Three Poems from the Celebes Sea

By M.J. Cagumbay Tumamac
Translated by Eric Gerard H. Nebran

Translator’s note: These translated poems, originally written in Filipino, portray the complex relationship between the Celebes Sea and the diverse ethnic groups of southern Mindanao in the Philippines.

Pamumusit

ayon sa mga bata ng Barangay Mabay, Maitum

Karaniwan lamang sa inyong mamulat
sa katotohanang maalat ang dagat

dahil sa pagluha ng bawat asawang
daratnan sa baybay ang bangkay ng bana. 

Sa isang salaysay: isang mangingisda
ang gabi namusit sakay ng pakura

kaya di nakitang lumagpas sa guhit
na naghihiwalay sa lupa at tubig

ng kanilang Milbuk at inyong Maitum. 
Kinaumagahan, muling nakadaong

ang sinakyang bangka. Wala itong laman
maliban sa supot ng kanyang katawan.

Lumaki man kayo sa panggagalugad
ng lawak ng dagat, di ninyo mahanap 

nasaan ang guhit. Inyo lamang alam
ang sabi ng mamàng nagbalik ng bangkay:

tumahimik siya nang hindi mahúli
at agad pinatay ang kanyang sariling

maliit na bangka sa unang narinig
na putok ng baril. Ilan pang kalabit

ang hinintay niya bago nagpasiyang
iuwi ang patay. Di niya nadala

ang lahat pabalik; mayro’ng inihagis
sa lalim ng tubig. Inyong maiisip

sa ganoong lagay: pinaghihiwalay 
ang laman ng bangkay ng mga galamay. 

Ilang araw kayong di makakakain.
Ngunit lumilipas ang pagkarimarim. 

Ngunguya rin kayo ng kunat at nipis,
sisipsip ng tinta’t muling mamumusit. 

Hindi maiisip na bukod sa alat,
karaniwan lamang ang pait sa dagat. 

Catching Squid

according to the children of Barangay Mabay, Maitum

It is normal for you to grow up
with the truth that the sea is salty

 from the tears of every wife
who finds her husband’s corpse on the shore.

In one story: a fisherman
went to catch squid on his boat at night

and did not notice that he had crossed the line
that separates the territories

of their Milbuk and his Maitum.
The next morning, the boat returned

to the shore. It held nothing
but a plastic bag containing his body. 

Even if you grow up living off
the vastness of the sea, you will never find

where that line lies. You will only know
the details from the witness who returned the body:

the one who kept silent to avoid capture
and immediately killed the engine

of his own boat the moment he heard
the first gunshot. He waited

for several more before deciding
to bring the dead home. He could not bring back

everything; some parts had been thrown
into the deep waters. You can imagine

 in that state: it’s like the entrails
are torn from the corpse.

For several days, you won’t be able to eat.
But even the horror passes.

Eventually, you’ll chew the rubbery meat again,
suck its ink, and return to catching squid at night.

 Never mind that besides the salt,
bitterness is also common in the sea.

Sto. Niño de Bula

ayon na rin sa “Sirena” ni Mark Sherwin Castronuevo Bayanito 

1.

Mulat na ang diyos nang iyong samantalahin ang labí ng dilim at kunin ito sa bangkang dambana upang ihanda sa paglalayag. Lagi namang mulat ang batang diyos. Ngayon lang ulit, senyor. Ilang ulit ang pagdadaop-palad bago ang paghuhubad. Kasing-itim natin ang tagapagtubos, at maalikabok ang kulot na buhok. Ginalugad ng daliring balot ng tela ang mga sulok at singit. Saan ang uten? Nagkatitigan bago muling dinamitan. 

2.

Kasama ang sirena nang naglayag ang mga dayo patungong look ng Sarangani. Mula noon, naaalala nang nangunguha ito ng lalaking napalaot tuwing pista ng Sto. Niño de Bula. Hindi na matiyak sino-sino at paano. Ganoon nagpapatuloy ang mga salaysay: sa paggunita at paglimot. Sa isa pang salaysay, ipinasok ng kung sinong lalaki ang uten ng pawikan kasama ng sarili isang pakikipagtalik. Hindi na mahugot at kinailangang putulin.

3.

Lumilitaw na ang layag ng hinihintay ninyong diyos. Naglalayag ito sa dagat na inyong pinaglalayagan maliban ngayong umaga; nananalangin kayong makadaong ito nang tiyak ang paghasik ng biyaya. Kadugtong ng dagat ang pabrikang hindi rin muna binuksan ng Tsinong diyos ng mga isda upang manguna sa pagbabalik ng diyos sa dambana sa simbahang hinulmang bangka.

Nilulukop ang langit ng maiitim na ulap at ang mga dibdib ng pangamba. Di ba’t ikinulong ang diyos sa kahong salamin nang hindi mabasâ at ipinako sa harap ng bangka nang agad makita? Bumuhos ang ulan. Sandaling walang masilayan.

Lumilitaw na ang buong bangka. Walang sakay na diyos. 

Sto. Niño de Bula

as recounted in “Sirena” by Mark Sherwin Castronuevo Bayanito

1.

The god was already awake when you took advantage of the lingering darkness and got him from the boat-shaped altar to prepare for a voyage. Just this once, señor. Repeated hand clasps before undressing. The child-redeemer shares the color of your dark skin, with curly hair covered in dust. Your fingers covered in cloth felt the figure all over. Where is the penis? You stared at each other. You dressed him again.

2.

The mermaid made the voyage with the settlers as they sailed for the Bay of Sarangani. From then on, it’s said that she takes men who go out to sea during the feast of Sto. Niño de Bula. No one knows exactly who or how. That’s how tales survive anyway: in remembering and forgetting. In another tale by the bay: during intercourse, a man inserted the penis of a sea turtle along with his own, but could not pull his member out and it had to be severed.

3.

Emerging in the horizon is the sail of the god you are waiting for. He sails the same waters you do, except this morning all of you are not out to fish but praying that he lands well so that the blessings he scatters are certain. The sea is also connected to a factory owned by the Chinese god of fish; closed today so that he can lead the ritual of returning the god to the altar of the boat-shaped church.

Dark clouds begin to swallow the sky along with the chests that swell with dread. Wasn’t the god locked up in a glass box to keep him dry, nailed to the front of the boat so people could see him right away? The rain poured. For a time, nothing could be seen.

Now the entire boat is in view. There is no god aboard. 

Sa Mananagat na Isang Buwang Nagpalutang-lutang sa Dagat Celebes

Natatapos ang pananampalataya sa dagat. Wala iyon sa málay nang naglayag kasama ng tiyo. Maláy lamang na kailangang layuan pa ang lalayagin nang mapatunayang naglalaho ang mga bangka lampas ng abot-tanaw. Sa balintataw, namuo hindi nagtagal ang itim na mga ulap. Isinigaw ng tiyo ang pangamba. Nalunod ito sa mga alon sa bawat balibag ng bangka. Namatay ang makina. 

Matagal ang lambong ng lagim. 

Nang nagkaaraw, hindi na kilala ang dagat. Hindi pa nakalalayo, sabi ng tiyo, sa tila walang wakas na lawak. Halos walang natira, liban sa kalam at kawalang-katiyakan. Sa simula, kinain ang nagsitubong lumot at sumisisid-sisid maitawid at mapawi lamang ang hapdi. 

Malaon, nalagot ang hininga ng tiyo. Sandaling tinangisan bago inilibing sa tubig. Saka humimlay nang walang balak magising. Wala sa málay na natagpuan. Maláy lamang na nakabalik at nangakong hindi na maglalayag. 

Sa huli, nanatili ka at ang dagat. 

To the Fisherman Who Drifted for a Month in the Celebes Sea

Faith ends at sea. You were not conscious of it when you sailed with your uncle. Only the awareness that you have to venture farther to prove that boats truly vanish from sight when they go beyond the horizon. Only later, dark clouds formed in your mind’s eye. In fear, your uncle shouted but it was drowned by the waves crashing into the boat. The engine died.

The net of horror is cast and the reach is wide.

When the sun returned, the sea was no longer familiar. Your uncle said, we haven’t gone far from the seemingly endless expanse. Almost nothing remained, save for hunger and uncertainty. At first, you ate some moss, diving again and again in an effort to dull the pain.

Eventually, your uncle’s breath gave out. You grieved briefly before burying him in the water.

Then you lay down, with no intention of waking. You were unconscious when found, only later came the awareness that you had returned, then formed the resolve to consciously stop sailing.

In the end, it was you and the sea that remained.

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M.J. Cagumbay Tumamac is a book worker, social science practitioner, and educator from southern Mindanao.

Eric Gerard H. Nebran is a teacher, editor, and translator from General Santos City, Philippines. His research interests span orality, history, popular culture, and digital humanities. With roots in diasporic communities—his mother from the Ilonggo (Hiligaynon-speaking) settlers in Isulan, Sultan Kudarat and his late father from the Ilocano settlers in Maitum, Sarangani Province—he actively studies and supports multicultural and multilingual literary and cultural productions.

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