to whom shall i address this poem, having read
the masterpiece of alfredo navarro salanga,
published after he died of a disease
that consumed his kidneys in the late 1980s?
he was good in spinning words
into arts of beauty—phrases, sentences,
even individual clauses are alive on the pages, at times
surprising you like artifacts buried in a corner
of a patchwork.
this san fernando city, la union native
was a great poet indeed—his "turtle voices in uncertain weather"
drenches you with his genius
as he poked fun of dictators,
rued street children and small men.
his inspiration came from the news—
he must have read the dailies
every single day of his short life, or at least,
after learning his ABC.
his comments were acerbic,
his statements severe, exact,to the point
like a true newscaster in heat.
but alfredo was different—he was deliberate and cool
wise and his punches came fast and straight
like longfellow’s arrows.
it was sad he died so early
he could have produced more books
of useful poetry.
but like the wind that could not stay
alfredo must go for his body was tired
and broken--he was a fat man once
but the big c gnawed at his flesh
and he was all bones when he went
to his grave.
accept my late farewell, comrade of the pen,
by now more than two decades later
you have become the earth we tread
but we walk on with your messages.
to whom then shall I address this piece?
it would not be fair to you, alfredo,
if i speak to political clowns and fools and buffoons
instead of you.
yes, shall i say, shall i say it would be unfair
if i speak to them in these uncertain times
of scandals and screaming headlines:
maguindanao massacre/barbaric ampatuans
heartless muslims beheading christians
robber barons of congress
gloria’s executioners of the poor
mike arroyo the most distrusted filipino
even katrina halili, james yap and kris aquino?
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