ngayon

Ngayon ang simula ng hiram mong buhay
Ngayon ang daigdig mo’y bata at makulay
Ngayon gugulin mo nang tam’at mahusay,
Bawat saglit at sandali
Magsikap ka’t magpunyagi
Maging aral bawat mali

Ngayon bago ito ay maging kahapon 
Ang pagkakataon sana’y huwag itapon
Ikaw, tulad ko rin ay may dapithapon,
Baka ika’y mapalingon
Sa nagdaang bawat ngayon
Nasayang lang na panahon

Ituring mong kahapo’y waring panaginip lang
Ang bukas, pangitain n’yang ganda’y sa isip lang,
Kung bawat ngayon mo sa ‘yo ay (laging) sulit lang
Kayganda ng buhay ngayon

Sa buhay mong hiram
Mahigpit man ang kapit 
May bukas na sa yo’y di na rin sasapit 
Ngunit kung bawat ngayo’y dakila mong nagamit
Masasabi mong kahit na
Ang bukas, di sumapit pa
Ang naabot mo’y langit na

Ituring mong kahapo’y waring panaginip lang
Ang bukas, pangitain n’yang ganda’y sa isip lang,
Kung bawat ngayon mo sa ‘yo ay (laging) sulit lang
Kayganda ng buhay
Bukas mo’y matibay
Dahil ang sandiga’y ngayon

Ituring mong kahapo’y waring panaginip lang
Ang bukas, pangitain n’yang ganda’y sa isip lang,
Kung bawat ngayon mo sa ‘yo ay (laging) sulit lang
Kayganda ng buhay
Bukas mo’y matibay
Dahil ang sandiga’y ngayon

nais ko

Ryan Cayabyab

Nais kong maihip ng hanging walang patutung’han
Parang ibong wala ring hangarin kundi ang lumipad nang lumipad
Nais kong lumipad
Nais ko ring maagos ng alon saan man mapadpad
Kahit na isdang mumuntiin, hangari’y lumangoy nang lumangoy
Nais kong lumangoy
Nais kong malibot ang mundo sa kanyang kasuluk-sulukan
Nais kong makita ang paligid kong puno ng kagandahan
Nais kong makadama ng kakaibang damdamin kahit minsan man lang
Habang ako ay may buhay, wala nang hangarin pang tunay
Nais ko…nais ko…
Nais kong maulit muli ang buhay
Kung may pagkakataon upang mamalas
Ang mga bagay-bagay na ‘di ko natanto sa aking buhay
Nais kong maulit pa, ulit-ulitin pa ang buhay ko

Nais kong maihip ng hanging walang patutung’han
Parang ibong wala ring hangarin kundi ang lumipad nang lumipad
Nais kong lumipad
Nais kong malibot ang mundo sa kanyang kasuluk-sulukan
Nais kong makita ang paligid kong puno ng kagandahan
Nais kong makadama ng kakaibang damdamin kahit minsan man lang
Habang ako ay may buhay, wala nang hangarin pang tunay
Nais ko…nais ko…
Nais kong maulit muli ang buhay
Kung may pagkakataon upang mamalas
Ang mga bagay-bagay na ‘di ko natanto sa aking buhay
Nais kong maulit pa, ulit-ulitin pa ang buhay ko
Nais kong maulit pa, ulit-ulitin pa ang buhay ko
Nais ko…nais ko…Nais ko…

Elmore Leonard’s rules on writing

http://www.nytimes.com/2001/07/16/arts/writers-writing-easy-adverbs-exclamation-points-especially-hooptedoodle.html

WRITERS ON WRITING; Easy on the Adverbs, Exclamation Points and Especially Hooptedoodle
By ELMORE LEONARD
Published: July 16, 2001
These are rules I’ve picked up along the way to help me remain invisible when I’m writing a book, to help me show rather than tell what’s taking place in the story. If you have a facility for language and imagery and the sound of your voice pleases you, invisibility is not what you are after, and you can skip the rules. Still, you might look them over.

1. Never open a book with weather.

If it’s only to create atmosphere, and not a character’s reaction to the weather, you don’t want to go on too long. The reader is apt to leaf ahead looking for people. There are exceptions. If you happen to be Barry Lopez, who has more ways to describe ice and snow than an Eskimo, you can do all the weather reporting you want.

2. Avoid prologues.

They can be annoying, especially a prologue following an introduction that comes after a foreword. But these are ordinarily found in nonfiction. A prologue in a novel is backstory, and you can drop it in anywhere you want.

There is a prologue in John Steinbeck’s ”Sweet Thursday,” but it’s O.K. because a character in the book makes the point of what my rules are all about. He says: ”I like a lot of talk in a book and I don’t like to have nobody tell me what the guy that’s talking looks like. I want to figure out what he looks like from the way he talks. . . . figure out what the guy’s thinking from what he says. I like some description but not too much of that. . . . Sometimes I want a book to break loose with a bunch of hooptedoodle. . . . Spin up some pretty words maybe or sing a little song with language. That’s nice. But I wish it was set aside so I don’t have to read it. I don’t want hooptedoodle to get mixed up with the story.”

3. Never use a verb other than ”said” to carry dialogue.

The line of dialogue belongs to the character; the verb is the writer sticking his nose in. But said is far less intrusive than grumbled, gasped, cautioned, lied. I once noticed Mary McCarthy ending a line of dialogue with ”she asseverated,” and had to stop reading to get the dictionary.

4. Never use an adverb to modify the verb ”said” . . .

. . . he admonished gravely. To use an adverb this way (or almost any way) is a mortal sin. The writer is now exposing himself in earnest, using a word that distracts and can interrupt the rhythm of the exchange. I have a character in one of my books tell how she used to write historical romances ”full of rape and adverbs.”

5. Keep your exclamation points under control.

You are allowed no more than two or three per 100,000 words of prose. If you have the knack of playing with exclaimers the way Tom Wolfe does, you can throw them in by the handful.

6. Never use the words ”suddenly” or ”all hell broke loose.”

This rule doesn’t require an explanation. I have noticed that writers who use ”suddenly” tend to exercise less control in the application of exclamation points.

7. Use regional dialect, patois, sparingly.

Once you start spelling words in dialogue phonetically and loading the page with apostrophes, you won’t be able to stop. Notice the way Annie Proulx captures the flavor of Wyoming voices in her book of short stories ”Close Range.”

8. Avoid detailed descriptions of characters.

Which Steinbeck covered. In Ernest Hemingway’s ”Hills Like White Elephants” what do the ”American and the girl with him” look like? ”She had taken off her hat and put it on the table.” That’s the only reference to a physical description in the story, and yet we see the couple and know them by their tones of voice, with not one adverb in sight.

9. Don’t go into great detail describing places and things.

Unless you’re Margaret Atwood and can paint scenes with language or write landscapes in the style of Jim Harrison. But even if you’re good at it, you don’t want descriptions that bring the action, the flow of the story, to a standstill.

And finally:

10. Try to leave out the part that readers tend to skip.

A rule that came to mind in 1983. Think of what you skip reading a novel: thick paragraphs of prose you can see have too many words in them. What the writer is doing, he’s writing, perpetrating hooptedoodle, perhaps taking another shot at the weather, or has gone into the character’s head, and the reader either knows what the guy’s thinking or doesn’t care. I’ll bet you don’t skip dialogue.

My most important rule is one that sums up the 10.

If it sounds like writing, I rewrite it.

Or, if proper usage gets in the way, it may have to go. I can’t allow what we learned in English composition to disrupt the sound and rhythm of the narrative. It’s my attempt to remain invisible, not distract the reader from the story with obvious writing. (Joseph Conrad said something about words getting in the way of what you want to say.)

If I write in scenes and always from the point of view of a particular character — the one whose view best brings the scene to life — I’m able to concentrate on the voices of the characters telling you who they are and how they feel about what they see and what’s going on, and I’m nowhere in sight.

What Steinbeck did in ”Sweet Thursday” was title his chapters as an indication, though obscure, of what they cover. ”Whom the Gods Love They Drive Nuts” is one, ”Lousy Wednesday” another. The third chapter is titled ”Hooptedoodle 1” and the 38th chapter ”Hooptedoodle 2” as warnings to the reader, as if Steinbeck is saying: ”Here’s where you’ll see me taking flights of fancy with my writing, and it won’t get in the way of the story. Skip them if you want.”

”Sweet Thursday” came out in 1954, when I was just beginning to be published, and I’ve never forgotten that prologue.

Did I read the hooptedoodle chapters? Every word.

Writers on Writing

This article is part of a series in which writers explore literary themes. Previous contributions, including essays by John Updike, E. L. Doctorow, Ed McBain, Annie Proulx, Jamaica Kincaid, Saul Bellow and others, can be found with this article at The New York Times on the Web:

http://www.nytimes.com/arts

Photo: Elmore Leonard, whose new novel, ”Tishomingo Blues,” is due out next February, outside his home in Bloomfield Village, Mich., on Thursday. (Allan Barnes for The New York Times)(pg. E2)

Comments on DIY Vermeer

http://www.studio360.org/story/diy-vermeer/

kelly o. from brooklyn, ny

…every time I see something that’s people-made, old, and mind-bogglingly awesome, I just have to remind myself that people have always figured out how to do amazing things. but without the presence of the passivity-inducing instant gratification of inventions like television and surfing the internet, people just had so much extra time on their hands to tinker with their own hands and imaginations. we look back and are amazed, just as the peeps of the past would be equally jaw-dropped by what we have accomplished/created in modern times despite our lack of free time. it’s the human condition to stand on the shoulders of giants thinking we are the first to truly see the sky.

Karl Audenaerde from Falmouth, MA

At one point in the program there was a reference to an event that drastically changed one’s perception. Figuring out how Vermeer and others achieved quasi-photorealism certainly qualifies, but it required a life-changing effort. I had one, free of charge, happening with the speed of an epiphany. In the early eighties we were at the great Picasso exhibition in Mexico City. One of the pieces was the “Portrait of Dora Maar,” which I had never seen. But I had seen photographs of Picasso together with Dora Maar. Entering the room with the painting, I immediately recognized her – from 20 feet distance. That experience completely changed my perception of Picasso, in that split second. It went from agreeing that the man was a genius to KNOWING that the man was a genius.

from New Yorker article on SK

Andersen, of course, has always been a global crowd-pleaser, who, as the Danes like to say, writes about “the galoshes of happiness,” while Kierkegaard, who writes about “the place where the shoe hurts,” ….

If your soul has bunions, however, reading Kierkegaard may inflame them: he invented self-doubt in its modern form. “Either/Or,” for example, ought really to be subtitled “Neither.” Kierkegaard, who has often been called the father of existentialism, champions the examined life, and the conscious choice that informs it—yet he mocks choice as futile. “I see it all perfectly,” he wrote. “There are two possible situations—one can either do this or that. My honest opinion and my friendly advice is this: do it or do not do it—you will regret both.” (The advice was proffered, originally, to anyone contemplating marriage. In the cartoon supplement, a duck holds forth on the either/or of putting croutons in your salad.)