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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.

Thursday, July 28, 2011


I am the dream that flickers beneath the eyelids/of the child who wakes then names the events/that unfold. ---From “What You Don’t Always See” by Luisa A. Igloria, Via Negativa, 07-27-11


We were running through rice fields, abuelo,
some of us flying our bamboo-ribbed kites: 

then a billowing red cloud burned my serpent
kite, its long tail falling by the river bank. Aiee! 

What wild wind would wander this way? Why?
It was like a huge face, a very angry face? Why? 

Its scowl and its roaring laughter made us all
scamper, hid under mango trees laden with fruit. 

They kept on hitting us, the falling fruit bombs,
and then there was this big blue bird cackling, 

its quivering beak raised to the darkened sky,
sounding like grandmother  yelling: Callate! 

We would pipe down and hear her protest:
Quiet, quiet! Your grandfather must sleep. 

Would I get my kite back again? I am afraid,
abuelo, but I want to go back to that dream, 

rebuild my broken kite, bathe in that river,
look for the blue bird that scolded the sky.

---Albert B. Casuga

Abuelo – grandfather; Callate!—Keep quiet!

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