Edith L.

Tiempo
 Born in Bayombong, Nueva Vizcaya, Philippines, April 22, 1919
 Died in August 21, 2011
 Genre : Poetry, Literature & Fiction
 Her published works:
1. A Blade of Fern: A Novel About the Philippine— published 1978
2. The Builder
3. The Tracks of Babylon and Other Poems — published 1966
4. The Alien Corn
5. Abide, Joshua and Other Stories— published 1964
6. The Charmer’s Box: Poetry — published 1993
7. Six Poetry Formats and the Transforming Image: A Monograph on Free Verse— published 2007
8. His Native Coast — published 1979 — 2 editions
9. One, Tilting Leaves: A Novel — published 1995
10. Marginal Annotations and Other Poems
 Poet, fiction writer, teacher and literary critic is one of the finest Filipino Writers in English
whose works are characterized by a remarkable fusion of style and substance, of craftsmanship
and insight.
 Her poems are intricate verbal transfigurations of significant experiences as revealed, in two of
her much anthologized pieces, "Lament for the Littlest Fellow" and "Bonsai." As fictionist,
Tiempo is as morally profound.
 Her language has been marked as "descriptive but unburdened by scrupulous detailing." She is
an influential tradition in Philippine literature in English.
 Together with her late husband, writer and critic Edilberto K. Tiempo, they founded (in 1962)
and directed the Silliman National Writers Workshop in Dumaguete City, which has produced
some of the Philippines' best writers.
 She was conferred the National Artist Award for Literature in 1999.

Bonsai
by Edith Tiempo on March 31, 2010

All that I love were with me tonight. Well, maybe not all, because that would mean the world. But it was
enough. And it was a moment I can relive for always. Do you know the feeling of being swept away? Of
just losing yourself completely, just for a moment, or for all time, or both? That’s how it was. And it was
the perfect way to end my birthday month, and it was just fitting, to be standing in that room, filled with
strangers and friends, of people I’ll never see again and music that will be with me forever.
 All that I love
I fold over once
And once again
And keep in a box
Or a slit in a hollow post
Or in my shoe.

All that I love?

Why, yes, but for the moment-
And for all time, both.
Something that folds and keeps easy,
Son’s note or Dad’s one gaudy tie,
A roto picture of a queen,
A blue Indian shawl, even
A money bill.

It’s utter sublimation,

A feat, this heart’s control
Moment to moment
To scale all love down
To a cupped hand’s size

Till seashells are broken pieces

From God’s own bright teeth,
And life and love are real
Things you can run and
Breathless hand over
To the merest child.

José Rizal
Born
José Protasio Rizal Mercado y Alonso Realonda[1]
June 19, 1861[2]
Calamba, Laguna, Spanish Philippines[2]
Died
December 30, 1896 (aged 35)[3]
Bagumbayan, Manila, Spanish Philippines[3]
Cause of death
Execution by firing squad

Monuments
Luneta Park, Manila,
Calamba, Laguna,
Daet, Camarines Norte,
Carson, California
Other names
Pepe, Jose (nicknames)[4][5]
Alma mater
Ateneo Municipal de Manila
University of Santo Tomas
Universidad Central de Madrid
Organization
La Solidaridad, La Liga Filipina
Spouse(s)
Josephine Bracken (1896)[6]
Parent(s)
Francisco Mercado Rizal (father)
Teodora Alonso Realonda (mother)
For Dr. José Rizal, the well-respected national hero of the Philippines, “the pen is mightier than the
sword.” Through his literary masterpieces, he voiced strong opposition to the abuse of Spaniards and
conveyed messages that he hoped would inspire his fellow countrymen. We round up his best works
and uncover the underlying meaning behind them.
To the Filipino Youth

Rizal wrote this literary poem when he was still studying at the University of Sto. Tomas (UST). Originally
written in Spanish (A la juventud filipina), Rizal submitted this piece for a poem contest organized for
Filipinos by the Manila Lyceum of Art and Literature. At the age of 18, this work is beaming with strong
messages to convince readers, the youth in particular, that they are the hope of the nation. He also
stresses the importance of education to one’s future. Rizal won the first prize and was rewarded with a
feather-shaped silver pen and a diploma.

Monument in memory of Jose Rizal at Rizal Park © ARTYOORAN / Shutterstock

Goodbye to Leonor

This literary piece gives an insight into the romantic relationship of Rizal and his beloved, Leonor Rivera.
The two met when in the province of Dagupan when Rivera was only 13-years-old. Rivera’s parents were
not in favor of their relationship and though distance separated them, the two kept in touch by sending
letters and photographs to each other. Rizal later found out that her lady love would soon tie the knot
with Henry Kipping, and the news definitely disheartened him. The lonely, heartbreaking feelings he felt,
resulted in this melancholic poem.

To the Young Women of Malolos

Addressed to the Filipino women, Rizal’s letter entitled To The Young Women of Malolos reflects his
inheritance and issues reminders to Filipino women. In his letter, he addresses all kinds of Filipino
women – mothers, wives, and even the single women. Throughout this literary piece, he highlights the
qualities that Filipino mothers should possess, the duties of wives to their husbands and children, and a
counsel on how young women should choose their lifetime partners. The idea behind this letter sparked
after he was impressed by the women of Malolos who won the battle they fought. Rizal advises women
to educate themselves, protect their dignity and honor, and live with good manners – setting up as a
role model.

Kundiman

A kundiman traditionally refers to a love song where a man serenades the woman he loves. For scholars,
this word was derived from the Tagalog phrase “Kung Hindi man” (if it should not be so) which suggests
that people put their faith in a Higher Being who decides whether or not something is meant for them.
But in Rizal’s literary work, he wrote a kundiman to profess his intense love for his motherland. This
piece reflects his high hopes that one day, the Philippines would be free from treachery and injustice. At
the time, the country faced great threats while he was in Europe. And, through this work, he voices his
hopeful thoughts despite being far away from the country.

Philippines flag © Rob Nguyen / Flickr

Junto Al Pasig

When translated into English, the title of this work means Beside Pasig River. In response to the Jesuits’
request, Rizal wrote this one-act play in the Spanish language for the velada – a gala variety program
during the principal feast days. The play centers around Leonido (a young Filipino who has a strong faith
in the Virgin) and the Diwata/Satan, which symbolizes the Spanish oppression towards Filipinos. Its
theme highlights Christianity, good vs. evil, and paganism. The Philippines’ national hero wrote it in
honor of the Our Lady of Peace and Voyage of the UST, and the play was staged on December 8, 1880.

Noli Me Tángere

One of the most sought-after books in Philippine literature until today, is Rizal’s famous novel titled Noli
Me Tángere (Touch Me Not). Driven by his undying love for his country, Rizal wrote the novel to expose
the ills of Philippine society during the Spanish colonial era. At the time, the Spaniards prohibited the
Filipinos from reading the controversial book because of the unlawful acts depicted in the novel. Yet
they were not able to ban it completely and as more Filipinos read the book, it opened their eyes to the
truth that they were being manhandled by the friars. In this revolutionary book, you’ll learn the story of
Crisostomo Ibarra, how he dealt with Spanish authorities, and how he prepared for his revenge, as told
in Rizal’s second book, El Filibusterismo.

Noli Me Tángere © Berliner Buchdruckerei-Aktiengesellschaft

El Filibusterismo

This is Rizal’s sequel to his first book, Noli Me Tángere. In El Filibusterismo (The Reign of the Greed), the
novel exhibits a dark theme (as opposed to the hopeful atmosphere in the first novel) in which it depicts
the country’s issues and how the protagonist attempts a reform. The story takes place 13 years after
Noli Me Tángere, where revolutionary protagonist Crisostomo Ibarra is now under the guise of Simoun –
a wealthy jewelry tycoon. Because the novel also portrays the abuse, corruption, and discrimination of
the Spaniards towards Filipinos, it was also banned in the country at the time. Rizal dedicated his second
novel to the GOMBURZA – the Filipino priests named Mariano Gomez, Jose Apolonio Burgos, and Jacinto
Zamora who were executed on charges of subversion. The two novels of Rizal, now considered as his
literary masterpieces, both indirectly sparked the Philippine Revolution.

Rizal's novels © Sky Harbor / Wikimedia Commons

Mi último adiós

After being associated with the Katipuneros, Rizal was arrested and later sentenced to death by firing
squad for acts of sedition and rebellion. During his final days in Fort Santiago of Manila, Rizal bid
farewell to his motherland and countrymen through letters. Mi último adiós or My Last Farewell is one
of the few last works that Rizal wrote.

Some historical accounts say he wrote it on the eve before his execution, while others claim that he
wrote the poem a few days before his death in Manila on December 30, 1896. But, because there was
no title ascribed to this poem, his good friend and fellow reformist Mariano Ponce came up with the
title.

Today, Rizal’s literary works, specifically his two novels, are alive and continuously being analyzed by
students and professionals. Colleges and universities in the Philippines even require their students to
take a subject which centers around the life and works of Rizal. Through his work, the country’s national
hero is always remembered and looked upon with high regard for his contribution towards the
Philippine independence.

My Final Farewell

Farewell, dear Fatherland, clime of the sun caress'd

Pearl of the Orient seas, our Eden lost!,
Gladly now I go to give thee this faded life's best,
And were it brighter, fresher, or more blest
Still would I give it thee, nor count the cost.

On the field of battle, 'mid the frenzy of fight,

Others have given their lives, without doubt or heed;
The place matters not-cypress or laurel or lily white,
Scaffold or open plain, combat or martyrdom's plight,
T is ever the same, to serve our home and country's need.

I die just when I see the dawn break,

Through the gloom of night, to herald the day;
And if color is lacking my blood thou shalt take,
Pour'd out at need for thy dear sake
To dye with its crimson the waking ray.
 My dreams, when life first opened to me,
My dreams, when the hopes of youth beat high,
Were to see thy lov'd face, O gem of the Orient sea
From gloom and grief, from care and sorrow free;
No blush on thy brow, no tear in thine eye.

Dream of my life, my living and burning desire,

All hail ! cries the soul that is now to take flight;
All hail ! And sweet it is for thee to expire ;
To die for thy sake, that thou mayst aspire;
And sleep in thy bosom eternity's long night.

If over my grave some day thou seest grow,

In the grassy sod, a humble flower,
Draw it to thy lips and kiss my soul so,
While I may feel on my brow in the cold tomb below
The touch of thy tenderness, thy breath's warm power.

Let the moon beam over me soft and serene,

Let the dawn shed over me its radiant flashes,
Let the wind with sad lament over me keen ;
And if on my cross a bird should be seen,
Let it trill there its hymn of peace to my ashes.
Let the sun draw the vapors up to the sky,
And heavenward in purity bear my tardy protest
Let some kind soul o 'er my untimely fate sigh,
And in the still evening a prayer be lifted on high
From thee, 0 my country, that in God I may rest.

Pray for all those that hapless have died,

For all who have suffered the unmeasur'd pain;
For our mothers that bitterly their woes have cried,
For widows and orphans, for captives by torture tried
And then for thyself that redemption thou mayst gain.

And when the dark night wraps the graveyard around

With only the dead in their vigil to see
Break not my repose or the mystery profound
And perchance thou mayst hear a sad hymn resound
'T is I, O my country, raising a song unto thee.
 And even my grave is remembered no more
Unmark'd by never a cross nor a stone
Let the plow sweep through it, the spade turn it o'er
That my ashes may carpet earthly floor,
Before into nothingness at last they are blown.

Then will oblivion bring to me no care

As over thy vales and plains I sweep;
Throbbing and cleansed in thy space and air
With color and light, with song and lament I fare,
Ever repeating the faith that I keep.

My Fatherland ador'd, that sadness to my sorrow lends

Beloved Filipinas, hear now my last good-by!
I give thee all: parents and kindred and friends
For I go where no slave before the oppressor bends,
Where faith can never kill, and God reigns e'er on high!

Farewell to you all, from my soul torn away,

Friends of my childhood in the home dispossessed !
Give thanks that I rest from the wearisome day !
Farewell to thee, too, sweet friend that lightened my way;
Beloved creatures all, farewell! In death there is rest!

Francisco Balagtas
Francisco Balagtas, later Francisco Baltazar or nickname Kikong Balagtas or Kiko, was born on April 2,
1788 in the barrio Panginay in the town of Bigaa, now known as Balagtas in his honor, in the province of
Bulacan. He was the youngest of four children: Felipe, Concha, and Nicholasa. His parents were a
blacksmith, Juan Baltazar, and Juana de la Cruz.

As a young boy, Balagtas loved to watch the land and hear the sound of the leaves. He saw beauty in the
sparks caused by the pounding hammer of his blacksmith father. He even heard music in the sound of
the horses' shoes.

Balagtas studied in a parochial school in Bigaa, where he studied prayers and catechism during his
elementary years. Once Baltazar was eleven he moved to Tondo, Manila to work as a houseboy for his
aunt, Doña Trinidad, who sponsored his studies. He enrolled at the Colegio de San Jose, where he
graduated with degrees in Crown Law, Spanish, Latin, Physics, Christian Doctrine, Humanities, and
Philosophy.
Dr. Mariano Pilapil taught him how to write while one of the most famous Tondo poets, José de la Cruz
(Huseng Sisiw) mentored his poetry. Cruz challenged Balagtas to improve his writing, and even refused
to edit Balagtas’ poetry. He continued to write more awits, corridos and moro-moros.

In 1835, Balagtas moved to Pandacan and met Maria Asuncion Rivera, who would later serve as a muse
for his writings, such as in Florante at Laura as 'Celia' and 'MAR'.

Mariano Capule challenged Balagtas’ feelings for Maria. The influential Capule used his wealth to
imprison Balagtas and marry Maria. In prison, Balagtas relates the parallels of his own situation in
Florante at Laura.

During an age when Filipino’s wrote in Spanish, Balagtas wrote his poems in Tagalog. Scholars are lead
to believe his poems reflect the abuses of the Spanish colonists.

Upon Balagtas' release from prison, he published Florante at Laura in 1838. In 1840, he moved to
Udyong, Bataan and served as a Major Lieutenant. There, he met Juana Tiambeng of Orion, Bataan
whom he would wed in 1842. Together, they had eleven - five boys and six girls - although seven died.

In 1849, Governor-General Narciso Claveria ordered that every Filipino native adopt a Spanish surname.
Henceforth, Balagtas became known as Francisco Baltazar. In 1856, Balagtas faced imprisonment for
shaving the head of Alferez Lucas' house cleaner, forcing his wife to spend their entire fortune to pay
the court expenses. After his release in 1860, he continued writing to support his family.

Upon his deathbed, Baltazar asked that none of his children become poets like him, who had suffered
under his gift. He stated that it would be better to cut their hands off than to let them be writers.

Francisco Baltazar died on February 20, 1862.

Bienvenido L. Lumbera
Born
in Lipa City, Batangas, Philippines
April 11, 1932
He spent most of his youth in Batangas until he entered the University of Santo Tomas in 1950 to
pursue a degree in journalism. He completed his M.A. and then his Ph.D. in Comparative Literature at
Indiana University in 1967. Lumbera writes in English and Filipino, and has produced works in both
languages.

He has a poetry collection entitled Likhang Dila, Likhang Diwa (1993), and Balaybay: Mga Tulang Lunot at
Manibalang, a collection of new poems in Filipino and those from Likhang Dila. He has several critical
works, including Abot-Tanaw: Sulyap at Suri sa Nagbabagong Kultura at Lipunan (1987) and Writing the
Nation/Pag-akda ng Bansa (2000). He has also done several librettos, among them Tales of the Manuvu
(1977) and Rama Hari (1980). Sa Sariling Bayan: Apat na Dulang May Musika (DLSU, 2003) collects the
four historical musicals Nasa Puso ang Amerika, Bayani, Noli Me Tangere: The Musical, and Hibik at
Himagsik Nina Victoria Laktaw.

Dr. Lumbera has been a recipient of numerous awards, including the Ramon Magsaysay Award for
Journalism, Literature and Creative Communication Arts in 1993, the Gawad CCP, Gawad Pambansang
Alagad ni Balagtas, Manila Critics' Circle and the Palanca. He has also gained Professor Emeritus status in
the University of the Philippines. He also serves in the Board of Advisers of the UP Institute of Creative
Writing. This 2006, for his creative and critical work directed towards a literature rooted in the search
for nationhood, Dr. Lumbera received the much-coveted title of National Artist for Literature. (less)

Bienvenido L. Lumbera’s books

1. Philippine Literature: A History and Anthology by Bienvenido L. Lumbera (Editor), Cynthia
Nograles Lumbera (Editor)
2. Filipinos Writing: Philippine Literature from the Regions — published 2001
3. Writing the Nation/Pag-akda ng Bansa — published 2000
4. Likhang Dila, Likhang Diwa — 84 ratings
5. Tagalog Poetry, 1570-1898: Tradition and Influences in its Development— published 1986 — 2
editions
6. Mula Tore Patungong Palengke: Neoliberal Education in the Philippines — published 2007
7. Paano Magbasa ng Panitikang Filipino: Mga Babasahing Pangkolehiyo — 2 editions
8. Sa Sariling Bayan: Apat na Dulang May Musika — published 2003
9. Revaluation 1997: Essays on Philippine Literature, Cinema, and Popular Culture — published 1997
10. Re-Viewing Filipino Cinema — published 2011 — 2 editions

My Brother's Peculiar Chicken (Alejandro R. Roces)

My brother Kiko once had a very peculiar chicken. It was peculiar because no one could tell whether it
was a rooster or a hen. My brother claimed it was a rooster. I claimed it was a hen. We almost got
whipped because we argued too much.

The whole question began early one morning. Kiko and I were driving the chickens from the cornfield.
The corn had just been planted, and the chickens were scratching the seeds out for food. Suddenly we
heard the rapid flapping of wings. We turned in the direction of the sound and saw two chickens fighting
in the far end of the field. We could not see the birds clearly as they were lunging at each other in a
whirlwind of feathers and dust.

“Look at that rooster fight!” my brother said, pointing exactly at one of the chickens. “Why, if I had a
rooster like that, I could get rich in the cockpits.”

“Let’s go and catch it,” I suggested.

“No, you stay here. I will go and catch it,” Kiko said.

My brother slowly approached the battling chickens. They were so busy fighting that they did not notice
him. When he got near them, he dived and caught one of them by the leg. It struggled and squawked.
Kiko finally held it by both wings and it became still. I ran over where he was and took a good look at the
chicken.

“Why, it is a hen,” I said.

“What is the matter with you?” my brother asked. “Is the heat making you sick?”

“No. Look at its face. It has no comb or wattles.”

“No comb and wattles! Who cares about its comb or wattles? Didn’t you see it in fight?”

“Sure, I saw it in fight. But I still say it is a hen.”

“Ahem! Did you ever see a hen with spurs on its legs like these? Or a hen with a tail like this?”

“I don’t care about its spurs or tail. I tell you it is a hen. Why, look at it.”

The argument went on in the fields the whole morning. At noon we went to eat lunch. We argued about
it on the way home. When we arrived at our house Kiko tied the chicken to a peg. The chicken flapped
its wings and then crowed.

“There! Did you hear that?” my brother exclaimed triumphantly. “I suppose you are going to tell me
now that hens crow and that carabaos fly.”

“I don’t care if it crows or not,” I said. “That chicken is a hen.”

We went into the house, and the discussion continued during lunch.

“It is not a hen,” Kiko said. “It is a rooster.”

“It is a hen,” I said.

“It is not.”

“It is.”

“Now, now,” Mother interrupted, “how many times must Father tell you, boys, not to argue during
lunch? What is the argument about this time?”

We told Mother, and she went out look at the chicken.

“That chicken,” she said, “is a binabae. It is a rooster that looks like a hen.”

That should have ended the argument. But Father also went out to see the chicken, and he said, “Have
you been drinking again?” Mother asked.

“No,” Father answered.

“Then what makes you say that that is a hen? Have you ever seen a hen with feathers like that?”

“Listen. I have handled fighting cocks since I was a boy, and you cannot tell me that that thing is a
rooster.”

Before Kiko and I realized what had happened, Father and Mother were arguing about the chicken by
themselves. Soon Mother was crying. She always cried when she argued with Father.

“You know very well that that is a rooster,” she said. “You are just being mean and stubborn.”

“I am sorry,” Father said. “But I know a hen when I see one.”

“I know who can settle this question,” my brother said.

“Who?” I asked.

“The teniente del Barrio, chief of the village.”

The chief was the oldest man in the village. That did not mean that he was the wisest, but anything
always carried more weight if it is said by a man with gray hair. So my brother untied the chicken and we
took it to the chief.

“Is this a male or a female chicken?” Kiko asked.

“That is a question that should concern only another chicken,” the chief replied.

“My brother and I happen to have a special interest in this particular chicken. Please give us an answer.
Just say yes or no. Is this a rooster?”

“It does not look like any rooster I have ever seen,” the chief said.

“Is it a hen, then?” I asked.

“It does not look like any hen I have ever seen. No, that could not be a chicken. I have never seen like
that. It must be a bird of some other kind.”
“Oh, what’s the use!” Kiko said, and we walked away.

“Well, what shall we do now?” I said.

“I know that,” my brother said. “Let’s go to town and see Mr. Cruz. He would know.”

Mr. Eduardo Cruz lived in a nearby town of Katubusan. He had studied poultry raising in the University
of the Philippines. He owned and operated the largest poultry business in town. We took the chicken to
his office.

“Mr. Cruz,” Kiko said, “is this a hen or a rooster?”

Mr. Cruz looked at the bird curiously and then said:

“Hmmm. I don’t know. I couldn’t tell in one look. I have never run across a chicken like this before.”

“Well, is there any way you can tell?”

“Why, sure. Look at the feathers on its back. If the feathers are round, then it’s a hen. If they are
pointed, it’s a rooster.”

The three of us examined the feathers closely. It had both.

“Hmmm. Very peculiar,” said Mr. Cruz.

“Is there any other way you can tell?”

“I could kill it and examined its insides.”

“No. I do not want it killed,” my brother said.

I took the rooster in my arms and we walked back to the barrio.

Kiko was silent most of the way. Then he said:

“I know how I can prove to you that this is a rooster.”

“How?” I asked.

“Would you agree that this is a rooster if I make it fight in the cockpit and it wins?”

“If this hen of yours can beat a gamecock, I will believe anything,” I said.

“All right,” he said. “We’ll take it to the cockpit this Sunday.”

So that Sunday we took the chicken to the cockpit. Kiko looked around for a suitable opponent. He
finally picked a red rooster.

“Don’t match your hen against that red rooster.” I told him. “That red rooster is not a native chicken. It
is from Texas.”

“I don’t care where it came from,” my brother said. “My rooster will kill it.”

“Don’t be a fool,” I said. “That red rooster is a killer. It has killed more chickens than the fox. There is no
rooster in this town that can stand against it. Pick a lesser rooster.”

My brother would not listen. The match was made and the birds were readied for the killing. Sharp steel
gaffs were tied to their left legs. Everyone wanted to bet on the red gamecock.

The fight was brief. Both birds were released in the centre of the arena. They circled around once and
then faced each other. I expected our chicken to die of fright. Instead, a strange thing happened. A
lovesick expression came into the red rooster’s eyes. Then it did a love dance. That was all our chicken
needed. It rushed at the red rooster with its neck feathers flaring. In one lunge, it buried its spurs into its
opponent’s chest. The fight was over.

“Tiope! Tiope! Fixed fight!” the crowd shouted.

Then a riot broke out. People tore bamboo benches apart and used them as clubs. My brother and I had
to leave through the back way. I had the chicken under my arm. We ran toward the coconut groves and
kept running till we lost the mob. As soon as we were safe, my brother said:

“Do you believe it is a rooster now?”

“Yes,” I answered.

I was glad the whole argument was over.

Just then the chicken began to quiver. It stood up in my arms and cackled with laughter. Something
warm and round dropped into my hand. It was an egg.

Virgilio Senadrin Almario (born March 9, 1944), better known by his pen name Rio Alma, is a Filipino
artist, poet, critic, translator, editor, teacher, and cultural manager.[1] He is a National Artist of the
Philippines and currently serves as the chairman of the Komisyon sa Wikang Filipino (KWF), the
government agency mandated to promote and standardize the use of the Filipino language. On January
5, 2017, Almario was also elected as the chairman of the National Commission for Culture and the
Arts.[2]
"Magdangal", a poem by Virgilio S. Almario.
Virgilio Almario at a poetry reading in June 2011.
Early life and education

Growing up in Bulacan among peasants, Almario sought his education at the City of Manila and
completed his degree in A.B. Political Science at the University of the Philippines Diliman.

His life as a poet started when he took master’s units in education at the University of the East where he
became associated with Rogelio G. Mangahas and Lamberto E. Antonio. He did not finish the program.

He only took his M.A. in Filipino in 1974 at the University of the Philippines Diliman.
Career

A prolific writer, he spearheaded the second successful modernist movement in Filipino poetry together
with Mangahas and Antonio. His earliest pieces of literary criticism were collected in Ang Makata sa
Panahon ng Makina (1972), now considered the first book of literary criticism in Filipino. Later, in the
years of martial law, he set aside modernism and formalism and took interest in nationalism, politics
and activist movement. As critic, his critical works deal with the issue of national language.

Aside from being a critic, Almario engaged in translating and editing. He has translated the best
contemporary poets of the world. He has also translated for theater production the plays of Nick
Joaquin, Bertolt Brecht, Euripides and Maxim Gorki. Other important translations include the famous
works of the Philippines' national hero, José Rizal, namely Noli Me Tangere and El filibusterismo. For
these two, he was awarded the 1999 award for translation by the Manila Critics Circle.[3][4]

Almario has been a recipient of numerous awards such as several Palanca Awards, two grand prizes
from the Cultural Center of the Philippines, the Makata ng Taon of the Komisyon sa Wikang Filipino, the
TOYM for literature, and the Southeast Asia Write Award of Bangkok.

He was an instructor at the Lagao Central Elementary School from 1969-1972. In 2003, he was
appointed Dean of the College of Arts and Letters at the University of the Philippines DIliman. On June
25 of the same year, he was proclaimed National Artist for Literature.[5]

Almario is also the founder and workshop director of the Linangan sa Imahen, Retorika, at Anyo (LIRA),
an organization of poets who write in Filipino. Award-winning writers and poets such as Roberto and
Rebecca Añonuevo, Romulo Baquiran Jr., Michael Coroza, Jerry Gracio, and Vim Nadera are but some of
the products of the LIRA workshop.

He was a founding member of the Gallan sa Arte at Tula (GAT), along with fellow poets Teo Antonio and
Mike Bigornia.
Works
Poetry Collections
 Palipad-Hangin. (1985)
Katon Para sa Limang Pandama. (1987)
Sentimental. (2004)
Estremelenggoles. (2004)
Memo Mulang Gimokudan. (2005)
Dust Devils. (2005)
Sonetos Postumos, book of poems with translation by Marne Kilates and paintings by National Artist
Ang Kiukok. (2006)
Tatlong Pasyon sa Ating Panahon, poems for children with illustrations by Mark Justiniani, Neil
Doloricon, Ferdinand Doctolero. (2006)
Buwan, Buwang, Bulawan. (2009)
UP Diksiyonaryong Filipino
Doktrinang Anak Pawis