Poet Cirilo Bautista has three writing desks in three rooms of his home in Quezon City. On top of each desk is a poem-in-progress.
“Three poems waiting for me in their own place in the house,” Cirilo says. “Sometimes, I get to finish them at the same time. Now, that’s a harvest (laughs).”
Ballet dancer Alice Reyes still dances every day, although not the way she used to.
“I had knee replacement for my right knee,” reveals Alice. “But I’m slowly going through actual dance exercises. You should’ve seen me dance during those days, but now it’s time for the young ones. As a painter, you can create paintings that will stay with you forever. Dance is so ethereal. That is its essence.”
Composer Ramon Santos keeps hundreds of musical instruments in his house, everything from the kulintang to the agung to the gangsa.
“Many of them were bought at a very cheap price, since they were still not considered important back then,” Ramon shares. “I bought my agung for P150. Now one agung would cost P10,000.”
Meet three Filipinos who were recently conferred the National Artist award in a ceremony in Malacañang (although President Noynoy Aquino had already affirmed them back in 2014). They are Alice G. Reyes for Dance, Cirilo F. Bautista for Literature and Ramon P. Santos for Music — along with posthumous awardees Francisco Coching for Visual Arts, Francisco Feliciano for Music and Jose Maria Zaragoza for Architecture, Design and Allied Arts.
Despite receiving the highest accolade in the land for artists, these three individuals are still pursuing their own muses, fired up about the future and their own respective fields, breathing the same sorcerous air as when they were in their youths about to embark on a life in art.
‘Blood on the moon is blood in the mind’
Dr. Cirilo Bautista still writes every day and is working on a book of Tagalog poems (not Pilipino, he stressed) even if he is forced to use a wheelchair because of muscular dystrophy. He’s a survivor of bypasses past. His wife Rosemarie says, “But he doesn’t need to move in order to write.” The two met in Baguio ages ago, and the woman knew right away there was something different about the man. “Cirilo is a very deep person.”
“Deep” would be an understatement, as Butch Dalisay says, “Cirilo F. Bautista towers over the writers of his generation.”
Bautista is a poet, fictionist, critic, and writer of nonfiction. He received his degrees in AB Literature from the University of Santo Tomas (magna cum laude, 1963), MA Literature from St. Louis University, Baguio City (magna cum laude, 1968), and Doctor of Arts in Language and Literature from De La Salle University-Manila (1990). He received a fellowship to attend the International Writing Program at the University of Iowa (1968 to ’69) and was awarded an honorary degree — the only Filipino to have been so honored there. Bautista was a professor of Literature at De La Salle University in Manila until 2005.
His works include Boneyard Breaking, Sugat ng Salita, The Archipelago, Telex Moon, Summer Suns, Charts, The Cave and Other Poems, Kirot ng Kataga, and Bullets and Roses: The Poetry of Amado V. Hernandez. His novel Galaw ng Asoge was published by UST Press in 2004.
When Cirilo heard the news that he was receiving an overdue citation, he was elated. He says it was so long in coming. “They kept postponing it for a reason.”
The man remembers how he read voraciously as a young boy, anything he could get his hands on. “The urge to write was building up at that time.” In UST, as a writer for The Varsitarian, there was an early poem that Cirilo still remembers: “Madonna Negra” which portrayed the Virgin Mary as a black woman. He says, “This one stood out with a promise of a poem. As a young writer, I prepared myself by learning about the formal elements of poetry — rhythm, meter and rhyme.”
Cirilo loves the sound of poetry (“Poetry is all sound…”) as well as the sound coming from the transistor radio in Post-War Manila. He rattles off names, “Ruben Tagalog, Diomedes Maturan… These days, I like the ‘oldies but goodies’ music. I don’t like Beyoncé or Madonna, who are mainly about performance. I like Sinatra. I like singers who don’t need fireworks in the background.”
But Cirilo’s more famous poems were fiery and often oracular, with lines about God as pain in the void or “a cosmic wound pulsing with brilliant blood.” Or what about “My tongue is wound around/The corpse of darkness, there/Is no need to break me/with hyperboles…” Man, oh man.
“I realized in the ’70s that I won’t be a writer all my life. And as a poet, what would I leave to be remembered by?” The answer: to write about one’s country in epic form. Cirilo declares, “To write a new epic.”
He studied Philippine history, bought and read books. The goal was to write about the Philippines in a real way via the poetic way. He wrote parts of it in America, Europe and in the Philippines. It took a long time to write because of how earning a living gets in the way of the poet. So it was not the furious, continuous kind of writing. He just had to grind it out.
“The Trilogy of Saint Lazarus took me 30 years to write, on and off. I remember writing a letter to Ophelia Dimalanta and telling her, ‘I will finish this, even if it kills me!’”
The last part of Bautista’s epic The Trilogy of Saint Lazarus, titled Sunlight on Broken Stones, won the Centennial Prize for the epic in 1998.
These days, Cirilo sticks to a J. Alfred Prufrock-like schedule. He unfairly characterizes himself as a lazy writer who is not compelled to write without a cataclysmic compulsion. (But at this point, dear readers, the man can write at a leisurely pace. He’s earned it.)
He says, “I wake up at 6 a.m., go to my desk and continue writing the poem I’ve started the other day. At 7:30, I have breakfast consisting of cereals, a piece of papaya fruit, and a glass of water. I am on this diet because of muscular dystrophy. I go back to my desk, write or read letters.” Then he has lunch and takes a long siesta.
“I wake up at 4 p.m. to write again. No TV, no computer. I write by hand. I find it more enjoyable.”
He talks about the specter cast by writing as a lonely and sometimes unrewarding profession.
“I always tell young poets, ‘Write because of your love for writing. Write because you want to write. Forget about the accolades. Learn about the forms of poetry, study rhythm, meter and rhyme — and don’t write a poem out of ignorance (laughs).’ Walang attraction sa poetry. You can’t hang poetry on the wall and call it decoration.”
Cirilo currently writes poems or poetic commentaries on art, commerce and politics.
“I write about the social milieu and speak, for example, about the elections in a poetic manner. Robert Frost wrote about politics in a poem such as ‘Road Not Taken.’ You just have to dig deeper to see the commentary. As a poet you are the antennae of the race. (But what I’m working on now) are old man’s poems: simple, casual and not fiery. As a young poet, it’s all about starting the fire of revolution. Now, an old poet asks, ‘What is revolution?’”
‘Sounds elevate human actions into higher and spiritual realms’
Composer, educator, author and ethnomusicologist Ramon Santos was in Seattle when he heard the news of the conferment.
“We have been waiting for it since 2014,” he shares.
The man has kept himself busy in the interim. Santos has just finished the manuscript of a book on the music of the Ibaloy from Kabayan. He’s also preparing a lecture in May; a performance of a piece in Nanning, China in June; a trip to Tanzania in July to give a paper in a conference, also to do some research on the music from that African nation; and then a trip to Solo, Indonesia for a conference in August. Also in the works are concerts, recordings, a full-length dance theater on Mutya ng Pasig, and a rondalla workshop. And he’s currently teaching a Ph.D. course in music.
“Music is such an inspiring art form as there are so many aspects that one can learn.”
Santos belongs to the New and Experimental Music group of Filipino composers. He initially trained in Composition and Conducting at the University of the Philippines, and earned his Master of Music (with distinction) and Ph.D. degrees at Indiana University and State University of New York at Buffalo, respectively.
As composer, his works have been conceived along concepts and aesthetic frameworks of Philippine and Southeast Asian artistic traditions, featuring elements from Western and non-Western sources, including various combinations of orchestral instruments, Javanese gamelan, Philippine indigenous instruments, as well as different styles of vocal production. His works have been featured in major festivals in the Americas, Europe and in Asia.
How did he discover music, or did music discover him?
Santos shares, “I was born into a musical family. All my siblings were taught solfeggio and piano and singing by my grandmother, by my mother, as well as professional teachers such as Salvacion Oppus Iniguez. Actually, I was also interested in drawing and painting together with my brother who is a professional painter. But I chose music since I was really drawn by its power.”
He remembers when he was in elementary school and his mother brought him to a concert of the Los Angeles Philharmonic at the Mapua Gymnasium.
“I marveled at the power of the conductor who could shape such fantastic sounds with just a simple baton, and that experience never left me,” he says.
What’s marvelous is how rituals inform Santos’ compositions.
“Rituals are occasions where sounds are used to elevate human actions into higher and spiritual realms. Thus, I composed music for certain rituals, such as Ritwal ng Pasasalamat (Thanksgiving Ritual) for the gift of sound, a piece which I wrote for the anniversary of the UP College of Music. I also composed music Para sa Intermisyon, because I consider intermission as a ritual in any given program or presentation.”
The man has spent years championing indigenous Filipino music. He explains, “I have discovered that these kinds of music should not be compared to Western music, in that they have a different way of communication, they have different theories.”
Gongs, for example, were used exclusively to communicate to the spirits in olden times, or they were used to transcend distances. Flutes and other soft instruments were used for intimate occasions, like courting or self-entertainment.
He concludes, “The role of the Filipino composer is to discover his own roots and discover a musical language that suits his own temperament as well as his own social environment. It is also the role of the Filipino composer to communicate local ideas and aspirations. It is essential to preserve one’s cultural identity. Without such identity, we lose our own souls.”
‘Dance is of the moment’
“I was in Manila at that time and I was tremendously surprised, amazed and grateful to my country to have been given this recognition. Grateful that I’m still alive (laughs),” says Alice Reyes.
It’s hard to pin down the visionary founder of Ballet Philippines. A woman who is often referred to as the “Mother of Philippine Contemporary Dance.”
“These days, we’re preparing for the 50th anniversary of Ballet Philippines and I’m meeting up with artistic director Paul Morales and president Margie Moran in planning seasons, activities, and books as well as restaging works,” she says. “What keeps me inspired is the talent of the Filipino artist, the passion and the discipline. I am fortunate and blessed to have collaborated with artists of all kinds — composers, painters, sculptors, and theater directors. That’s how you stay inspired. That’s how a body of work develops.”
Reyes began her dance training at an early age and it continued undiminished even while she worked for a Bachelor of Arts degree in History and Foreign Service at the Maryknoll College and did postgraduate studies at the Ateneo de Manila University.
With a background in ballet, folk dancing and jazz, Reyes ventured into the challenging and exciting sphere of modern dance. Through a grant from the John D. Rockefeller III Fund, she went through an extensive training period in the United States at the Colorado College under a Hanya Holm scholarship. She was subsequently awarded a grant from the Music Promotion Foundation of the Philippines, which enabled her to study further under leading exponents of the medium and earn a Master of Arts in Dance from the Sarah Lawrence College under its scholarship program.
Upon her return in 1969, she staged her first modern dance concert at the CCP. Over the years, the sheer diversity of her choreographic talent has produced highly acclaimed works ranging from the classics like Cinderella and Romeo and Juliet, to Filipino modern works like Amada, Itim-Asu, Bayanihan Remembered, Mga Babae, Tales of the Manuvu, and Rama Hari.
Alice recalls, “People came to me after watching Rama Hari and told me that it’s even better than some of the Broadway performances that they watched, and there was pride in the audience’s voice.”
There still is a hunger for homegrown performances, and Filipino talent is an ever-replenishing wellspring, but aye, there’s the rub.
“The challenge facing a company such as Ballet Philippines is always financial, that’s the major one. Support from the government is pretty much absent. Ballet Philippines is full of vision. It recently staged this full-length ballet with Gabriel Barredo called Opera. It was a world-class performance.”
If you asked Alice what piece of advice does she give aspiring ballerinas, she would tell you none.
“It’s more sharing than telling,” Alice explains. “I share from my experiences. You will learn only through immersion in your art. Read and learn about music, drama and literature. You can’t just aspire to be a hip-hop dancer. You have to learn about Bach, The Beatles as well as rap artists. It’s absolutely essential to reach out and learn. Don’t be afraid to make mistakes. You’ll be better with failure. Even Picasso started out with little sketches and wired sculptures.”
If she were suddenly gifted with youthfulness and had the chance to perform one ballet piece, what would it be?
“No, one must learn to let go,” she concludes. “Dancing is a physical activity. It’s all about fitness. When you reach your 40s you will realize that the end is near. You must accept reality. But your career does not end there. Baryshnikov at 50 still performs onstage, although as a theater performer and not as a dancer. You can be a mentor. Dancers who are better than me will always come along — and you should grab every opportunity to watch them.”
That’s classy.
It warms the heart that the next Alice Reyes, Ramon Santos or Cirilo Bautista are in the vicinity of stanzas, staffs or stages. Artists whose bones (to steal poetic lines from Cirilo) sing like a book and who are cackling for a piece of the moon.