Documente Academic
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Documente Cultură
Jose G. Villa
Be beautiful, noble, like the antique ant,
Who bore the storms as he bore the sun,
Wearing neither gown nor helmet,
though he was archbishop and soldier:
Wore only his own flesh
Salute characters with gracious dignity:
Though what these are is left to
Your own terms. Exact: the universe is
Not so small but these will be found
Somewhere. Exact: they will be found
Speak with great moderation: but think
With great fierceness, burning passion:
Though what the ant thought
No annuals reveal, no his descendants
Break the seal.
Trace the tracelessness of the ant,
Every ant has reached this perfection.
As he comes, so he goes,
Flowing as water flows,
Essential but secret like a rose.
Love of Country
Andres Bonifacio
To My Native Land
Trinidad T. Subido
Beloved Land, let me explain thee
Why thought of nearing death provokes a pain;
'Tis not that I again shall never see
These Orient Isles of kindly sun and rain;
Not that the visionary spirit must
Forego the wonders she had fondly schemed;
Not that the flesh must soon succumb to dust,
With the Love's avowals only half redeemed.
O my beloved land, whose air I breath,
Whose bounty is my daily sustenance,
How sad to leave with nothing to bequeath,
How shameful, finally, to dare to rest
Building them makeshift huts of nipa and salvaged tin and standing straight with heads against
the stars.
The Pinoy learns that rice is considered a vegetable in Europe and America. The staff of life a
vegetable!
And when it comes - a special order which takes at least half an hour -the grains are large, oval
and foreign-looking and what's more, yellow with butter. And oh horrors! - one must shove it
with a fork or pile it with one's knife on the back of another fork.
After a few days of these debacles, the Pinoy, sick with longing, decides to comb the strange city
for a Chinese restaurant, the closest thing to the beloved gastronomic county. There, in the
company of other Asian exiles, he will put his nose finally in a bowl of rice and find it more
fragrant than an English rose garden, more exciting than a castle on the Rhine and more delicious
than pink champagne.
To go with the rice there is siopao (not so rich as at Salazar) pancit guisado reeking with garlic
(but never so good as any that can be had on the sidewalks of Quiapo) fried lumpia with the
incorrect sauce, and even mami (but nothing like the down-town wanton)
Better than a Chinese restaurant is the kitchen of a kababayan. When in a foreign city, a Pinoy
searches every busy sidewalk, theatre, restaurant for the well-remembered golden features of a
fellow-pinoy. But make it no mistake.
Mi ltimo Adis
Adis, Patria adorada, regin del sol
querida,
Perla del mar de oriente, nuestro perdido
Edn!
A darte voy alegre la triste mustia vida,
Y fuera ms brillante, ms fresca, ms
florida,
Tambin por ti la diera, la diera por tu bien.
En campos de batalla, luchando con delirio,
Otros te dan sus vidas sin dudas, sin pesar;
El sitio nada importa, ciprs, laurel o lirio,
Cadalso o campo abierto, combate o cruel
martirio,
Lo mismo es si lo piden la patria y el hogar.
Yo muero cuando veo que el cielo se colora
Y al fin anuncia el da tras lbrego capuz;
si grana necesitas para teir tu aurora,
Vierte la sangre ma, derrmala en buen hora
Y drela un reflejo de su naciente luz.
suave,
Deja que el alba enve su resplandor fugaz,
Deja gemir al viento con su murmullo grave,
Y si desciende y posa sobre mi cruz un ave,
Deja que el ave entone su cntico de paz.
Deja que el sol, ardiendo, las lluvias evapore
Y al cielo tornen puras, con mi clamor en
pos;
Deja que un ser amigo mi fin temprano llore
Y en las serenas tardes cuando por m
alguien ore,
Ora tambin, oh Patria, por mi descanso a
Dios!
Ora por todos cuantos murieron sin ventura,
Por cuantos padecieron tormentos sin igual,
Por nuestras pobres madres que gimen su
amargura;
Por hurfanos y viudas, por presos en tortura
Y ora por ti que veas tu redencin final.
Y cuando en noche oscura se envuelva el
cementerio
Y solos slo muertos queden velando all,
No turbes su reposo, no turbes el misterio,
Tal vez acordes oigas de ctara o salterio,
Soy yo, querida Patria, yo que te canto a ti.