vrijdag 24 mei 2013

Maningning Miclat, Filipijnen (1972-2000)

Maningning Miclat werd op 15 april 1972 geboren te Beijing als dochter van Filipijnse ouders.

Haar familie was de Filipijnen ontvlucht in 1969 gedurende het Marcosbewind & verhuisde in 1971 naar China. Nadat Marcos was afgezet keerde Maningning in 1986 met haar ouders weer terug naar Manilla.

In 1987 publiceerde ze reeds haar eerste gedichtenbundel "Wo De Shi" (Mijn gedichten) in het Mandarijn. In dat zelfde jaar had ze ook haar eerste expositie met Schilderijen (Bamboo zen paintings) Er zouden nog vier tentoonstellingen volgen.

Later zou ze naast Mandarijn ook nog in het Filipijns en in het Engels publiceren.

In 1990 werd ze lid van The National Writers Workshop van de Universiteit te Manilla & won aldaar een prijs met een toneelstuk in het Filipijns. Tevens werd ze lid van The Siliman National Writers Workshop.

In 1992 won ze ook nog eens een grote prijs met een schilderij getiteld "Trouble in Paradise"

Na haar afstuderen gaf ze les op de Universiteit te Manilla en leverde bijdragen aan verschillende kranten en tijdschriften in de vorm van poëzie, proza en essays.

Op 29 september 2000 sprong ze van de zevende verdieping van de universiteit. Aangenomen wordt dat relatieproblemen haar hier toe aangezet zouden hebben.

Haar tweede bundel "Voice from the underworld" was een finalist in de National Book Award 2001.

In 2001 werd de Maningning foundation opgericht die zich inzet voor jonge kunstenaars op het gebied van zowel de beeldende als de geschreven kunst.

Father and I

The leaves are shaking,
"Look. It's the wind!"
You said, " No, those are leaves.
Wind cannot be seen."

Snowflakes whirl down
- An emblem of purity.
You said, " No, it is deception.
It is here to cloak the filth."

A lovely object
Took my fancy.
You said, "It's Useless."

I haven't walked too far,
But I am feeling tired.
Let me rest by the path for a while.

When the wind blows, I feel it.
When snow swirls down, I see it.
The lovely object I hold in my hand.


He left me
when he could
no longer stand the laughter

that I gave him
while he begged me not
to keep memories

alive in poems
to hurt myself
and make those
who read

sad. I laughed
when he shared
his life with me
while holding him

to make it easier
and maybe
less painful
to live on.

Laugh! I told
him, but
could not get
his attention.

Laugh! I asked
him, but
he left in

And left
before he understood
the courage
that held my laughter.

Why a mural?

I want space -
a two dimensional space.

To form form and forms
that change , while my arm
sways, my hand holds the brush to play
with the glacial acrylic paints.

Forms that bring back
the balance and rhythm
of xieyi painting
where yin is left in the whiteness
of rice paper, and yang is limned
by the shades of gray and black ink.

A space for the music of painting
where white is not blank but tone
and black is the silent interval
cantata that springs forth from the air
vanishes back
and remains as brushstrokes.

To absorb a process of change
in the gesture of a fearless arm
emotion that moves and grows:
forms being formed to forget
the finiteness of beginnings.

Beside this poem
is a prayer
frozen in the acrylic paints.

Beside this poem
is a mural
- a desire for space.


The territory of shadows is a petal,
An organic wish, a solidified thought,
An awareness of wind catching fishes,
A gratitude for getting rid of clothes.

With the kind gesture of an evening: low tide and safe,
I am sharing the water with the Hundred Islands.
Floating on the galaxies' reflection,
I float as night sky carves down an embrace,
an elusive feeling of eternity and floating,
a gesture of wind and a bath of moonlight
from the sea bottom. I am the salt in the evening.
I am the celebration of beginnings.
I, finally getting rid of my clothes.
I, weightless, without knowing what.
Between the sky and me is the wind.

There is an ageless consciousness of being a woman.
There is a shapeless idea of being in the water.
There is a testimony of the sky and the earth.
There is no longer the terrestrial truth,
I am no longer a victim of war.

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