Skip to main content

Song of the New Politico

“Make it new.”
-- Ezra Pound


We have turned our backs
on offers of jute sacks
filled with millions of pesos
in denominations of twenties, fifties, and hundreds

so, as the imperial messenger
of the donation would say,
“You, Sir, could buy the votes
of the squatters down there.”

We have turned our backs
on offers of Fortuners which,
at first blush, we thought
meant “fortune tellers,”

and why would we need one
to read our futures when we know
deep in our bones
that in the end we will get the thrones?

We have turned our backs
on offers of lawyers
glittering with their golden tongues,
working in the shiniest skyscrapers,

whose motions of consideration
and non-consideration
could always swing decisions
in
favor of our petitions.

We have turned our backs
on offers of agents and operators
who would spy for us,
wiretap for us, even dig




the deepest, darkest secrets
of our enemies—
from non-payment of taxes
to housing of several mistresses.

We have turned our backs
on offers to massage the results
of the elections,
as if the body politic

is full of knots
and bunched-up muscles,
mined with points of stress,
wired with meridians that have clogged.

We have turned our backs
on them who said
that we are young
and, therefore, hopeless,

that we do not have millions
of money to burn,
and, therefore, our plans
will just be ashes in the urns.

We have turned our backs
on those who said that this
is a hopeless country,
and the best country is the one across the sea.

Because now we would face
them all, our arms linked each to each.
We will stun them with words
like grains of gold,

we will give to the people
loaves of hope warm with love
for those who have been sold
down the drain,

fooled beyond belief,
made much of and in the end
left like so many pieces
of rags on the streets.


We are one, and we are many.
Our hands are clean,
and our hearts bursting with dreams.
Our eyes are like arrows

on the bull’s eye of our aims:
a beautiful Philippines,
a progressive Philippines,
O Philippines, our beloved Philippines.



Danton Remoto
December 2, 2007

Song of the New Politico


“Make it new.”
-- Ezra Pound


We have turned our backs
on offers of jute sacks
filled with millions of pesos
in denominations of twenties, fifties, and hundreds

so, as the imperial messenger
of the donation would say,
“You, Sir, could buy the votes
of the squatters down there.”

We have turned our backs
on offers of Fortuners which,
at first blush, we thought
meant “fortune tellers,”

and why would we need one
to read our futures when we know
deep in our bones
that in the end we will get the thrones?

We have turned our backs
on offers of lawyers
glittering with their golden tongues,
working in the shiniest skyscrapers,

whose motions of consideration
and non-consideration
could always swing decisions
in
favor of our petitions.

We have turned our backs
on offers of agents and operators
who would spy for us,
wiretap for us, even dig




the deepest, darkest secrets
of our enemies—
from non-payment of taxes
to housing of several mistresses.

We have turned our backs
on offers to massage the results
of the elections,
as if the body politic

is full of knots
and bunched-up muscles,
mined with points of stress,
wired with meridians that have clogged.

We have turned our backs
on them who said
that we are young
and, therefore, hopeless,

that we do not have millions
of money to burn,
and, therefore, our plans
will just be ashes in the urns.

We have turned our backs
on those who said that this
is a hopeless country,
and the best country is the one across the sea.

Because now we would face
them all, our arms linked each to each.
We will stun them with words
like grains of gold,

we will give to the people
loaves of hope warm with love
for those who have been sold
down the drain,

fooled beyond belief,
made much of and in the end
left like so many pieces
of rags on the streets.


We are one, and we are many.
Our hands are clean,
and our hearts bursting with dreams.
Our eyes are like arrows

on the bull’s eye of our aims:
a beautiful Philippines,
a progressive Philippines,
O Philippines, our beloved Philippines.



Danton Remoto
December 2, 2007

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Five Poems by Danton Remoto

In the Graveyard Danton Remoto The walls round the graveyard Are ancient and cracked. The moss is too thick they look dark. The paint on my grandfather’s tomb Has the color of bone. Two yellow candles we lighted, Then we uttered our prayers. On my left, somebody’s skull Stares back at me: a black Nothingness in the eyes. The graveyard smells of dust Finer than the pore of one’s skin— Dust mixed with milk gone sour. We are about to depart When a black cat darts Across our path, quickly, With a rat still quivering In its mouth. * Immigration Border Crossing (From Sadao, Thailand to Bukit Changloon, Malaysia) Danton Remoto On their faces that betray No emotion You can read the unspoken Questions: Are you really A Filipino? Why is your skin Not the color of padi ? Your eyes, Why are they slanted Like the ones Who eat babi ? And your palms, Why are there no callouses Layered like th...

A mansion of many languages

BY DANTON REMOTO, abs-sbnNEWS.com/Newsbreak | 10/16/2008 1:00 AM REMOTE CONTROL In 1977, my mentor, the National Artist for Literature and Theater Rolando S. Tinio, said: “It is too simple-minded to suppose that enthusiasm for Filipino as lingua franca and national language of the country necessarily involves the elimination of English usage or training for it in schools. Proficiency in English provides us with all the advantages that champions of English say it does – access to the vast fund of culture expressed in it, mobility in various spheres of the international scene, especially those dominated by the English-speaking Americans, participation in a quality of modern life of which some features may be assimilated by us with great advantage. Linguistic nationalism does not imply cultural chauvinism. Nobody wants to go back to the mountains. The essential Filipino is not the center of an onion one gets at by peeling off layer after layer of vegetable skin. One’s experience with onio...

Taboan: Philippine Writers' Festival 2009

By John Iremil E. Teodoro, Contributor The Daily Tribune 02/26/2009 A happy and historical gathering of wordsmiths with phallocentric and Manila-centric overtones *** This is from my friend, the excellent poet and critic John Iremil Teodoro, who writes from the magical island of Panay. I wish I have his energy, his passion and his time to write. Writing needs necessary leisure. But this budding, bading politician has shifted his directions. On this day alone, I have to attend not one, not two, but three political meetings. And there goes that new poem out of the window. Sigh. *** According to Ricardo de Ungria, a poet of the first magnitude and the director of Taboan: The Philippine International Writers Festival 2009, “the original idea was for a simple get together of writers from all over the country who have been recipients, directly or indirectly, of grants and awards from the National Commission for Culture and the Arts (NCCA). What happened last Feb. 11 to 13 was far from being ...