This is (sadly) going to be our Last Post for our Poet’s Sanctum for July and August with our featured Poet: Madam Tita Lacambra Ayala. Here I shall be sharing with you a few selections from the last Suite in her latest book Tala Mundi edited by Ricardo M. de Ungria – called the Suite Hip of the Earth.
This Suite (which happens to be my favorite, by the way) is a collection of Tala’s poems which de Ungria refers to “love and relationship in as many ways as possible, including talking about unlove and talking about love by not talking about it” (p. 292). Perhaps Tala’s voice would be able to capture this last section of the book more fully:
Actually my poetry was a nocturnal activity taking the place of evening prayers. It was an attempt to tie together, to rationalize all the internal and external happenings of one’s life into a sensible whole. It was a try at preserving my own identity and sanity in my given space, role, and environment. (p. 292 in Tala Mundi)
Now, here are two of the poems that struck a chord within me from this Suite. Do check out the other regular contributors to Poetry Friday which is being hosted this week by Irene at Live Love Explore!
Love Poem by Tita Lacambra Ayala, 1984, p. 351 in Tala Mundipick a door to enter pick a door to walk out of where the rain will not soil or muddy up your feet and remembrance is a knife sharp enough to keep the edges straight and deep the pools of oil in the tarred street rainbow suns what message shall I enter in the directory of secrets or wise sayings to calm that absent part blooms in the mind’s eye explode showering petals the mirror is empty and I seek your face
The Dragon by Tita Lacambra Ayala, 1963, p. 311 in Tala MundiHe sat there curling his tail upon the basket chair, smoking a hookah. Told me to turn the radio quiet, too, then puffed blue smoke about (he was in a blue mood) and flexed a clawy toe. “Now then,” he said, “if you would consider a stay with me where there are only gulls for sky and starfish, yes only starfish, upon the floor (no more dust to sweep, mind you) would you- would you then go?” I might have might have then, too. Only who would mind Baby and spoon his soup? And who would weed the flower garden when I am gone?