OBITUARY
The Varsitarian SEPTEMBER 30, 2021
5
UST alumnus and ex-‘V’ editor
Bienvenido L. Lumbera, National Artist for Literature; 89
NATIONAL ARTIST for Literature Bienvenido Lumbera, whose doctoral dissertation 55 years ago on Tagalog poetry encouraged other Filipino scholars from the regions to investigate their vernacular traditions and established “Philippine Studies” as a vibrant academic field, died on Sept. 28 due to complications of stroke. He was 89 years old.
Lumbera as a Varsitarian staffer in 1954 He later taught at the University of the Philippines-Diliman and became editor of one of the school’s journals, Diliman Review, in 1978. A celebrated poet, Lumbera’s representative Filipino poetry were collected and published in “Likhang Dila, Likhang Diwa” by Anvil Publishing in 1993. His later poems were collected in “Balaybay: Mga Tulang Lunot at Manibalang” (2002; Talingdao Publishing House). He was also a dramatist and wrote the librettos for the rock opera ballets “Tales of the Manuvu” in 1976 and “Rama, Hari” in 1980. From the two famous dramatic works emerged perhaps his two most popular lyrics—”Noong Unang Panahon” (composed by Nonong Pedero) and “Magbalik Ka Na, Mahal” (composed by Ryan Cayabyab). The first became a hit record by Leah Navarro in the 1970s, and the second a hit record
ART BY KARL JOSHUA L. ARON
Lumbera finished cum laude with a Litt. B. Journalism degree at the old Faculty of Philosophy and Letters in 1954. He was the Varsitarian’s assistant literary editor in 1953. He later received a Fulbright Fellowship and completed his master’s and doctorate degrees in comparative literature at Indiana University in 1960 and 1967, respectively. His dissertation, “Tagalog Poetry: Tradition and Influences in Its Development,” studied the Tagalog poetry during the Spanish period that led to the classic Tagalog prosodic tradition embodied by Francisco Baltazar (17881862) in his “Florante at Laura” and which influenced poets in the 20th century. It was published as a book in 1986 by the Ateneo de Manila University Press, “Tagalog Poetry, 1570-1898: Tradition and Influences in Its Development.” In 1986, he received the Outstanding Alumnus in Literature award from the Faculty of Arts and Letters during its 90th-anniversary alumni homecoming. in 1996, Lumbera received the Ramon Magsaysay Award for Journalism, Literature, and Creative Communication Arts for “asserting the central place of the vernacular tradition in framing a national identity for modern Filipino.” The international award is considered the Asian version of the Nobel Prize. In 2006, he was named National Artist for Literature, the highest recognition given to Filipino artists. Lumbera taught at the Ateneo de Manila University before going underground in 1972 when late dictator Ferdinand Marcos declared Martial Law. He was arrested by the military in 1974 and released almost a year later.
Lumbera ► PAGE 11
F R O M T H E VA R S I T A R I A N A R C H I V E S
A HANDFUL OF ASHES
(Lumbera’s final commentary for the “V”) Volume XXVI No. 6, July 20, 1954
FOR ONE STRAIGHT year now, we have been going about unceremoniously throwing handfuls of ashes at campus writers, at censors, and at philistines, with the rather ruddy hope that by some verbal magic we may re-vivify a favorite patient— UST’s languishing campus writing. Ashes, so our smattering of home-spun pharmacology has told us, can be medicinal. And since the literary heyday of the VARSITARIAN, when the magazine carried the bylines of such writers as Sionil Jose, Tuvera, Oliver Flores, Lopez, Garchitorena, Gatbonton, and the rest of their tribe, the health of local campus writing has so declined till it has reached its present state of near invalidity. And so the handful of ashes, each handful meant to re-invigorate oiling writing. We have made our diagnosis of the case but we still do not know which particular part of the body of campus writing is ailing. However, we do know definitively that writing among our students here has deteriorated. And out of desire to remedy that ambiguous ailment, we have become as the village medicine-man who prescribes a harmless cure to patients whose illness no diagnosis could pinpoint. We tried poking at the susceptible ribs of smug campus writers. Sought to have the patient removed from the atmosphere created by prudish censorship. Even took a jab at philistinism. But all our efforts seem futile; the pa-
tient just couldn’t be roused from the coma into which it had sunk. Perhaps our ministering has not been enough. Or we didn’t go deep enough into the causes of the patient’s disease. But a new set of editors are soon taking over. Maybe there are better nurses. Maybe they can diagnose better. This is the end-part of a ritual we have followed for so many issues, a ritual which must have left in some mouth the memory of the bitterness of some handfuls of ashes we have thrown around. And this being our last handful, we are going to flavor it with a dash of benignity, a pinch of tolerance. Thus, as we pound out this valedictory on the shaky keys of a typewriter on the verge of final breakdown, we shed off our mask of editorial severity (which
didn’t get us anywhere, anyway) and allow that our patient has not been too ailing at times to show promises of convalescence. These times were unhappily not too frequent but we think they were reasons enough for the literary section’s being during our term. Such times are when we got hold of satisfactory stories like Delivery (printed in this issue) by Reynaldo Vidal and A Way Through the Woods (March, 1954) by Wilfrido D. Nolledo whose talent critics are more capable and more influential than us would do well to recognize. Another story we are proud to have published is Eli Molina’s The Furtive Heart (May, 1954). And we are not ashamed either of The Big House (January, 1954) by Reynaldo Calleja and of The Smell of the Sea (November,
1953) by Crispin G. Martinez. Of verses, there were very few good ones and those were mostly by Plaridel C. Deza and Nelya S. Karasig. Tales from the Celluloid (February, 1954) by Nolledo again takes the cake among the essays we printed. The listing, of course, is not definitive. For those who would like to include some more, we obligingly append etcetera to the writers and works we have mentioned. It is on this note that we should like to make our exit. But the temptation to resurrect the cliché about the phoenix rising from its ashes is too inviting for us to reject. We therefore cease being of local campus writing may soon rise from our heaps of ashes. The possibility for it may be ashen but it is a possibility just the same; it may come to be. And then we wouldn’t feel, a few years hence, like we had been a trio of asses who spewed ashes all around without getting any reaction. And this is our valedictory. And so goodbye. —BLL
TAWAG From Vol. XXV No. 9, September 15, 1953
Ang lambong ng ulap sa mukha ng langit ngayong gabi’y kay itim patay na ang siga ng mga bituin ang maputlang ningas ng buwan. Mga punong niyog sa dalampasigan ay mga talibang nangagwawasiwas ng nagbabalang hudyat habang umaawit na tila baliw ang hangin. Ayaw, ayaw ko pang lumisan… Ngunit taas na ang layag handa na ang lunday na aking sasakyan. Sa guhit-tagpuan ng langit at dagat ay may kumakaway— tinatawag ako… O ayaw maghintay! — Bienvenido Lumbera
