The Blair Bitch Poetry Projects

I stumbled upon Chinie Hidalgo’s “The Blair Bitch Project: A Book of Bitchy Poetry” and I can’t help but follow it up with her next book, “The Blair Bitch Returns: Another Book of Bitchy Poetry". And since it was a quick read, I made my unsolicited remarks right away.

The author compiled her own series of “bitchy” poems, all of which, I must say, were witty and funny. The words used were simple, the poems light and easy-to-understand. There was no deep usage of different figures of speech, just plain simple poetry writing. The rhymes were well-written. Surprisingly, the poems were metered – a poetry-making attribute which new-age poets aka free-style artists fail to use nowadays.

I love reading poems and I struggle to be a “good” poet at the same time. Goodness is relative and if the reader is my mother, I’ll probably be one of the best. Anyway, poetry lovers have always loved poets who know how to craft thought-provoking metaphors.
I myself can’t help but be placed in a hypnotic trance after reading a deep poem line. However, poem-critiques also look in factors such as rhyme and meter. I rarely see them nowadays.

Try to imagine how difficult it is to create poems with intact meter, well-crafted rhymes, and mind-boggling use of wordplay and figures of speech. If you encounter one today, ask the person if he/she is a time-traveler as well. Chances are that poet came from the Shakespearean era.

Here is one of my favorites from Ms. Hidalgo’s first book. Please click the image for a bigger view. Notice the cute illustrations done by Ms. Krie Reyes.

And this one is from her 2nd book:


I stringed 4 stars from the depths of the universe and give it to Ms. Hidalgo. Her books are definitely worth-sharing. I think even non-poetry lovers would like it.

Images were scanned from the books.

Too bad the 2 Blair Bitch Projects are not yet on Shelfari despite having ISBN. I wonder how one registers a book in it.

The Trap by John Smelcer

Albert Least-Weasel, a native Indian in his late 80s, was one of the highly respected men in his tribe, not only because of age, but also due to the fact that he was able to survive life in the North that long. Throughout his life, he mastered the skills of hunting, trapping, and surviving the cold – skills necessary to prove manhood in their tribe and defy the trecherous nature of his land. Little did he know that nature would soon test these skills.

Johnny Least-Weasel admired his grandfather to the point of wanting to be like him. Though native Indian culture has been gradually replaced and forgotten, Johnny tried to learn and live the ways of the old through his grandfather. At the age of 17, his instincts would be tested.

Through time, Albert learned to hunt with great precision and adept skills. But as he aged, his senses failed him. The old Least-Weasel got trapped in his own trapline – far from his home, amidst the white landscape, with only the cold northern climate for companion. With one leg trapped, he would evade death by generating heat, finding other sources of food, and scaring hungry pack of wolves, if only time would permit.

***

I did not like it because:
• The plot was simple with some flashbacks which for me are irrelevant to the story.
• It focused on Indian culture and ways of surviving the North aside from building a good or rather powerful climax and resolution.

I liked it because:
• The manner of storytelling was magnificent. It compensated the author’s plot inadequacy.
• The metaphors are powerful and moving.
• Easy to understand; light read.
• The information about life up north and Indian culture are nice-to-know facts.
• In my opinion, the ending is substantial.


Obviously, I liked this book. I give it 3/5 stars.

Erich Segal's Man, Woman and Child

This is a love story which could me made a telenovela series.

Bob and Sheila Beckwith thought their lives are already complete – stable marriage, 2 wonderful daughters, and rewarding careers – until a message from France changed everything.

Bob received news from Louis Vénargues (ex-mayor of Séte) that Dr. Nicole Guerin, the woman whom Bob had an affair with almost 10 years ago, passed away. But the surprising news did not end there. What Bob did not know is that they produced a son -- Jean-Claude, 9 years old, now an orphan. The child had nowhere to go, and Bob needed to do something about it.

Bob, albeit extremely anxious, told his wife about it. Sheila, utterly hurt, tried to deny everything Bob confessed to her. But Jean-Claude was a living proof, one they can’t deny. Sheila was shocked; all the while she thought her marriage was perfect. She struggled for answers on what she could have done to deserve such pain.

Sheila turned cold to her husband. She coped with sleepless nights by taking sleeping pills. But these were expected reactions from a woman who felt cheated and Bob knew it. What he was not expecting were Sheila’s decisions. To Bob’s surprise, his wife invited the orphaned boy to spend time with them, but only for a month.

The couple told their daughters that Jean-Claude lost his parents and would be spending a month-long vacation with them in Cape Cod. As the days passed, the family grew fond of the boy, even Sheila herself. But this was all ruined when the girls found out that Jean-Claude was their father’s illegitimate son.

What happened next was a choice between Jean-Claude and her 2 daughters; save the relationship with the boy or his wonderful family. Bob had to decide fast. The series of events that occurred next opened a whole new world to the family.

***

I am not fond of love stories, especially if the plot poses as a telenovela. What are the chances that a man could have a have a woman pregnant after a one-night stand? Of course it’s fifty-fifty. But I think the stats of the number of men who got their partners pregnant after a one-night stand are fewer compared to those who have been having sex a couple of times.

What made Bob so sure that Jean-Claude was his son? Bob and Nicole spent the night together only once and they never saw each other again. For all we know, Nicole might have had affairs with other men during that year Bob was in Séte.

Sheila’s depression and anger were very much expected. But to accept the boy to their house the morning after learning the news was a bit off. Decision made that fast could be just a spur of the moment. She had time to re-think things, yet she did not change her mind.

These are just some of my unsolicited sentiments regarding the plot. I haven’t read any other Segal book, but I think the inadequacy in the creativity department, or the lack thereof, made the book a total bore. And like any other fictional short story about love-cheat relationship, one could not help but be intrigued about its resolution. Thus, the reader is compelled to finish the book just to find answers to the intriguing questions simmering in his/her head.

Of all the characters, Sheila Beckwith had the most burdens to bear. Yet, she was portrayed as a woman of exquisite character – beautiful, smart, caring, and enduring. She refused to fall prey to a treacherous life by trying to do her best to avoid committing the mistake her husband did.

The book is a short story and an easy-read; straight-forward, no flowery words. One could finish it overnight with only meal and bathroom privileges. I grudgingly finished it in one week, forcing myself to like the plot. I have to clear myself -- there are parts wherein the story would catch one’s attention and make the reader flip through the next pages. But the story, aside from lacking creativity, also fell short in sustainability, which made chapters predictable.

I give it 2/5 stars. Yes, I did not like it.

***
Image taken from this site.

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Dream Catcher

I miss spontaneous word combustions. For so long now, I haven’t been through such word overflows again. Maybe it is because I prefer blogging about anything than actually composing poems.

To give you a picture of what I am trying to say, I’d like to tell you a story about me and my brother. My bro is Jay-Lo! Sexy huh? Haha! Well, he’s a visual artist, and a good one at that. He graduated cum laude from one of the prestigious universities frequently bothered by flash floods during rainy days, be it a drizzle or storm. Anyway, there was this night when I got home drunk. Well, not really irritatingly drunk, just giddy. And I’m not sure if I’m making up this now just to save ass. Going back, there I was, walking in the kitchen and he was seated by the dining table. He was sketching, not a doodle but something which would really grab your attention. It got me and I fell into the trap. Poor Jay-Lo. He trapped me while I was tipsy. With the freedom of speech I got from the alcohol kick, I started scrutinizing the artwork. “What’s that? Is that a unicorn or a Pegasus? I think something’s wrong with it.” My brother tried to defend his masterpiece through exchange of words and intellect. But I guess nobody wins over a drunken dude.

I went back to my room and literally put myself flat on bed. There are glow-in-the dark stars on our ceiling and when you’re under alcohol’s spell, you could not escape the hallucination. That was when I felt the flight of ideas in my head. I turned on the light, grabbed a pen, and wrote.

Then I fell asleep.

I woke up with the paper beside me. I went downstairs and look for my brother’s sketch. To my surprise, it’s what I had in mind the night before, while I was writing the poem. From a black-and-white pencil sketch, Jay-Lo turned his art into something surreal. The idea is genius. The play of colors is marvelous. Mahusay!

Lying half-asleep, half-awake
On the lassitude of my mattress
Lunar light peeping through
The slits of the blinds
Penetrating the pores of my skin
Creeping through my spine and nerves
Numbing my senses
Lids collapsing like avalanche in replay
Slowly, I am placed under
Sleep’s spell

On evenings such as this, I can see
the luminous white unicorn grazing
beneath our sampaloc tree
tiny fairies chasing one another
while scattering powder of silver and gold
the ceiling adorned with vivid images
of the planets and constellations
By the fish pond I see the mermaid
Chanting lullabies to the drowsyY
oung dragon beside her
The leprechaun snoring
Under the rainbow on my roof.

Then I see myself sitting
Not awake nor asleep
On the same weary mattress
Beamed by the same white light
From the slits of the blinds
Painting this dream.

- for my brother

(Nov. 13, 2006 - 9:20 am)





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I was invited by my college friends to party at Embassy awhile ago. Clubs are not in my list of things-to-do-on-a-weekend-night but I am not against it either. Once in awhile, I go clubbing, but my operative definition of “awhile” might be way different from you.

Lately I’ve been more inclined to hangout in bars, and I’m still in the midst of persistently disproving the well-known fact that age has something to do with it. I’ve been telling my colleagues and fellow AA (Alcoholics Anyone?) members that we should look for a nice sit-down bar, one that we could frequent on a regular basis. “Nice” is a very vague term, and here are my criteria on it:

• Cool, cozy ambiance
• High-spirited, good-natured, peace-loving crowd
• Sumptuous meals with reasonable prices
• A-quality service
• Pleasing music of any genre
• Cheap beer (and other liquor for that matter)

The last criterion is important. I remember my frat batchmate Chuabols saying, “We need not slash out our pockets to get drunk.” And for people who drink until near-hepatic failure, cheaper costs would be loads of burden unloaded.

Ortigas area is nearest to our workplace. So far, I haven’t found any place which meets all the criteria.