Wednesday, July 10, 2019

Lupang Hinirang(Philippine National Anthem )

Lupang Hinirang

Philippine National Anthem, Land of the morning(Lupang Hinirang)


Lupang Hinirang(Land of the Morning English Translation)

Lupang Hinirang

Bayang magiliw,
perlas ng silanganan.
Alab ng puso,
Sa dibdib mo'y buhay.

Lupang hinirang,
duyan ka ng magiting.
Sa manlulupig,
di ka pasisiil.

Sa dagat at bundok,
sa simoy at sa langit mong bughaw.
May dilag ang tula,
at awit sa paglayang minamahal.

Ang kislap ng watawat mo'y
tagumpay na nagniningning;
Ang bituin at araw nya,
kailan pa ma'y di magdidilim.

Lupa ng araw, ng luwalhati't pagsinta,
buhay ay langit sa piling mo,
Aming ligaya, na pag may mang-aapi,
ang mamatay nang dahil sa iyo.


Land of the Morning
(Philippine National Anthem English version)


Land of the morning
Child of the sun returning
With fervor burning
Thee do our souls adore.

Land dear and holy,
Cradle of noble heroes,
Ne'er shall invaders
Trample thy sacred shores.

Ever within thy skies and through thy clouds
And o'er thy hills and seas;
Do we behold thy radiance, feel the throb

Of glorious liberty.
Thy banner dear to all hearts
Its sun and stars alright,
Oh, never shall its shining fields

Be dimmed by tyrants might.
Beautiful land of love, oh land of light,
In thine embrace 'tis rapture to lie;

But it is glory ever when thou art wronged
For us thy sons to suffer and die.


Watch Lupang Hinirang Lyric Video






Friday, March 22, 2019

Si Pilemon, Si Pilemon

Si Pilemon Philippine literature, Si Pilemon, Si Pilemon

Si Pilemon, si Pilemon

Ilongo Folk Song

Si Pilemon, si Pilemon
Namasol sa karagatan
Nakakuha, nakakuha
Sang isdang tambasakan
Guibaligya, guibaligya
Sa merkadong guba
Ang binta nya'y wala, ang binta nya'y wala
Guibakal sang Tuba


Sunday, March 17, 2019

Hinilawod

Philippine Literature, Hinilawod

Philippine Literature
, Hinilawod (Panay Epic)



Hinilawod

Panay epic




When the goddess of the eastern sky Alunsina (also known as Laun Sina, The Unmarried One) reached maidenhood, the king of the gods, Kaptan, decreed that she should marry all the unmarried gods of the different domains of the universe who tried to win her hand to no avail. She choose to marry a mortal, Datu Paubari, the mighty ruler of Halawod.

Her decision angered her other suitors. They plotted to bring harm to the newlywed. A meeting of the council of gods was called by Maiklum-sa-t’wan, god of the plains, where a decision by those present was made to destroy Halawod by flood.

Alunsina and Paubari escaped harm through the assistance of Suklang Malayon, the goddess and guardian of Happy homes and sister of Alunsina, who learned of the evil plot and warned the two so they were able to seek refuge on higher ground.

After the floodwaters subsided. Paubari and Alunsina returned to the plains secretly through which they settled near the mount of Halawod River.

Several months later Alunsina became pregnant and told Paubari to prepare the siklot, things necessary for childbirth. She delivered a set of triplets and summoned the high priest Bungot-Banwa to perform the rites of the gods of Mount Madya-as (the mountain abode of the gods) to ensure the good health of the children. . The high priest promptly made an altar and burned some alanghiran fronds and a pinch of kamangyan. When the ceremony was over he opened the windows of the north side of the room and a cold northerly wind came in and suddenly the three infants were transformed into strong, handsome young men.

Labaw Donggon, the eldest of the three, asked his mother to prepare his magic cape, hat, belt, and kampilan(sword) for he heard of a place called Handug were a beautiful maiden named Angoy Ginbitinan lived.

The Journey took several days. He walked across plains and valleys, climbed up mountains until he reached the mouth of the Halawod River. When he finally met the maiden’s father and asked for her hand in marriage, the father asked him to fight the monster Manalintad as part of his dowry. He went off to confront the monster and with the help of his magic belt Labaw Donggon killed the monster and to prove his feat he brought to Angoy Ginbitinan’s father the monster’s tail.

After the wedding, Labaw Donggon proceeded home with his new bride. Along the way they met a group of young men who told him that they were on their way to Tarambang Burok to win the hand of Abyang Durunuun, sister of Sumpoy, the lord of the underworld and whose beauty was legendary.

Labaw Donggon and his bride continued on their journey home. The moment they arrived home Labaw Donggon told his mother to take care of his wife because he is taking another quest, this time he was going to Tarambang Burok.

Before he can get to the place he has to pass a ridge guarded by a giant named Sikay Padalogdog who has a hundred arms. The giant would not allow Labaw Donggon to go through with outh a fight. However, Sikay Padalogdog was no match to Labaw Donggon’s Prowess and skill in fighting so he gave up and allowed him to continue.

Labaw Donggon won the hand of Abyang Durunuun and also took her home. Before long he went on another journey, this time it is to Gadlum to ask for the hand of Malitong Yawa, sinagmaling diwata, who is the young bride of Saragnayan, the lord of darkness.

This trip required him to use his biday nga inagta (black boat) on which he sailed across the seas for many months, went across the region of the clouds, and passed the land of stones until finally he reached the shores of Tulogmatian which was the seaside fortress of Saragnayan. The moment he set foot on the ground Saragnayan asked him, “Who are you and why are you here?”

To which he answered, “I am Labaw Donggon, son of Datu Paubari and goddess Alunsina of Halawod. I came for the beautiful Malitong Yawa, sinagmaling diwata.”

Saragnayan laughed. He told Labaw Donggon that what he wished for was impossible to be granted because she was his wife. Labaw Donggon then challenged Saragnayan to a duel saying that whoever wins will have her.

The challenge was accepted and they started fighting. Labaw Donggon submerged Saragnayan under water for seven years, but when he let go of him, Saragnayan was still alive. He later uprooted a coconut tree and started beating Labaw Donggon with it. He survived the beating but was not able to surpass the powers of Saragnayan’s pamlang (amulet) and eventually he gave up and was imprisoned by Saragnayan beneath his house.

Back home Angoy Ginbitinan and Abyang Durunuun both delivered sons. Angoy Ginbitinan’s child was named Aso Mangga and Abyang Durunuun’s son was called Abyang Baranugon.

Only a few days after they were born, Aso Mangga and Abyang Baranugon embarked to look for their father. They rode their sailboats through the region of eternal darkness, passed the region of the clouds and the land of stones finally reaching Saragnayan’s home. Saragnayan noticed that Abyang Baranugon’s umbilical cord had not yet been removed, he laughed and told the child to go home to his mother.

Abyang Baranugon was slighted by the remarks and immediately challenged Saragnayan to a duel. They fought and Abyang Baranugon defeated Saragnayan and won his father’s freedom.

Labaw Donggon’s defeat and subsequent imprisonment by the lord of darkness also angered his brothers. Humadapnon was so enraged that he swore to the gods of Madya-as that he would wreak revenge on all of Saragnayan’s kinsmen and followers.

Humadapnon prepared to go to Saragnayan’s domain. He employed the aid of Buyong Matanayon of Mount Matula who was well-known for his skill in swordsmanship. For their journey they rode on a sailboat called biday nga rumba-rumba. They traveled through the region of the clouds, passed by the region of eternal darkness, and ended up at a place called Tarambang Buriraw. In this place was a ridge called Talagas Kuting-tang where a seductive sorceress named Piganun lived.

Piganun changed herself to a beautiful maiden and captured the heart of Humadapnon. Buyong Matanayon begged with Humadapnon to leave the place with him but the latter refused. After seven months passed, Buyong Matanayon remembered that they have brought with them some ginger. On evening at dinnertime Buyong Matanayon threw seven slices of ginger into the fire. When Piganun smelled the odor of burning ginger she left the dinner table because sorcerers hated the odor of ginger. Immediately Buyong Matanayon struck Humadapnon, who became unconscious. He dragged his friend with him and they were able to escape.

They continued with their trek and everywhere they went they exacted revenge on all of Saragnayang’s people and relatives. One day they reached a place called Piniling Tubig which was ruled by Datu Umbaw Pinaumbaw. There was a big gathering in the village and when they asked what was going on they were told that the datu was giving his daughter for marriage to whoever could remove the huge boulder that rolled from a mountain into the center of the village. Many men tried their luck but no one so far was able to even move the stone.

Humadapnon took off his magic cape and used it to lift the stone and threw it back into the mountain. The datu kept his word and Humadapnon married his daughter. During the wedding feast Humadapnon heard about the beauty of the goddess of greed Burigadang Pada Sinaklang Bulawasn from a guest minstrel who sang at the celebration.

After the wedding Humadapnon went to seek the hand of the goddess in marriage. Along the was he encountered Buyong Makabagting, son of the mighty Datu Balahidyong of Paling Bukid who was also traveling with the same purpose in mind. Upon learning of Humadapnon’s intent, Buyong Makabagting challenged him to a duel. They fought and Buyong Makabagting was no match to Humadapnon’s strength and skill. The fight ended when Buyong Makabagting surrendered and even promised to aid Humadapnon in his quest. Humadapnon married the goddess and brought her home.

Meanwhile, right after Humadapnon left to seek Saragnayan’s followers and relatives his brother Dumalapdap left for Burutlakan-ka-adlaw where the maiden Lubay-Lubyok Hunginun si Mahuyokhuyokon lived. For the trip he brought along Dumasig, the most powerful wrestler in Madya-as.

Several months later they came to a place called Tarambuan-ka-banwa where they encountered the two headed monster Balanakon who guarded a narrow ridge leading to the place where the maiden lived.

With the help of Dumasig, Dumalapdap killed Balanakon. However, upon approaching the gate of the place where the maiden lived they were confronted by Uyutan, a bat-like monster with sharp poisonous claws. There ensued a bloody battle between Dumalapdap and the monster. They fought for seven months and their skill and prowess seemed to be equal. But on the seventh month, Dumalapdap was able to grab on the Uyutang’s ankle and broke it. Then he took his iwang daniwan(magic dagger) and stabbed Uyutang under the armpit. Uyutang cried out so loud that the ridge where they were fighting broke into two and there was an earthquake. Half of the ridge became the Island of Buglas (Negros) and the other became the Island of Panay.

Dumalapdap married Lubay-Lubyok Hanginun si Mahuyokhuyokan and then took her whom. Datu Paubari was very happy when he was reunited with his three sons and he prepared a feast in their honer. After the celebration, the three brothers left for different parts of the world. Labaw Donggon went to the north, Humadapnon went south, Dumalapdap to the west, and Datu Paubari remained in the east.


Hinilawod is the oldest and well-known epic of Panay which belongs to the oral tradition of the Sulod mountaing people living near the headwaters of the river Jalaur (Halawod), Aklan and Antique. It is sung in Kinaray-a, the language of the Sulod. This epic was recorded by Felipe Landa Jocano, an anthropologist in Lambunao, Iloilo in 1964. It has two cycles: first part deals with Donggon’s amorous exploits; the second part deals with the adventures of Humadapnon wherein Baranugun plays the leading role.

Wednesday, March 13, 2019

What is Literature

What is literature What is Literature?
Literature refers to composition that deal with life experiences. It tells stories, dramatizes situations, expresses emotions, analyzes, and advocates ideas.

In the past, literary works were recited or sung, and were retained only as long as people performed these oral acts by which these literary traditions are handed down from generation to generation. In some societies, these oral traditions of literature still exist, with most poems and stories being spoken rather than read from the pages of a book. Even today parents delight their children with stories and poems; poets and story writers read their works to live children with stories and poems; poets and story writers read their works to live audiences; and plays and scripts are interpreted on stage or before cameras.

Literature helps us grow, both personally and intellectually. It links us with the broader society of which we are a part. It allows us to recognize human dreams and the struggles of different peoples and places. It helps us develop mature sensibility and compassion for all creations in the universe. It gives us the knowledge and perception to appreciate the beauty of order and arrangement. It enables us to see the worthiness in the aspirations of all people. It exercises our emotions through interest, concern, tension, excitement, hope, fear, regret, laughter, and sympathy.

Through our readings, literature shapes our goals and values by clarifying our own identities – both positively, through acceptance of the admirable in human beings, and negatively, through the rejection of the sinister. It enables us to develop a perspective on events occurring locally and globally. It encourages us to appreciate, recognize and support talented and creative people.

Types of Literature:
Imaginative Literature. Imaginative literature have distinguishing characteristics that includes Prose fiction, or narrative fiction, poetry and drama.

Prose fiction. Includes myths, parables, romances, novels, and short stories; refers to prose stories based on the author’s imagination.

The essence of fiction is narration – whereby events or action are recounted works of fiction focus on one or a few major characters who change in attitude as they interact with other characters and deal with problems. The main purpose of prose fiction is to interest, stimulate, instruct, and divert.

Poetry expresses a conversation or interchange of the deeply felt experiences of human beings. Poetry comes in many formal and informal shapes and lengths. It uses few words, as compared to prose fiction. It relies heavily on imagery, figurative language, and sound.

Drama is literature designed to be performed by actors. Like fiction, drama may focus on a single character or a small number of characters, and enacts fictional events to be witnessed by an audience.

“This three genres are just based on imaginations of the creators that includes magical events and mysterious existence of characters just to entertain the readers or the audiences.”

Realistic Literature. Nonfiction prose, as a literary genre is represented by news reports, feature articles, essays, editorials, historical and biographical works, and the like – all of which describe or interpret facts and present judgment and opinions. The major goals of nonfiction prose are truth in reporting and logic in reasoning.

“This is based upon the truth and the real happenings with the people around that stands the reality and experiences and the detailed events of the said situations.”

What is Poetry?
Poetry is an artistic expression of an idea in a rhythmical pattern. It stirs the emotions and stimulates the mind through its metric rhythm, musical lines, sense impression, and language.

Poetry is a universal language that can be written and enjoyed by individuals of all ages from all walks of life because of its simplicity of form.

Poetry speaks of experience – beautiful or ugly, strange or common, noble or ignoble, actual or imaginary. It speaks of the inner need to live more fully and have greater awareness of the experience of others, as well as to understand one’s own better. It gives soul to a simple narration of experience by adding more depth.

Poetry is the most condensed and concentrated form of literature. The individual lines of a good poem have more brilliance and power, word for word, packed into them, than those in any other literary form. It says more and says it more intensely.

Poetry is a multidimensional language. It has four (4) dimensions to communicate experience such as: it must be directed to the whole person not just at understanding: it must involve not only one’s intelligence but also one’s senses, emotions and imagination.

To the intellectual dimension poetry adds a sensuous dimension, an emotional dimension, and an imaginative dimension.

Poetry achieves extra dimension by packing more pressure into each word and creating greater tension by drawing richly on various language resources such as connotation, imagery, symbol, figures of speech, rhythm, and pattern.

Elements of Poetry
Poetry differs from prose in shape and in form. The basic units of structures for prose are the sentences and the paragraphs; whereas the unit structure for a poem are the lines and strictly marked stanzas which give the poem a definite and distinct pattern.

The fundamental components of poetry are connotation, imagery, rhythm, figurative language, and sound structure.

Denotation and Connotation
Denotation is the actual meaning of a word or the literal and dictionary meaning, whereas connotation refers to association and implications that go beyond a word’s literal meaning. It is the meaning suggested or implied beyond the actual meaning.

Critical reading requires the ability to understand the connotation as well as the denotation of words.

There are two types of connotation. These are personal connotation and general connotation.
The personal connotation of a word is related to the experiences of the person who uses or reads/hears it. The “strength” or “power” one meaning over another will depend on the user/reader/listener’s experience with it. The negativeness and positiveness of one’s meaning of the word “authority” will depend upon one’s experience related to this concept.

The general connotation of a word is based on one’s general experiences; hence, a relationship exists between personal and general connotation. General connotation refers to the general reaction of a majority of people to a certain word. For example, the words “mother,” “father,” “baby,” and “native land” have connotative meanings depending upon the accumulated experiences in the collective subconscious of the race.

Words, therefore, elicit both objectives and emotional responses.

Connotation is very important in poetry because it is the means by which the poet can concentrate or enriching the meaning by saying more in fewer words.

Language has many varieties, and poets may choose from them all. Their words may be romantic or realistic, archaic or modern, grandiose or humble, technical or ordinary. The skillful use of these word varietis would surprise and elicit an increment of meaning for the reader.

Imagery
Imagery in poetry appeals our senses on the surface level, or directly through its music and rhythm. Indirectly, it appeals through our senses through imagery, the representation to the imagination of some experiences. It suggests a mental picture.

Visual imagery is the kind of imagery that occurs most frequently in poetry. An image may also represent a sound (auditory imagery); an odor (olfactory imagery); a flavor (gustatory imagery); hardness, softness, wetness, or heat or cold (tactile imagery); an internal sensation, such as hunger, thirst fatigue or nausea (organic imagery); or movement or tension in the muscles or joints (kinesthetic imagery).

Imagery evokes vivid experience. It conveys emotion, suggests ideas and causes a mental reproduction of sensations. A poem, however, cannot be evaluated by the amount or quality of its imagery alone. Sense impression is only one of the elements of experience. Poetry may attain its ends by other means. A poem is judged in reference to total intention.

Diction and Tone
It is partly by the diction that the speaker of the poem is known. The choice of words and grammatical construction will reflect for instance, whether the poet is far removed from the common life or is on the other hand, very sophisticated. It is also a means by which the tone of a certain subject or situation is created by the speaker.

Speakers reveal their attitudes toward themselves, their subjects and their audience (consciously or unconsciously) and they choose their words, pitch, and modulation according. All these shape the tone.

The choice of words of the poet govern the response of the reader to the characters and situations in the poem. The denotations and connotations, overstatement, and other rhetorical tools that the poet employs also shape the responses of the reader.

In written literature, the reader detects the tone, not by the ear, but by noticing the selection and sequence of words – the way in which they are meant to be heard – I,e., is playfully, angrily, confidently, sarcastically, etc.

Tone speaks more about the methods and techniques by which attitudes are created and revealed.

Tone and expression are important forms of communication. Writers may speak of the same subject, but details (situation, language, action, background) reveal different attitudes like satisfaction, indignation, love, contempt, deference, and command.

Figure of speech
A figure of speech is a way of saying something other than the ordinary way. One does this to make assertions about an external reality, or to present some insights of realities that cannot be fully expressed in any logical language.

Through the use of figures of speech, the poet communicates not only a state of mind but also calls to mind the image of some things that interest the reader. A figure of speech, then, cannot be taken literally.

Metaphor and Simile are both used as means of comparing things that are essentially alike. The only distinction between them is in a simile, the comparison is expressed by the use of some word or phrase, such as “like,” “as,” “than,” similar to, “resembles,” or “seems,” in a metaphor, the comparison is implied – that is, the figurative term is substituted for or identified with the literal term. Metaphors assert the identicality of dissimilar things. They transform people, places, objects and ideas into whatever the poet imagines them to be. Metaphor may either be implied or extended. It is implied when it does not explicitly identify; it is extended when all of the poem consist of a series of related metaphors or similies.

A figure of speech is a way of saying something other than the ordinary way. One does this to make assertions about an external reality, or to present some insights of realities that cannot be fully expressed in any logical language.

Through the use of figures of speech, the poet communicates not only a state of mind but also calls to mind the image of some things that interest the reader. A figure of speech, then, cannot be taken literally.

Metaphor and Simile are both used as means of comparing things that are essentially alike. The only distinction between them is that in a simile, the comparison is expressed by the use of some word or phrase, such as “like,” “as,” “than,” “similar to,” “resembles,” or “seems,” in a metaphor, the comparison is implied – that is, the figurative term is substituted for or identified with the literal term. Metaphors assert the identicality of dissimilar things. They transform people, places, objects and ideas into whatever the poet imagines them to be. Metaphors may either be implied or extended. It is implied when it does not explicitly identify; it is extended when all of the poem consist of a series of related metaphors or similes.

The basic characteristic of metaphor is comparison most of the poem bears this type of metaphor for this are the most common used to express things.

Two types of Metaphor:
Metonymy- in metonymy, something is named to replace something closely related to it.
For example:
- “city hall” is sometimes used to stand for the municipal authority.
- “feathers in my hair,” – for rich and famous to which they are related.
Synedoche - in synedoche, the whole is replaced by the part, or the part by the whole.
For example:
- “grave” in “Would I be farther from the grave?” of the poem Paradox by Angela Manalang- Gloria, replaces “death”.

Personification is the attribution of human characteristics to an animal, an object, or a concept. It is a subtype of the metaphor, an implied comparison in which the figurative term of the comparison is always a human being. Personification differs from simple metaphor in the degree to which the reader is asked to vizualize the literal term as taking on a human form/trait.

Apostrophe is closely related to personification and is characterized by the addressing of someone absent, dead, or nonhuman as if that person or thing were present and alive and could reply to what is being said.

Personification and apostrophe are both ways of giving life and immediacy to one’s language. But since neither requires great imaginative skill on the part of the poet, care must taken so that these – especially the apostrophe – do not degenerate into mere mannerism.

A Paradox is an apparent contradiction which may be a situation or a statement. In paradoxical statement, the contradiction usually comes from one of the words used figuratively. For example, parents are busy earning a living, but forget the very essence of life. It is paradoxical that parents are busy in order to live, and yet forget what life really is about.

Hyperbole, or overstatement, is simply exaggeration – but exaggeration based on truth. When you say, “Filipino women are the domestic helpers of the word,” you don’t mean all Filipinos and the entire world. You are adding emphasis to what it really means. If you say, “The President needs a high chair,” you are exaggerating his short stature. If you say,”… then they heard no more, but a deafening silence,” you are saying that the silence was unbearable. “Deafening silence” is also an oxymoron/s contradiction.

Truth can be emphasized not only by overstatement but also by understatement. It means saying less than what one means. For example, you enter a room and you find strangers inside and you say, “This is indeed an empty room.”

Verbal Irony is saying the opposite of what one means. Most often, this is confused with sarcasm and with satire. Sarcasm and satire both simply ridicule.

Sarcasm is simply a bitter or cutting speech, intended to hurt feelings.

Satire is a formal term, usually applied to written literature rather than to speech and ordinarily implies a high motive. It is ridicule(either bitter or gentle) of human folly or vice, with the purpose of bringing about reform or at least of keeping other people from falling into similar folly or vice.

Irony, may be used without either sarcastic or satirical intent; and sarcasm and satire may exist without irony. For example, a student raises his hand and complains he does not understand the lesson. The teacher replies in a disgusting voice that it is not a surprise to him. The teacher is sarcastic, but not ironic. He means exactly what he says and intends to be unkind and cruel. But, when the teacher comes to class and announces that he has some bad news for the class and proceeds to say that everybody got excellent grades in the subject, he is being ironic, but not sarcastic. Satire is both cruel and unkind. It gives hurt in the interest of somebody, society or an institution. Irony is neither cruel or kind: it is simply a device.

The term “irony” implies some sort of discrepancy or incongruity. In verbal irony, the discrepancy is between what is said and what is meant. Other forms of discrepancy may be between appearance and reality, or between expectation and fulfillment.

These forms come into two types. These are dramatic irony and situational irony. In dramatic irony, the discrepancy is not between what the speaker says and what the speaker means, but between what the speaker says and what the author means. The speaker’s words may be straightforward, byt the author, by putting these words in a particular speaker’s mouth, may be indication to the reader ideas or attitudes quite opposed to those the speaker is voicing. For example, in Sophocles play Oedipus the King, everyone -- other characters and readers alike – knows the truth long, before Oedipus knows it. In situational irony, the discrepancy exists between the actual circumstances and what would seem appropriate, or between what one anticipates and what actually comes to pass. For example, In “The Fift of The Magi”, the wife cut her long and beautiful hair which her husband liked most. She sold this to buy a gift for her husband; whereas, the husband sold his gold watch, his most prized possession just to give his wife a gift. In another situation, King Midas wished that what he touched would turn to gold> Ironically though, he could not eat anymore because everything that he touched became gold.

Dramatic irony and situational irony are powerful devices for poetry. Like symbols, they suggest meanings without stating them – to communicate a great deal more than what is said.

Understanding a Poem


To understand a poem better, ask important questions such as: “Who is the speaker?” and “What is the occasion?” The speaker who uses “I,” “my,” “mine” is not necessarily the poet.

When poets write their thoughts, they present a version of themselves. They present a person who, in many way, is like themselves, but who consciously or unconsciously, is shaped to fit the needs of the poem. Caution must be observed in identifying the poem with the biography of the poet. This does not, however, prohibit the association of events and ideas in the poem with those in the poet’s own life. Knowledge of the poet’s life may, in fact, help one understand a poem.

Another important question to ask would be, “What is the central purpose of the poem?” The purpose may be to tell a story, to reveal a human character, to impart a vivid impression of a scene, to express a mood or an emotion, or to convey some idea or attitude vividly.

It is only by relating the various details in the poem to the central purpose or theme that their function and meanings can be fully understood.

In “Change” the speaker is a woman, the occasion is having outgrown the favorite things she passionately loved to do and which preoccupied her childhood days – until she met the person with whom she fell in love. But she seems apprehesnsive that even her love for the person would change in favor of something or someone new. She believes that change is her very nature. What matters most at present thought, is her deep love for the person.

The central purpose is change which connotes freedom the very essence of life.

After identifying the central purpose of the poem, consider another question which asks, “By what means is the purpose achieved?” This can be partially answered by describing the poem’s dramatic framework, if it has any.

Paraphrasing a Poem


One starting point for understanding a poem is the paraphrasing of its content or part of its context. To paraphrase a poem is to restate a text in another form or other words so as to make its prose sense as plain as possible. The paraphrase may be longer or shorter than a poem, but it should contain all the ideas. Figurative language should be transformed into the literal language, metaphor into similes, inverted statements into normal prose order. It is not necessary to use the words in the original; the resulution paraphrase should be clearer and more direct. However, the paraphrase should retain the speaker’s use of the first, second, and third person, and the verbs tenses originally employed.

The central purpose or theme of “Vanity poem is approximately this: the wishing to have the physical features someone from a race other than her own because she does not appreciate her own beauty.

Reading and Understanding A Poem


To understand a poem, you need to understand the poem’s meaning and organization. As you read and reread the poem, study to following:
1. The Title. The title is almost always informative. The title “The Poverty of The Woman who turned Herself into Stone” indicates both subject and circumstance. The poem “Change” establishes the poem’s situation.
2. The Speaker or Persona. Poems are dramatic, having points of view just like prose fiction. First-person speakers talk from the “inside” because they are directly involved in the action as in the poem, “Open-End Quality”. Other speakers are “outside” observers, like the third –person limited point of view, (in which the author confineds or limits attention to a major character) as in “The Spouse.” And “The Widow.”
3. Meanings of all words (familiar or unfamiliar). The words in many poems are immediately clear, as with “The Widow,” but other poems may contain unfamiliar words that need looking up. You will need to consult dictionaries, encyclopedia and other sources until you gain a fairly good grasp of the poem’s content.
4. Setting and Situations. Some poems establish their setting and circumstances vividly. For example “Amira” tells us of the speaker outside of her country, leaving an infant behind. Not all poems are so clear, you should learn as much as you can about setting and situation in every poem you read.
5. Basic Forms and Development. Poems may be in a form of narrative, personal statements or speeches ro another person. They may be in sonnet form, or may contain stanzas, each of which is unified by a particular action or thought. Try to determine the form and to trace the way in which the poem unfolds, part by part.
6. Subject and Theme. The subject indicates the general or specific topic, while the theme refers to the idea or ideas that the poem explores. Lina Sagaral- Reyes announces her subject in her poem “The Poverty of the Woman who Turned Herself into Stone”. However, you must usually infer the theme. In this poem, it is about the sickening ugliness of poverty that eventually hardens a person and no longer sees the brighter side of life.

Saturday, March 9, 2019

Two Brothers

Two Brothers

Philippine literature, Two Brothers




Two Brothers


by Rony V. Diaz


At dawn the two brothers left the town. Carrying spear guns and openmesh rattan baskets, they walked barefooted along the edge of the sliding sea toward the doce. The sea, still weighted by the wind, slid in long unbroken swells toward the shore where it broke and dragged away the footprints and the delicate whorls left by the crabs on the black sand of the beach. The boys walked rapidly; the older brother one or two steps ahead – tugging, it seemed, in his monintum his smaller and lighter companion whose quich, awkward strides resembled those of a fleeing, wingless bird.

The whirling whips of the sun advance and darkness crouched behind the mountains, staining them into dolidity with coagulated shadows.

The two brothers had reached the elbow of the beach, jawed rocks spray-crowled at this time of tide, from where the curved away from the town of follow a tall, harsh cliff of clay at whose rocky base the dissolving worls of the sea abruptly ended. They walked on a rocky stretch of beach.

With the thrust of the sun, the wind that had settled, gray and heavy, on the surface of the sea, soared and released its herd of white-maned and yellow light stroked the black beach.

The rocks ended in from of a small turtle-shaped cave and more they were on sighing, salt-dashed sand.

Without stoppine, the older brother handed his spear gun and basket to his companion. He unbuttoned his shirt, stripping it off and wore it slung in a knot about his hips. The wind was heavy and cold. The smaller looked as he gave him back his gun and basket. His body was dark and tightly muscled. He was looking at the sea. The tide was coming in the waves slid on in rhythmic-rolls. The boy could tell thet his brother was satisfied.

”Give me your antipary, Simo,” Hi brother said

Simo reached into a pocket of his short pants and pulled out a pair of goggles. He gave them to his brothe.His brother stopped and began to examing the goggles closely. He ran the nail of hiis forefinger along the caulking that held the oval-cut glases to the wooden frame.

“The caulking has dried,” he said softly. “I think it will hold. But I’ll try them out for you first before you use them”

They had gone spear fidhing at the mouth of the river last week and the culking of Simo’s goggles had come loose. The glass fell off and salt water dashed intp his eyes. Simo swam to the bank of the river, his eyes smarting. His brother pulled him up and gave him his pair. “Enjoy yourself,” he said. “I’ll keep watch over you.” Simo caught two samaral, which made his brother chuckle gleefully. Going home the fish stringed through with black nito, his brother promised to make a new pair for him that evening his brother stared to whittle the goggles from a seasoned block of santol wood.

When they reached the breadwater, his brother stopped. Simo stepped close to him and waited. His brother dropped his spear and basket on the sand unbuttoned his pants, unknotted the shirt and stepped into the sea in a pair of faded woolen trucks. Hw stpeed at waist deep, snapped on the goggles over his eyes and plunged into the sea.

He broke for air near the iddle of the breakwater. He clung loosely to the rocks for several moments and then vaulted up, shaking off drops of water that spangled his dark body.He straightened abruptly and in that moment he seemed to stand on the horizon, his head touching the sky. Like a lighthouse, the image reared in Simo’s ind. He pulled off the goggles and waled toward Simo. From the way he walked and dangled the goggles had satisfied his brother.

“It’ll do,” his brother confirmed, handing back the goggles to Simo. He hitched up his pants, picke up his shirt, spear gun and basket and they stoke toward the wharf.

Riding his brother’s shadow, Sime felt a blood-measured thrust of pride and elation puse through his body. He felt safe, wrapped to say to his brother’s as in an imminent cocoon.

This was the first time he would fish the piers. He was happy and he wanted to talk. He groped about in his mind for something to say to his brother. Then he remembered the kaltang.

He knew everything about that fish. He and his friends had taled interminable about it, its habits, shape and augury. It was one of the town’s recent legends of hear his brother talk about it, probably to hear his bice deliver the exorcism that would dispel the ystery and danger of this unknown fish.

“Do you think we’ll see the kaltang?” Simo asked timorously.

His brother looked at him and smiled. “I don’t know. Probably we won’t . Nobody has seen it since it appeared once in these waters, and that was years ago.”

“It is dangerous, isn’t it?” Simo pursued.

“It hasn’t harmed anyone yet, as far as I can remember. You see it appeared when this wharf was being built.” Simo knew that; and, still striding with his brother he scarched his lips and eyes for the cabalistic image, the twitch or the gesture the unfamiliar predictable. “One of the engineers,” his brother continued voice uninflected, “was standing on the files when a low swinging derrick knocked him off into the sea. His head was crushed. Several laborers dived in to get him and almost all of them saw this fish which they call a kaltang, a dark, wide-mouthed and horned, swimming abouth the dead men, weaving in and out of the bloodstained water. That was all, and the kaltang remains to this day a pretty mysterious fish. Nobody has seen it again.” All that Simo know, and still he waited; but it did not come, and his brother’s voice floated before them like smoke, which the wind shook and snatched away.

The had reached the dock now. From where they stood, the cuseway, built of cairned stones held together by poured concrete and corralled by glinting low copper rails, looked like a white, crutched appendage that had been grafled to the harch torso of the cliff. The squat concrete piers that suppoted the wharf clobbered with dark extrusions of oyster spats. Two moter launches were berthed along the pier head. An old steamboad was moored along the left side of the wharf. Sailboats were anchored several yards away from the pier, their masts rising and falling with the wheeling horizon like buoying poles.

The climbed up to the causeway and walked toward the pier head. Several mangy-looking, sleep-logged stevedores were loafing in front of a canteen away from the wind. They were smoking and drinking coffee out of dark metal cups. They all looked at the two brothers save one who was watching his cigarette unwind its skein of blue smoke.

“Hoy, Litoy,” one of them shouted in greeting when they saw his brother.

“Going fishing?” It’s too early. The tide is just starting to flow in.”

“Yes,” his brother said disinterestedly. Then the smoke watcher suddenly rose and approached them. He put his arms on his brother’s shoulder. He walked with them.

“Litoy, I’ve a favor to ask from you.” He flicked away his cigarette.

“Let’s hear it,” his brother said, annoyed, simo could tell, by the arm on his shoulder. Simo know at once and whatever that stevedore would ask for, his brother would deny. He was annoyed and he would say no, Simo told himself; he felt embarrassed for the man.

“I heard,” the stevedore said slowly, that your uncle got the contract for the bridge at Alag.”

“Yes?” his brother said almost angrily.

“You are going to oversee it, aren’t you?”

“Of course. What about it?”

“I just thought you might have a job for me,” the stevedore said.

“We’ve filled up all the positions,” Litoy said. “You should have talked to me earlier.”

“But I’ll send for you when we need more men.”

“Thank you, Litoy. But no job now?”

“None at the moment. I said I’ll send for you when we need more men, “ his brother growled. By now Simo was uncomfortable.

“Thank you. Thank you.” He disengaged his arm and began to talk effusively. He startedd to tell them about likely where there would be fish and he even offered to help them look for fish.

“I know this place. You do not have to tell me where to fish.”

His brother quickened his pace and the stevedore dropped off. Simo looked back and saw him walk back slowly to the canteen, his shoulders hunched and his hands in the pocket of his dim jacket.

A truck loaded with lumber roared passed them and turned along side one of the motors launches. Three stevedores mounted the open truck and began to push off the lumber.

The two brothers stopped at the old steamboat. A pile of split mangrove trunks was nearly stacked near the gangplank. Gray smoke blew through a blunt smoke stack. It was an old boat, spanned from bow to stem by and old, unsealed rachitic-looking lumber roof. The sternsman’s seat was above the engine room. They saw that the wheel was lushed to two cleats on the wall. Below the wheel was an open hatch, which led to the engine room. From the engine room an old man emerged, picked up pieces of rajita that ware strewn on the deck and returned below.

Litoy stepped up close and looked in.

“They are firing up this junk,” he said to Simo. “Wonder why?”

“Hey you, “ Litoy called down. The old man reappeare, peered at them and walked up the gangplank.

“Ah, Mang Orto. Have you bought this junk?” Litoy asked.

“No, Ninoy fixed the engine last because the atorney wanted a boat to carry a load of rice to Mamburao.” The old man stopped, then continued: “He saw me this morning and asked mo to fire that furnace for him. I know next to nothing about steam engines and the furnace is going full blast. I wish he would come back.”

“Ninoy? Hash, he’s probably asleep somewhere,” Litoy said.

“I wish he would come back. I’m hungry and this pig ofa boat looks ready to come apart.”

“Just keep the furnace going.He’ll be back in time.”

Litoy walked off to the opposite side of the dock, Simo trailing after him.

They stripped off their clothes and prepared for the dive. Litoy tested the rubber of his spear gun and then spat on to his goggles. He rubbed the spittle on the glass. He pulled the goggles around his head.

“Stay close to me,” he told Simo. “In case you get the cramps I can pull you out.” He picked up a coil of rope and gently lowered it. A glistering net of oil floated on the water.They slid down the rope, the spear guns tucked under their armpits, into the water.

They broke through the net of oil, which instantly enveloped and raised a rank, hot smell. His brother swam carefully around the concrete piles. Treading water, he turned to Simo and said, “It is light enough under water, we can see.” Then he plunged in spume of spray. Simo inhaled deeply, jacked double and followed after him the cold water crushed against his belly and the air inside his chest webbed into thinstrands that tautened with every stroke he took, Simo stayed down as long as he could, then turned broke water and dived in again.

His brother had looked up and when he saw Simo dived again, he turned head on and swam for the floor of the sea.

Simo heard the sea sigh into his ears and thereafter scaled all sound. He could feel the beating of his blood against his temples.

At ten feet, he felt a wedging sense in his ears, but the soft splayed-looking body of his brother ahead tugged him on and he sounded headlong until the pressure became a cold, molten metal in his head which he discovered was relieved by hard swallowing. Each swallow he took tightened the webbed strands of air in his chest.

This was the first time he had gone this deep, and although he wanted to break surface again, he also wanted to impress his brother.

At first, everything at the bottom looked green and even the bright murrey corals were only dark horns that rigidly defied the mobility of the sea. It was light enough as his brother had said, but gliding over the white sand and dark corals, Simo noticed that his brother cast no shadow. The pressure had made him a little giddy and this fact occurred to him without surprise as though somehow he had expected it. The shadow less domain of the under sea slipped on for several yards and was lost in a hazy, amorphous horizon. Then the corals flamed, and banded cowries and bright spiny shell stained the white san. Objects were stretched into exaggerated sizes and shapes. His brother’s body looked flat and enormous – not a blot on the bright scope but assimilated, bended into the scene by the encompassing sea.

Simo swam carefully, trying to look for fish. He saw his brother stop, only his legs undulating. He weam up to him in time to see him let loose a spear. It shot forward in a feather of bubbles. Ahead, Simo saw a red fish thrash and lie still, then it thrashed again and swam for the corals where it as lost. His brother raised his arem and he rose, Simo following closely. Under the wharf, where shadow shouldered the piers, his dark brother beamed at him, he gasped for breath and then said excitedly, “I got one. Did you see it?”

“It’s a maya-maya, “ his brother said.

Simo pushed the fish into one of the rattan baskets that they had tied to the end of the rope. His brother was preparing his spear gun for the next dive.

They trod water for sometime. His brother swam behind Simo and told him to dive ahead.

Simo plunged in, dragged the weight of air and water after him, his lungs and heart fluttering with his strokes and his ears ticket off the pressure. He skated smoothly in the water, swaying his lead from side to side, looking for fish. Ambassids swarm with him.

Then he saw a black lapu-lapu flit briefly behind a branch of coral and he stayed still. Simo raised his spear gun and swam forward. He approached the lapu-lapu as closely as he could and he saw its wide mouth half open, its fins quivering, its large shallow eyes staring at him, he aimed his spear gun. The sea tugged at it. He steadied it, aimed at its red-studded pectoral fin, and pressed the trigger. The steel shaft drove forward, trailing a fume of bubbles. Another fish sailed off at the soundless strike of bubbles.

His brother slapped him on the buttocks. They swam up and smiled broadly. He peered closely at Simo through his water-fogged goggles and said happily. “That was a big one. This will be a day.”

Simo dived alone to get the fish swimming um, he brush against one on the piers and he felt oyster shells rasped against his skin. There was no pain but he knew he had cut himself. He gave the fish to his brother. “I cut myself,” he told him.

“Come up and let’s have a look at it,” his brother said, pushing thedead lapu-lapu into Simo’s basket.

They pulled themselves up by the rope. On the concrete floor of the wharf, the sun had imbedded spikes of hat. Litoy knelt down besides Simo to look at the wound. Simo sat on one of the anvil-shaped mooring heads. The oyster shell had scraped off the skin. He began to bleed.

“That is nothing,” his brother said, “It won’t hurt under water. Seawater is as thick as blood. Let’s dive.”

That was an old superstition but the meaning that flew out of Litoy’s unwilling, caed intonation startled Simo and he sensed its shadow hover hawk like over the idea of his wound.

They slid down the rope and ished continously for and hour.

Simo was starting to feel the chill of the water when an explosion racked the sea.

The tide had come in completely and the water had pushed nearly four feet up to the ceiling of the wharf, beneath, the sea was noth through with currents of cold water.

Simo was staling a striped maya-maya when the exlosion froze into an instantaneous block about his head. He felt a solid wall of water hit him and his body became numb. Before that moment when he completely lost muscular control, he felt a violent kick strike him on the face. He rolled in the waer and he crashed against one of the oyster-pitted piers. Then she flincked his skin cleanly; he felt his check split open and blood glided before his eyes, which the crepuscular light of the undersea turned, into a momentary purplish blob. He rolled over and he saw the fleeting feet of his brother, attacking the moiling water with frightened flutters.

The block that encased his head melted into his brain and he gasped, salt burning his mouth and nose and he lay crushed by the remorseless wall of the stricken sea. Then his body stiffened.

When his reflexes retuned, he sucked in his belly and taut webs of air in his body slacked; the sea bouyed him up. A sharp pain pierced his ears; a series of minute explosion rang in his head. He felt as though his skull has burst but fear had cleared his brain and with great deliberation, he turned over and began to swim, his blood slowly thinning in his lungs, for the surface.

It was then that he saw his brother. He was swimming toward him, headlong, looking soft and splayed in the shadow less world of the undersea, afloat above him, his fear-strengthened mind perceived his brother, saw his scaled body and expressionles glass-walled eyes peering cruelly at him, his mouth pulled wide, and his hair pressed by the sea into a black sharp horn. Blood was again cast before his eyes and his brother disappeared. He left Litoy’s body brush against his ahd his hands close around his waist. With his ramaining strength, he jerk loose and swam swiftly, pushed by the water, to the surface of the sea.

Gripping one of the oyster-pitted piers, he ripped off his goggles and through shocked slat-burned eyes saw the old stemboat keel and sink into the unctuous, shadeless sea.

Pushed by the sun against the shagreen floor of the wharf, Simo lay stretched, his hands pressed on his guttered cheek.

Litoy knelt beside Simo and tried to press his shirt on the wound. Simo feeble resisted his help.

Their eyes met and softly Simo accused Litoy: “I saw you. I saw you swimming toward me.”

“I came for you,” Litoy said. “I came back for you.”

“Back! How could you say that? Why did you have to come back?” Simo shouted. Tears of pain came to his eyes.

The tangled voices of the people, who had knotted them in, ceased whirring and hung suspended, unhitched, above them waiting to absorb the next strike.

Then Simo heard one of them say: “The jeep is ready, Litoy. Let’s take him to the hospital.”

But Litoy seemed not to hear because he lifted his face to them and pleaded. “He’s delirious. Can’t you see he’s delirious?”

“Calm yourself, bridge-builder,” the familiar voice of the stevedore mocked. “You really brought him back.”

“Shut up!” Litoy cried hollowly.

“But you should have seen Mang Orto,” the stevedore continued. “What was left of his body was scalded beyond recognition.”

Simo closed his eyes at this revalation. His whole body was kindled by a pain more intense than the one that spanked his cheek as he felt himself merged with the hurled figure of Mang Orto, his skin peeled off. His body quivered with subpreme sobs. The pain of emergence was unbearable.

Simo heard the jeep start and roar away. “They’re taking his body away,” the stevedore said.

Rony V. Diaz was born in Cabanatuan City and was a former student of N.V.M. Gonzales at the University of the Philippines. Diaz was a three-time Palance Award winner. Among his works were “The Centepede”, a third prize winner in 1952-53, “Death in an Sawmill”, a first prize winner in 1953-54 and “The Two Brothers”. The later is a story of two brothers engaged in spear fishing.

Gabu

Gabu

Philippine literature , Gabu by Carlos A. Angeles



Gabu


by Carlos A. Angeles


The battering restlessness of the sea
Insists a tidal fury upon the beach
At Gabu, and its pure consistency
Havocs the wasteland hand within its reach
Brutal the daylong bashing of its heart
Against the seascape where, for miles around,
Farther than sight itself, the rockstones part
And drop into the element wound.

The waste of centuries in Grey and dead
And natural where the sea has beached its brine,
Where the split salt of its heart lies spread
Among the dark habiliments of time.

The vital splendor misses. For here, here
At Gabu where the ageless tide recurs
All things forfeited are most loved and dear.
It is the sea pursues a habit of shores.

Carlos A. Angeles was born in Tacloban, Leyte in 1912. He wrote poetry during his time in college. Some of his poems were collected in "The Knifed Horizon". He once served as chief of the Manila Bureau of the International News Service. He won the first Palanca Award for poetry. He was also an awardee of the Republic Heritage Award in 1964 for his book. "A Stun of Jewels".

Of Old Things and New

Of Old Things And New

Philippine literature, Of Old Things and New



Of Old Things and New


by Francisco B. Icasiano


A strange feeling possesses me everytime I pass by the Church of San Agustin, in Intramuros, during my daily rambling as a newspaperman. At first, I merely observed that the humid odor of three-hundred-year-old walls and the sight of arched doors and grazed windows with colored glass panes were vaguely familiar.

But passing that way for the ninth time one cool morning, I was overcome by the sudden realization of the full meaning of my early sensations. I have it! I almost cried; and I stood in front of the church as one in ecstasy, my eyes fairly avid to devour the whole of the world that I could see with one sweeping glance and my heart eager to contain the whole of life in one split second.

The sensation is explained, at least in part. I grew up in a convent and spent most of my childhood playing in the shade of a mossy arched of the church of San Rafael, which was founded by the Augustinian friars at the foot of the hills of Bulacan. I knew every crevice of the church wall, I knew where the birds built their nests and where the bats had in the daytime. Inside the church were paintings of saints and angels and good people in long, flowing robes and walking in billowing clouds. How vivid they still are! As I gazed at them in my childhood, I could see them move and breathe and talk to me about their lives and their ways during the Middle Ages. They told me how one of the ran in and out of a burning hospital, each time carrying out a helpless patient. Then there was one prince who gave up his title and his wealth to discover his soul in meekness among the meek. There too were men who laid down their lives for strangers whom they had never met. They told me so many such lovely episodes of the early Christian era that I with growing and imaginative mind and my intensive reading of the lives of saints and heroes, seemed to live in their time.

So, as I stood near the wall of San Agustin church, all my childhood came fleeting back to me with appalling freshness, and my eyes wildly expected to meet the saints and the heroes with whom I had communed intimately long ago. For an instant, the churchyard was converted, into court peopled with crusaders, saints and martyrs, hooded monks in prayer, nuns singing in the choir, royalty in their respective garments, ladies-in-waiting, knights in armor, and toubadors - and I, of the twentieth century, intimately at one with them.

I am beginning to be sure now that my strange feeling was not awakened merely by a memory of some past things, some experience - stirred to life by a mossy wall, an arched door, tiny crevices, the stagnant odor of tallow, or the smell of bats. No, for there are things we stumble upon which appear familiar even at first sight. If it is memory, it cannot be the memory that depends upon time and space but that memory which is the triumph of sacramental things over time. It is the realization that we of this temporal life may some day emancipate ourselves from all consideration of time and space.

Such a memory suggests itself to us in many forms and ways. If we take some such observations as "the water which reflects the blue of the sky is bluer than the sky," we at once feel that we have made such an observation before even if we have never done so. And it goes for all statements of truth. When we read Aristotle's observation, "Thought is the thought of thought," the truth of it makes us feel like swearing that we had known it long before we read Aristotle. There is at once swearing that we had known it long before we read Aristotle. There is at once freshness and a memory in all truth; it has age and yet it is young.

And the same holds for all things beautiful and good. We see a strange bird flying across the morning, over the top of tall ipil tree and, although we may be for the first time seeing that kind of bird flying that way over an ipil tree just so tall when the morn is in that particular mood, we could almost declare, without the slightest sensation or suspicion of dishonesty, that such a grateful sight and surely met our eyes before - perhaps more than once. Our memory of the sight is so vivid that it seems to be present to our physical eye.

Or if we read a woman leaving all her worldly goods to an orphanage, we do not have to know or the looks of her, we nod approvingly and, perhaps with a moist eye, we sigh "Good old soul! God bless her!" it seems to have happened before our very eyes. We don't have to be shown. Such is the stuff history is make of; that is why we do not question facts of history.

I suspect that it is not so much the memory of mortal man as that of the immortal soul that gives us this feeling of strange affinity with such strange things. The soul must have a memory too, the memory of an ideal that never grows old but is forever new and true and beautiful and good - a perfection which the soul ever particles, in symbols and suggestion; now coming in the form of a bit of truth now in the shape and color some beautiful object, now as the sight of something good, and at rare moments as something all at once true and beautiful and good. But ever it is as old as time and as fresh as experience.


Francisco B. Icasiano was born in San Rafael, Bulacan, on June 4, 1903. He served as an Editor in Chief of the Philippine Collegian during his college days at the University of the Philippines. Among his short stories were "Of Old Things and New" and "Sonia", a short story written after the death of his first child, Sonia, who shows wonder why the stars shine in the sky, why raindrops fall from heaven, and why grass grows anywhere in the surface of the ground.


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