the writing workshop

Best hear about it straight from the workshop fellows themselves:

Noelle Leslie

Jordan


And I've been saying and saying that Lambert is my favorite fellow. Well, it seems that he's also a favorite of the other fellows and panelists as well. When he speaks, other fellows take photos and videos of him. And one panelist said to another, "O, i-hire mo na si Lambert" to which Lambert said, "'Di pa ako graduate."

We all look forward to hearing Lambert's commentaries which are deep and incisive. His being well read and having an impeccable command of language are already givens. His 'what do i know, i'm just an overstaying student' attitude is endearing which is quite unlike other intellectuals who turn other people away with their kayabangan.

Here's a poem by Lambert. This poem has been lauded for strengths and lambasted for flaws. You be the judge.


A Short Shonagun

I want to have a pond where
it would be wonderful to swim
or at least dump giant boulders in.

I want to have a house that doesn't have walls
everything would be windows
and the breeze and the sun would say wake up it's morning
and the chill and the moon would say it's time to lie down and sleep.
then I would fold away the roof
and as this house is in the province
the stars would all be present and
in their proper places and
the rest of the sky would be black
but here the stars have meaning and you
would want their ancient lights.
and also since it has forty four floors
I'd be so high up I can see the sky curve down
in all directions and I would be reassured that
the world is round and I could reach
you if I traveled or you'd eventually come
if I waited long enough.



There was another poem in the workshop, written by Leslie, that was so evocative it actually made me cry. But I'm not printing that here. Here's another poem by Leslie that I liked very much.


The House of Logic

Impressive, how you stacked the bricks so neatly,
The main columns ponderous and confident
And on your roof, not a shingle out of place.
I can scarcely imagine the inner intricacy
What doors would open to which chambers
Or how to navigate the secret hallways.
You spent a lifetime building this mansion,
Plotting the hidden cellars and trapdoors
And a panic room in case of an invasion.

But the door was open, and I entered
Was almost lost in the labyrinth of corridors
Feeling my way through the intractable darkness,
Believing I was alone in the fortress—
Till I wandered into the farthest wing
And found you huddled in a corner, shivering.