TEACHING LITERATURE IN THE MOTHER LANGUAGE

Every time the subject of teaching literary materials in the native language arises, there
always comes up the question: Where are the materials? If we feel alienated from literature in
general, maybe we can blame it on the fact that the literatures introduced to us had always been
in a foreign tongue. These literatures often deal with experiences and ways of looking at life that
are alien to us. Literary materials in our own languages abound all around us but we are deaf
and blind to them. We have this hard-wired misconception that literature is or should be in
English. Ever since the Americans landed on our shores and taught us English, we have done
all we can to fit the Anglo-American chronicles of sensibility into our own culture through our
educational system. Conversely, we have also conscientiously excluded our own.
As a result, Filipinos have no sense of literature as something that may be crafted in our
native language. Despite a hundred years of independence, we have not evolved the critical or
pedagogical acumen to deal with our own literary heritage. Edwin Thumboo, Singaporean poet
says it best about his own country: "We became international before we had become local." The
same might be said for Filipinos--we have become global before we could understand our own
local flavors.
Another acute problem of the teacher who wants to teach literature in the mother tongue
could be: How does one teach Philippine Literature in the languages? Specifically, how does
one teach the Bisaya his/her own literary legacy? The pedagogies familiar to us are mostly
based on Western constructs and Anglo-American models. In recent years there has been a
consistent de-emphasis on literature in the normal curriculum and a continuous emphasis on
language education, targeting English and Filipino. This has made literature a mere adjunct to
language learning. One reads a poem in order to learn about adverbs and adjectives. After
extracting the appropriate grammar lesson in a poem, the poem itself is dropped. It is regarded
as a mere casing for the grammar usage in question.
As a result, rare is the college graduate who can read literary text with pleasure and
understanding. Our system of education has conditioned our students to approach text as a
mere source of fact, information, data. They are confused when faced with imaginative
language. How would they deal with text that does not give them data to memorize, facts to
enumerate, or a formula for solving a problem or performing a procedure? In short they do not
know how to read imaginative language.

To Give Pleasure and to Teach: Learning from the Folksongs

When teaching Literature in the Philippine Languages, one must keep this one thought
in his mind: The basic functions of literature are to give pleasure, and to teach. We have been so
preoccupied in academe with the cognitive functions of language that we have practically
ignored what we practice so instinctively in our daily exchange with one another. I am referring
to the affective properties of language. We do respond to these properties in daily usage,
accurately picking up meanings and nuances from tone, accent, choice of words, pace, rhythms
of speech, the loudness or softness of the utterance--all these almost instinctively. We adjust our
responses accordingly. Not only do we read meanings in the non-verbal signals, we also use
these elements in our own conversations. We are adept in determining when a yes is really yes
and a no might actually be a, well, a yes. We say about women, for instance, that they never say
what they mean, but so do men. All of us are quite skilled in using these signals in our daily
interaction with one another.
Susan Sontag talks about art as eros. This is not to mean erotic only in the sexual sense,
but in the totality of our sensory capabilities. For instance, Filipinos are so intensely aural--we
enjoy sound, combinations of sound, rhythms created by sound, we respond to sound with our
bodies, dancing is such an ordinary skill among us. Eros is in our native songs, and when we
sing them, our bodies move easily to their rhythm. Note this very popular Waray drinking
song. The cognitive element in this song is immediate. But more than that, it is also intensely
physical.

Ipis-ipisi, tagay-tagayi
han tuba nga palalaksi.
Kun diri nimo ipis-ipisan
Maluya ang kalawasan.

The first thing you will note in the lyrics is the regularity of the rhythm and its liveliness;
the second is the rhyme. When this is sang in a tagayay, a drinking session, it is sang several
times in succession, each repetition faster than the previous, until it is impossible to go any
faster and the tagay group breaks down in laughter. The enjoyment of this song is muscular and
erotic. The tune invites the body to move along with the rhythm. It emphasizes the importance
of community, for this song is no good sang by a lone singer. There is a thin boundary between
song and poetry. In this piece, that boundary hardly exists. But as there are varying
characteristics and degrees of drunkenness, so are there drinking songs of a darker vintage. The
following drinking song has a bitter taste to it and mirrors an aspect of oppression created by
poverty and marginalization which even the pleasure of drinking cannot disguise. This song is
popular all over the region, although it was recorded in Barugo, Leyte, reputedly, the producer
of the best tuba in Leyte:

Nagkagurugilway, nagkagurugilway, an dahon lubi

Hinin saka-saka, hinin saka-saka hinin mananggiti.

Kun pagdudumdumon, kun pagdudumdumon mga kagul-anan,

Bisan Tatay, bisan Nanay di angay pagtagayan.

Baga saho ko man, baga saho ko man kun di ak' tagayan,

Kay niyan nga gab-i, kay niyan nga gab-i tatangkoon ko man.

Ilusad ang lakob, ilusad ang lakob ngan yayaak-yaakan,

Basi tibway , basi tibway di pagpulsan.

In Leyte and Samar, the economy is ruled by the mighty coconut palm. The speaker in
this song is probably a mananggiti. A common complaint of the mananggiti is that he does not
get to drink the tuba that he labors so hard to produce, every morning and evening of his life.
Gathering tuba is so hard, he says, that not even Tatay and Nanay deserve to get their drink for
free. He resolves, Never mind if I don't get my share now. Tonight I'll climb the tree, I'll take
down the lakob and smash it with my feet so no one, no one would have any use of it forever.
What is the most powerful element in this poem? It is the tone which we can determine by
reading the poem in the way an individual of this character would have sounded. Could
anyone in class read the poem in a tone of voice that would sound the way a man in the throes
of this emotion would have sounded? It might be necessary to evoke the implied context of the
utterance. Is he speaking to anyone or is he just grumbling to himself? Is such a character
familiar to the students? Can they imagine how he would be dressed, his age, his social
circumstances, the kind of family he comes from? One can even make a drama of this, a
challenge to recreate the social and psychological context in which the utterance was made.
We may call this the reimagination process. Meanings clarify when we reimagine the
context of an utterance. But reimagining the specific circumstances that might have induced the
utterance, the socioeconomic issues, the dialectics of oppression, marginalization and power
inequity become evident. The above poem provides a good example of possible reflections we
can make, for instance on the theme of negative power. The capacity to absorb punishment
without breaking down--that is the power which the oppressed possess. This is shown in the
persona's resolve to destroy the lakob which collects the sap from the tree as a means to end the
real or imagined injustice that he feels. The poem may also show the much bruited crab
mentality of Filipinos. Or one may pursue the issue of Filipino family values. Filipinos consider
it their supreme obligation to take care of their parents, but in this case, the persona thinks that
making tuba is so difficult that he cannot afford to give free drinks even to his own parents. The
burden of his message is that he himself is deprived of the enjoyment of the fruits of his labor.
By smashing the lakob, no one then gets any tuba, and he achieves, thus, a certain level of
justice. Is he being reasonable? What consequences would his action have on his occupation as a
mananggiti? On himself, as a lover of tuba? On the total life of the community?
Discussion should be carried on in the native language. The discussion should also be
open-ended---no one is wrong or correct. Participation is generally more active without the
language barrier, the students get to think, to analyze, to critique, to express their feelings,
questions, insights about human nature, community, the Filipino psychology. After the
discussion, the song is sang again or the poem read. Perhaps this final reading is done with
more comprehension. A poem's purpose is to pleasure and to teach. The class may not come up
with the fabulous moral lesson which seems to be the usual end of our traditional way of
looking at a story or a poem. But who can say that they have not risen a notch higher in their
understanding of humanity and socioeconomic and political development. They would
improve their listening skills, their ability to pick up nuances of speech, and to claim their own
thoughts and feelings.
I learned this song from my helpers when I lived in Tagbilaran City:

Si Pedring manananggot
Sa lubing walay udlot.
Ay Inday, padaplin,
Peligro kun may hangin.

It sounds like a perfectly innocent song with a rollicking rhythm and nicely balanced rhymes. I
used to sing this in play to my babies. But of course it is not an innocent song. It uses the device
of euphemism to deal with a taboo subject. This four-line ditty covers an entire social landscape
starting from the attitude of the speaker towards what he/she knows and hardly can restrain
himself from talking about--a juicy, illicit love affair. Hence the leery remonstration, "Ay Inday,
padaplin, / peligro kun may hangin." It would be interesting to ask the students if the speaker is
male or female.
 The following is another Boholano song, or at least I learned this in Bohol.

Pinggan, pinggan pino,

Ihatagko kini kanimo.
Mabuak kini, mabasag, ay ay,
Kan tatay kining hinatag.

Si tatay ug si nanay
Nagtanom ug tangkong.
Ang lawas bayabas,
Ang dahon biyasong.

Namunga kinig kahil

Ug limon.
Panitan kay ukban,
Daw pinyang kaonon.

It uses a series of metamorphic images, such as one finds in the very popular Filipino
song, Leron, Leron Sinta. This metamorphic devise is widely used in Philippine folksongs. The
Pinggan Pino song which I encountered for the first time in Bohol, occurs in combination with
Si Tatay ug si Nanay which makes the narrative more intricate. This is a song of sexual
awakening. A girl, anticipating her deflowering, addresses a prospective lover. She describes
herself as fine china, delicate and easily broken. She warns the man, If I am broken, you will be
responsible to my father. The second and third stanza details her metamorphosis or
transformation from the humble creeping tangkong, to the tough and resilient bayabas (guava)
and then to the fragrant biyasong (kafir line). Her progress continues, she bears the lemon fruit,
fragrant but sour, but she says, once it (she) is peeled and eaten, she is delightful like the
pineapple. Is this a warning to her prospective lover? Or is she anticipating with both fear and
delight her own sexual awakening? The ambiguity enriches the poem.
There are three little folksongs in Waray that commemorate a little-heard-of event in
Philippine history, the Balangiga incident, known popularly as the Balangiga Massacre. This
happened in September 27 of 1901. The USA was spreading out to the countryside to enforce its
power over its new colony. In late July 1901, a contingent of seventy soldiers landed in the
obscure little town of Balangiga in the southeastern coast of Samar Island. More than half of the
contingent was killed by the rebellious locals on the 27th of September of that year, unhappy
over the intrusion and impositions done on their own life ways. The Americans responded with
a brutal reprisal operation that turned the island into a "howling wilderness." Local families
sent their sons and daughters and their menfolk away, anyone who could be target of reprisal
actions, out of Samar. Four songs came out of that period, well-remembered and well-loved
record of those years of terror.

I Inday, Inday, nakain ka

Han kasunog han munyika?
Pito ka tuig an paglaga,
An aso waray kitaa.
 II Di ak nahuhulop ha tiyempo amihan.
Damo an sundalo nga pagpipilian.
An pipilion ko an binansilan
kay maopay ini pagburubag-iran.

III Di ak' nagtatangis,

di ak' nagtatangis
Han kawaray dirig.
An igintatangisan ko
An kawaray dirig.
Ini nga lawas ko
Nangingibig-kibig,
Baga gud an bata
Nagpurupulilid.

IV Inday, kun waray ka la magyaga-yaga

kinasal na kita yana,
May ada na naton bata,
mata-bata, nagdurudalagan ha tuna.

The speaker asks the illusive Inday: "Nakain ka han kasunog han munyika." He tells her,
"Pito ka tuig an paglaga. An aso waray kitaa." The song uses the device of a riddle to hide the
horrors experienced by the people in the wake of the massacre. The Americans torched the
town, including the church. The proud bells that summoned the local warriors to action on that
fatal day were taken down as war trophy by the American army. These bells are subject now of
negotiation between the two governments. No one outside of Samar and Leyte had any
knowledge of the purging that took place. None of our history books mention Balangiga,
although it is said to be the only battle won by the Filipinos against the Americans. The smoke
of this conflagration was well-kept from the eyes of the generations that came after.
The poem provides a good opportunity to study the political function of literature. The
riddling verses serve as an instrument of resistance against oppression. How does the poem
express resistance? What are the devices employed by the poems to express displeasure against
the political situation? What narratives are implied in each of the poems? Do the poems
proceed from a single speaker or is each poem unique in its choice of the persona? The poems
speak of the disruption of the social life of a community. What are the effects of such a
disruption? Are the songs interrelated, or are they to be approached individually? In a
discussion of this sort, there is no wrong answer. The more varied the insights, the better. The
exercise will develop the ability to note details, to see parts in relation to the whole. They might
perceive in the metonymic process of the poems how a whole social order, or disorder, may be
inferred from the parts of the experience that are shown.

What do you teach when you teach literature?

We might think that there is no magic left for us to discover in our folk poetry because
they are too familiar to us. We have known them since childhood and we can almost recite
some of them backwards. But by rereading them from critical perspectives, we might be able to
find elements of expression we have not bothered to examine before. Here are a few rules of
thumb that could help in this rereading process. We must see poetry first of all as a human
utterance. Human utterances do not happen independent of the causes that provoked them. No
one, not even a mad man, screams without a reason. This is how one might infer the context of
the poem. Next to context is the voice, also known as the persona. Who speaks in the poem or
the song? That voice may speak in a certain way--it trembles or is hushed, is sarcastic or angry,
is tender or irate, depending on the situation that provoked the utterances. The reader stands
outside the poem, the better to see its internal dynamics. In this way, he is able to perceive the
tensions within the utterance.
By understanding the context of the utterance and identifying the voice or the speaker,
we also understand our role with regard to the utterance. The persona defines the role of the
reader: he becomes by turns eavesdropper, confidante, spectator, critic, judge, conspirator,
sympathizer, or simply, as we are most of time, the passerby who catches a remark and is
moved by the encounter to empathy or hate. Understanding the reader's position is as
important to the unravelling of a poetic utterance as the utterance itself, for without the reader,
the print on a page does rise to meaning or significance.
What do you really teach when you teach literature? Let us read a poem by a young
Cebuano poet, Adonis Durado. Then afterwards we can sum up together what we learned from
our reading.

ALANG KANG YANA

Sa pagpaabot sa adlaw sa imong pagkatawo

Mobutho tingali ka uban sa kataposang
hapos sa balod nga misuwayg dunggo
sa gapnod gikan sa wa hiilhing isla,
ug tugbang sa igmat nga pagtidlom
sa mga hinlilitik ug tamala nga natugaw
sa lim-aw niining gilaay nga aya-ay.
Tingali, iatol kini nimo dihang gibugsay
sa mga hagok ang kagabhion, o kaha
sa higayong miutong ang dag-om,
ug mibuhagay ang daman nga uwan.
Dili--sa imong pagtunga, dungan kini
sa paghunong sa gahadyong nga unos,
diin kalit nga mopuli ang pagpugtak
sa mga sunoy nga gihapak sa kabalaka
dihang napuwak ang mga lubing lahing,
ulahing buwakaw sa bag-ong kaadlawon.
Kaha, mokuyog siguro ka sa pagpamukhad
sa mga pako sa alindahaw ug kabakaba
nga gakat-on paglupad--sa unang higayon!
O moduyog ba ron sa awit sa galansiyang
nga gapundok ug nahinangop sa isig usa.
Sa imong pagbutho, dungan ba sab kahang
hikaplagan sa himungaan ang gapiyakpiyak,
nagkatibulaag niyang mga piso--kini,
sa wa pa gidahik sa mananagat ang baruto
 nga gituya sa sulog sa bag-ong taob?
Pinangga, angay kang masayod karon,
nga sa di mo pa malitok ang unang uha,
uban sa ngisi sa unang hinog nga bunga
nga namituon sa ngiob nga punoan,
iapong ko kanunay ang akong mga palad
aron paabuton ang imong pagkapunggak.

In this poem, a father awaits the birth of his first child, a daughter. His big question:
When will it happen, when will you come? He thinks about several situations in which the birth
would take place, some difficult, some awkward, some dangerous, delicate, challenging, in tune
with some natural event or contrary to it. In the end, he simply says to himself as if to his
unborn child, no matter, you must know that my hands are held out, waiting to catch you when
you fall. What role do we play as readers of this poem? We are eavesdroping on an internal
monologue of someone anticipating fatherhood in the best way possible, with eagerness, with
passion, with joy, and also with a breadth of consciousness that we may be could not imagine
without the agency of the poetic utterance. Having read the poem, our own consciousness is
thus enriched and broadened, and may certainly affirm that we are the better for it.
In any typical Philippine college, literary studies are at the bottom of the heap, hated
and reviled by teachers, students, and administrators who do not quite understand its place in
the educational curriculum. Language teachers use it as an adjunct to the teaching of grammar.
It is used as a tool for values education. It is seldom examined as itself and thus lead our
learners to new paths of discovery. What do you really teach when you teach literature? Here
are a few points that have guided in my own teaching:

1. You teach the beauty and power of language and its tremendous civilizing influence.
2. You restore the dignity of our indigenous languages and spur our sense of pride over
our own culture.
3. You enhance your moral and ethical sense, which will make you a better person and
functional member of the human community.
4. You develop compassion and sympathy and thus become better equipped to face
life's challenges.
5. You educate the imagination.
6. You encourage creativity.
7. You improve your thinking and analytic skills.
8. You enhance language skills.
9. You increase your knowledge of human civilization.
10. You become a well-rounded thoroughly educated person.

Poetry may not teach you a trade by which to earn a living, from which you may
eventually pay rent, light and water, and earn your daily bread. But poetry will enhance every
breathing moment of your life. If we educate our children to be able to use their hands and
minds for the rigors of making a living, we also owe it to them to educate them on the
challenge, the joy and the glory of being a human being, the domains of feeling and the
aesthetic sense, the domains of the heart, as we may call it. The tool for such an education is
literature.
Let's begin. Magsugod ta karon. - ###