: Where There's No Truth
A few months ago, I was having one of those extensive discussions with my musician-friend Jason/Pepe regarding the concept of Art (him with his music, me with my writing), ruminating on the parallelism of its two seemingly distinct forms. After musing on the idea of fame, and consequently, selling out, we somehow decided that we should have a project: that I supply him with a poem/lyrics, and he’d turn into a song.
I found one poem I’ve written four years ago, which I felt could be good enough. It was inspired by someone who’s transitioned into so many codenames that it has made it hard for me to mention his real name. Future-Former-Love-Of-My-Life, One.True.Love, He-who-should-only-be-mentioned-in-the-past-tense, and other such hyphenations.
Here’s the poem/lyrics, after certain adjustments were made.
I was so excited when Jason told me he’d finished with the melody, and insisted that I should go to his place and listen to the song. I procrastinated, I found it a little bit daunting. I’ve finished my imaginary relationship with him, He who launched a thousand entries (all types of literary work, a novella, a short fiction, short-nonfiction, poems, prose, one-liners. Ganyan ako magmahal. Come to think of it, I don’t love, I obsess!), and I fear a brief relapse, or worse, a permanent remission.
But it had to be faced. I finally yielded.
One rainy afternoon, I agreed to go to his place. Jason went to his piano, brought out the lyrics he modified, hand-written on a crumpled sheet of paper, and started playing the song. I didn’t know what was happening, there was this eerie feeling. Surreal. There was too much awareness in the room. That was my poem, he was singing my words. It was like hearing a song for the first time, feeling the lyrics, thinking it was meant for you… like it’s yours, only that, well, in this case, it was really yours.
After the first chorus, I realized, though, it was no longer mine. Jason made it his, and the voice in my head stopped dictating the words, and I just simply listened.
The song was done. I could finally breathe. But the real consequence came minutes later, when I started to discuss why I wrote the poem – which was like digging an old carcass, or opening a hate box…or... or
And then I said, “I was fine, I was fine until I heard that fucking song… Somethinng stirred the shit out of me...” not very dissimilar to Celine’s monologue in Before Sunset.
But that’s okay now, I just felt I needed to give justice to the event. It had to be documented, you know, with my faulty memory and all.
A few months ago, I was having one of those extensive discussions with my musician-friend Jason/Pepe regarding the concept of Art (him with his music, me with my writing), ruminating on the parallelism of its two seemingly distinct forms. After musing on the idea of fame, and consequently, selling out, we somehow decided that we should have a project: that I supply him with a poem/lyrics, and he’d turn into a song.
I found one poem I’ve written four years ago, which I felt could be good enough. It was inspired by someone who’s transitioned into so many codenames that it has made it hard for me to mention his real name. Future-Former-Love-Of-My-Life, One.True.Love, He-who-should-only-be-mentioned-in-the-p
Here’s the poem/lyrics, after certain adjustments were made.
VERSE 1 AND 2:
Let me drink you from the tallest of glass
It don't matter if you're red or white
Your smell, your essence brings my soul
To my thought's version of paradise
Your spirit carries me
And I soar like the wind that blurs the desert into naught
And you flow like a careless river
Amidst the roughness of the earth
REFRAIN:
Raise your glass dear (this is for us)
Drink from your cup dear (and think of us) [2x]
CHORUS:
Drink for us,
quench our thirst with the drink so smooth
Let me drink for us,
because in wine there is some truth
Drink for us,
quench our thirst with the drink so smooth
No I won't be hurt,
because in wine, in wine there is some truth
VERSE 3:
You know nothing of the sweetness you bring
Bottled up, so far from the truth
So far from this world
I once called my own
BRIDGE:
So let me consume some spirit that remains within and let it control me
No longer afraid of what may befall in consequence
I will fall weak and unstable, thoughts struggling deep inside me
I will lose all restraint, it don't matter now what comes out in the end
REFRAIN
CHORUS
END:
No I won't be hurt, because in wine, in wine there is no truth [repeat until satisfied]
I was so excited when Jason told me he’d finished with the melody, and insisted that I should go to his place and listen to the song. I procrastinated, I found it a little bit daunting. I’ve finished my imaginary relationship with him, He who launched a thousand entries (all types of literary work, a novella, a short fiction, short-nonfiction, poems, prose, one-liners. Ganyan ako magmahal. Come to think of it, I don’t love, I obsess!), and I fear a brief relapse, or worse, a permanent remission.
But it had to be faced. I finally yielded.
One rainy afternoon, I agreed to go to his place. Jason went to his piano, brought out the lyrics he modified, hand-written on a crumpled sheet of paper, and started playing the song. I didn’t know what was happening, there was this eerie feeling. Surreal. There was too much awareness in the room. That was my poem, he was singing my words. It was like hearing a song for the first time, feeling the lyrics, thinking it was meant for you… like it’s yours, only that, well, in this case, it was really yours.
After the first chorus, I realized, though, it was no longer mine. Jason made it his, and the voice in my head stopped dictating the words, and I just simply listened.
The song was done. I could finally breathe. But the real consequence came minutes later, when I started to discuss why I wrote the poem – which was like digging an old carcass, or opening a hate box…or... or
And then I said, “I was fine, I was fine until I heard that fucking song… Somethinng stirred the shit out of me...” not very dissimilar to Celine’s monologue in Before Sunset.
But that’s okay now, I just felt I needed to give justice to the event. It had to be documented, you know, with my faulty memory and all.