By Eugene Gloria
Ephemeral lives, and souls misplaced within the tattered cloth of struggle, displacement, and ruined love locate wish, redemption, and a standard voice in Eugene Gloria's crafty concoction of yank and Filipino vernaculars. whereas a few of these thirty poems care for the panorama and folkways of up to date Filipinos, others find themselves at the streets and byways of present-day the USA. Like many poets of twin background, Gloria's paintings is anxious with self-definition, with the try and reconcile a sense of exile and homelessness. usually taking the shape of personality stories and first-person narratives, Gloria's poems poignantly light up the typical man's look for connection to the self and to the world."Eugene Gloria's Drivers on the Short-Time inn is propelled by way of an imagistic sincerity and paced lyricism. each one poem turns out to include the plain-spoken in addition to the gildings that we go along with classical and glossy Asian poetry. notwithstanding a number of the poems handle the lingering damage of cultural and financial imperialism, worlds coexist within the comparable pores and skin via magical imagery. Gauged by means of a willing eye, heritage is scrutinized, yet via a playful exactness. those excellent poems are trustworthy." —Yusef Komunyaaka
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Extra info for Drivers at the Short-Time Motel: National Poetry
And all of the girls he had ever enjoyed may absorb his luggage and bless his disasters, unpack his final fresh shirts—white like his mestizo dermis and mild as his sisters’. attractive, unfortunate brother, sleepwalking amid the ruins, I name you again for your wishes alongside the rim of terraces, again to the shallow water flourishing with younger rice. “Where the Feeble Senses Fail” —Tantum Ergo A tight-fisted dowager now in her dotage inhabits Don Pedro highway like homes nest in secure little clusters. She rises ahead of the six o’clock Mass, prior to the sparrows twitter their gossip, sooner than the large O assumes a dermis of margarine. Mother-of-pearl necklace, gold and stoned brooches of eco-friendly and ocher, this aged virgin made prepared for the physique of Christ. Black soot thick as snot smears her hanky because the Rockwell airborne dirt and dust settles atop her sturdy wooden: objets d’art and antiques from Java. and prefer an unforeseen mobile name, Bloomington, Indiana, returns as rapid as heartbreak as though heartbreak makes exiles folks all. And eager for a few human hand permits her to harbor this one mystery. In her room the hi-fi spins a scratched LP with a tune her soldier father could sing, replete with lament, a ballad to dirt a few doting prodigal discovering his method domestic. not anyone will inform him the send has sailed not anyone to inform him the place to put his hat. A seller chants, Boiled child duck eggs, in her room the checklist skips, a kept the teeth waits for her father’s mortar and pestle, darkish laces clasp her boot with 4 eyelets, and tulips within the some distance heart West gown a backyard someplace in Indiana, a few are gold like watches, others purple as blouses. tune of the Pillar lady I. EDSA We examine a lady in a starched white uniform, white socks, a Robin-Hood-green ribbon caught on her well combed hair, on her approach to university, prior to her photograph graced the canopy of image, January five, 1993. She was once sprawled at the highway— her lifestyles forces flowing, obdurate puddle of motor grease at the sun-baked macadam, the Philippine Constabulary, police officers in aviator colours milling approximately like extras at the set, all so photogenic, and newsworthy, as this purple Pantranco bus trips south on Epifanio de los Santos road. An outdated lady, slightly audible yet for the lilt in her song’s saddest half. Her voice falters and cracks like gears badly meshing underneath the bus’s rusted hood. not anyone is speaking, no longer even the konduktór folding his small money owed lengthwise: tens around the center arms and twenties make a semi-ring round his pinkies. A voice, quotidian and homely, whispers: “Sayang, any such disgrace; a chinese language, purely 15. Her driving force, a few say, was once in cahoots with the computer ... there has been no wrong way, that they had to kill him, too. ” And grandmotherly the making a song comes back, a sparrow’s track that modulates and repeats, making a song to us for small switch. And ever thankful for what we will come up with the money for to provide her, waves as she alights from the bus in entrance of Nepa Q Mart. Pak, pak, the konduktór raps the purple Pantranco bus two times at the facet to sign our driving force to begin, and we move directly to our day-by-day workplaces, directly to our inner most workouts.