Minsan, hindi man sinasadya mayroong mahuhulog
sa balong matagal nang walang tubig. Waring barya
kakalansing ito pagsapit sa pinakalalim, aalingawngaw
sa guwang na pagdaka’y maliligid ng mga bata: pag-isipan
kung paano maiaahon ang di-sinasadyang nahulog
Kung dudungaw ka dudungaw sa iyo ang isang malalim
na titig. Ihuhulog mo ang isang salitang hiling, mawawari
walang hanggan itong mahuhulog sa sansaglit bago sapitin
ang pinakalalim na ilang panahon nang natuyo. Kikilapsaw
at madarama mo ang mahabang uhaw na tila mapapawi
Bakit sasabihing ang salita ay malalim. Sa balon ay liligid
ang mga bata. Bakit sasabihing ang balon ay malalim
kung maiaahon ng salita ang salita. Nasa mga bunganga
ng mga bata nakabitin sa mga dila ang mga kahilingan
Bakit panghahawakan ang bibitiwang salita. Tuwina
hiling mo ang isang tula. Isang tula mula sa salitang ihuhulog
sa tuwina. Tuwina, dagling kakainin ng dilim ang salitang
ihuhulog ng iyong bunganga, walang pag-asang mawari
kung ito’y aabot sa pinakalalim. Mananatili ang bunganga
sa ibabaw ng mundo hindi mapatitikom ang pagkaguwang
Hindi ka makaaahon sa balon ng imahen ng balon
Ang salitang iyo nang ihuhulog sa mga salitang patuloy
sa pag-abot sa iyo. Ang iyong iaahon hindi makaaahon
hindi habang-panahon. Sa pagsisiuwi ng mga bata
tahimik kang lalapit sa kanilang niligiran, mataman
aaninagin mo ang isang araw nilang pinag-isipan kung paano
iaahon—naihulog nila maging ang hindi dapat maihulog
Marahan mong ibababa ang nakalubid na timba, dudulas
sa iyong mga palad ang pinagnisnis nang hibla ng panahon
habang ang bunganga ng balon tila lulunukin ang iyong dila
Maiiwan ng panahon walang maiiwan kundi ito—
nakaguwang na bungangang naghihintay ng mahuhulog na bunga
nang walang anumang dahilan. Isang araw ang araw dudungaw
at matatagpuan ang matagal nang hinahanap: ang aninong minsan
nang mahulog hindi makaahon sa mahabang panahon
Hindi masasaid ang imahen ng balon: isang daang balon
Isang daan ang balon kung iisipin patungo sa bukal ng tubig
na kailangang masaid sa ibabaw ng mundo bago malusong
ang pinakalalim: isang daang balon. Maiaahon ang anuman
maihuhulog ang anuman. Hindi mo matatakpan
ang mananatiling bukas sa bawat bukas na wala
sa bawat bukas ng daigdig hanggang sa bukas na wakas. Ikaw
pagdungaw sa balon ang madurungawan ang nahihimbing
nang nakanganga nananaginip nang hindi maiaahon nagsasalita
sa pagtulog hindi maaabot ng salitang nahuhulog
Balong Malalim
Mesándel Virtusio Arguelles
Listen to the poem read in the original Filipino by the poet:
In translating “Deep Well,” as well as the rest of the book from which this poem was taken, I tried not to go overboard with translating creatively, except where preserving musicality obviously superseded the need to convey the closest possible intended meaning. I felt that the source text Guwang (High Chair Books, 2013)—a fanatical yet clinical exploration of the silences that fester along the periphery of traumas and of the non-myth that loosely links obsessive psychosis with artistic genius—deserved an equally fanatical yet clinical translation that aimed for an almost word-for-word/silence-for-silence equivalence.
There is no easy way to convey in English the myriad interpretations of the Filipino version of “Deep Well.” This line, for example—nakaguwang na bungangang naghihintay ng mahuhulog na bunga—which I decided to translate as “an open mouth waiting for the trickling outcome,” hints at either an open mouth waiting for an actual fruit to drop or a vocal petitioner teetering while waiting for the outcome of a cause-effect scenario. I combined the two disparate, simultaneously occurring situations. I used the word “trickling” to denote fluidity, which is in line with the spirit of the poem. Even when suspended in the act of waiting for something to happen (or for something to drop), there is unrest. There is always change and movement, both temporally and spatially.
In order to illuminate, Arguelles’s “Balong Malalim” deliberately obfuscates. And it does so masterfully through syntactic wringing: . . . Hindi mo matatakpan // ang mananatiling bukas sa bawat bukas na wala / sa bawat bukas ng daigdig hanggang sa bukas na wakas. The calculated repetition of the polyseme bukas, which means, among other things, “tomorrow,” “open,” and “receptive,” is a challenge to translate. This repetition of “bukas” has been leveraged to demonstrate a lone root morpheme’s remarkable flexibility, set in a lyrical construct, straddling temporal and spatial cues. Although Arguelles’s lines offer multiple possibilities for interpretation, my translation fixes the meaning of bukas at every iteration: “. . . You cannot keep under wraps // what stays open for every tomorrow that is not part / of every opening of the world until tomorrow becomes the end.”
All in all, in translating Arguelles’ poetry, I’ve worked to strike a balance between the need for a meaning-for-meaning translation and the preservation of form.
There is no easy way to convey in English the myriad interpretations of the Filipino version of “Deep Well.” This line, for example—nakaguwang na bungangang naghihintay ng mahuhulog na bunga—which I decided to translate as “an open mouth waiting for the trickling outcome,” hints at either an open mouth waiting for an actual fruit to drop or a vocal petitioner teetering while waiting for the outcome of a cause-effect scenario. I combined the two disparate, simultaneously occurring situations. I used the word “trickling” to denote fluidity, which is in line with the spirit of the poem. Even when suspended in the act of waiting for something to happen (or for something to drop), there is unrest. There is always change and movement, both temporally and spatially.
In order to illuminate, Arguelles’s “Balong Malalim” deliberately obfuscates. And it does so masterfully through syntactic wringing: . . . Hindi mo matatakpan // ang mananatiling bukas sa bawat bukas na wala / sa bawat bukas ng daigdig hanggang sa bukas na wakas. The calculated repetition of the polyseme bukas, which means, among other things, “tomorrow,” “open,” and “receptive,” is a challenge to translate. This repetition of “bukas” has been leveraged to demonstrate a lone root morpheme’s remarkable flexibility, set in a lyrical construct, straddling temporal and spatial cues. Although Arguelles’s lines offer multiple possibilities for interpretation, my translation fixes the meaning of bukas at every iteration: “. . . You cannot keep under wraps // what stays open for every tomorrow that is not part / of every opening of the world until tomorrow becomes the end.”
All in all, in translating Arguelles’ poetry, I’ve worked to strike a balance between the need for a meaning-for-meaning translation and the preservation of form.
Mesándel Virtusio Arguelles is the author of twenty books of and about poetry, most recently Atra: Mga Tula 1999-2019 (Balangay Books, 2020) and the Poetry Book Society-recommended Three Books (Broken Sleep Books UK, 2020), with translations by Kristine Ong Muslim and illustrations by Erika M. Carreon. His works and interests encompass books, conceptual writing, translation, film, video, installation, found objects, and text-based experimentation. His erasure projects continue to explore and expand on the concepts of, among others, time and memory, language and loss, identity and anonymity, and sex and intimacy. Arguelles is a three-time finalist for the National Book Award, and the recipient of multiple national awards—including a Don Carlos Palanca Memorial Award for Literature and the Maningning Miclat Poetry Award—and fellowships from the University of the Philippines National Writers’ Workshop and the Bienvenido N. Santos Creative Writing Center National Workshop on Art and Cultural Criticism. He works as a book editor and translator, and teaches literature and creative writing at De La Salle University in Manila. His forthcoming books are Hollow (Fernwood Press) and Twelve Clay Birds: Selected Poems (University of the Philippines Press).
Kristine Ong Muslim is the author of nine books of fiction and poetry, including The Drone Outside (Eibonvale Press, 2017), Black Arcadia (University of the Philippines Press, 2017), Meditations of a Beast (Cornerstone Press, 2016), Butterfly Dream (Snuggly Books, 2016), Age of Blight (Unnamed Press, 2016), and Lifeboat (University of Santo Tomas Publishing House, 2015). She coedited the British Fantasy Award-winning anthology People of Colo(u)r Destroy Science Fiction! (Lightspeed Magazine, 2016) and Ulirát: Best Contemporary Stories in Translation from the Philippines (Gaudy Boy, 2021). She is also the translator of many bilingual editions, including Marlon Hacla’s Melismas (Oomph Press, 2020) and Mesándel Virtusio Arguelles’s Twelve Clay Birds: Selected Poems (University of the Philippines Press, 2021) and Three Books (Broken Sleep Books, 2020). She grew up and continues to live in a rural town in the southern Philippines.
