Two Poems About Primates by Wislawa Szymborska

As a tribute to the passing of the 1996 Nobel laureate Wisława Szymborska last February 1, Time Travelling offers our readers two of Szymborska’s poems about tarsiers and monkeys. Animals, especially primates, figure in many of her poems as a way of commenting on humanity’s relationship with each other and with the natural world.

Tarsier

I am a tarsier and a tarsier’s son,
the grandson and great-grandson of tarsiers,
a tiny creature, made up of two pupils
and whatever simply could not be left out;
miraculously saved from further alterations—
since I’m no one’s idea of a treat,
my coat’s too small for a fur collar,
my glands provide no bliss,
and concerts go on without my gut—
I, a tarsier,
sit living on a human fingertip.

Good morning, lord and master,
what will you give me
for not taking anything from me?
How will you reward me for your own magnanimity?
What price will you set on my priceless head
for the poses I strike to make you smile?

My good lord is gracious,
my good lord is kind.
Who else could bear such witness if there were
no creatures unworthy of death?
You yourselves, perhaps?
But what you’ve come to know about yourselves
will serve for a sleepless night from star to star.

And only we few who remain unstripped of fur,
untorn from bone, unplucked of soaring feathers,
esteemed in all our quills, scales, tusks, and horns,
and in whatever else that ingenious protein
has seen fit to clothe us with,
we, my lord, are your dream,
which finds you innocent for now.

I am a tarsier—the father and grandfather of tarsiers
a tiny creature, nearly half of something,
yet nonetheless a whole no less than others,
so light that twigs spring up beneath my weight
and might have lifted me to heaven long ago
if I hadn’t had to fall
time and again
like a stone lifted from hearts
grown oh so sentimental:
I, a tarsier,
know well how essential it is to be a tarsier.

The Monkey

Evicted from the Garden long before
the humans: he had such infectious eyes
that just one glance around old Paradise
made even angels’ hearts feel sad and sore,
emotions hitherto unknown to them.
Without a chance to say “I disagree,”
he had to launch his earthly pedigree.
Today, still nimble, he retains his charme
with a primeval “e” after the “m.”

Worshipped in Egypt, pleiades of fleas
spangling his sacred and silvery mane,
he’d sit and listen in archsilent peace:
What do you want? A life that never ends?
He’d turn his ruddy rump as if to say
such life he neither bans or recommends.

In Europe they deprived him of his soul
but they forgot to take his hands away;
there was a painter-monk who dared portray
a saint with palms so thin, they could be simian.
The holy woman prayed for heaven’s favor
as if she wanted for a nut to fall.

Warm as a newborn, with an old man’s tremor,
imported to king’s courts across the seas,
he whined while swinging on his golden chain,
dressed in the garish coat of a marquis.
Prophet of doom. The court is laughing? Please.

Considered edible in China, he makes boiled
or roasted faces when laid upon a salver.
Ironic as a gem set in sham gold.
His brain is famous for its subtle flavor,
though it’s no good for tricky endeavors,
for instance, thinking up gunpowder.

In fables, lonely, not sure what to do,
he fills up his mirrors with his indiscreet
self-mockery (a lesson for us, too):
the poor relation, who knows all about us,
though we don’t greet each other when we meet.

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From Poems New and Collected by Wislawa Szymborska

Thinking hermit crabs today

What is it with hermit crab these days? I find them by the mangroves, the sandy beach, decaying trees, and across various spaces on this little island. I literally trip over them and sometimes hear a crunch under my boots whenever I search for my monkeys. Many of them prefer to hide under the shade to escape the glare of the sun and, if you lift a decaying log, there they are in clumps, one over the other, packed like cars on a junkyard.

Nothing is more poetic than the union of an abandoned ivory shell and a crustacean in need of a home.  The hermit crab, devoid of its shell, has a belly so soft that a little squeeze can spread its guts out. It looks ugly and walks like a drunk pirate when left out “naked” in the open. Once it meets the shell of the proper size and condition, it wriggles itself in, making the shell a part of its anatomy until the crab outgrows it and has to find another shell again. The shell is the toughest armor in the crustacean world; after all, if the previous owner was safe in it, so will the current occupant be.

The shell is the central axis of the hermit crab’s defensive repertoire. A little movement and they retreat to their shells, shutting the entrance with their claws, and never to come out unless the danger has gone. Too slow to run because of the weight of their shell, they embrace themselves tight that in the process they close off the world outside. They’d rather fall from a higher ground and come down hard to the beach floor than fight off intruders. Their claws, while capable of slicing a finger, are designed more to be impenetrable doors than weapons.

If you wish to elicit a response from the hermit crabs behind their shell fortresses, try knocking on the bigger ones, especially those that have grown bigger than your fist. Every knock is answered back with a complaint. They scratch the insides of their shell, emitting a sound like a cross between the grinding of a pencil sharpener and the turning of a rusty wheel sprocket. When everything is still, the hermit crab slowly emerges from its hiding place, stretching its spindly legs, one after another. The antennas poke out of the shell like copper wires and then the rest of the head emerges. The eyes, matchstick black, scan the surrounding and in a rush the hermit crab lumbers to the nearest thicket. Once it feels safe, the crab curls back up again inside its shell.

Back home, we call the hermit crabs umang. They are way smaller than the ones on the island. Children in fishing villages collect them and put the umang inside a tin can. Sometimes, they would play with the critters: two hermit crabs are held face-to-face by the back of their shells to make them fight. As expected, they don’t fight. They didn’t evolve much for fighting. The umang merely push each other out of the way and then pinch the skin of the holders’ finger to escape. I think what excites the child’s curiosity is not so much the “fight” but the sword-like movement of the legs, almost like a samurai’s katana in hypnotic movement. When they fall from the child’s grip, the umang are picked up again for another round of “fighting.” This will only stop when the children smash the shell with just enough force,  breaking the shell but leaving the hermit crab exposed. Then, the tender and soft belly is separated from the rest of the body. For these child-fishers, hermit crabs are fish baits.

So if I ask again what is it with the hermit crabs today? Tell me it wasn’t smashed for fish bait this time. Tell me that I am squishing them under my boots.

Time Travelling has moved to a new home…

Hello readers,

After a month long deliberation, I decided to move time travelling to a new home, anthropology corner. The decision to move was spurred by a friend who helped defray the costs for building my own blog site. While the move is cumbersome, considering I have invested more than a year of effort for time travelling, I see this change as an opportunity to learn new skills–especially in website management. Of course, I do not know anything as of yet–errrr…. what’s a plug-in?–but I know I’ll get there once I get settled in my new home.

anthropology corner will still be discussing about anthropology, travel, primates, and personal stories about Puerto Rico and the Philippines. I wish you’ll follow me there too. For starters, here is the first post of anthropology corner about the Arecibo petroglyphs.

 

 

Click here to visit anthropology corner

 

 

Four Stone Hearth #106 and Some

November Updates from Time Travelling.

1. Afarensis hosts a spectacular list of good blog posts for the Four Stone Hearth 106th edition. Head there and read some of the best anthropology-related posts in the blogging world by clicking this: Four Stone Hearth #106.

2. Jigger Geverola, who had been featured here in the Behind Prison Bars post, is set to be released from prison soon after the Philippine courts dismissed the charges of rebellion levelled against him. He spent the last six years in prison as a political detainee.

3. Human rights organizations are currently in Kananga, Leyte–where botanist Leonardo Co and two other people were killed–to conduct a fact-finding mission. Apparently, one of those who was killed with Co, Forest Ranger Sofronio “Poniong” Cortez, hails from my hometown, Baybay, Leyte. A post from the Visayas State University facebook page mentioned the following:

Forest Ranger Sofronio “Poniong” Cortez who died with Dr. Leonardo Co (known botanist from UP) while measuring a century old indigenous tree was a graduate of the Visayas State University (batch ’83 or ’84 of the Forest Ranger Course according to Dr. Ed Mangaoang, Poniong’s former teacher). He has been a forest ranger of the then Philippine National Oil Company (and now the Energy Development Corporation) and from informal talks among his friends he can be relied upon when it comes to indigenous tree species in the watershed areas within the geothermal sites of Tongonan. He was also a member of Gamma Lambda Epsilon (Falcons). His wake is now in his residence in Hikgop, Caridad, Baybay, Leyte. Our condolence!

Time Travelling is one with the Philippine nation in calling for justice. Quick links about the death of the three are provided here in our blog site.

4. November 23 was the death anniversary of the Maguindanao massacre. A personal friend of mine, Atty. Cynthia Oquendo, was killed in this election-related violence together with 57 other victims. Days after the incident happened, we wrote a blog entitled, On the Maguindanao Massacre, decrying the spate of murders of journalists and activists happening in the Philippines during the reign of then-President Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo. For this, we light another candle for the victims, praying that justice will finally be served.

5. Time Travelling (bonvito) is one of the finalists for the Philippine Blog Awards (Visayas). Great news!

6. Finally, a lot of people here in Puerto Rico asked me if Filipinos celebrate Thanksgiving. So here’s a Facebook quote from Xiomara Demeterio Glindmeyer that will end all of these questions:

People have asked me if the Philippines celebrate Thanksgiving which is a ridiculous question. We never had Columbus come to our shores. We had Magellan and we greeted him by lopping his head off.

RIP Andy Irons

Surfer Andy Irons pudo haber muerto de una sobr…, posted with vodpod

 

Remembering Gaw on a Wave Day

*Today is a wave day. The waves are too big for the boat to cross to Cayo Santiago. So here I am, blogging about Cebu.

By the junction of the streets of Colon and Junquera was an old department store, Gaw. This store, before it got burned down in the 1990s, was a  spot for students from nearby universities. The store was spacious and cool, with full-blast airconditioning and the whirring drowned by the soothing piped-in music. The only interruption was the occasional ding-dong followed by a cyborg-like female voice calling out an employee to check a potential shoplifter (or, who knows, maybe  just to shake the salespersons from their boredom?). Needless to say, it was a nice spot for whiling away the time during class breaks.

From the outside, the department store showed mannequins in their perpetual immobility and dead gaze. Since my memory of this was Christmas time, they were clothed for the cold weather–thick jackets, padded pants, winter boots, and bonnets. Of course, the mannequins have to wear dark ski goggles–afterall, the styrofoam snow inside their little glass box might appear too much for their eyes. The coolness of Gaw stood in contrast to the tropical heat and energy outside the department store. Just a spit away from Gaw‘s doors, vendors plied their wares with mats laid out on the pedestrian lane. The goods were arranged into different mounds of household items: nails, hammers, pencils, pens, saws, knives, kitchen utensils, soaps and many other things. There were also little carts offering jewelry cleaning services and the repair of watches. A man with a rectangular wooden box–about 2 ft x 1 ft–walked about, hawking cigarettes and candies to pedestrians. Opposite the store entrance was a kariton filled with pineapples–the vendor deftly peeling one of the fruits, taking out the numerous pineapple “eyes,” itchy and sharp when ingested.

The lane gets too crowded that walking through it needed crab-like skills and the ability to shrink one’s body into a smaller mass. To navigate, one had to pass through people and things nimbly, with the head and body sideways, shoulder first; then a quick dash whenever a space is spotted followed by a sudden stop, just enough to nudge the back of the next person. The head has to remain immobile–if tall enough, raise the chin up for a whiff of fresh air and, if short, put the chin down like a bull and charge through the crowd. Be careful not to turn your head fast unless you want to intentionally headbutt the person behind you.

Above this urban din, the Gaw Christmas mechanical montage hung above the department store’s signage. Santa Claus moved back and forth on his sled, stopping once in a while for his signature laugh. Santa’s associates swung to and fro in one spot, swinging like the hands of the clock, their teeth white and plastic. It was the monotony of it all that made this montage calming, quite similar to the function of meditation beads in the middle of a chorus of snores. The repetitive movement, in clockwork precision, contrasted well with the pandemonium of the push and shove of people below it.

And then on an uneventful night, the department store went down in flames. Everything stood still the day after.

Time Travelling is One Year!

Last year, I started time travelling as a chronicle of sorts for my stay here in Puerto Rico. I randomly named this blogspace time travelling as an allusion to my interest in archaeology and travel. This has been one of the venues where I share stories to my friends and family back in the Philippines. Consider this first post I had a year ago:

I haven’t been blogging for a while though I enjoyed it a while back. I started writing online as a contributor to cyberjournalism sites. Those days, my writing output (albeit few) was mostly politically-oriented: dealing with global and local issues that I felt were important.

Now that I am transplanted from the Pacific to the Caribbean, I would like to share my insights and experiences to my family, friends, and maybe a tiny slice of the online world. This is my way of finding a cozy online getaway where I can be zen-like reflexive or just plainly be chewing the cud.

Well, I decided to blog because somehow the situation that I am in gives me a certain angle, a prism if you will, of what Caribbean life is like. So, carpe diem it is.

In hindsight, I realize that what I am writing here in time travelling–even the supposedly ‘science’ posts–were essentially an exercise in nostalgia. The ‘new’ things I encounter here in Puerto Rico somehow animate memories of home and place. For example, the sight of a monkey sleeping draws a memory of myself reclining on a hammock, the breeze gently lulling me to a sleep. The river crashing through the rocks in San Lorenzo made me relive those moments I had with the many rivers I fished in back home. This blog therefore has become a lottery sweepstakes of sort: a mishmash of the here-and-now, the past, and the what-could-bes. Every blog I wrote is randomly picked from a jumble of memories and thoughts. More often though, I always come up with Italo Calvino‘s mammoth:

The first time a girl comes to see me, let’s say it’s Mariamirella, I hardly do anything all afternoon: I go on with a book I’m reading, then realize that for the last twenty pages I’ve been looking at the letters as though they were pictures; I write, but really I’m doodling all over the white paper and all the doodles together become the sketch of an elephant, I shade it in and in the end it turns into a mammoth. Then I lose my temper with the mammoth and tear it up: why a mammoth every time, you baby! (Italo Calvino, Love Far From Home)

In spite of these limitations however, the posts here have spiraled beyond personal stories. This blog has allowed me to explore areas in anthropology, or generally in science, I have not paid close attention to in the past. This disinterestedness is quite common in the Philippines where religious fanatics still decide the outcome of certain public policies. For example, the resistance of many Filipinos to the reproductive health bill is partly due to the lack of interest in the sciences–both natural and social. In this regard, as my small contribution, I made it a point to sometimes summarize journal articles I deem important. This is also my way of  helping aspiring social science students in the Philippines, especially because I know what it means to be a graduate student in a university where anthro-related journal articles are hard to come by.

During my graduate years, I utilized the meager resources of our library but I was more dependent on friends studying in US-based universities. I would send them titles and topics, then they would furnish me with journal articles for my academic papers. Also, before google scholar, google books, scribd, etc., fellow university students would download academic articles and books through torrent sites and pass it around like contraband.

It is just sad that while the Philippines has continued to churn out amazing data for scholars in developed countries, institutional help for Philippine-based departments is very few. This has led to departments being shut down due to austerity measures. In fact as of the moment, I do not know yet if I have a department to return to once my stay here in Puerto Rico is over. Our university administration has planned to close down our sociology and anthropology program and merge this with the history department. Now that I am dabbling in primatology, I will indeed be the proverbial square peg in a round hole as far as academic location is concerned.

Nonetheless, I am quite hopeful that something could still be done. Perhaps, I will go back to the backwaters of Leyte: engage in farming, do research, and write for this blog. At least, for now, time travelling and the monkeys of Cayo Santiago are keeping me busy.

By the way, local media in Cebu (an island in the Philippines) have published some of my travel posts. Here they are, courtesy of Cebu Daily News and Sunstar Daily:

Apparently, I’m an agent for witches

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But, sorry, I protect my sources.

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Alcoholic Vervet Monkeys!

Holidays! It is a lovely four-day weekend here in Puerto Rico. Going vervet is thus an uber-nice option now.

Alcoholic Vervet Monkeys! – Weird Nature – BBC …, posted with vodpod

Philosophers’ World Cup: Karl Marx calls Socrates’ goal an offside

Hegel is arguing that the reality is merely an a priori adjunct of non-naturalistic ethics, Kant via the categorical imperative is holding that ontologically it exists only in the imagination, and Marx is claiming it was offside.