The following fellows have been selected for the Davao Writers Workshop 2009.
Fellows for Fiction
Alpha Fortun (UP Mindanao)
Aaron Jalalon (UP Mindanao)
Edmund Julian de la Cerna (San Pedro College)
Eric John Villena (Xavier University – Ateneo de Cagayan)
Jeffrey Javier (UP Mindanao)
Fellows for Creative Nonfiction
Mary Ann Tarusan (Ateneo de Davao)
Migs Bassig (Ateneo de Manila)
Karen Quinones (University of Southeastern Philippines)
Rowena Rose Lee (UP Mindanao)
Fellows for Poetry
Allen Samsuya (UP Mindanao)
Jobelle Obguia (Ateneo de Davao)
Hannah Enanoria (Ateneo de Davao)
Henrietta Diana de Guzman (UP Mindanao)
Paul Randy Palua-Gumanao (Ateneo de Davao)
Vanessa Almeria (UP Mindanao)
The workshop takes place at La Storta Retreat House, Shrine Hills, Matina, from May 4 to May 8. Panelists are Marjorie Evasco, Tim Montes, Macario Tiu, and Don Pagusara.
Opening ceremonies for the workshop will be on May 4, 9:00 am, at Ateneo de Davao University.
The workshop will be open to a limited number of observers. Stay tuned to this web site for announcement on the sign-up details.
National Commission on Culture and the Arts, Davao Writers Guild, UP Mindanao Dance Ensemble, and the Ateneo de Davao University Humanities Division present: Bukambibig: Salita’t Sayaw, a performance of poetry and dance. Bukambibig features the works of Ricky de Ungria, Tita Lacambra Ayala, Macario Tiu, Aida Rivera Ford, Jhoanna Cruz, and Dom Cimafranca, as performed by the UP Mindanao Dance Ensemble.
The performance takes place on March 13 (Friday), 5:00PM to 7:00PM at the 5th Floor, Finster Hall of Ateneo de Davao University. If you wish to attend the event, please post your name as a comment by Thursday, or visit our Facebook event page.
Our second Poetry Night, held at Wings and Wedges in Matina Town Square, was a smashing success. Students from UP Mindanao came out in full force and comprised most of the readers and audience (though we did get good representation from Ateneo de Davao, University of Southeastern Philippines, Davao Writers Guild, and other young professionals, as well.) All in all, our crowd had grown by around 50% more than the first Poetry Night.
This is the curve of the cheek
that I once explored with kisses.
This is the cave of the mouth
where I once blew in breath
whose wetness I tasted.
This is the hillock of the nose
where I once rubbed my own
on an idle summer day
when we ran through the fields.
These are the wings of the eyelids
that fluttered to life
at my slightest whisper.
These are the pools of the eyes
into which I lost my soul.
AS SHE LAY IN BED, awaiting with some dread the onset of the next contraction, Naty couldn’t keep from thinking about her mother. Mother: who had birthed her, along with her five brothers and three sisters. Mother: whose magnificent, sturdy birthing hips she had inherited. Mother: still living, with her brothers and sisters, in that tiny house in the raucous market district of Agdao half a world away.
Not for long, she thought hopefully, not for long.
“Soyez prêt. Contraction à venir,” a soft voice said. She felt the tightening in her stomach, and she strained against the pain. It lasted, she felt, for a very long time. When it finally released her, she gasped for air.
By the time Jheric got to the car, it was too late. The blue Toyota Corolla had already backed out of its space. Its window rolled down a notch and Vhong’s hand reached out for the coins. Then the car was on its way out of the supermarket parking lot.
“Hey! That was my customer! You know it was!” Jheric shouted.
“Ha! Early bird and all that, runt!” Vhong said. He jangled the coins in his hand.
“It’s mine! It’s mine!”
Vhong held Jheric back at arm’s length. Jheric flailed but his hands barely even reached Vhong’s shoulder. A small crowd of boys had gathered around them. “Go, Jheric! Give him what for!” They laughed. Vhong pushed Jheric. Jheric fell on his butt.