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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.

Saturday, April 20, 2013

THE BIG QUESTIONS, 20: GETTING OUT TO GET IN (WILL I BE MY OWN HEALER. MY LAST AND FINAL GOD?)

This is Poem #20 in my series of poem-responses to the Big Questions posed by Prof. Simon Blackburn in his The Big Questions, Philosophy, 2009, Quercus Publishing, Plc. 2009, London, UK. Prof Blackburn teaches at the University of Cambridge in England. This hopes to help celebrate National Poetry Month (NaPoMo, April 2013).

Will I mould myself any which way I am pleased to behold as my own creation, not in the image of someone who chooses to be absent or gone?




GETTING OUT TO GET IN



One way or the other, we will get out to get in.
There are no borders here, nor limits, no doors
To slam. I am my own clay, brittle now, but I
Will mould myself any which way, I am pleased
To behold as my own creation, not in the image
Of someone who chooses to be absent or gone.


But who cares anymore? There are no measures
Nor beats I must march by, breathe by. I am free,
Am I not, to perish any which way I live or err?
Like my own moulder, shape or reshape my face
The way I want to meet all the same faces I meet,
And I will be my own healer, my last and final god.


Idle now, I am meant to dance at full throttle.
One way or the other, I will get in before I get out.



---ALBERT B. CASUGA

This poem was prompted by: "Who pays heed anymore? Three birds in succession thunk against the glass. Which/ one is pursuer, which pursued? Danger and excitement. Dance at full throttle."---From “Throttle Ghazal” Luisa A. Igloria, Via Negativa, 07-19-12

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