Poetry Night

Last night, a group of a dozen or so women--yes, writers; but non-poets--gathered together for an evening of poetry reading. It all started as a hang-over, if you will, from a very moving poetry reading session by full-fledged poets at the Alliance Francaise. Heavily inspired, the same women who were at that Alliance soiree decided to stage one of their own, presided by one of Manila's most-awarded poets, Mr. Rayvi Sunico, himself.

The setting was the chinoise moderne house of one of our writers, MK, who is ever the gracious hostess, and who has elevated entertaining to an art; the delicious pica-pica buffet was set up by Bizu; and the floral arrangements were by our beloved Vanni. Of course, the artistic proceedings were fueled by good wine and a very potent home-made margarita granita--there's never a party without these elements, after all.

But the main character of that evening was the art of the written word. Poems by famous wordsmiths--from as early as the 9th century A.D. Japanese poets, to Ogden Nash, to Rainer Maria Rilke, to Maya Angelou, and to our very own Rayvi Sunico--blew everyone away. The power of such carefully crafted lines--sparing in words but bursting with images--deliver the insight straight into the soul of the listener.

I never really cared much for poetry, simply because I am ill-equipped to understand it. It seems to me--a collection of several images manipulated to produce the desired insight--such an intellectually sophisticated art form. But when I sit and clear my mind and really listen to a poem spoken with passion, I find that it moves me, taking me places inside myself I might have reached before but never really noticed.