Thursday, September 18, 2008
12:17 AM |
Writing to the Future
The Likhaan: U.P. Institute of Creative Writing is launching its latest journal,
Writing to the Future: Poetika at Politika ng Malikhaing Pagsulat, edited by Rolando B. Tolentino. The launch is on 19 September 2008 at 3:00 p.m. at Pulungang Claro M. Recto of Bulwagang Rizal (formerly Faculty Center) in the University of the Philippines Diliman.
Writing to the Future is a compilation of essays on the writing processes and philosophies that selected writing fellows from the UP National Writers Workshops 2004, 2006, 2007, and 2008 employ in their own writing. The writing fellows featured in the journal comprise an impressive range of genres and a long list of stars in Philippine literature. They are Rebecca Añonuevo, Roberto Añonuevo, Abdon Balde Jr., Romulo Baquiran Jr., Mayette Bayuga, Rica Bolipata Santos, Jose Wendell Capili, Ian Rosales Casocot, Mark Anthony Cayanan, Frank Cimatu, Mike Coroza, Adam David, Raymond de Borja, Lourd Ernest de Veyra, Allan Derain, Ma. Romina Gonzalez, Jerry Gracio, Vicente Groyon, Luis Katigbak, Jun Lana, Marco Lopez, Liza Magtoto, Paolo Manalo, Virginia Mercado-Villanueva, Mario Miclat, Allan Popa, Sandra Roldan, Tara FT Sering, Vincenz Serrano, Luna Sicat Cleto, J. Dennis Teodosio, Joel Toledo, and Lawrence Ypil.
The editor, Rolando Tolentino, is Fellow for Fiction of the Likhaan: U.P. Institue of Creative Writing and professor at the Film Institute of the University of the Philippines Diliman. He holds a Ph.D. in Film, Literature, and Culture from University of Southern California. His numerous books of fiction and critical essays have won him awards and recognition including the National Commission for Culture and the Arts Writers' Prize, Manila Critics Circle's National Book Award, National Book Development Board's Gintong Aklat Award, Obermann Summer Research Fellowship's Best Arts Book, and UC Berkeley and UCLA Southeast Asian Studies Program's Distinguished Voice.
The journal is made possible through a grant from the National Commission for Culture and the Arts.
The launch comes directly after National Artist for Literature Bienvenido Lumbera's lecture titled "Si Lope K. Santos at ang Banaag at Sikat." Dr. Lumbera's lecture starts at 2:30 p.m.
For inquiries on the journal, contact the Likhaan: U.P. Institute of Creative Writing at (02)922-1830.
Labels: books, philippine literature, u.p. writers workshop, writers, writing
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Tuesday, May 06, 2008
9:39 AM |
Writing, Trouble-Free, in Baguio
There are rites of passage typical for the Filipino writer: having your work first published in a magazine, enjoying your first fellowship to a national writers workshop (Dumaguete, Iligan, Bacolod…), winning your first Palanca, putting out your first book.
Of course, there are even higher reaches to scale, but for most writers, what becomes constant after
all that is the effort to stay firm in the craft—a considerable challenge in a country where writers are an underappreciated lot. Or, if they are, are mostly held in the lofty light of noble fools who think minting words is better than lawyering, or nursing. (Nevertheless, the romantic idea is to persevere.) Compound this vocational angst with the one reminder that keeps us trying to relight the creative fire: that you are only as good as your last piece of prose, or suites of poetry, or play.
Consider going to the Baguio workshop as having become an entirely different, and crucial, transition in the local writer’s life. The invitation to the Pine City comes only after one has already laid down the roots of a considerable literary reputation, in a time when workshops for most fellows have receded to become fond memories of a distant (and often rambunctious) youth. Baguio is where ambition, execution, and the imagination of a nation become paramount considerations in the writerly vision, and where, in the words of Cristina Pantoja-Hidalgo, one “contributes to solving the problem of how exactly to combine craft with emotional power.” In other words, Baguio is no longer your grandmother’s notion of how writing workshops are.
Already in its 47th edition, the University of the Philippines National Writers Workshop has, since its retooling in 2003, decided to take stock of that phase in the writing life where the sun, as far as outside scrutiny is concerned, barely shines: in mid-career, where the stakes are much higher and the critical attention one gets is the careful consideration of “colleagues” in the craft taking a look at your literary soul.
That was what they told us who they were when the workshop began last April 6, but if “colleagues” amounted to a panel composed of National Artists for Literature Virgilio Almario and Bienvenido Lumbera, and writing stalwarts Jose Y. Dalisay Jr., Gemino H. Abad, Cristina Pantoja-Hidalgo, Charlson Ong, Jun Cruz Reyes, and Vim Nadera, we quickly realized that expectations were charged. For most of us, it was a week to take serious stock of where we were going in our current writing projects, which forced us invariably to think hard about our own poetics. If only for that, it was an experience, one for a lifetime.
It was the workshop to end all workshops, we all agreed.
“We” would be the anointed twelve gathered from all over the country, most of us refugees from lowland humidity, much too eager to breathe in the cool mountain air.
There’s the Filipino fictionist Allan Derain, whose work titled
Munting Banal na Aklat ng mga Kumag blurred the boundary between fiction and poetry, and whose theme of small creatures as bearers of the sacred resonated with all of us throughout the week; Tara FT Sering, whose novel
Good People is bound to turn heads and push higher expectations beyond being the local chick lit queen; Frank Cimatu, who was made to reconsider his abandonment of Filipino poetry; and film director (and
Rizal and
Muro-Ami scribe) Jun Lana, who gave us the stirring simplicity of his screenplay of
Kariton.
There’s Mookie Katigbak, whose poetry collection,
History and Magic, is a breathless literary sleight of hand; Rica Bolipata-Santos, whose essays will take the memoir down a more searing path in
You Make the Road by Walking; Abdon Balde Jr., whose novel
Ramayana sa Donsol, a road-trip story that brims with action, sex, and comedy, is a certified page-turner; and Luis Joaquin Katigbak, whose story collection
Dear Distance takes his fiction to new heights and deeper insights about the hopes and mores of the young and the disconsolate.
There’s Ateneo poet Vincenz Serrano, whose collection
Short Walks attempts to redefine the geography (and memory) of Manila’s streets; Roberto Añonuevo, whose angry poetry collection
Sumpa, Simoy, Supling is an enthralling, if challenging, ride through the murk of personal and public politics; and the fabulous Nicolas Pichay, whose signature form was to shock us all into rethinking religion and politics, with his sexually-charged play
Sa Silid. My own project is
Sugar Land, a novel about Dumaguete in all its sweet historical and murderous details. It was everybody’s job to consider each other’s work with the scrutiny of the initiated, and to render the judgment of peers—some in unqualified adulation, some in a critical nudge to shape the material this way or that. For all its unvarnished and honest take on the literary works, it was surprisingly a congenial workshop.
To be part of this illustrious bunch was intimidating enough. Three of the fellows are Palanca Hall-of-Famers, and all have their fair share of books and awards, but the unexpectedly easy camaraderie that developed soon proved to be a weeklong chance to become more intimate with the craft and all that, surrounded by people who knew how it was to make words dance.
The fog, the beer, the red wine, the search for wifi and the perfect banana cake, the camwhorish tightness, the countless cups of frappuccino and coffee americano, the little dramas and the sweet tensions in the cold Baguio nights, the endless café-hopping (through Vocas, Rumours, Ayuyang, Bliss, Volante Pizza, Café By the Ruins, and the Starbucks in Camp John Hay…), Butch Guererro’s laugh, Jun Cruz Reyes’ drawing book, Frank Cimatu’s irresistible devil-may-care nonchalance, Vince Serrano’s uncanny Jing Hidalgo imitation, Rica Santos’ heartbreaking karaoke rendition of “I Don’t Know How to Love Him,” Joey Baquiran’s insistent time cards, Jun Lana’s closet of shoes, Bien Lumbera’s kung fu moves, Jun Balde’s intimate knowledge of Marcosian politics and construction, Tara “February” Sering’s hilarious real estate broker act, Bobby Añonuevo’s dancing to Madonna’s “Borderline,” and Butch Dalisay’s pronouncement that he was running “a tight ship,” all combined to make this year’s workshop something memorable, even when were ultimately described as “the most trouble-free” batch so far in the Kamustahan Series—a designation we mock-protested to, and to which Tara gave a grand reply, “If that’s the case, we will
create trouble in our writings.”
Perhaps that is the very reason why we had all willingly gone to Baguio that week, in mid-career. To relearn casting tempests with our pens, and to appreciate the fact that writing should ultimately be all about rendering life in poetic exactitude, through the emotional power of little earthquakes in words.
[this appeared in the may 5 issue of the philippine daily inquirer]
Labels: philippine literature, u.p. writers workshop, writers, writing
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Monday, May 05, 2008
7:22 AM |
The Inquirer Boys Finally Deliver
That's what Frank Cimatu says. And he's right. And it is about time, too. The
Philippine Daily Star girl (Rica Bolipata-Santos) and the
Manila Bulletin boy (Luis Joaquin Katigbak) have already given their spiel.
So here's our take on precious Baguio again.
Frank's, and
mine.
[all photos by vincenz serrano]
Labels: media, u.p. writers workshop, writers
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Friday, April 18, 2008
12:04 PM |
Notes on a Week in Baguio, With Photos
This should be a long post, I would have to warn you about that. Plus the pictures will certainly take their sweet time downloading. And there's
135 of them, culled from a set that must number a thousand. There is just no way, you see, to compress the events of the past two weeks into a very short post, and there is just no way to talk about them without necessitating the emotional immediacy of photographs -- and by God, we did take a lot of them.
A camwhorish batch, someone had described us in Baguio, that plus the description that we were "the most trouble-free" so far in the
Kamustahan Series (a designation we mock-protested to, and to which Tara FT Sering replied, "If that's the case, we will
create trouble in our writings."
O, diva?).I love my batch; we all do, in fact. We were a merry mix of everything, and somehow,
together, we clicked and we jelled.
Going to Baguio was many things to many of us. It was a perfect chance to escape the sweltering heat of the lowlands, and for me to see the sights of Northern Luzon for the first time.
Vacation it was not, however, although it was a little bit of that: see, we worked our butts off to read and critique the thick manuscripts of all our works for the workshop phase of the
Kamustahan, and then later to prepare our individual talks for our final project overview, most of us trying to come up with a stirring Powerpoint presentation. "I run a tight ship," Sir
Butch Dalisay told us from the get-go, and so we scrambled to impress our panelists that also included National Artists
Rio Alma and
Bienvenido Lumbera,
Gemino Abad,
Cristina Pantoja-Hidalgo,
Charlson Ong,
Jun Cruz Reyes, and
Vim Nadera. For most of us -- in a workshop that was redesigned by the U.P. Likhaan to consider the progress of writers in "mid-career" -- it was a week to take serious stock of where we were going in our current writing projects, which forced us invariably to think hard about our own poetics. If only for that, it was
an experience, one for a lifetime. It was the workshop to end all workshops, we all agreed.
This is all of us for our official portrait, taken Thursday morning last week. From left, there's the Filipino fictionist
Allan Derain (the pronunciation of whose surname we have Frenchified) whose
Muting Banal na Aklat ng mga Kumag (a bible of small creatures) blurred the boundary between fiction and poetry, and whose theme resonated with all of us throughout the week,
Tara FT Sering whose upcoming novel
Good People is bound to turn heads,
Frank Cimatu who was made to reconsider his abandonment of Filipino poetry,
Jun Lana who gave us the stirring screenplay of
Kariton,
Mookie Katigbak whose collection of poetry
History and Magic is a literary sleight of hand,
Rica Bolipata-Santos whose essays will take the memoir down a more searing path in
You Make the Road by Walking, me,
Jun Balde whose novel
Ramayana sa Donsol is a certified pageturner,
Luis Joaquin Katigbak whose story collection
Dear Distance will take his fiction to new heights and deeper insights,
Vincenz Serrano whose poetry collection
Short Walks will redefine the geography of Manila's streets, and
Roberto Añonuevo whose angry poetry collection
Sumpa, Simoy, Supling is sure to enthrall. The fabulous
Nicolas Pichay, who shocked us all with his play
Sa Silid, is up front, all with his own ideas of where to get the drama.
This is us with the formidable panelists from U.P. Likhaan, consisting of some of the pillars of contemporary Philippine literature.
My Manila trip began when I flew in Friday, April 4, some two days before our scheduled bus trip from U.P. Diliman straight on to Baguio. Rica happily put me up for the weekend, and I finally got to meet the Bolipata family. "Ric," I told her. "Your family intimidates me." She just laughed. I mean, who wouldn't be intimated? This is a family of artists we have all grown up knowing. I remember spending much of my college years listening to the Bolipata Trio's
Pelikula at Pundanquit album...
"Elmer Borlongan is
your brother-in-law?" I shrieked a little to Rica. She laughed again. That's the artist
Emong Borlangan, with
Non Bolipata, the artist
Plet Bolipata-Borlongan, and Rica. Saturday night, Rica had a singing engagement with DZMM, and so, after a great dinner at Spoon off ABS-CBN, Emong and Plet decided to take me to Cubao Expo for the bazaar...
... where Plet bought this really old and gorgeous
alampay or
pañuelo. Early the next day, Rica and I hied off to U.P. Diliman to catch our Baguio-bound bus. We met the rest of our co-fellows as well as the Likhaan associates and staff. Some highlights of that bus trip...
And then we arrived, past 3 p.m., at Camp John Hay, where we were billeted at the wonderful Igorot Lodge. This is Nick Pichay unpacking...
... and this is the rest of us spending our first afternoon in Baguio with a little
merienda.
We looked scared,
eh? We had no idea what to expect from this workshop. "What's a mid-career workshop?" someone asked. "Does that mean we're old?" Soon we were hitting the books,
er, the manuscripts. We read and read and digested the works-in-progress of our co-fellows, often in Starbucks right beside Igorot Lodge, where we came to hang out the rest of the week. Eventually, those of us in our batch who frequented the cafe were collectively known as the Starbucks Crowd (coined by Frank). What can I say. I'm addicted to their White Chocolate Mocha, hot, tall, "Ian, please."
... And then the grilling began Monday morning. The panelists and our co-fellows went through our individual manuscripts, and rendered their judgment -- some in unqualified praise and adulation, some in a critical nudge to shape the material this way or that. But it was a congenial workshop,
even if you were made to sit in front of the rest, like a gladiator in the middle of the Coliseum. This is not your typical workshop. Here, you are treated as a colleague of the craft, with the ultimate goal of assessing the strengths and the flaws of a work, beyond basic creative writing considerations.
This was me on Thursday morning, right after the group portrait, presenting my work-in-progress that I have titled
Sugar Land. It's a novel about Dumaguete, in all its sweet and murderous historical details...
The workshop proved to be quite a head-trip. There were ways to cope with the pressure of the week-long workshop. Jun Cruz Reyes soon took to completing a whole collection of pen drawings in the middle of all the debate, which did not stop him from giving one of his hard-edged questions. Below, that's Jun Lana doodling on his manuscript compilation. He doodled a lot. I have a feeling he drew all of us in various stages of whatever.
Tuesday night, in Baguio, we decided to celebrate our having survived the workshop phase of the workshop, by letting go. So off we went to...
That's Nick Pichay (second from right) laughing the night away with Likhaan staffers (and fellow writers)
Marby Villaceran,
Ralph Semino Galan, and
Butch Guerrero...
Allan Popa, dropping by, with Vincenz Serrano.
With Marby...
Later, after we had our fill of the cafe's famous slow food, we all decided to do what writers usually do on cold nights ... stage a poetry reading.
Not! We got hammered. The following are shots of the Room 4 party in full-swing...
By midnight, we were all so happily intoxicated, we decided to do two beer (and wine) runs into town. This is a shot of our second run, in a convenience store somewhere near Camp John Hay, all of us tipsy and ready to fall into the ground laughing.
I remember that Tuesday night well. And, of course,
because this is my first time in Baguio, I had to play the role of the tourist as well. I absolutely refused to do the horseback riding cliche, or the boating in Burnham. It was enough to get lost in and around Session Road, taking stock of the cold weather and the quaint places to hang out...
I love Baguio's cold. Camp John Hay got foggy one night...
Thursday night, off we went to the hillsides of Asin, for National Artist
BenCab's birthday. This is the birthday man...
This is
Yvette Natalie Tan and Luis Katigbak, with Butch Dalisay in his glorious fedora...
This is Jose Wendell Capili.
Vim Nadera with Rica Bolipata-Santos.
Tara FT Sering with Rio Alma.
National Artists Rio Alma and Bienvenido Lumbera.
Jun Balde, Rica Bolipata-Santos, Bobby Añonuevo, and Charlson Ong.
Gemino Abad, Tara FT Sering, and BenCab.
Tara FT Sering, BenCab, Rio Alma, Bien Lumbera, and me.
Karina Bolasco and BenCab's wife.
Sarge Lacuesta and Mookie Katigbak.
And all of us inside BenCab's studio...
This is Tara trying "to sell" BenCab's house. The whole act was a riot, and had us in stitches. Tara has a future as a comic, seriously.
I love this girl...
On the jeepney from BenCab's party, on our way to Rumours, and later, Volante...
Friday afternoon, we were all herded into a literary seminar in U.P. Baguio, with the promise that we could sneak out and enjoy what remained of our week in Baguio. That's junior faculty member
Junley Lazaga standing guard. And that's
Ed Maranan in the third row from left.
We have an
excess of hugging in this batch...
Later, on our way to Vocas...
Sometimes, we tire of Starbucks and go for the pasta in Cantinetta instead.
Wendell took me
pasalubong shopping in the
palengke. The day before that, a huge part of the public market was razed to the ground...
Wendell and I went as far as Good Shepherd to get the best jam...
Then, after
pasalubong-hunting, we met up with the rest of the gang in Bliss Cafe.
This is Jing Hidalgo with Jun Lana. She gave us tips on how to get published. Later that night, we graduated, ate a feast, and sang karaoke. Bobby danced to the merry music of Madonna's "Borderline." I began packing. The next day, the workshop was all over. And everybody left for Manila (on the same bus that brought us here) before noontime. I had gone ahead of everybody else, in the early morning, to proceed to Sagada on my own.
(See post below.) A few days later, I returned to Baguio where I met the rest of the city's writers...
This was a meeting for a planned anthology of Baguio writers in Zola Cafe. (We had hijacked a press conference on reproductive health, courtesy of Frank, and ate a lot of chicken.) From left,
Grace Subido,
Nonette Bennette, and
Butch Macansantos' back.
Nonette with
Babette Lolarga. That night, the guys took me drinking in Ayuyang, in the basement of my hotel, Baden Powell. Goddamn, I couldn't sleep when I got to my room around 2 a.m.. They had pelted me with stories of Baguio's ghosts (and there seemed to be a lot of them everywhere), and I couldn't sleep. The next day, I found myself back in Manila, ready for a quick reunion with the rest of the fellows. Where did we go? MetroWalk. In
Starbucks (of course), after dinner in Sanctuario.
Rica Bolipata-Santos and her gay Baguio husband,
hehehe.
This is the lovely
Ginny Mata, who tagged along. I had a meeting with her earlier, with the artist
Angel Shaw and my Dumaguete-compatriot
Arlene Delloso-Uypitching (for an upcoming exhibition in Negros and Siquijor). We also stopped by
Butch Perez's envy-inducing apartment in Roxas Boulevard to get strawberries, before proceeding to Ortigas, the traffic heavy.
Nick Pichay and
Isolde Amante, a former Dumaguete workshop batchmate.
This is Jun Lana, taking more pictures of everybody.
These are our lovebirds, Yvette Tan and Yvette's marshmallow Luis Joaquin Katigbak. Mookie and Bob and Allan and Jun Balde couldn't go to the dinner, and Tara was flying to Singapore that night.
And that's it.
Batch 2008. The Troublefree Kumags of Baguio. It was a whirlwind. And suddenly, we're all back to regular programming.
[some photos by vincenz serrano and marby villaceran]
Labels: art and culture, philippine literature, travel, u.p. writers workshop, writers
[0] This is Where You Bite the Sandwich
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