Professional Documents
Culture Documents
A. Characteristics
B. Literary Forms
1. Oral Literature
c.Tanaga – written in any form of quatrains and has 7-7-7-7 syllables per line. It
is originally rhymed as aaaa-bbbb, but can be aabb ccdd or abba cddc in its
modern form. Also, composed with the liberal use of metaphor, and usually
untitled.
2. Folk Songs
It is a form of folk lyric which expresses the hopes and aspirations, the people's
lifestyles as well as their loves. These are often repetitive, sonorous, didactic
and naive.
b. Ambahan (Mangyan) – 7 syllables per line poem that are about human
relationships and social entertainment.
c. Kalusan (Ivatan) - work songs that depict the livelihood of the people.
3. Folk Tales
a. Myths – explain how the world was created, how certain animals possess
certain characteristics, why some places have waterfalls, volcanoes,
mountains, flora or fauna.
b. Legends – explain the origin of things.
Examples: Lam-ang (Ilocano)
Hinilawod (Panay)
Kudaman (Palawan)
Darangen (Maranao)
Ibalon (Bicol)
A. Characteristics
B. Literary Forms
a. Pasyon – long narrative poem about the passion and death of Christ. The
most popular was “Ang Mahal na Passion ni Jesu Cristong Panginoon Natin” by
Aguino de Belen.
i. Dialogo
ii. Manual de Urbanidad
iii. ejemplo
iv. tratado
A. Characteristics
B. Literary Forms
a. Political Essays – satires, editorials and news articles were written to attack
and expose the evils of Spanish rule.
b. Poetry
2. Poems written were amateurish and mushy, which phrasing and diction is awkward
and artificial.
a. Short Stories
b. Novels
i. Jose Garcia Villa – earned the international title “Poet of the Century”
v. Gregorio Brillantes
A. Characteristics
by Danton Remoto
3 Shivering
by Merlinda Bobis
I suspected that my father sold his tongue to the devil. He had little to say in our
house. Whenever he felt like disagreeing with my mother, he murmured. “The devil ate
my words”. This meant he forgot what he was about to say and Mother was often
appeased. There was more need for appeasement after he lost his job.
The devil ate his words, the devil ate his capacity for words, the devil ate his tongue.
But perhaps only after prior negotiation with its owner, what with Mother always
complaining, “I’m already taking a peek at hell!” when it got too hot and stuffy in our tiny
house. She seemed to sweat more that summer, and miserably. She made it sound like
Father’s fault, so he cajoled her with kisses and promises of an electric fan, bigger
windows, a bigger house, but she pushed him away, saying, “Get off me, I’m hot, ay,
this hellish life!” Again he was ready to pledge relief, but something in my mother’s eyes
made him mutter only the usual excuse, “The devil ate my words,” before he shut his
mouth. Then he ran to the tap to get more water.
Lengua para Diablo: tongue for the devil. Surely he sold his tongue in exchange for
those promises to my mother: comfort, a full stomach, life without our wretched want…
But the devil never delivered his side of the bargain. The devil was alien to want. He
lived in a Spanish house and owned several stores in the city. This Spanish mestizo
was my father’s employer, but only for a very short while. He sacked him and our
neighbor Tiyo Anding, also a mason, after he found a cheaper hand for the extension of
his house.
We never knew the devil’s name. Father was incapable of speaking it, more so after
he came home and sat in the darkest corner of the house, and stared at his hands. It
took him two days of silent staring before he told my mother about his fate.
I wondered how the devil ate my father’s tongue. Perhaps he cooked it in mushroom
sauce, in that special Spanish way that they do ox tongue. First, it was scrupulously
cleaned, rubbed with salt and vinegar, blanched in boiling water, then scraped of its
white coating – now, imagine words scraped off the tongue, and even taste, our
capacity for pleasure. In all those two days of silent staring, Father hardly ate. He said
he had lost his taste for food, he was not hungry. Junior and Nilo were more than happy
to demolish his share of gruel with fish sauce.
Now, after the thorough clean, the tongue was pricked with a fork to allow the
flavors of all the spices and condiments to penetrate the flesh. Then it was browned in
olive oil. How I wished we could prick my father’s tongue back to speech and even
hunger, but of course we couldn’t, because it had disappeared. It had been served on
the devil’s platter with garlic, onion, tomatoes, bay leaf, clove, peppercorns, soy sauce,
even sherry, butter, and grated edam cheese, with that aroma of something rich and
foreign. His silent tongue was already luxuriating in a multitude of essences, pampered
into piquant delight.
Perhaps, next he should sell his esophagus, then his stomach. I would if I had the
chance to be that pampered. To know for once what I would never taste. I would be
soaked, steamed, sautéed, basted, baked, boiled, fried and feted with only the perfect
seasonings. I would become an epicure. On a rich man’s plate, I would be initiated to
flavors of only the finest quality. In his stomach, I would be inducted to secrets. I would
be the “inside girl,” and I could tell you the true nature of sated affluence.