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translating himagsikan

yes, blood blossoms bright.
dadanak muli ang dugo, aking mahal.
out of its petals we'll raise the sun our ancestors lost
hahawiin ng sinag ang mapanlinlang na himpapawid
ripping orange through the smoke-clot sky, scarlet mouth, womb
bubuksan ang pulang bukid ng mga patay, katawang hinugot
stretched-strung-- violet expanse deep as bruises, a violence of cloud. our wrists
mula sa duguang ugat ng kalayaan. kinain ng ulap ang aking dila
ache: the rainless days are upon us, the air gapes for our bones. atop manila's walls
nang kinuha ng mga sundalo ang aking ina. sunugin, sunugin daw.
we burn. tongues of dry lightning split our skin open: still our mothers say
wala nang hiwaga sa mundo, kung ‘di man uyaying linamon ng dilim,
time will heal all wounds. even war. Anitun Tabu keens cobalt overhead, wheeling wide.
mainit na kamay sa aking pisngi. wala nang ibabalik pa. ito lamang:
look, the stars above our ember cities. soon the bayonets we broke will echo
rosaryong tanikala sa ating mga braso, kapirasong buwan sa buto
the old thirsts, the new songs we sing, our voices lifting dark and clear in the ruins
abo at lindol sa lalamunan, awit ng uhaw at kidlat, huni ng pangakong
when we return our names, free at last, at last, to the waiting sea.
lulunurin ng alon pati ang ating pangalan, lulunurin ang lahat.

translating revolution

yes, blood blossoms bright.
blood will flow deep once again, my love.
out of its petals we'll raise the sun our ancestors lost
searing blaze will part the treacherous skies
to rip orange through the smoke-clot sky, scarlet mouth, womb
will open the red fields of the dead, bodies wrenched
stretched-strung-- violet expanse deep as bruises, a violence of cloud. our wrists
from the blood-vein roots of freedom. the clouds ate my tongue
ache: the rainless days are upon us, the air gapes for our bones. atop manila's walls
as the soldiers took my mother. burn. they said: burn.
we burn. tongues of dry lightning split our skin open: still our mothers say
there is no more magic in the world, if not the lullabies the dark devoured,
time will heal all wounds. even war. Anitun Tabu keens cobalt overhead, wheeling wide.
hands hot on my cheek. there is nothing more to bring back. only this:
look, the stars above our ember cities. soon the bayonets we broke will echo
rosaries shackled to our arms, fragments of the moon in bone
the old thirsts, the new songs we sing, our voices lifting dark and clear in the ruins
ash and earthquake in throat, song of thirst and lightning, birdcall of the promise
when we return our names, free at last, at last, to the waiting sea.
the waves will drown even-also our names, will drown it all.



Dimas Ilaw is a Filipino writer. Their email is bagonglakambini@gmail.com.
Current Issue
22 Apr 2024

We’d been on holiday at the Shoon Sea only three days when the incident occurred. Dr. Gar had been staying there a few months for medical research and had urged me and my friend Shooshooey to visit.
...
Tu enfiles longuement la chemise des murs,/ tout comme d’autres le font avec la chemise de la mort.
The little monster was not born like a human child, yelling with cold and terror as he left his mother’s womb. He had come to life little by little, on the high, three-legged bench. When his eyes had opened, they met the eyes of the broad-shouldered sculptor, watching them tenderly.
Le petit monstre n’était pas né comme un enfant des hommes, criant de froid et de terreur au sortir du ventre maternel. Il avait pris vie peu à peu, sur la haute selle à trois pieds, et quand ses yeux s’étaient ouverts, ils avaient rencontré ceux du sculpteur aux larges épaules, qui le regardaient tendrement.
We're delighted to welcome Nat Paterson to the blog, to tell us more about his translation of Léopold Chauveau's story 'The Little Monster'/ 'Le Petit Monstre', which appears in our April 2024 issue.
For a long time now you’ve put on the shirt of the walls,/just as others might put on a shroud.
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Art by: delila
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