my lost carrion incarnate
except through the quiver of hungry loins 

trembling achingly through cold nights
when your frenzied fight with the pillows 

and caressing flannel become urgent noise
echoing unsatedly needy behind shutters.



--- Albert B. Casuga
03-19-12


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