Tag Archives: Al Robles

Tribe, Poetry, Politics, Praxis

“Say Flip, you is so funky…” — Vince Reyes, “For My Stylin’ Brothers.”

[Photo credit: Tony Remington, Liwanag (1975)]

Some things I am thinking about today: I am thrilled to have found some poetics essays by Al Robles (1930-2009), and Serafin Malay Syquia (1943-1973)*. I am also thrilled to have found an article by Ninotchka Rosca on Asian American artists and the Asian American audience (I will talk about this Rosca article another time). These things I’ve found while on my usual scour of academic e-archives, and my bookshelves, for my USF Filipino Literature syllabus.

Al Robles wrote “Hanging on to the Carabao’s Tail,” a creative essay published in Amerasia in 1989. It’s very critical of the Asian American poet, or of the poet in general, of the work we are to do, and of the alliances we are to form. He references Russell Leong’s essay on Asian American poets 1968-1978, also in Amerasia, Leong’s discussions of Third World reorientation, and the enacting of Tribe: “We read as we wrote — not in isolation — but in the company of our neighbors in Manilatown pool halls, barrio parks, Chinatown basements.”

I understand why this mode of poetic creation and creativity is the preferred mode; in order to write about community and tribe, we must practice and embody community and tribe.

I therefore also understand why those who engage in the solitary act of writing and reading are viewed with suspicion, even contempt, by the tribe.

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Towards a Pinay “We” Poetics

[This is a draft of an essay I'm currently writing for an anthology on women and creative process. Indeed, I am surprising myself with this not-so-sudden burst of productivity; I'd recently been asked what inspires me to write, or what do I need to continue writing. I'd responded that I needed external impetus, and thankfully, this came in the form of an invitation to submit new work to Hambone, from Nate Mackey himself. I say this because I am pleased to be acknowledged by him, and because being acknowledged by someone I deem important to my practice meant that I really had to produce work. I submitted new poems, and they are scheduled to appear in the journal's next issue. It's a happy by-product, that there is momentum for me to continue writing.]

[Some edits below.]

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I am interested in a “we” poetics. “We” is a persona in which I’ve been writing for a long time now, and even my “I” is a “we.” This came to my attention fully when poet Nathaniel Mackey articulated this “we,” in his discussion about the ongoing journey/emergence of a people in his serial poem, “Song of the Andoumboulou.” This “we” is appealing to me as a Filipina; indeed, I was raised in a culture of “we.” There are two Tagalog terms, pakikisama, and bayanihan, which speak to the social value of this “we” in practice. We are valued as members of a larger whole, in interaction and relation to others within this larger whole. We know ourselves as members of a larger whole, in interaction and relation to others within this larger whole.

Poetically, I also come from a tradition of a “we”; think of the community organizer, activist Filipino American poets Carlos Bulosan and Al Robles. While Robles wrote about and in the voices of the Manongs, the West Coast Filipino American migrant laborers of the early twentieth century, in Rappin’ With Ten Thousand Carabaos in the Dark, Bulosan invoked Whitmanesque multitudes of working men in “If You Want to Know What We Are.” I, too, have attempted to write as “the people,” this multitude of Filipinos:

We, Malakas and Maganda
We, Moluccas and Magellan
We, Devil and Dogeater
We, Starfruit and Sampaguita
We, Malakas and Maganda
We, Pepe and Pilar
We, Devil and Dogeater
We, Coconut and Crab
We, Malakas and Maganda
We, Eskinol and ESL
We, Devil and Dogeater
We, Igorot and Imelda
We, Malakas and Maganda
We, B-boy and Bulosan
We, Devil and Dogeater
We, Subic Bay and Stockton
We, Malakas and Maganda
We, Gangsta Rap and Galleon Trade
We, Devil and Dogeater
We, Comfort Woman and Carabao
We, Malakas and Maganda
We, Lea Salonga and Lapu-Lapu
We, Devil and Dogeater
We, TnT and Taguba
We, Malakas and Maganda

I think of this poem as conventionally “masculine”; indeed, I have already cited more male poets speaking as “the people,” in an essay about Pinay “we” poetics. I also see how many women have found themselves pushed to the interior, in the province of the domestic, the personal, and private, while the men are charged with handling issues of representation of “the people,” addressing the outside world. Ultimately, many women find themselves pushed so far inside, discouraged from speaking on that “too big” world, efffectively silenced. This is one contradition I am trying to unravel; the fine details of our everyday lives comprise a human being, communities of human beings, and the cultures of communities of human beings in the world.

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Save the Date: 09/19/2010: Al Robles Literary Tribute (Sponsored by Intersection For The Arts & City Lights Booksellers)

Intersection For The Arts & City Lights Booksellers present

A Thousand Manong Heartbeats Rappin in the Light : A Literary Tribute to Al Robles

Sunday, September 19, 2010, 6:00 P.M.
Intersection 5M | 925 Mission Street | San Francisco, California, 94103
Donation requested $5.00 (sliding scale, no one turned away due to lack of funds)

Hosted by Sean San Jose & D. Scott Miller with Jessica Hagedorn | Jack Hirschman | Janice Mirikatani | Alejandro Murguia | Jaime Jacinto | Ishmael Reed | Barbara Jane Reyes | Allyson Tintiangco Cubales | Paul Yamazaki

Intersection for the Arts and City Lights Booksellers are pleased to bring together members of the Bay Area literary community in a literary tribute casting light upon the life and work of an extraordinary figure. Poets, writers, editors, and booksellers, all offer a unique view, via poetry, prose, conversation, and recollection, in an evening of storytelling in honor of a great storyteller.

Poet, educator, community activist, and advocate for the poor and senior citizens, Al Robles walked in many worlds. Born a Filipino American in the Fillmore district of San Francisco, his life was informed and nourished by the rich cultural fabric all around him. He lived at the intersection of African American, Japanese, and Pilipino cultures. Jazz was a much a part of his upbringing as zen. His forays into edges of North Beach, via Manilatown, brought him into contact with the poetry and personality of the Beats as well. His empathy with the marginalized peoples around him brought him into the frontline of the struggle to preserve the civil rights and the heritage of Manilatown culture. He was a tireless fighter against the demolition of the I-Hotel on Kearny Street. He worked closely with the Pilipino elders to preserve their stories and heritage. He worked with Pilipino youth to engender within them a deep connection to their culture. Al Robles’ art and poetry were inextricably linked to his activism and his concern for people. He lived his life as a gentle warrior, always in the service of the community.

For more info on Intersection 5M visit: www.theintersection.org

Poetry Foundation Blog: First Post

My first post, “San Francisco Poet Al Robles (1930-2009)” is up on the Poetry Foundation blog. Here is an excerpt:

Al Robles was an activist, at the forefront of the movement to stop the demolition of the I-Hotel, which housed elderly and low income tenants, many of whom we’ve come to know as the “Manongs,” elder Filipino Americans, or Pinoys, who spent their youths as migrant labor in West Coast agriculture and canneries, and as US veterans who fought in WWII. He brought young activists and artists to Agbayani Village in Delano, a rural settlement of these Manongs, and to the WWII Japanese American internment camps at Tule Lake and Manzanar. He believed it was important for young activists and artists to see these places with their own eyes, to hear the stories of these places firsthand. Robles’s activism was closely tied to his poetic work; in fact, his activism and poetry were one and the same. He believed poets should bring themselves into the world.

Read more.

Poetics and Updates, Including Notes on the Series For the City that Nearly Broke Me

First, my Small Press write-up on Sasha Pimentel Chacón is up at the Hyphen magazine blog. I had a little trouble formatting the two-column, two-voice poem, and I know as it appears on the blog, there is a stanza break that doesn’t belong there. Otherwise, all is intact. As well, it seems Movable Type won’t allow me to use accent marks (for example, over the “o” in Chacón).

Second, finishing up on Diwata edits as the end of July approaches has proven to be more of a challenge than I thought. It could be because Oscar and I spent almost the entire weekend at the San Francisco Poetry Festival. He has a couple of good posts, which include photos and video, so do have a look see at that (link 1 | link 2).

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Poetics: Notes on the Poem Series For the City that Nearly Broke Me

As I’ve stated earlier, I may be nearing the end of my writing of this series of poems. Who knew I’d work it out with my City so soon. Of course I have always been aware of its contradictions, Third World aspiring to be First World in desperate and ironic ways.

Philippine scholar Rolando Tolentino has a book about the City and Mall Culture in a series of books on Popular Culture. As he has written these books in academic Tagalog, I haven’t worked up the courage to start reading them. I barely touch upon Mall in this poem series, but it’s there for me, in spirit, in skin whiteners, in the popularization of many cosmetic surgeries. An excerpt of his blog post, “Syudad ng malls, Kulturang Popular…” (City of Malls, Popular Culture) reads:

Maraming turista at manlalakbay ang namamangha kapag dumadalaw sila sa Manila—sa isang bansang naghihirap, bakit napakaraming mall?  Ang sagot ko ay kaya nga.  Ang mall ang metapisikal na substansasyon ng redempsyon sa kahirapan.  Dahil walang matingkad na kahirapan kung walang pluralidad ng mall.  Paano mapapansin ng isang tao na naghihirap siya kung pare-pareho lang naman silang ganito?

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A Celebration of the Life for Manong Al Robles

Photo by Jeremy Villaluz © 2008
Photo by Jeremy Villaluz © 2008

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Yesterday afternoon was the tribute/celebration of Manong Al Robles’s life and legacy at SOMArts Cultural Center in SF, and upon entering the space, already the warm, light, and simultaneously intense energy was palpable. I hadn’t known there was going to be a formal program and that I was going to be included in this program (I thought I was going to sign up on an open mic), but am more than grateful for Tony Robles’s invitation to participate.

I am happy to report that I found former Manilatown E.D. Ron Muriera backstage, donning an aloha shirt and fedora, holding a shiny blue accordion strapped to his body. He was preparing to perform a raucous polka set, call and response, hip thrusting and all. It took me a few minutes, but then I finally gathered up enough courage to approach him, introduce myself, and ask him if he knew how to play, “Dahil sa Iyo,” which he did. After his raucous polka set (“What time is it?” “It’s polka time!”), he accompanied me on a very dear feeling set of three poems, “A Poem for the Sky,” “For Al Robles,” and “Fish Poem,” which you may find here and here. It was what Manong Al taught me by example when I was a very young poet, when I wasn’t yet sure if I was indeed a poet: always to work to bring poetry into the world, and always to bring the world into my poetry.

Oscar has posted videos and photos on the PAWA blog here.

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Reading: Al Robles, Looking for Ifugao Mountain

Looking for Ifugao Mountain: Paghahanap Sa Bundok Ng Ifugao (Fifth World Tales = Ika-Limang Pandaigdig Na Mga Istoriya) Looking for Ifugao Mountain: Paghahanap Sa Bundok Ng Ifugao by Al Robles

Looking for Ifugao Mountain (Chidren’s Book Press, 1977) is an out of print children’s book written by the late Filipino American poet and community activist Al Robles. We found the book at the Berkeley Public Library (there are two copies and we checked out one). The story is an adaptation of his poem, “Tagatac in Ifugao Mountain,” which opens his poetry collection Rappin with Ten Thousand Carabaos in the Dark.

Because of Manong Al’s very recent passing, I have since revisited his poetry collection, and realize that in my original reading many years ago, I missed much of the poetic and political nuance in his work. Looking for Ifugao Mountain (Tagalog translations by Alfredo Carigma) is a bilingual story which tells us of Kayumanggi, the Filipino American son of an old Manong. As Kayumanggi encounters Manong Tagatac in Portsmouth Square, SF Chinatown, he is transported back to the Northern Philippines, where he tries to reconnect with his ancestors.

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Manong Al Robles: Images, Poetics

DSC02074 (a very loud picture)

08/03/2007 Manilatown I-Hotel Revival: But let me talk about Manong Al’s poetics, that of an old time storyteller, who has no self-consciousness, who has shed his self-consciousness so long ago that none of us younger poets have ever seen it. He is so comfortable in his storyteller skin that there is never any need to explicate, over-explain, stroke his poet-male-elder status. Which is not to say he embodies any kind of stereotypical elder Asian modesty or hiya. He is his story, and he tells it like he sees it, and as he understands it. Oscar says Manong Al is like a brook. I like this, flowing, rolling, running but not to the point of exhaustion or deluge, consistent and unimpeded streams of story, much like the streams of story in Salman Rushdie’s Haroun and the Sea of Stories, in which story is something you can touch. Read more here and here.

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Poems for Al Robles (2002)

I remember when Arkipelago Books was still in the Mint Mall on Mission Street near 5th. I was always dropping by the store, and I’d typically find Manong Al sitting in the Filipino restaurant across the hall from the bookstore. On a styrofoam plate, fried fish, steamed rice, vial of patis on hand. He’d be eating with his hands. He’d motion with those fishy hands to come have a seat. There would be some kind of sticky sweet rice dessert on his tray. He’d say, here, have some. There’s plenty. I’d drink my mango juice out of a juice box, and then he’d just talk, tell us (because there would always be three or four of us) some wild story, something he remembered from way back. That was some poetry, these acts of spontaneous talk story. And it was some of the best refuge from my graduate program’s whiteness and sterility. Around this time, I noticed Manong Al started calling me by name.

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