My first (public) poetry reading

I had more fun than I expected. As I told some friends who, unfortunately, couldn't make it to my so-called "debut," it went well—like a blur, actually. My friends from philosophy helped me navigate to the place. It was an eagles' lair, since Mag:Net Café is right in front of the Ateneo campus along Katipunan Avenue. Last Monday night though, Dr. Marj's green contingent invaded it. We so owned the place! (Riiiiight.) For the details—the theme of the program, the list of readers, and why Mag:Net is the happening place for contemporary poetry in the Philippines—please see Joel Toledo's and Marne Kilates' blogs.

When Dr. Marj came in with me in tow, I was completely overwhelmed but trying not to show it. The next day when I ran into my teacher at school, she told me that one of my most admired poets said he liked "the Friedrich poems" (i.e. my poems—a couple of ekphrastic pieces on Caspar David Friedrich's Wanderer Above the Sea of Mists and On the Sailing Boat). These are my earlier pieces which I think tend to be clunky, but I'm fond of them if only because Dr. Marj liked them enough to invite me to read at Mag:Net with her. Now she tells me that a famous poet also liked them. OMG.

Below: My friends Justin, Dennis, Bebs, and I.R., with Dr. Marj

Below: With Raj and Dr. Marj

Seriously, I had an amazing time. I downed a bottle of San Mig Light very quickly before my turn to read. To my slight disappointment, I didn't feel quite as euphoric and giggly like the last time I did that. ;) I was drowsy all throughout the next day, though. And that's why I should have more practice at the ritual of libation.

The following is the text of the poem I read. Many thanks to Dr. Marj who was a champion of this, and who made me realize, through her incisive commentary, that this is really about two kinds of abyss: that of the self, and that of the other.

—oOo—

Two Letters to the Romantic
(Poems for Friedrich)
By Noelle Leslie dela Cruz

I. The Wanderer Above the Sea of Mists


“I must remain alone and know that I am alone, in order to see and feel nature completely; I must surrender myself to my surroundings, unite myself with my clouds and rocks, in order to be what I am.”
—Caspar David Friedrich

I wonder what you see, standing there
your back to me, a pyramid of sharp rocks
under your feet. The solid mass of earth gives way
to the infinity of space, exactly on the spot
where you stand: one foot forward, knee slightly bent,
one arm resting on a walking stick.
The wind ruffles your Teutonic hair.
You mustn’t feel the cold; your black overcoat
fits you well, contains the manly awe inside.
Mist unfurls beneath your feet. Here and there,
mountaintops and trees peek through the wisps.
In the farthest limits of vision, there are heights to scale
where the hidden sun bleeds pink into the blue.

I think I might know how it feels,
sometimes anyway, the vertigo that awaits
at the dead center of your life: Where the wind blows
relentlessly and the abyss calls to your own depths.
A place to forget the world, and the human ties we spin
to form the cocoon of self. You see now
this possibility. You have the choice to jump
(or not), to tear the heart’s artificial swaddling—

and fly.

II. On The Sailing Boat

“It’s a droll business, when a fellow has a wife.... Everything I do now is always done, and must be done, with my wife in mind. If I but knock a nail into the wall, it mustn’t be as high as I can reach but only as high as my wife can reach in comfort. In short, since I became a We, many things have changed....”
—Caspar David Friedrich

Nothing disturbs us here
even the gentle seesaw of our ship
making love to the water
barely registers. We look at the gray city
silenced by the distance, the black
blue expanse of ocean
marooning us. In the corner of my eye
the great white sail rises
reassuringly, a stabilizing triangle
reminding us of something solid
that will always be behind us.

I pray that there will always be
enough air for the two of us,
that your grave presence will not
drain my space. Other than that,
I am fond of the weight
of your bent leg against my knee,
how you assume
the equanimity of a mermaid
staking your claim on a rock
in the middle of the ocean, making
the only sound I can hear—
inviting me to drown.

I pray that I (no, we) be saved.