The Poetry of Angela Manalang Gloria

[ilythyia]

* ANGELA MANALANG GLORIA (ca. 1915 - 1996)
Lyric poet, pianist, and editor, had her roots in Guagua, Pampanga, but her ancestors went to Albay and prospered. When she was about eight years old, she became fascinated with books, read avidly, and in consequence her eyesight was seriously impaired. She loved music (played the piano very well), nature and things dainty and beautiful.

She started her early schooling with the Benedictine Sisters in Albay, and in Manila continued under the tutelage of the same religious order. She then transferred to another girls' school, Sta. Scholastica, and graduated salutatorian in 1925. In school she continued pursuing her interest in music in hopes of becoming a great pianist. After graduation from high school she proceeded to UP and started taking pre-law subjects, at the same time going into painting. C. V. Vicker, a member of the UP faculty, noticed her creative work and advised her to change her program of study. She shifted her course to the liberal arts and graduated summa cum laude with an A.B. in philosophy in 1929.

In UP she worked with the Philippine Collegian as a literary editor, with Celedonio P. Gloria as editor-in-chief. Their friendship culminated in marriage. Subsequently, her husband, who finished the LL.B. in UP, went into law practice. She became editor of the Herald Mid-Week Magazine but had to resign six months later because of poor health. WWII came and her husband died. Her creative writing gradually diminished.
From the idealist that she was when younger, she emerged a pragmatist, a practical woman reshaped by the realities of life. She had found that life is not all love, that love is not the only way to one's goal. She realized that this world is "circumferenced with lucre/ within a coin of brass." She plunged into business and traveled and prospered. But Philippine literature lost her.

Angela Manalang Gloria is one of the prominent lyric poets Philippine Literature. Her self published anthology "Poems" was the 1st collection of poetry written in English by a Filipino woman.. Her poetry is regarded today as an early attempt at writing English and emissary to the period of apprenticeship of Philippine literary history. These days her poems are no longer available for reading only a few are printed as representative selections in HS textbooks. I just thought I could share the beauty and magic of her poetry. Enjoy!

Angelita


Angelita, you'll surely yield
now.
And so, you sly witch, you will
dare to refuse,
And think with your smiles you
have me in a ruse?
You child, I will like you
no more!
You there stand like an angel
from the azure above,
And you flaunt in my face that
pure emblem of love—
Angelita, I will like you no
more!

Please come here, you fair imp,
do not run from me so;
You must kiss your tocaya before
you can go;
Angelita, if you won't, you
will see.
You may trip and may skip with
your elfinish grace:
But I'll catch you and have you
within my embrace.
Angelita, if I don't, you will
see.

Ah, my elf, how you laugh in your
innocent glee,
As you teasingly try from my
hold to be free—
Angelita, just kiss me goodbye.
You are leaving me now, but then
promise me this:
Don't forget the tocaya you gave
so much bliss.
Angelita, remember—
goodbye!


15 November 1925


Sketches

I
Fades the Dusk?
I see it
In clouds of frankincense,
Grey and greyer still,
Wafted
From golden censers on floral chains,
Nightwards . . .

II
Stays the Night?
Leave it so—
A lyre of ebony
Draped in spangled gossamer,
Sepulchered in a subterranean tomb,
And untouched
Forever . . .

III
Flits the Dawn?
I find it
In the valley of the mystics,
In a kiosk beside the fountain,
In the winging fantasy
Of an amber
Butterfly’s tremor . . .

24 January 1926

Starlight Fantasy


My starlight fantasy weaves
A pearly mist that spans the void of the past.
The shimmer of the hovering dusk,
Wafts back the echo alone.

Snapped asunder
Are the silver strings of my Harp of Youth!
Night and gloom together fall,
Night on the ark, deserted terrace,
Gloom on my dazed, bewildered being,
As I grope—
Groping in vain—
For the broken chord.
Lost forever,
The music of the dryads,
Evermore to return!
Nevermore to whisper
The Ave of incarnate day;
Nevermore to fathom
The long, low sigh of Phoebe vanquished.
Only a phantom remains—
Treads in satin footfalls,
And walls for the lost Elysium.
And remains.

I heard then—
The silver laughter of the dancing waterfall,
The piping of the wind—king through the dell,
The kiss of the wavelet stray on the moonlit beach,
These,
In a throbbing cadence—
Give me back these,
O tremulous spirit of the starlight!
A wisp of the golden bar
That flanks the heaving western front—
This, and not
The funeral dirge of night!

Never?
Then why haunt me till?
Cling not to me, but leave!
No longer shall I seek vain rainbow sprites
Nor any longer chase the moonbeam’s sheen—
But the chord is hushed,
Mute,
Always eluding my grasp.

My starlight fantasy weaves
A pearly mist that spans the void of the past.
The shimmer of the hovering dusk,
Wafts back the echo alone.

1 May 1926




more to come...:Cat Smiley 6117:
* SOURCE: http://pinoylit.webmanila.com/filipinowriters/amgloria.htm (http://pinoylit.webmanila.com/filipinowriters/amgloria.htm)

[pinoypower]

These are indeed rare literary treasures that must be published so that others may enjoy it. The author's poetic prowess in English is a proof that there is no dearth of good writers in our country be it in Filipino or in English.

I am looking forward to the posting of her other works and perhaps a brief biography to further understand her poems.

Thanks, ilythyia.

[ilythyia]

here are three poems of Angela Manalang Gloria:

Arabesque Dream

I
Araceli,
What mocking spirit
Leads your gay footsteps hither,
Makes you smile so archly
While you stand beneath my doorway?
Hence!
You spoil my arabesque dream
With your sheen of ballroom glitter
With your staccato laughter.
A ball tonight?
My frivolous creature,
You lightly warble in sun-golden phrases,
Little thinking how fragile
My arabesque dream is;
Little sensing how fatal
Your chatter to me.
My heart tells me

That my words are as dead leaves
You carelessly trample through.
Hear me.
My world is a floral sphere
Of moonbleached cobwebs
And dew-kissed camais,
Born on the wings of a gentle zephyr.
Your world is a whirling sphere
Of painted masks in a tipsy pattern,
And metallic whispers and velvet swishes
Of revolving figurines
Within a revolving sphere.
And when the shadow of this world of yours
Falls upon mine—
Mine vanishes in shreds of sunset mist.

See?
You have spoiled my arabesque dream—
Just a piece of tender arabesque,
Whispering thin in lazy spirals
Purple, silver, gold.
Just a piece of fragile arabesque
Poised upon
That burnished flower-stand
Within my reach.
You came. My heart is sad,
For the candle flame dips low,
And the arabesque you tipped
Hs fallen.
Broken,
At my feet.

II
A lonely wind
Moaned and sobbed into my room.
A tiny perfume phial toppled over
With a tinkle
Upon the marble tabletop—
The scented, screaming note
Gently resolved itself
Into the cadenza of a petal’s melody.
The moon was kind. She smiled at me,
And flung her veil,
One silver square
Of lunar lace,
Into my room,
Over the petal of fluid fragrance,
Over the broken phial
Upon the tabletop.
And the petal fluttered in silver
Into my dream.
Crazy shadows upon the wall
Wiggled and capered
In pantomime.

I did not care.
The dusty spirit
Of the flaming blossom that graced my taper,
Flitted and skipped upon a raffia chair.
Raffia-work,
Fluted, glossy raffia-work,
Lisping gold . . . gold . . .
Hoops and loops of gold,
Like the snakes of an Indian charmer,
Like the rings of a Moro pirate.
Rosettes and whorls,
Fillets and curls,
Coiled in gold into my dream . . .
Dainty spirals
Scrolled upon the silver petal there.

A mandolin I was hearing
Strumming, strumming . . .
Phosphorescent,
Evanescent
Purple notes.
One casketfull of rubies
Tossed against the sky;
Now so bright,
Now so faint,
In mad delight to reach the moon.
Festoons of purple, twinkling lights
Decking the cold night. Then,
Falling . . . falling . . .
A gust of rowdy wind
Puffed into my room,
Blew each gem into my window . . .
The ruby stones rolled in and out of the spiraled gold,
And dotted in purple my arabesque dream.

III
The jewel was finished, exquisitely wrought—
Then you came.
You should have trodden softly past my door;
You should have left behind
The giddy rattle of the merry crowd.
For you cannot handle an arabesque yet —
It says
Only when the lights are low,
Only when the spider
Steps in glee from his hooded nook
But you came,
Fragile arabesque dream!
What in serpentine secrets
Whispered into my heart,
Now in jagged fragments
Mutters into my ear.

Shattered bits upon the floor?
Only shadows . . .

6 June 1926




Forgive Me


Forgive me if I speak now of nothing but roses.

I laughed before at those who babbled of the
melody of flame-petals, and I pointed to them
in scorn,

"You are fools that prate so of roses. Will other flowers not do?"

But now, I too dip my hands in a bowl of roes,
and feel the thousand little touches and hear
the thousand little murmurs of the spirit of a
sunrise on a tropical lagoon, in the fluttering
of bare petals against my wet fingers.

Forgive me if today I speak of nothing but roses.

I did not do so before, but last night I stole
quietly through the soft darkness of my chamber
to poise my bowl of roses on my window sill;

And while the pale streetlight shivered dim into my
window, I trembled over the shadows of Rose-Life
into the shadows of Eternity . . . and then I
questioned: why should men call this earth a
Valley of Tears?

Forgive me if I talk of nothing but roses.

But Love has stirred the dry twigs in the desolate
gardens of my being, has sighed for an altar of
roses—and I could not but hear.

26 June 1927



Nocturne


Lament not, o shade in the night,
For the moon is forsaken, alone;
And crescent and pallid and cold,
She will hear no complaint but her worn.

A kundiman had shimmered at dusk
On the strings of the nightwind’s guitar,
But a silver-lined stillness now lies
On the palm leaves that moaned from altar.

In the hush of the filigreed light
All your pleadings will rise up in vain;
Not a leaf to your sigh will respond:
Why complain, then, o heart, why complain?

3 July 1927

[ilythyia]

Forgotten


Out of the tattered light I come,
Out into the still dusk I go,
My bare feet crushing the weeping grass
On the trail to the river bank.

Hush your moaning, black waters:
Only listen to the complaint of the sobbing reeds
That bend down to you;
But add not a moan to their own,
For I come to bury my dead.
Hush your fretting, restless bamboos:
Only listen to the whisper of the river as it kisses
Your feet through its weeded hair;
But answer not its wooing,
For I come to bury my dead.
Hush your laughter, red moon:
Only watch me through the patterned curtain
Of the lone mango tree;
But mock not at my anguish,
For I come to bury my dead.
Where the fevered spirit of the twilight to and fro forever
paces.
Where the yellow leaves droop and fall
Beneath the cracked dry limbs,
Where the low murmur of the rushes saps the gurgling of
the stream,
Where the shadows are eternal—
There on the river bank
I have buried my dead.

Peace, peace to you!
No diwata will come to uncover your coffin of white
camia petals,
No heavy footfall will scatter the dry twigs wreathed upon
your grave,
No tear will trickle through the moist earth to wet your
thin shroud,
no sigh will pierce the black midnight hour to trouble you
again . . .
Sleep, my dead, sleep in the rest of the forgotten!

With the cold water sucking at my knees,
With outstretched arms and disheveled hair
I kneel on the river brink;
I cry to the night for mercy,
And pitying me, it answers:
“Yes, you will forget.”

And I rend the veil of the dusk
And I flee from the silent glade,
For I have buried a dead romance,
And I will forget.

28 August 1927

[q_sharon]

:thanks: for sharing with us these beautiful poems. Angela Manalang Gloria was a gifted poet during her time and she has kept her star shining as one of the best poets up to this day.

[ilythyia]

Hi q_sharon! I really like to share her works on board. I've been looking for her poems for a couple years and i found only a few of her works on the web. Luckily, I found a rare copy of her works with an introduction by her biographer Edna Zapanta Manlapaz. The anthology was published by the ADMU Press in 1995 and it's no longer available today.

I'm glad you find this thread helpful...I already posted 7 of her works there are 106 more to go..:hey:Enjoy!

[ilythyia]

Ten P.M.


You will be the crescent moon
That I have watched tonight.
I shall think of you
In mottled cloudlets,
Beautiful wisps in silver dying,
Daubed in the silver long after the moon
Is gone.

I shall remember you
In the white pulses of the night,
Soft and slow and sad.


4 September 1927



Mood in Silver: The Waterfall Bride


The mistry trail is calling me; return to your land, O
stranger, and tread not my wild haunts again!

Son of the cities, why did you come to disturb the peace
that was mine? I have heard the love tremor in your
sigh while you gazed into the twilight of my eyes: I know
that if you go to the murmur of the lake ripples will die in
my heart, and the lightness of leaping waters will leave
my laughter;

I understand, but—O silent stranger, your people are not
my people, and my wild songs are not for you!

Return to your land and only remember that you have met
the bride of the cascading river on the lake shore where
the water trembles in the blue moonlight.

I am going back to the forgotten valley when the falling
dew has buried your footprints.

I will wait for you in ravines where dark forms scamper,
though I know I shall wait in vain. I will sit on the rocks
at the falls, and the swirling spray that will kiss my brow
and the cold moonbeams that will play upon my hair,
will bring you again to me—

I will think of you then, o beautiful stranger whom I met
on the shore where the water trembles in the blue moonlight!


18 September 1927




To a Mestiza


I found the silent meeting of the East
and West in the willowy glimmer of a Bicol
pool— in the beautiful being that is you.


25 September 1927



:Cat Smiley 6105:

[pinoypower]

Hi q_sharon! I really like to share her works on board. I've been looking for her poems for a couple years and i found only a few of her works on the web. Luckily, I found a rare copy of her works with an introduction by her biographer Edna Zapanta Manlapaz. The anthology was published by the ADMU Press in 1995 and it's no longer available today.

I'm glad you find this thread helpful...I already posted 7 of her works there are 106 more to go..:hey:Enjoy!

Can't the owner of the copyright re-publish the anthology? Surely a lot of today's generation would love to read Angela Manalang's works of art.

I fell in love with her poetry from the very first verse.

Thanks again, ilythyia.:approve:

[ilythyia]

It would have been nice if they re-publish the anthology! =D