Eileen R. Tabios
Contributor Biography
Eileen R. Tabios has released over 60 collections of poetry, fiction, and non-fiction from publishers in 10 countries, including a first novel, DoveLion: A Fairy Tale for Our Times. She invented the hay(na)ku, a 21st century diasporic poetic form and MDR Poetry Generator which can create poems totaling theoretical infinity. She has received recognition through awards, grants and residencies, including the Philippines‘ National Book Award for Poetry. She can be found at: http://eileenrtabios.com
Why I Am Rarely Nostalgic
—Bauang Beach, circa 1965
She knew she should know
better
I was barely older than a
toddler
I had played with her only
daughter
during those summer days of
Innocence
by a sapphire sea warmed by a gentle
sun
When it was time to
leave
she lowered her gaze from my
face
as she carefully suggested I
give
her daughter one of my
dresses
“An old one no one would
miss”
My eyes that squinted all
summer
opened wide and saw the
World—
ravishing with its poverty and
desires
ravishing with its grief, such
grief
Jesus Christ once pleaded,
“Forgive
them—they know not what they
do”
IF LOVE, THEN LOVE
—excavated from “The Professor and the Madman,”
A history of the Oxford English Dictionary
I.
All I need are books.
Every word in action becomes beautiful in the light of its own meaning.
When I read, no one is after me. When I read, I am the one who is chasing,
chasing after God.
What I know of love: the sickness often becomes the cure.
The brain is wider than the sky…
II.
“I can, because of you.”
III.
Madness gave us words.
Sometimes when we push away, that’s when we need to be resisted.
IV.
I wanted to document the history of each and everything, to offer the world a book that gives a meaning of everything in God’s creation.
V.
The book—it’s not yours to quit.
I know the answer to the widow’s question.
Menstrual Hay(na)ku
When I saw
Mary’s stone
face
on a statue
freezing a
tear
on its stone
but suddenly
human
face, I am
reminded by
vision:
when I bleed
I camouflage
tears
Losing Music
I was 8 years old when I first
placed my fingers on the
luminous white ivory keys of
a piano. Next to me, a nun
touched each finger into place.
A year later, I wore a white
lace dress in my first piano
recital. Everyday for two
years, I took lessons from that
nun. At the end of two years, I
left my birthland for the
diaspora. A few years into my
teens, when my parents could
afford it, they brought an
upright piano into the
house—I never played it.
A few years after college
graduation when I was barely
making my rent, my parents
sent me that piano as the only
piano I could afford—I never
played it. Decades later, my
husband ordered a grand
piano for our living room. My
fingers strolled through its
keys to make my husband
happy but, swiftly, I came
never to play it again. But I do
cherish this figurine of cats on
a piano which I discovered
within my mom’s things after
she died. Its innocence
reminds me of when, once, I
was so happy playing the
piano that I quickly became
proficient enough in a year to
present music during a recital
in the local university
auditorium. People dressed up
in their finest clothes to see
me and hear me. People put
on their “Sunday Best” to see
me. How I long to be called
Home…
Author's Note:
“IF LOVE, THEN LOVE” and “Losing Music” were previously published in
Marsh Hawk Review.
Kemlyn Tan Bappe
Contributor Biography
Kemlyn Tan Bappe, a member of the Singapore diaspora, is a visual artist, spoken word poet, teaching special education in Phoenix, Arizona. She is a panelist on
The Poets React, a weekly show on Youtube produced in the Philippines by the Poetry Global Network. “Theology is pushing and pulling meaning out of faith and life.” She holds a BA in Studio Art, MDIV Theology, and a MA in Special Education.
i scattered my grief in the wind and what remained was a laugh
"O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?"
—1 Corinthians 15:55
i turn on the lights
they scattered into shadows
parts of you remain
what remains is choice:
to bury or to scatter?
what are your wishes?
your wish: my command
shall i dig a shallow grave?
from dust you return
shall i light fires
over a makeshift pyre?
all remains are ash
scatter your remains
from our favorite fishing spot
invite fish to come
death shatters my mind
emotions misaligned: why
do i laugh not cry?
the proof
Author's Note:
A product of parochial school in Singapore, for better and worse, the influence of Christianity has permeated my worldview. In seminary, I embraced theology not as static parchment, but as praxis where life and doctrine are in a tug-of-war. I am honored to do theology with fellow poets of Filipino heritage in weekly online open mic forums. Theology is not a solo sport.
give(n)
if the number of years
i have transversed equals n
then n equals fifty
am i fifty percent done with my life?
who knows their precise limit their expiration
each year i seem to be exponentially closer to
that line
the slope is rising rapidly
is the endpoint the day i draw my last breath?
or the beginning point to infinity
i'd like to believe
when i cross to the other side
maybe i’ll send you a proof
with statements on the left column
reasons on the right
beginning with a skimpy
given
take
our numbered days
life’s a variable
i am grateful
time shared
that space
us
is holy ground
respiration
quickens
cling to faith
we’ll meet again
my arms open wide
maybe i’ll visit your dreams
leave you breathless
to join me soon
life
taken