Online Journal 2: Analysis of Carlos Piocos’ Poem
A letter in the form of an elegy, a requiem, seemingly written by one who will soon add to the list of names of those who are dead or missing. There is no date, but a letter like this can only come in times of war. In movies, a soldier’s family receives a pink, maybe yellow telegraph. The words “killed in action”, “died of wounds’’, “missing but believed to be dead” will be written, or perhaps printed in bold. The Philippines is likely the last place I would expect a movie setting, and one is left to wonder what of those who die here? Will there be a surviving comrade to deliver the news? A letter from an organization, maybe even a directive from those who govern? Most likely, the news will come from the very ones who are lucky enough to know what’s coming.
The letter is a requiem, and also a final goodbye. The writer is not upset, to me, they do not sound aggrieved at all. They have seen death, and are resigned in the knowledge of the inevitable. The letter grieves but no longer condemns. It begins with a simple request: for the reader to dissolve the paper on the stream of a flowing river, to let the words get carried away by the water. The relationship between reader and writer is unclear, there are no nostalgic memories, no fond words written to indicate familial, or even romantic ties. I would like to think this letter was written with no one in mind, a letter to be read and remembered by anyone who would care to.
The letter is a final goodbye, and also a will. It reads, “kalakip ng sulat na ito ang lahat ng aking mga pangkaraniwang lungkot”. He begins the list with wrinkled clouds, and then: a single feather of a crow, black; a single picture, an old church; a single plate, chipped; 3 flowers, folded; and a pair of butterfly wings, dried. There is no apparent symbolism that jumps out at me, no loud rhyme or meaning between the items listed. They could be real, tangible, physical, folded into the letter and passed onto the safekeeping of the reader. They could be metaphorical, simple items that hold secret meaning. Perhaps I like the latter better; they would serve a purpose then. Maybe a way to never let the reader forget. Whether or not they know the secret meanings, whenever they see an item upon the list, the reader will think back to the letter, the keepsake of someone long gone.
The letter is a will, and also a narrative. The writer speaks of themselves. Of nightly visits from a wild angel of profuse “alindog, libog, at pusok”. In translation, these are allure, lust, and impulsiveness. I can’t say for sure whether this angel is figurative, and the writer is plagued by these feelings alone. Sleep stolen and dreams scattered, left unable to rest. The other possibility is of another presence, spending nights with the writer. If so, there is no way to know whether or which parties are willing. The writer forcing these impulses onto another is as plausible as the writer being forced. They write this regardless of the reader’s interest, the words do not exist to spread guilt or gather pity; these words were written to give peace of mind. Even in the few moments before the end, there is relief in not being alone carrying the burden of knowing what happened.
The letter is a narrative, and also an obituary. The writer recounts the state of the city: swallowed by fog and smoke, fear, hunger, and ringing gunshots. He reports that the death count is high enough to drive mad those tasked with counting. The city is a festering wound in the afternoon sunlight, blood and pus forming a scab that’s no less disgusting. Under the light of a full moon, the air is heavy with the scent of carrion. A shower at the end of the day will rid the dust and grime from one’s body, but never the memories. The writer leaves it unspoken, because some things cannot be washed away by flowing water.
The letter is an obituary, and a requiem, a final goodbye, a will, a narrative. The writer can no longer sleep, plagued by memories that cannot be remembered. Dreaming of unspeakable things that escape the mind and haunt it at the same time. They write a letter, because the end is near. Because they feel the closing words being written out in silent, invisible letters. Before the last few words, they write a letter.
An obituary, a narrative, a will, a final goodbye, a requiem.
