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"aguilar" poems
Sa tag-init tayo nagkatagpo dala ang uhaw nais mapawi ang pagkatuyot sa tag-araw mga lalamunang di nadadaluyan hanap ay tubig, mga umiibig sa lamig sa daloy ng awit ng mga Ipil at sa mga aalalang nabuo sa bawat paglagok, sa bawat isa mga alaalang nabuo sa tag-araw. alaala pa ang pagpalakpak ng mga dahon minsan lang masiyahan sa pagpapalit-panaog ng tag-araw at tag-ulan panga-pangakong binuo sa ilalim ng araw pinagdarasal ng mga kahapon di pa rin nalilimot, mga tuyong ugat ng mga pusong sawi sa pag-ibig na tubig sa tag-init minsan lang magkaniig dahil ikaw at ako ay minsan ng nanirahan dito bumuo ng mga alaaalang impit na itinago sa ilalim ng mga punong saksi sa mga uhaw na puso, sa marahang pag-indayog ng mga dahong maririkit sa bawat pag-ihip ng hanging mainit sa katawang binalot ng mga sala at sa bawat pagbabalik sa alaala ikaw pa rin ang tanging nakikita sa bawat paglampas ng liwanag sa maririkit na butas ng kahapong sa ilalim ng ipil nakatago Heto na naman ang tag-init hudyat ay muling pag-udyok sa uhaw na pusong may pangangailangan tuyot ang daloy sa bawat paghinga sa bawat pag-ihip  kulang ang haplos bawat hagod ay paos. Alaala ka sa mga sinag ng araw umaalpas sa mga dahon ng ipil mga hapong napawi ang init ng tag-araw nakakulong pa rin sa mga alaala sa ilalim ng punong puno ng pagmamahal sa kahapon at ako na di pa rin nagsasawa sa ilalim ng mga Ipil maghihintay sayo Sa Ilalim ng mga Ipil Michael Joseph Aguilar Tapit 04/11/2016
0
Nov 6, 2018
Nov 6, 2018 at 4:34 PM UTC
Sa Ilalim ng mga Ipil
Señor Garcia Marquez Whatever did you mean When you wrote of life And of death by family I'm in love with Prudencio Aguilar's ghost Roaming about the Buendía household Hole in his throat Washing out the wound But what did you mean?! I'm in love with Do it yourself chastity belts And Ursula's fear of *** But why is this even a theory Your concept behind biracial inbreeding And Señor do not get me started On Melquíades and José Arcadio Buendía Because that friendship was Fated to be doomed I mean no disrespect in all this I just want to know Why use Macondo as an allegory For the Angel Gabriel You're genius, really But your run on paragraphs Infuriate every ounce of my writing soul You're a Columbian Tolstoy I mean that as no insult Your works are tremendous and outstanding But what am I doing You're now just an old dead man "Under the ground" So now I belong to figure out Why Pilar needs to fill a void Opened by a ****** And why Colonel Aureliano Buendía Thinks of his fond memory of ice Just before being killed I've paid my respects to your work Please pay respects to my search
0
Jul 25, 2016
Jul 25, 2016 at 3:57 PM UTC
Gabriel Garcia Márquez
Hindi na ako muling uulit sa mga saglit ng pagiging makata sapagkat mahapdi sa tenga ang magkaroon ng isang bagong awit kahit pa walang mabulaklak na salita ang paliparin dinig pa rin ay ang bulaang himig ng pagiging batang ganid Sapagkat musmos pa, at isinumpang maging mahina dapat na laging maniwala sa mga sabi-sabi sumunod sa paikot-ikot na pagkirot na dulot ng pagiging salot naniniwalang kami’y uod ganid sa mga pangarap na dulot ng paglaki Ngunit ang totoo’y hangad lang namin ay lumipad, at maging malaya Bakit nga ba ganid at mapangangkin ang tingin sa mga makata? dahil ba ang kanilang mga awit ay tungkol sa pagbibigay laya? Bakit nga ba mayabang at mapagmataas ang tingin sa mga bata? dahil ba sa kanila’y nag-aabang ang panibagong bukas? O lahat ay dahil sa mga sabi-sabi ng mga matatanda. Ito na nga ang huli kong awit Sapagkat ang pagiging makata At ang pagiging bata Ay ang pagbabakas ng bagong paniniwala. Nagsalita na Naman ang Baliw Michael Joseph Aguilar Tapit
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Nov 6, 2018
Nov 6, 2018 at 4:37 PM UTC
Nagsalita na Naman ang Baliw
“You live but once; you might as well be amusing.” ― Coco Chanel Sabi sa kanta ni Freddie Aguilar “Habang May Buhay May Pag-Asang Matatanaw” subalit ang pag-asa ay hindi lang dapat na tinatanaw mas mainam kung ito’y ating kukunin at ilalagay sa ‘ting mga kamay. Ang pag-asa ay laging kumakaway kahit tayo ay nasa dilim. Tumawid man tayo sa magkabilang bangin o kahit na hampasin pa tayo ng malakas na hangin, hindi dapat mawala sa ating paningin ang pag-asa na nagniningning. Ganito natin dapat harapin ang buhay kahit ang hirap ay sapin-sapin. Minsan lang tayo mabubuhay at ang buhay ay parang isang tulay na pagkahaba-haba man ay may hangganan din. Subalit mahaba man ito o maiiksi marami tayong haharapin, mga bagay-bagay at mga pangyayari na hindi natin maiiwasan. Mga damdamin na kahit iwasan, pilit ka nitong hahatakin pabalik sa kung saan ang mga ala-ala ay masasakit. Wala kang kawala kailangan na harapin mo ang mga ito. May mga nagbabagang karanasan na hindi mo gugustuhin na balikan pero kailangan mo munang harapin bago mo ito malampasan. Hindi parehas ang buhay, oo, tama yan, gago lang ang naniniwala na Life is Fair. Subalit wala kang choice kailangan mo harapin ang kawalang katarungan nang buhay. Walang dapat na masayang na sandali sapagkat isang araw ang mundong ito’y ating lilisanin. Gawi’ng kaakit-akit at marikit ang buhay kahit masakit.
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Nov 16, 2017
Nov 16, 2017 at 7:44 PM UTC
KAILANGAN NA HARAPIN
Hapon tayo unang nagkita at pareho tayong nag-iisa dinadamdam mo ang lamig ng kahapon, ang paglisan minamasdan ko sa layo ng araw ang iyong halina Mahirap mag-intay sa ilap ng mga sulyap, tanglaw sa tuwing naghahanap-kayakap sa mapangakit na halina ng mga ngiti sa labing malabong magdikit kahit sa pangarap Sana’y sapat na ang mga awit ng mga tulang binigkas sa hangin, nagbabakasakaling maipadama ang lalim at tugma ng pag-ibig na nilihim Sa gabi, mag-isa na naman at dama ang lamig yakap ang unan, hawak ang kumot nag-iilusyong kasama ka Sana’y maulit muli ang sumpa sana’y walang takot sa halina ‘pagkat sanay na tayo sa lamig ng gabi alam na natin ang ingay o init at takot na tayong mabighani Sa umaga, mag-isa na naman at dama ang init masaya na sa halik ng kape sa labi nag-iilusyong kasama ka. Hapon tayo unang nagkita at pareho tayong nag-iisa dinamdam mo ang lamig ng kahapong kaysakit ninamnam ko ang tamis ng kalayaan sa pasakit sana’y tanghali nalang tayo nagkapiling sana’y di pa sanay o manhid sa pag-ibig. Tadhana Michael Joseph Aguilar Tapit 6/19/2016
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Nov 6, 2018
Nov 6, 2018 at 4:40 PM UTC
Tadhana
hinahanap pa rin kita sa bawat araw na lumipas mga gabing kayakap ang lamig sa mga nakatagong larawang kupas pinamarisan ng mga alaala nakapinid sa’king damdamin hinahanap pa rin ang mga haplos at yakap nakakulong sa mga kahapong naglaho kasabay ng mga ulan, at sa pag tila ng mga patak ay siyang pag-agos ng aking luha para sa mga alaalang hinahanap kita sa simoy ng tag-ulan sa mga bakas ng agos ng luha sa malamig na hanging dulot ng mga madidilim na ulap at sa mga naiwang alaala hinahanap kita kahit saan man mapunta aking mga paa sa pag-iisa at sa paghahanap-karamay sa walang hanggang agos ng kalungkutan hinahanap pa rin ang mga alaala ng kahapong hahanapin din sayo. Michael Joseph Aguilar Tapit 04/07/2017
0
May 16, 2018
May 16, 2018 at 11:48 PM UTC
hahanapin din
Ito ang huling hapon ng mga alaala, kupas na larawang sinikap maipinta mga araw at gabing lipas na ng panahon sa pag-indayog ng abo, at pagkaway ng damo paalam sa mga nakaraang siphayo paglubog ng araw, at ang buwan ng pag-ahon sa hapon, at sa paglamon ng dilim sa liwanag ang pagwaksi sa sariling naging duwag Tapusin na ang dalita sa iyong gunita Mga araw na unos ng paghihikahos pagkapaos sa bigong pagsusumamo sapagkat ito ang oras ng pag-agos pagdaloy ng tubig, pagpawi sa kapos sa agos, sa pagpaparaya, sa mga alaala Bagamat tayo ay binuo ng mga pagsubok at may mga lamat ng pagkapusok alalahanin, tayo ay mga piraso ng isang buong sining ng Maylikha pagsamasamahin, tayo ay buo magkakahiwalay man ay nabubuklod hangaring mabuti ang maglingkod. Simula Michael Joseph Aguilar Tapit
0
Nov 6, 2018
Nov 6, 2018 at 4:32 PM UTC
Simula
OLMEDO Cortés, I have a new, but nagging, fear. I sense the premonition of a time When you might be corrupted by the taint Of evils lying latent in our task, That vice, which our assignment permeates, Will tempt resolve to heinous compromise. CORTÉS Our mission is implicit in its vice, In evils ineradicably steeped, And our grand charge requires that we submit To its contamination and decay. A man who would embrace the human lot, To do so, must consent to be a sinner. OLMEDO Blood has been shed- For what? Lives squandered- Why? You, having tripped in sin’s attractive trap, To thus, in fragrant snares so feebly flail, Through frail and flagrant failings such a way, How can you say to me you are contrite? CORTÉS But father, mercy with my malice mingles. These dicey circumstances find me now In both a ruthless and reluctant role. What seems intolerable of this plight Is that it simply will not be reduced To trite antitheses of right and wrong. My conscience both opposes and demands A rouse to action. Enter AGUILAR, ALVARADO, MALINALLI, and a Mayan Girl. AGUILAR Captain, by your will, These endless battles have despoiled your foe, Who offer you these slave girls as a bribe. The terrorized Chontal surrender now. They will be baptized, and befriend our king, Provided that we leave their country soon. CORTÉS Easy to break that promise once we’re gone. Tell them we shall release all Mayan soil, And nomadize into the unknown North. Exit Aguilar. Here, Alvarado, [indicates girl] guide her to your tent. We’ll see what use for this one we can find. Exit all but Malinalli. MALINALLI Now, silly Malinalli, drop your sights, You pretty poppet for these bearded frights.
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Jan 17, 2017
Jan 17, 2017 at 7:23 PM UTC
The Floral War 2:6:73-109
OLMEDO Cortés, I have a new, but nagging, fear. I sense the premonition of a time When you might be corrupted by the taint Of evils lying latent in our task, That vice, which our assignment permeates, Will tempt resolve to heinous compromise. CORTÉS Our mission is implicit in its vice, In evils ineradicably steeped, And our grand charge requires that we submit To its contamination and decay. A man who would embrace the human lot, To do so, must consent to be a sinner. OLMEDO Blood has been shed- For what? Lives squandered- Why? You, having tripped in sin’s attractive trap, To thus, in fragrant snares so feebly flail, Through frail and flagrant failings such a way, How can you say to me you are contrite? CORTÉS But father, mercy with my malice mingles. These dicey circumstances find me now In both a ruthless and reluctant role. What seems intolerable of this plight Is that it simply will not be reduced To trite antitheses of right and wrong. My conscience both opposes and demands A rouse to action. Enter AGUILAR, ALVARADO, MALINALLI, and a Mayan Girl. AGUILAR Captain, by your will, These endless battles have despoiled your foe, Who offer you these slave girls as a bribe. The terrorized Chontal surrender now. They will be baptized, and befriend our king, Provided that we leave their country soon. CORTÉS Easy to break that promise once we’re gone. Tell them we shall release all Mayan soil, And nomadize into the unknown North. Exit Aguilar. Here, Alvarado, [indicates girl] guide her to your tent. We’ll see what use for this one we can find. Exit all but Malinalli. MALINALLI Now, silly Malinalli, drop your sights, You pretty poppet for these bearded frights.
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ALVARADO             Well, now we’ve a translator, we can hear             How much the Mayas hate us. SANDOVAL                                          We should leave.             As yet, we merely beg to buy their corn,                     But fears impel them to combat with us.             We’ve sixty wounded, heat stroke swoons the horse,             And not a flake of gold for all these streams.             Their ruins lurk like wrecks dredged from a swamp. ALVARADO             A stark reminder for aspiring minds             That cultures often fall as well as rise.             Here comes the father, with our medicine man.                                        Enter AGUILAR and OLMEDO. AGUILAR             And so back home the Inquisition, brother,             Still rules the roost?      OLMEDO                              It does so.              AGUILAR                                                 Grim regime!             It clouds the air upon a thousand wings,             Whose shadows spread to pall the gloomy sun.             The cool, luxuriant trees on which it lights,             It dries. How it decays! It browns green grass,             And desolates the leafy countrysides             Until they wither as the Syrian wastes. OLMEDO        So it does. SANDOVAL          [aside] Hark! The moral landslide rumbles. OLMEDO             Those fires of the Inquisition, lighted             Exclusively to doom the Jews, one day             Are destined to consume their smug oppressors. SANDOVAL [aside to Alvarado]             He strains a bit to shield the circumcised.             Though I’ve a ***** mouth, my blood is pure. ALVARADO [aside to Sandoval]             Hush, Sandoval. You go too far. OLMEDO                                                 And you?             Know, Alvarado, there are many men             Who, through misguided zeal- yes, Sandoval-             Convince themselves that they commit no sin             So long as those they **** and violate             Are of a different faith. ALVARADO                               It’s not our fault.             I hate the Grand Inquisitor myself. SANDOVAL             Like any little-loved policing force,             However, it preserves our way of life. OLMEDO             For its unwanted eye that never slumbers,             Its arm, unseen and ever raised to strike,             Does not o’ercast its gloom on you, but rather             On deviants, foreigners, and heretics. AGUILAR             It bars all doors of human entry to them-             Marginalized, shorn lambs it ferrets out,             And scapegoats as the enemies of Rome.             Thus, it condemns not only deeds, but thoughts.
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Dec 3, 2016
Dec 3, 2016 at 1:30 PM UTC
The Floral War 2:6:1-41
ALVARADO             Well, now we’ve a translator, we can hear             How much the Mayas hate us. SANDOVAL                                          We should leave.             As yet, we merely beg to buy their corn,                     But fears impel them to combat with us.             We’ve sixty wounded, heat stroke swoons the horse,             And not a flake of gold for all these streams.             Their ruins lurk like wrecks dredged from a swamp. ALVARADO             A stark reminder for aspiring minds             That cultures often fall as well as rise.             Here comes the father, with our medicine man.                                        Enter AGUILAR and OLMEDO. AGUILAR             And so back home the Inquisition, brother,             Still rules the roost?      OLMEDO                              It does so.              AGUILAR                                                 Grim regime!             It clouds the air upon a thousand wings,             Whose shadows spread to pall the gloomy sun.             The cool, luxuriant trees on which it lights,             It dries. How it decays! It browns green grass,             And desolates the leafy countrysides             Until they wither as the Syrian wastes. OLMEDO        So it does. SANDOVAL          [aside] Hark! The moral landslide rumbles. OLMEDO             Those fires of the Inquisition, lighted             Exclusively to doom the Jews, one day             Are destined to consume their smug oppressors. SANDOVAL [aside to Alvarado]             He strains a bit to shield the circumcised.             Though I’ve a ***** mouth, my blood is pure. ALVARADO [aside to Sandoval]             Hush, Sandoval. You go too far. OLMEDO                                                 And you?             Know, Alvarado, there are many men             Who, through misguided zeal- yes, Sandoval-             Convince themselves that they commit no sin             So long as those they **** and violate             Are of a different faith. ALVARADO                               It’s not our fault.             I hate the Grand Inquisitor myself. SANDOVAL             Like any little-loved policing force,             However, it preserves our way of life. OLMEDO             For its unwanted eye that never slumbers,             Its arm, unseen and ever raised to strike,             Does not o’ercast its gloom on you, but rather             On deviants, foreigners, and heretics. AGUILAR             It bars all doors of human entry to them-             Marginalized, shorn lambs it ferrets out,             And scapegoats as the enemies of Rome.             Thus, it condemns not only deeds, but thoughts.
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57
DÍAZ Captain Cortés, at last our man is found. From two days inland, natives ferried him. Father Olmedo greets him as we speak- A fellow priest it seems. CORTÉS Bring him to me. Exit Díaz. From Cozumel to here in Yucatán, We’ve hunted this elusive castaway. These Indians hustle us from shore to shore, And, when their gifts of jade fail, toss us rocks. ALVARADO Their dizzying synthesis of amity Backed up with menace proves unsettling. Enter OLMEDO, SANDOVAL, and AGUILAR. SANDOVAL Now, wayward beadsman, meet our strategist. CORTÉS Who is this Indian? Where’s our long-lost priest? AGUILAR Hail, Christian knights! Sweet accents of Castile! CORTÉS Great welcome, cabined friar, you are free! AGUILAR Is it a Wednesday? OLMEDO It’s the Lord’s day, friend. AGUILAR Of course it is! Grace to the only God! My only link with Europe, all these years, Has been to count the crawling calendar. CORTÉS We’ll need your past, to learn their policies. AGUILAR I wish I could. But of their etiquette I’m ignorant, save slavish drudgery. CORTÉS You speak the language, though? AGUILAR Why, like a native. CORTÉS Your name? AGUILAR Gerónimo de Aguilar. OLMEDO Dear Aguilar! Your mother, home in Spain, On hearing you’d been snatched by cannibals, Abstained from meat, and cringed at frying flesh, For fear, by chance, it might be part of you. AGUILAR Oh, rush me home to Écija, back where The only blood drunk is the wine of Christ, The only flesh consumed, our sacrament. CORTÉS What fate befell your fellow countrymen? AGUILAR The luckless women were harassed to death, The men, dishearted. But a happy few Broke from our cages and were spared for slaves, Within the warlike clutch of Na Chan Can. My freedom have your wax and honey bought. One stubborn soul, Guerrero, stays behind.
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Nov 2, 2016
Nov 2, 2016 at 5:17 PM UTC
The Floral War 2:4:1-37
DÍAZ Captain Cortés, at last our man is found. From two days inland, natives ferried him. Father Olmedo greets him as we speak- A fellow priest it seems. CORTÉS Bring him to me. Exit Díaz. From Cozumel to here in Yucatán, We’ve hunted this elusive castaway. These Indians hustle us from shore to shore, And, when their gifts of jade fail, toss us rocks. ALVARADO Their dizzying synthesis of amity Backed up with menace proves unsettling. Enter OLMEDO, SANDOVAL, and AGUILAR. SANDOVAL Now, wayward beadsman, meet our strategist. CORTÉS Who is this Indian? Where’s our long-lost priest? AGUILAR Hail, Christian knights! Sweet accents of Castile! CORTÉS Great welcome, cabined friar, you are free! AGUILAR Is it a Wednesday? OLMEDO It’s the Lord’s day, friend. AGUILAR Of course it is! Grace to the only God! My only link with Europe, all these years, Has been to count the crawling calendar. CORTÉS We’ll need your past, to learn their policies. AGUILAR I wish I could. But of their etiquette I’m ignorant, save slavish drudgery. CORTÉS You speak the language, though? AGUILAR Why, like a native. CORTÉS Your name? AGUILAR Gerónimo de Aguilar. OLMEDO Dear Aguilar! Your mother, home in Spain, On hearing you’d been snatched by cannibals, Abstained from meat, and cringed at frying flesh, For fear, by chance, it might be part of you. AGUILAR Oh, rush me home to Écija, back where The only blood drunk is the wine of Christ, The only flesh consumed, our sacrament. CORTÉS What fate befell your fellow countrymen? AGUILAR The luckless women were harassed to death, The men, dishearted. But a happy few Broke from our cages and were spared for slaves, Within the warlike clutch of Na Chan Can. My freedom have your wax and honey bought. One stubborn soul, Guerrero, stays behind.
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59
TEUHTLILLI [aside]             The unknown guests which call me to the east             Are such a hoax-like sighting as may lend             To superstition credence; rumors, weight.             I fear some rash infection has arrived.             Reports pour in of towers on the waves,             Maneuvered by a spectral race of men,             The truth of which I must submit to test.             And so it goes: The fleet of hueless troops             Approaches from the seashore as I speak.             Now, after weeks of waiting in the sticks,             At last, my first glimpse of these lily-skins.             Gods grant that they behave.                           Enter CORTÉS, ALVARADO, SANDOVAL, AGUILAR. AGUILAR                                              Behold, Cortés,             Your foremost model of a Mexican. TEUHTLILLI             Hail, friends of Mexico! Which is your chief?                                          Enter MALINALLI. CORTÉS             Well, Aguilar? AGUILAR                        He speaks a nonsense tongue.             We’re too far north. I can no longer help. TEUHTLILLI             I ask again: Where is your leader, friends? MALINALLI [aside]             (Now, silly girl, or never.) [indicating Cortés] This is he. TEUHTLILLI             What’s this? A mediating concubine? AGUILAR             You speak his language, girl, as well as mine? CORTÉS             What, will this slave girl double-cross us all? MALINALLI             Our humble chieftain greets your emperor             And many times does kiss those regal hands. TEUHTLILLI             That’s well. AGUILAR                That’s well! CORTÉS                                   This all seems to be well. AGUILAR             Rejoice, Cortés! This maid is double-tongued.             She’ll translate his words into my Chontal-             From him to her, from her to me, to you. CORTÉS             Then let us test these true but tedious links. MALINALLI      You were saying, sir? TEUHTLILLI      How many braves trail in your train? MALINALLI       How many warriors tread in your wake? AGUILAR          How many soldiers shadow you? CORTÉS           Five thousand. AGUILAR          Uh, five thousand. MALINALLI       They’ve a thousand, sir. TEUHTLILLI             I’ll see your thousand and I’ll raise you two.             [to a servant] Deploy two thousand men to build them huts,             [aside] But crammed with warlocks, witch doctors, and spies.                                                                                                     Exit a servant. AGUILAR             This works well. CORTÉS                           Thus the fragile chain is forged.             Friend, you must look upon our advent here             Not with unease, but as a world of good.
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Mar 28, 2017
Mar 28, 2017 at 9:27 PM UTC
The Floral War 2:7:1-41
TEUHTLILLI [aside]             The unknown guests which call me to the east             Are such a hoax-like sighting as may lend             To superstition credence; rumors, weight.             I fear some rash infection has arrived.             Reports pour in of towers on the waves,             Maneuvered by a spectral race of men,             The truth of which I must submit to test.             And so it goes: The fleet of hueless troops             Approaches from the seashore as I speak.             Now, after weeks of waiting in the sticks,             At last, my first glimpse of these lily-skins.             Gods grant that they behave.                           Enter CORTÉS, ALVARADO, SANDOVAL, AGUILAR. AGUILAR                                              Behold, Cortés,             Your foremost model of a Mexican. TEUHTLILLI             Hail, friends of Mexico! Which is your chief?                                          Enter MALINALLI. CORTÉS             Well, Aguilar? AGUILAR                        He speaks a nonsense tongue.             We’re too far north. I can no longer help. TEUHTLILLI             I ask again: Where is your leader, friends? MALINALLI [aside]             (Now, silly girl, or never.) [indicating Cortés] This is he. TEUHTLILLI             What’s this? A mediating concubine? AGUILAR             You speak his language, girl, as well as mine? CORTÉS             What, will this slave girl double-cross us all? MALINALLI             Our humble chieftain greets your emperor             And many times does kiss those regal hands. TEUHTLILLI             That’s well. AGUILAR                That’s well! CORTÉS                                   This all seems to be well. AGUILAR             Rejoice, Cortés! This maid is double-tongued.             She’ll translate his words into my Chontal-             From him to her, from her to me, to you. CORTÉS             Then let us test these true but tedious links. MALINALLI      You were saying, sir? TEUHTLILLI      How many braves trail in your train? MALINALLI       How many warriors tread in your wake? AGUILAR          How many soldiers shadow you? CORTÉS           Five thousand. AGUILAR          Uh, five thousand. MALINALLI       They’ve a thousand, sir. TEUHTLILLI             I’ll see your thousand and I’ll raise you two.             [to a servant] Deploy two thousand men to build them huts,             [aside] But crammed with warlocks, witch doctors, and spies.                                                                                                     Exit a servant. AGUILAR             This works well. CORTÉS                           Thus the fragile chain is forged.             Friend, you must look upon our advent here             Not with unease, but as a world of good.
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63
CORTÉS             How now? What’s the debate? AGUILAR                                              The Inquisition:             It’s linked itself with tethers to our church,             Like two, aloof, reluctant mountaineers.             I fear, when that unholy office trips,             And plummets in the popular regard,             Its drop down estimation’s precipice             Will pull down our religion in its tow. OLMEDO             We cavil, boys, as if there were two Spains. CORTÉS             One good, one evil? OLMEDO                              Not so simple. Yet,             One, global-bent, one isolationist,             One liberal, one counter to reform,             One, eyeing Greece, one stirring with the Moors,             Who, like the fatal twins of Oedipus,             Will not consent to reign in tandem more,             But rather wound each other mortally.             In Europe, there’s a word in currency:             Renaissance- It is not a Spanish word,             And there’s a reason. CORTÉS                                And it is? OLMEDO                                               Some flaw             In Spain’s own character that’s culpable-             Catholic fanaticism, feverish pride,             Or warped deliriums of vanity.             We thought we were the new elect of God,             Mistook our patriotic egoism             For fealty to the church. Hence, our divorce             And isolation from the rest of Europe. CORTÉS             No, it’s not Spain, not Catholics, nor our race,             But frailties of the human constitution,             Which frequently reverse the gains achieved             By previous generations, in the name             Of progress, culture, and civility.                          Trumpet is heard.             A parley sounds! See what those Mayas want.
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Jan 5, 2017
Jan 5, 2017 at 6:24 PM UTC
The Floral War 2:6:42-72
CORTÉS             How now? What’s the debate? AGUILAR                                              The Inquisition:             It’s linked itself with tethers to our church,             Like two, aloof, reluctant mountaineers.             I fear, when that unholy office trips,             And plummets in the popular regard,             Its drop down estimation’s precipice             Will pull down our religion in its tow. OLMEDO             We cavil, boys, as if there were two Spains. CORTÉS             One good, one evil? OLMEDO                              Not so simple. Yet,             One, global-bent, one isolationist,             One liberal, one counter to reform,             One, eyeing Greece, one stirring with the Moors,             Who, like the fatal twins of Oedipus,             Will not consent to reign in tandem more,             But rather wound each other mortally.             In Europe, there’s a word in currency:             Renaissance- It is not a Spanish word,             And there’s a reason. CORTÉS                                And it is? OLMEDO                                               Some flaw             In Spain’s own character that’s culpable-             Catholic fanaticism, feverish pride,             Or warped deliriums of vanity.             We thought we were the new elect of God,             Mistook our patriotic egoism             For fealty to the church. Hence, our divorce             And isolation from the rest of Europe. CORTÉS             No, it’s not Spain, not Catholics, nor our race,             But frailties of the human constitution,             Which frequently reverse the gains achieved             By previous generations, in the name             Of progress, culture, and civility.                          Trumpet is heard.             A parley sounds! See what those Mayas want.
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39
CORTÉS Friend, you must look upon our advent here Not with unease, but as a world of good. AGUILAR [simultaneously] . . . but as a world of good. My potent monarch rules beyond the seas, And rumors tease his ears of Mexico. I come to you as his ambassador, MALINALLI [simultaneously] . . . to you as his ambassador, With gifts I must in person grant your lord, And bring him tidings that will save his life. TEUHTLILLI [aside] (Fresh off the boat, and asks for audience!) My ruler also is a busy king, Like yours, and he will send for his desires. MALINALLI [simultaneously] . . . he will send for his desires. He’s locked in caucus from his island throne: The teeming, lacustrine metropolis Of Mexico, called also, “Cactus Rock,” AGUILAR [simultaneously] . . . called also, “Cactus Rock,” Whose minions by the millions stir with drive, And fructify the land on floating farms. CORTÉS A land with gold in hand? TEUHTLILLI By heaps and mounds. CORTÉS “Why ask?” you’ll ask. I ask because I know That precious metal heals an arrant heart. My men are languishing from that complaint. TEUHTLILLI We have the cure to purge bad-hearted men. [aside] (By god, his helmet flashes on my mind: Dead ringer to the one our war god wears.) [to him] May I, sir, as a token of goodwill, Present my lord your brilliant helm? CORTÉS You may, If you return it filled with grains of gold. We’ll test by trial if this New World’s veins Are worth the circulation of the Old. Come sir, we’ll further parley by the fire. Escort this minister to my retreat. Exit Alvarado, Sandoval, Teuhtlilli, and servant. Well now, young lady. What whelp have we here? AGUILAR Your name, child. MALINALLI Malinalli. AGUILAR Ah, Malina. CORTÉS Well! Marina, then. I’ll sponsor you, in my kind custody. Mellifluous and honey-throated dame, Your golden tongue must buy us a good name. All exit.
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Apr 6, 2017
Apr 6, 2017 at 1:15 PM UTC
The Floral War 2:7:40-76
CORTÉS Friend, you must look upon our advent here Not with unease, but as a world of good. AGUILAR [simultaneously] . . . but as a world of good. My potent monarch rules beyond the seas, And rumors tease his ears of Mexico. I come to you as his ambassador, MALINALLI [simultaneously] . . . to you as his ambassador, With gifts I must in person grant your lord, And bring him tidings that will save his life. TEUHTLILLI [aside] (Fresh off the boat, and asks for audience!) My ruler also is a busy king, Like yours, and he will send for his desires. MALINALLI [simultaneously] . . . he will send for his desires. He’s locked in caucus from his island throne: The teeming, lacustrine metropolis Of Mexico, called also, “Cactus Rock,” AGUILAR [simultaneously] . . . called also, “Cactus Rock,” Whose minions by the millions stir with drive, And fructify the land on floating farms. CORTÉS A land with gold in hand? TEUHTLILLI By heaps and mounds. CORTÉS “Why ask?” you’ll ask. I ask because I know That precious metal heals an arrant heart. My men are languishing from that complaint. TEUHTLILLI We have the cure to purge bad-hearted men. [aside] (By god, his helmet flashes on my mind: Dead ringer to the one our war god wears.) [to him] May I, sir, as a token of goodwill, Present my lord your brilliant helm? CORTÉS You may, If you return it filled with grains of gold. We’ll test by trial if this New World’s veins Are worth the circulation of the Old. Come sir, we’ll further parley by the fire. Escort this minister to my retreat. Exit Alvarado, Sandoval, Teuhtlilli, and servant. Well now, young lady. What whelp have we here? AGUILAR Your name, child. MALINALLI Malinalli. AGUILAR Ah, Malina. CORTÉS Well! Marina, then. I’ll sponsor you, in my kind custody. Mellifluous and honey-throated dame, Your golden tongue must buy us a good name. All exit.
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AGUILAR                                                                  But a happy few             Broke from our cages and were spared for slaves,             Within the warlike clutch of Na Chan Can.             My freedom have your wax and honey bought.             One stubborn soul, Guerrero, stays behind.           CORTÉS             And with slave’s ransoms, we must rescue him. AGUILAR             He will not come. ALVARADO                          You must mean “could not,” man.             What exile, broiling in the pits of hell             Is tossed a rope from heaven and will not come?             Your Spanish rusted in these humid airs. AGUILAR             These Mayas have seduced him to their cause.             When I confronted him, he spoke to me:             “I am a wartime chieftain, and their judge,             And see how lovely are my wife and sons!”             Three handsome half-castes nestled at his hip.             “You go,” he said, “and may God go with you.             But black tattoos have spiraled round my eyes,             And broad, thick discs now pierce my ears and lips.             Would Christians welcome one so scarified?” CORTÉS             God only scorns the scars of souls. OLMEDO                                                      Well said. AGUILAR             His crabbed wife waved in my face and spat:             “What grimy scarecrow dares provoke my lord?             Shove off!” But our Guerrero caught my arm.             “I’ve warned our Mayas of Castile,” he hissed.             “If Spanish visitations will be suffered,             The scabies of their ‘culture’ will erupt,             And Europe’s slow, inexorable flow             Must soon encrust and case these florid lands             As running wax will coat a candlestick.             Then must I trim Death’s wicks.” CORTÉS                                                 What can that mean?
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Nov 3, 2016
Nov 3, 2016 at 3:21 PM UTC
The Floral War 2:4:33-62
AGUILAR                                                                  But a happy few             Broke from our cages and were spared for slaves,             Within the warlike clutch of Na Chan Can.             My freedom have your wax and honey bought.             One stubborn soul, Guerrero, stays behind.           CORTÉS             And with slave’s ransoms, we must rescue him. AGUILAR             He will not come. ALVARADO                          You must mean “could not,” man.             What exile, broiling in the pits of hell             Is tossed a rope from heaven and will not come?             Your Spanish rusted in these humid airs. AGUILAR             These Mayas have seduced him to their cause.             When I confronted him, he spoke to me:             “I am a wartime chieftain, and their judge,             And see how lovely are my wife and sons!”             Three handsome half-castes nestled at his hip.             “You go,” he said, “and may God go with you.             But black tattoos have spiraled round my eyes,             And broad, thick discs now pierce my ears and lips.             Would Christians welcome one so scarified?” CORTÉS             God only scorns the scars of souls. OLMEDO                                                      Well said. AGUILAR             His crabbed wife waved in my face and spat:             “What grimy scarecrow dares provoke my lord?             Shove off!” But our Guerrero caught my arm.             “I’ve warned our Mayas of Castile,” he hissed.             “If Spanish visitations will be suffered,             The scabies of their ‘culture’ will erupt,             And Europe’s slow, inexorable flow             Must soon encrust and case these florid lands             As running wax will coat a candlestick.             Then must I trim Death’s wicks.” CORTÉS                                                 What can that mean?
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SANDOVAL At home, they say Death takes a female form, And in her cave a billion candles burn Which mark the dwindling measure of our lives- Short stubs for the infirm, fresh spires for babes. When our own taper sputters at the base, This fickle life winks out. CORTÉS What said he next? AGUILAR “You see our signal fire on the butte, Whose dark clouds broadcast swift alarms for war. If our old friends push off with crowded sails Before those flames to embers smolder low, Then shall they safely coast from Mayaland, And may God blunt what mischiefs are to come. But, if they loiter when this fire is cold, We’ll ***** their lingering lives, for at that time Shall I raise up my droves of rabid braves To course this quarry like the hounds of hell.” CORTÉS I wish I’d that false truant in my hands, For it will never do to leave him here. OLMEDO Those of the breed to grapple their own hearts Must own that something in their soul is stirred In answer to the awful frankness of these howls, And if, by our own shared humanity, We may uplift them to civility, So might they pull our most self-searching down, To dance, to stamp and rage. We, to resist, Must be as much a man as they. If not, Rebarbarism claims her wayward natures, And our prim, mincing minuets may yet Yield to innate impulse: leaps, bones and blood. CORTÉS Clear out! Our foe’s friend orders we embark, With sails puffed by this sometime Spaniard’s threats. These titles- “Captain,” “Chief”- these are but breath, Yet- backed with tooth- are words which utter death. Speed North! At merrier campfires will we rest. All exit.
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Nov 26, 2016
Nov 26, 2016 at 1:50 PM UTC
The Floral War 2:4:63-97
SANDOVAL At home, they say Death takes a female form, And in her cave a billion candles burn Which mark the dwindling measure of our lives- Short stubs for the infirm, fresh spires for babes. When our own taper sputters at the base, This fickle life winks out. CORTÉS What said he next? AGUILAR “You see our signal fire on the butte, Whose dark clouds broadcast swift alarms for war. If our old friends push off with crowded sails Before those flames to embers smolder low, Then shall they safely coast from Mayaland, And may God blunt what mischiefs are to come. But, if they loiter when this fire is cold, We’ll ***** their lingering lives, for at that time Shall I raise up my droves of rabid braves To course this quarry like the hounds of hell.” CORTÉS I wish I’d that false truant in my hands, For it will never do to leave him here. OLMEDO Those of the breed to grapple their own hearts Must own that something in their soul is stirred In answer to the awful frankness of these howls, And if, by our own shared humanity, We may uplift them to civility, So might they pull our most self-searching down, To dance, to stamp and rage. We, to resist, Must be as much a man as they. If not, Rebarbarism claims her wayward natures, And our prim, mincing minuets may yet Yield to innate impulse: leaps, bones and blood. CORTÉS Clear out! Our foe’s friend orders we embark, With sails puffed by this sometime Spaniard’s threats. These titles- “Captain,” “Chief”- these are but breath, Yet- backed with tooth- are words which utter death. Speed North! At merrier campfires will we rest. All exit.
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[May 1; In a Mexican-controlled territory on the Gulf Coast.] Enter AGUILAR and MALINALLI. AGUILAR Blood. MALINALLI Sangre. AGUILAR Gold. MALINALLI Oro. AGUILAR War. MALINALLI Guerra. AGUILAR God. MALINALLI Dios. Yo soy Marina. Yo soy traducidora. Enough lessons, Aguilar! AGUILAR Cortés insists you must perfect his tongue. I’ll have succeeded once I’m obsolete. MALINALLI Aguilar, Sometimes, I think of that Guerrero. AGUILAR Why? MALINALLI He entered my world; now I enter his. At first, a forced exchange, but in the end, We both embrace our foster families, And shall go as enigmas to our graves. AGUILAR Hush now, here comes that meddling Mexican. (Enter TEUHTLILLI, with two attendants.) MALINALLI Where do you come from? TEUHTLILLI From where do I come? From Mexico. MALINALLI You may, or you may not. Perhaps you tease. I know we all would like To claim that we’re from Mexico these days. TEUHTLILLI I come to greet my sovereign, who is here. MALINALLI [to Aguilar] He says he’s here to meet his sovereign lord. AGUILAR You err, my dear. He must’ve said, “your lord.” MALINALLI In fact, he claims his king is here with us. AGUILAR Captain, come forth! Our emissary’s here. And, sir- I’d look as kingly as you can.
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Aug 18, 2023
Aug 18, 2023 at 10:27 PM UTC
The Floral War 3.1.1-27