way of showing the main outlines of the course of poetry in English from 1905 to the present, we might say that during the first forty years or so, the creative struggle was with both the new language, English, and the poet's subject: i.e., the native or both sense and sensibility, that is to be expressed in and through that language. Then, from the 1950s to the 1970s, the artistic concern focused on the formal perfection of the poem as 'Verbal icon. For it was in the fifties that the American New Criticism began to hold critical sway; indeed, to the present, its influence is still conspicuous in writers' workshops, critical reviews, and judgments in literary contests. By the seventies, however, it had become inevitable that, with facility in the language and mastery of form, new ways would be found for forging in a double sense, to fashion and to feign the work called poem. There are thus, in this quick overview, roughly three overlapping phases or, more precisely, dominant strains: an inveterate romantic spirit from our first published literary attempts in the Students' Magazine (Berkeley [Ca.], April 1905) to Jose Garcia Villa's Have Come, Am Here (New York, Viking, 1942); an enduring formalist or New Critical concern from the 1950s to the 1970s; and finally, an open, liberative, or poststructuralist space from the 1970s to the present. These are of course only convenient labels as starting points toward a possible description, for we do not mean to suggest, for example, that during the romantic phase there was no concern for excellence of poetic form (as even the New Critics understood that term to mean an organization of the elements, such as rhythm and imagery, in relation to the poem's total effect), nor that, until the open clearing, as it were, in the 1970s, the poets had little social commitment (for indeed, our first poem in English, Flood by Ponciano Reyes [1905], speaks of the plight of our working people in a natural disaster). We should therefore insist on the overlap of those phases and the imbrication of those strains, because a century is too short for a literature and it is impossible to set definite time-boundaries to the course. A poet like Bienvenido N. Santos (1911-96) continued to write through all those so-called phases, from the 1930s through The Wounded Stag (1956) to Distances: In Time (1983). A number of poems by Nick Joaquin (b. 1917) in Prose and Poems (1952) were written as early as the midthirties but were already quite different from the usual romantic verses of the time; and with most of his Collected Verse (1987), Joaquin is definitely in our open clearing. What I would particularly stress is that the course was a long and creative struggle with both the poet's medium (an adopted language) and the poet's subject a struggle that repeats itself with every individual poet, although unfortunately not too many persevere in that starving career in our culture. By the poet's subject I do not mean any specific topic or theme, but the poet's insight into his own humanity and the culture which nurtures and sustains it; I mean the poet's own deepest thought and feeling, which always long for a language by which their meaningfulness is achieved. What Filipino matter, what humanity as what as individuals and as a people we have become through our colonial experience with Spain and America and our own democratic experiment is simply inexpressible, but that precisely is the occupation of poetry, what Wallace Stevens calls musing the obscure. For the poet, the language comes alive, be it English or Tagalog, not from the words that are already there and their meanings in daily usage, but from their tillage, the particular uses to which they are put, by which our sense of our own reality in our historical circumstances is achieved. Both language and history are the crucial factors (makers) from which our writers forge that Filipino matter our mythology or imagination of ourselves.
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