I had a roomful of memories to recall when writer-poet Jose F. Lacaba received the 2024 Gawad CCP Para sa Sining on the 20th of September 2024, 7 p.m. at the Samsung Theater for Performing Arts.
The distinguished CCP award is “for his outstanding works as a poet, essayist, screenwriter, and journalist, contributing to the development of Philippine literature.”
It is the highest award given by CCP to artists “in dance, music, theater, film and broadcast arts, literature, visual arts, architecture, and allied arts and design especially for those who have consistently produced outstanding works or developed a distinct style or technique that enriches their particular art form.”
Lacaba is author of five collections of poetry and translations of poetry, as well as a collection of columns on language: Mga Kagila-gilalas na Pakikipagsapalaran; Sa Panahon ng Ligalig; Sa Daigdig ng Kontradiksiyon; Edad Medya; Kung Baga sa Bigas; and Showbiz Lengua. His screenplay credits include Jaguar, Bayan Ko, Kapit sa Patalim, Orapronobis, Angela Markado, Sister Stella L., Eskapo, Segurista, Bagong Bayani, and Rizal sa Dapitan.
He has won awards for his poetry, screenwriting, and journalism, including the National Book Award from the Manila Critics Circle for Days of Disquiet, Nights of Rage. He served as executive editor of the Philippines Graphic during the time when Nick Joaquin was the Graphic’s editor-in-chief.
To be sure, the Gawad CCP is just one of the many awards received by Lacaba.
In the middle 60s, I diligently read the weekly Philippines Free Press for three reasons: Kerima Polotan, Nick Joaquin and Jose F. Lacaba.
They represent what to me is the best in Philippine literature and journalism at the time.
It is a small world really.
Lacaba worked as screenwriter for Lino Brocka (Orapronobis, Jaguar, Kapit Sa Patalim) who is the baptismal godfather of my late daughter, Kerima.
Brocka and I were avowed fans of Polotan.
My orphaned grandson (his parents died from bullets of state forces) was named after Lacaba’s brother, Emmanuel, who also died in the same manner. My grandson’s godmother is National Artist for Film Marilou Diaz-Abaya who is a good friend National Treasure Cecile Licad.
I am not done yet.
Pete and Marra’s son, Kris, had Cecile Licad and Nick Joaquin as baptismal godparents.
Indeed, my world is full of friends who are either National Treasures or National Artists.
In the middle 80s, I used to frequent Pete Lacaba’s place along Panay Avenue (actually part of the abode of the parents of Pete’s wife, writer-poet Marra Lanot, Serafin and Gloria Lanot).
In one such visit, I was with Licad and her late husband, Brazilian cellist Antonio Meneses, who raved about the exquisite brand of cooking of the Lanot couple.
To be sure, Lacaba’s life is another source of film material.
Indeed, some chapters of his life found expression in the screenplays he did for Brocka and other film directors.
Apart from his being poet and journalist, he was an activist who went underground during the declaration of martial law.
He confessed once: “Today, whatever standing I may have as a poet in the Philippines will probably be based on my Tagalog poems. But I will also probably be remembered, or remain notorious, for my last poem in English. Still, “Prometheus Unbound” is not entirely in English. It’s an acrostic poem, and the first letters of the lines, if read downwards, spell out a Tagalog slogan popular among demonstrators before martial law: MARCOS HITLER DIKTADOR TUTA (Marcos Hitler, Dictator, Running Dog).”
You cannot write about Pete Lacaba without mentioning one his last controversial poems in English:
Prometheus Unbound
I shall never exchange my fetters for slavish servility.
Tis better to be chained to the rock than be bound to the service of Zeus. –Aeschylus, Prometheus Bound
Mars shall glow tonight,
Artemis is out of sight.
Rust in the twilight sky
Colors a bloodshot eye,
Or shall I say that dust
Sunders the sleep of the just?
Hold fast to the gift of fire!
I am rage! I am wrath! I am ire!
The vulture sits on my rock,
Licks at the chains that mock
Emancipation’s breath,
Reeks of death, death, death.
Death shall not unclench me.
I am earth, wind, and sea!
Kisses bestow on the brave
That defy the damp of the grave
And strike the chill hand of
Death with the flaming sword of love.
Orion stirs. The vulture
Retreats from the hard, pure
Thrust of the spark that burns,
Unbounds, departs, returns
To pluck out of death’s fist
A god who dared to resist.
Still Lacaba knows the Filipinos as we know them today in the poem, Kaparis ng Kawayan, Kaparis ng Kalabaw:
Ang Pilipino’y kaparis ng kawayan,
nakikisayaw sa hangin, nakikisayaw:
kung saan ang ihip
doon ang hilig,
kaya hindi siya nabubuwal, hindi nabubuwal.
Di tulad ng punong niyog,
ayaw yumuko, ayaw lumuhod,
kaya siya nabubuwal, nabubuwal.
Iyan ang sabi-sabi,
ewan lang kung totoo.
Pero kung totoo ang sabi-sabi,
lagot tayo!
Ang Pilipino’y kaparis ng kalabaw,
napakahaba ng pasensiya, napakahaba:
kung hinahagupit
walang imik,
kaya hindi siya pinapatay, hindi pinapatay.
Di tulad ng baboy-damo,
ayaw sumuko, ayaw patalo,
kaya siya pinapatay, pinapatay.
Iyan ang sabi-sabi,
ewan lang kung totoo.
Pero kung totoo ang sabi-sabi,
lagot tayo!