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The Poems of Prof. Jose Maria Sison

THE GUERRILLA IS LIKE A POET



The guerrilla is like a poet
Keen to the rustle of leaves
The break of twigs
The ripples of the river
The smell of fire
And the ashes of departure.

The guerrilla is like a poet.
He has merged with the trees
The bushes and the rocks
Ambiguous but precise
Well-versed on the law of motion
And master of myriad images.

The guerrilla is like a poet.
Enrhymed with nature
The subtle greenery
The inner silence, the outer innocence
The steel tensile in-grace
That ensnares the enemy.

The guerrilla is like a poet.
He moves with the green brown multitude
In bush burning with red flowers
That crown and hearten all
Swarming the terrain as a flood
Marching at last against the stronghold.

An endless movement of strength
Behold the protracted theme:
The people’s epic, the people’s war.

1968

Comments

  • JoRedJoRed PExer
    Fragments

    Under the nightsky, fresh breaths
    Of green leaves and blue waves
    Rush to my face, cling to my body
    And spur me on to meet my beloved.
    As on a hundred steeds, I speed
    Like a free bird on a silver ribbon
    Between the mountain and the sea.
    But alas the unoly hour is fraught
    With the dagger eyes of demons
    At the junction of haven and danger.

    After a monkey dance in the dark
    Around the silent transit station,
    The demons burst through the flimsy door,
    Raise the din of bloodlust
    And sicken the sudden light.
    I am surrounded by armed demons
    Prancing and manacling me.
    I am wrenched from my beloved
    And carried on frenzied wheels
    Through the strange cold night.

    I am brought to the center of hell
    To the Devil and his high demons
    For a ritual of flashbulbs.
    The Devil waves away his minions
    And we engage in a duel of words.
    For a start, he talks of buying souls.
    Repulsed, he shifts to setting
    A trap for fools and the innocent.
    Repulsed again, he ends with a threat
    That he will never see me again.

    As if midnight the tight manacles
    And the demons were not enough,
    I am blindfolded and moved in circles
    A series of boxes swallow me;
    A sprawling fort, a certain compound
    With a creaking-croaking gate
    And finally a cell of utter silence
    To which I am roughly punged.
    The demons want me to fell
    Blind, lost, suffocating, helpless.

    I remove the blindfold and find
    Myself in a musty tomb.
    I abhor the absence of windows,
    The sickly green and muteness
    Of the walls and the ceiling,
    The deep brown of the shut door,
    The dizzying flicker of the dim lamp
    And sparse air from an obscure vent.
    The pit of my stomach keep turning
    And my lungs become congested.

    Nameless demons come in relay
    To feign cordiality or menace me
    And explore my brain and nerves.
    I draw circles around them
    To gain time for my comrades
    And warn them with my disappearance.
    I demand my right to counsel.
    My right against self-damnation.
    The whereabouts of my beloved
    And the friends abducted with us.

    I am forcibly shorn of my shirt
    And it is wound around my face.
    One more piece of cloth is tightened
    Across my covered eyes and nape.
    My hands are cuffed behind my back
    So tightly as to numb them.
    I am fixed on a wooden chair
    And made to wait for my fate
    In utter blindness and helplessness
    In the hands of some monster.

    All of a sudden sharp fist blows
    Strike my floating ribs,
    Chest and solar plexus.
    Then the demons make barrages
    Of questions, threats and taunts
    With more barrages of hard blows.
    My silence, answer or comment
    Always fetches harder blows,
    The demons keep on threatening
    To break my skull against the wall.

    The seemingly endless bout ends
    But something more is afoot.
    The demons chain one of my feet
    And one of my hands to a cot.
    I remove the blindfolds and my eyes
    Are struck by a beam of light
    That follows the motion of my face
    My eyes outracing the light scan
    The dark emptiness of the cell
    And make out three demons.

    Two alternate in pointing a gun
    At my prostrate body and repeating
    Questions I do not care to answer,
    While the third sits silent
    On the floor of the dark cell.
    And one more demon comes and goes
    Asking questions and threatening
    To kill me in the act of "escaping".
    Now and then, a demon kicks
    A foot of the cot in exasperation.

    In contempt of their menacing form,
    I keep telling the demons to take a rest,
    Ridicule their words and antics
    And hurl back their insults at them
    Even as they weaken my body
    By keeping me awake, hungry and thirsty.
    I can sense being prepared
    For a more painful, a worse ordeal.
    But I reckon the Devil’s order
    Is to cause fright and uncertainty.

    Once more I am blindfolded
    As more demons suddenly swarm
    Into the dark stifling cell.
    Both my hands and both my feet
    Are tightly shackled to the cot
    With sharp-edged cuffs that tighten
    Whenever I make the slightest move.
    I hear a demon say my grave is ready
    And another say that I should first
    Be given electric shocks.

    Thoughts race through my mind:
    I have met and measured the Devil;
    He wants my soul more than my corpse.
    These tormentors blindfold me
    To conceal their craven faces.
    I will suffer but I will endure.
    The nerves grow numb against pain;
    The brain shuts off against the extreme.
    But so what if I die, my life
    Has long been given to the cause.

    I hear water gushing against water,
    The racket of plastic pails
    And the screeches of frantic boots.
    A small towel is put across my face
    And mouth; and strong hands hold
    My head and grasp my mouth.
    Cascades of water dig into my nostrils
    And flood my mouth, throat and lungs.
    The torrents of water come with torrents
    Of questions, threats and taunts.

    The cuffs slash my wrists and ankles
    As I strain for air again and again
    Against the stinging rush of water.
    I suffer for so many persons, groups,
    Addresses, villages, mountains
    That I do not know or do not want
    To tell or confirm to the demons.
    They are most vicious or persistent
    In trying to extract hot leads,
    More prey and more spoils.

    For more than a thousand times,
    The strength of my heart is tested.
    As I struggle and scream for air.
    American rock music screens my screams
    Outside the torture chamber.
    From time to time, a demon pokes
    The barrel of a gun into my mouth;
    Another keeps on jabbing his fingers
    Into different parts of my body
    To disrupt the rhythm of my resistance.

    My struggles loosen the blindfold.
    I can see a senior demon gloating.
    Then a stocky demon sits on my belly.
    As my body weakens and I grow dizzy,
    The chief interrogator vainly tries
    To hypnotize me by repeating words,
    Suggesting that I am going, going
    To sleep and rest my mind in his power.
    I resist and keep my wits alive
    By recalling the worlds of a battlecry.

    The demons fail to drown my spirit
    But I am tired and dazed for days.
    I lie half-naked shackled to the cot
    With wounded wrists and ankles,
    Numb hands, chest pains
    And pricking sensations in my eyes.
    Still I am blindfolded again and again
    As vulture demons come in relay
    To drum questions into my ears
    As if their persistence were endless.

    I keep on thinking of seagulls
    Frail and magical above the blue ocean;
    And doves in pairs so gentle,
    One partner so close to the other.
    I am blindfolded and a vulture demon
    Comes to insult me with an offer:
    To be caged with my beloved
    In return for one free comrade.
    I grit my teeth and grunt at the demon
    And wish that I could do more to his face.

    I see the smiling faces of demons
    Who come to make another offer:
    I simply declare formally
    That I am A.G. and nothing more;
    And the torture would cease
    And I would be placed where
    Other captives of the Devil are.
    They even agree to an indication
    That access to counsel is impossible
    Because of the armed demons themselves.

    The torture does not cease
    But becomes worse a thousand times.
    The seconds, minutes, days, weeks,
    Months and seaons fall
    Like huge blocks of lead
    On my brain and nerves,
    On my prostrate body on the rack,
    With my left hand and right foot
    Constantly cuffed to a filthy cot
    In a perpetuated process of violence.

    Thick calluses grow where the irons
    Press against my flesh and bones.
    And I suffer the extremes
    Of heat and cold upon the change
    Of seasons and the part of a day.
    I see nothing beyond the dusty walls
    And cobwebbed ceiling.
    Day and night, every ten minutes,
    A demon peeops through a small hole
    To make sure I remain in shackles.

    Only bedbugs, mosquitoes, ants,
    Cockroaches, lizards and spiders
    Are my cohabitants in this part of hell
    I miss and yearn for my beloved
    And think of her own fate.
    I long for my growing children;
    I long for the honest company
    Of workers, peasants and comrades.
    I long for the people rising
    And the wide open spaces of my country.

    The imps who detach me from the cot
    Are tightlipped most of the time
    And show insolence, harass and insult me
    Whenever they think I am going beyond
    The few minutes allowed me to eat
    Bad food and perform necessities.
    The demon doctor merely smiles
    When I ask for fresh air and sunlight.
    The demon dentist does not repair
    But keep on busting my teeth.

    Some demons come now and then
    Asking why I wish to suffer
    When all I need is to surrender
    My soul for the Devil’s compassion.
    Asked once to run for an assembly
    Of demons, I retort how can I run
    When I cannot even walk in my cell.
    Then, even they stop coming,
    To let me suffer without respite
    The flames of one summer after another.

    As I refuse to sell or give away
    My soul to the Devil, his scheme
    Is to torment and kill it slowly
    By fixing my body on the rack,
    Dangling the sword of death
    And threatening to let it fall
    By some formal or informal process.
    But the scheme is futile
    As the agony of isolation in shackles
    Even makes death a tempting recourse.

    I struggle against the tedium,
    The cumulative stress on my body and mind
    And occasional lure of suicide.
    I kleep on composing and reciting poems
    To damn the Devil and the demons.
    I keep on summoning images
    Of my beloved suffering but enduring;
    Our free and fast-growing children;
    And the masses of avenging angels
    Armed with the sharpest of swords.

    Every day that passes is a day won,
    Heightening will and endurance.
    I anticipate the Devil's pretense--
    Bringing me to his court for a show
    And having the demon judges acclaim him
    As supreme lawmaker, captor, torturer,
    Prosecutor, judge and executioner.
    After so long in the rack, I can sit
    Beside my beloved before the demon judges
    And let the people know our ordeal.

    To speak of torture in hindsight,
    To speak of one-hour punching,
    So many meals and hours of sleep lost,
    Six hours of suffocation by water,
    Eighteen months on the rack
    And so many years of cramped seclusion,
    Is never to say enough of suffering.
    The Devil and the demons never tell
    The victim when a certain ordeal ends
    Even as they threaten more pain and death.

    But still my pain and suffering is small
    As I think of those who suffer more
    The violence of daily exploitation
    And the rampage of terror on the land.
    I belittle my pain and suffering
    As I think of the people who fight
    For their own redemption and freedom
    And avenge the blood of martyrs.
    I belittle my pain and suffering
    As I hope to give more to the struggle.



    December 1979
  • JoRedJoRed PExer
    THE COMING OF THE RAIN



    Gathered by the oppressive heat
    Heavy clouds darken all beneath
    But thunder and lightning proclaim
    A new season of growth in the rain.

    The wide wind and deepening stream
    Race from the mountain to bring
    The message in a more intimate way,
    The coming of the rain to the plains.

    The trees raise their arms to the sky
    And dance in a movement so spright.
    The bushes raise and blend their voices
    With the trees in song and laughter.

    The wind sweeps away the fallen leaves
    And fans the spark on the stubbly field.
    The flames leap and whet the thirst
    Of the earth so eager for the water thrusts.



    15 June 1978
  • JoRedJoRed PExer
    THE CENTRAL PLAINS



    I love the green expanse of ricefields,
    The sunlight that strikes it reveals
    The myriads of golden beads.
    I love the sturdy stand of the canefields,
    The sunlight that strikes it reveals
    The golden wands of sweetness.
    The breeze sweeping the plains carries
    The rhythm of toil of peasants and farm workers.
    I love the clangor on the road and in shops
    As workers make do with some machines.
    I love the blue mountains yonder;
    They evince hope to all the toilers.



    15 August 1978
  • JoRedJoRed PExer
    Dew Drops And Red Rose


    In the evening
    Dewdrops linger
    On the lips
    Coaxing
    The rosebud
    To yield
    Its innermost
    Yet seizing stars
    To see through
    The dark
    Not with a few
    But myriad eyes.

    In the morning
    Flaming petals
    Laugh at the sky
    And fill the air
    With joy
    As if the sun
    In one outburst
    Has lent fire
    To the blood of earth
    Now leaping, blooming
    Among leaves
    And thorns.

    The thalamus
    Of the red rose,
    A chalice
    With proud stamen,
    Holds the secrets
    Of distilled
    Seas and rivers,
    Of voyages
    Twixt sod and god.
    How sweet
    Is the laughter
    Of pistil and petals!
  • JoRedJoRed PExer
    Sometimes, the Heart Yearns for Mangoes



    Sometimes, the heart yearns
    For mangoes where there are apples,
    For orchids where there are tulips,
    For warmth, where it is cold,
    For mountainous islands,
    Where there is flatland.

    Far less than the home,
    And the flow of kith and kin,
    Unfamiliar and now familiar
    Things and places trigger
    The pain of sundered relations,
    Of losses by delays and default.

    Direct dialing, fax machines,
    Computer discs and video casettes
    And visitors on supersonic jets,
    Fail to close the gap
    Between rehearsed appearances
    And the unrehearsed life at home.

    There are colleagues and friends
    That make a strange land loveable.
    But they have their routines,
    Their own lives to live,
    Beyond the comprehension
    And pertinence of the stranger.

    Those who seek to rob the exile
    Of home, kith and kin,
    Of life, limb and liberty
    Are the loudest to mock at him
    Who is helplessly at sea,
    Uprooted from his soil.

    The well-purposed exile continues
    To fight for his motherland
    Against those who banished him,
    The unwelcomed exploiters of his people,
    And is certain that he is at home
    In his own country and the world.

    March 30, 1994

    Minsa’y Sabik ang Puso sa Mangga


    Minsa’y sabik ang puso
    Sa mangga kung saan ang mansanas
    Sa orkidya kung saan ang tulipa
    Sa init kung saan maginaw
    Sa mabundok na kapuluan
    Kung saan ang patag.

    Malayo sa tahanan
    At daloy ng kaibiga”t kaanak
    Ilang at ngayo”y gamay
    Na mga bagay at lugar nang-uudyok
    Ng kirot sa patid na mga ugnay,
    Sa mga kabiguandahil sa antala’t kaligta.

    Direk dialing, fax mashin
    Komputer disk at video kaset
    At mga bisitang lulan ng dyet
    Di-kayang paglapitin
    Ang inensayong mga pamalas
    At di-inensayong buhay sa tahanan.

    May mga kaliga at kaibigan
    Na nakakaaya sa dinayong lupa
    Subalit may sarili silang mga gawi,
    Sariling mga buhay
    Na lampas sa pagkaunawa
    At pakialam ng dayuhan.

    Yaong mga nais magkait sa destierro
    Ng tahanan, kaibiga’t kaanak,
    Ng buhay, katawan at kalayaan
    Ang pinakamaingay na mangutya sa kanya
    Na lulutanglutang daw sa dagat,
    Hugot mula sa kanyang lupa.

    Patuloy ang may-layuning destierro
    Sa paglaban para sa inangbayan
    Sa mga nagpalayas sa kanya,
    Ang mga mapagsamanatala sa bayan,
    At tiyak niyang siya’y nananahanan
    Sa sariling bayan at sa daigdigan.

    March 30, 1994
  • JoRedJoRed PExer
    The Giant Oak

    (Tribute to Comrade Mao Zedong)

    By Jose Maria Sison

    In the bitterness of winter
    The giant oak stands erect,
    A hundred years old,
    A tower of countless seasons.
    The mayflies of summer
    Are no match to the oak
    And the merciless cold.

    He who has departed
    But whose spirit lives on
    And cannot be exorcised
    By all sorts of sorcerers
    Is sometimes carved out
    From a branch of the oak
    In the image of his foes
    For rituals to steal
    The magic of his name.
    There are the kisses of betrayal
    On the parchment,
    Droning incantations of sacrilege
    And myths of infamy
    Against his great memory.

    When foes are haunted
    By his thoughts and deeds
    They are in mortal fear
    Of the living force inspired
    For the bigger battles ahead,
    As the light and darkness
    Clash in the horizon
    And as the best and the worst
    Are driven to define themselves.

    26 December 1993

    Ang Higanteng Roble
    (Parangal kay Kasamang Mao Zedong)

    Ni Jose Maria Sison

    Sa tindi ng taglamig
    Tuwid ang tindig ng higanteng roble
    Sandantaong gulang,
    Tore ng maraming panahon.
    Mga langaw ng tag-araw
    Sa roble'y di makapanaig
    At sa walang awang lamig.

    Kung sino ang pumanaw na
    Subalit buhay pa ang diwa
    At di kayang pawiin
    Ng sarisaring manggagaway
    Minsa'y linililok
    Sa sanga ng roble
    Kawangki ng mga katunggali
    Sa ritwal para angkinin
    Ang mahika ng pangalan.
    May mga halik ng pagkanulo
    Sa kasulatan
    Umuugong ang paglapastangan
    At mga alamat ng paglait
    Laban sa dakilang alaala.

    Kapag nababagabag ang mga kaaway
    Ng kanyang diwa't gawa,
    Mortal ang kanilang pagkatakot
    Sa buhay na lakas na pinasigla,
    Para sa higit na malalaking labanan,
    Habang sa abot-tanaw
    Nagtutunggali ang liwanag at dilim
    At ang kabutihan at kasamaan
    Ay natutulak maglahad.

    26 Disyembre 1993
  • JoRedJoRed PExer
    THE BLADED POEM



    Behold the bladed poem
    Tensile and razor-sharp
    Cold and glinting silver
    In the light or dark.

    See how the blackbird
    Of a hilt flies
    Bedecked with pearls
    On the firm mobile hand.

    Look at each face
    On the leaf of steel,
    The virile subtle flames,
    Images of incised gold.

    On one face are toilers
    Varied with pike and ore,
    Crucible, hammer and anvil,
    Water and whetstone.

    Plow and carabao on soil,
    The oyster in the sea,
    Carving and etching tools,
    Bowl of acid on a table.

    On the other face
    Are the same workmen massed
    Upright and poised to fight
    Behind the radiant flag.

    The uprising completes
    The figures of labor
    And urges another surge
    With the well-versed weapon.

    Grasp well the bladed poem
    And let it sing in your hands.
    This kampilan is a talisman
    Of the people in red headbands.



    March 1982

    Ang Tulang May Talim


    Masdan ang tulang may talim
    Matibay at sintalim ng labaha
    Malamig at kumikinang na pilak
    Sa liwanag o sa dilim.

    Tingnan kung paano lumilipad
    Ang ibong-itim na puluhang
    Pinaganda ng mga perlas
    Sa matatag at maliksing kamay.

    Suriin ang bawat mukha
    Sa dahong asero,
    Ang mga matipuno’t pinong liyab,
    Mga iniukit na gintong larawan.

    Sa isang mukha’y mga anakpawis,
    Sari-saring may piko at mineral,
    Pugon, martilyo at pandayan,
    Tubig at batong hasaan.

    Araro at kalabaw sa lupa,
    Mga talaba sa dagat,
    Mga gamit panlilok at pang-ukit,
    Mangkok ng asido sa mesa.

    Sa kabilang mukha
    Ang mga anakpawis pa ring nakatipon
    Nakatindig at handang lumaban
    Sa likod ng nagniningning na watawat.

    Linulubos ng pagbalikwas
    Ang mga anyo ng paggawa
    At inuudyok ang bagong pagsulong,
    Taglay ang matatas na sandata.

    Tanganan ang tulang may talim
    At paawitin sa inyong mga kamay.
    Ang kampilang ito ay agimat
    Ng mga mamamayang may potong na pula.
  • JoRedJoRed PExer
    THE FOREST IS STILL ENCHANTED



    The fickle-minded spirits and fairies
    Have fled the old trees and groves,
    Dark caves and mounds in the shadows,
    Mossy rocks and whispering streams.
    The gnarled balete and the blackbird
    Have lost their intriguing power.

    The uncertainties of the past ages
    No longer lurk to exact awe and fear.
    In the forest throbs discreetly
    A certainty above the certainties
    Of chopping wood, hunting boar and deer,
    Gathering fruits, honey and even orchids.

    But the forest is still enchanted.
    There is a new hymn in the wind;
    There is a new magic in the dark green,
    So the peasant folks say to friends.
    A single fighting spirit has taken over
    To lure in and astonish the intruders.



    June 1981

    Nakakabighani Pa Ang Gubat
    Ni Jose Maria Sison

    Lumayas na ang mga sumpunging anito at diwata
    Mula sa matatandang puno at sukal,
    Madidilim na yungib at puntod sa mga lilim,
    Malulumot na bato at nagsisibulong na sapa.
    Nawalan na ng katakatakang kapangyarihan
    Ang bukubukong mga balete at mga uwak.

    Ang kawalang-tiyak ng sinaunang mga panahon
    Ay hindi na makapanggulat at makapanakot.
    Maingat na pumipintig sa gubat
    Ang katiyakan sa ibabaw ng mga katiyakan
    Ng pagputol ng kahoy, pangangaso
    Pag-ani ng mga prutas, pulot-gata at orkidiya.

    Subalit nakakabighani pa rin ang gubat
    Bagong himig ang nasa hangin
    Bagong hiwaga ang nasa malalim na luntian,
    Sabi ng mga magsasaka sa kanilang mga kaibigan.
    Nananaig ang iisang mapanlabang diwa
    Para bitagin at gulatin ang mga nanghihimasok.
  • JoRedJoRed PExer
    IN THE DARK DEPTHS



    The enemy wants to bury us
    In the dark depths of prison
    But shining gold is mined
    From the dark depths of the earth
    And the radiant pearl is dived
    From the dark depths of the sea.
    We suffer but we endure
    And draw up gold and pearl
    From depths of character
    Formed so long in struggle.



    10 April 1978
  • JoRedJoRed PExer
    LAGI AKONG KASAMA NINYO

    Ni Jose Maria Sison

    Ang aking katawan ay nakapiit
    Subalit diwa ko'y malayang gumagala
    Sa bawat rehiyon at sona
    Sa bawat panahon.

    Ang aking natupad
    Sa malaong panahon sa rebolusyon
    Hindi mawawala sa isang hagupit.
    Iyon ay ipinagpapatuloy ninyo.

    Nang ako'y dakpin
    Ang mga rebolusyonaryong pwersa
    Ay malayo na sa kudlit
    Na pinagsimulan.

    Mangahas na ituloy ang pag-akyat
    Huwag hayaan ang pagbagsak ninuman
    Na makasagka sa dakilang kilusan natin.
    Higit pang itaas ang pulang bandila.

    Lagi akong kasama ninyo,
    Sa inyong pag-aaral, paggawa at pakikihamok.
    Lagi akong kasama ninyong
    Tumutupad sa mga mahigpit na tungkulin.

    Ako'y kabahagi ninyo
    Sa hirap at ginhawa
    Lagi akong kasama ninyo
    Sa linya ng martsa.

    Saklawin ang buong bayan
    Magpalalim sa bawat lokalidad
    Pangibabawan ang lahat ng kahirapan
    Tiyakin ang tagumpay
  • Joma Sison won the prestigious SEAWrite Award way back in 1987 (?) and was awarded by the King of Thailand himself.

    He was a former research editor of the Philippine Collegian.

    He is the country's prime exponent of revolutionary arts and literature.
  • more, pls.

    nagsulat din ba siya ng fiction?
  • JoRedJoRed PExer
    ABOUT PROF. JOSE MA. SISON: BIOGRAPHY
    By Michael C. Williams
    Development Studies
    University of East Anglia

    Source: Biographical Dictionary of Marxism
    Edited by Robert A. Gorman, 1986.
    London: Mansell Publishing Limited, 1986.
    October 18, 2001

    Jos? Maria Sison was born on 8 February 1939 in Cabugao, Ilocos Sur, the Philippines.

    He attended high school in Manila and graduated from the University of the Philippines in 1959.

    He studied Indonesian language and literature in Djakarta in 1962 and returned to teach in Manila the following year. In 1964 he founded the Kabataang Makabayan (KM, National Youth) and was its national chairman until 1968.

    Sison succeeded in linking the activities of the KM with labor unions and especially with Workers' Party (Lapiang Manggagawa), of which he also became general secretary. In 1966, he became the founding general secretary of the Movement for the Advancement of Nationalism (MAN), a united front organization for national independence and democracy that sought to include support from the national bourgeoisie.


    From 1963 to 1968, Sison was also editor of the journal Progressive Review.


    Sison became founder and chairman of the Central Committee of the Communist Party of the Philippines (Marxist-Leninist) from 1969, a breakaway from the older Communist Party of the Philippines (PKP), following a "Congress of Reestablishment of the Communist Party of the Communist Party of the Philippines" held in Southern Tarlac Province, Luzon Between 26 December 1968 and 7 January 1969.


    In March 1969, under Sison's direction, the CPP(M-L) organized the Party's military wing, the New People's Army (NPA). Since then, the NPA has waged guerrilla warfare on Maoist lines against the government of President Marcos.


    Sison until his arrest in November 1977, remained the principal CPP(M-L) theoretician and NPA tactician. He has since been detained on charges of subversion and conspiracyto commit rebellion.* Prior to its effective reestablishment by Sison in 1969, the Philippine Communist Party had lost the influence and prestige that it gained during the Japanese occupation of 1942-44 and the Huk rebellion of the late 1940s.


    As chairman of the reestablished Party, Sison undertook a comprehensive class analysis and strategy for revolution, which he outlined in his Philippine Society and Revolution. From the beginning, the CPP(M-L) and later the NPA adopted a separate article in its Constitution on the "territorial organization" of the Party, which effectively gave local Party units self-government.


    The Central Committee, Sison argued, should only put forward the "general line." Initiative was to be left to regional Party organizations in accordance with local conditions. Centralized leadership was always to be accompanied by "dispersed operations." At the same time, Sison argued for the need for "liaison teams" to operate between the masses and the NPA.


    The teams were charged with establishing close contact with the public at large "through various flexible methods" and the conducting of "social investigation."



    ___________________________


    BIBLIOGRAPHY:
    Struggle for National Democracy (Quezon City: Progressive Publications, 1967).
    Amado Guerrero (Sison), Philippine Society and Revolution (Hong Kong: Ta Kung Pao, 1971.)





    Personal Circumstances

    Some Current Positions: Chairman, Board of Directors, Stichting International Network for Philippine Studies(INPS), l989-present, and General Consultant, International League of Peoples? Struggle (ILPS), 2001-present.



    I. Academic Record


    AB in English Literature, ***** laude, College of Arts and Sciences, University of the Philippines (UP), 1959; and Master of Arts in Comparative Literature, Graduate School of Arts and Sciences, University of the Philippines, 1959-61.
    Membership in Honor Societies & Scholarships:
    2.1. Phi Kappa Phi Honor Society and Pi Gamma Mu International Science Society
    2.2. ICA-NEC Teaching Fellowship, University of the Philippines, 1959-61 & Jajasan Siswa Lokantara scholarship in Indonesian language, Djakarta, Indonesia, 1962.
    Teaching Fellow, English Department, College of Arts and Sciences, UP, 1959-61.
    University Public Relations Officer, Araneta University; and Executive Secretary to Dr. Salvador Araneta as Araneta University President.
    Professorial Lecturer in English, Political and other Social Sciences, Lyceum of the Philippines, 1964-67.
    Senior Research Fellow & Associate Professor, Asian Center of Graduate Studies, University of the Philippines, 1986-87.
    Chairman, Executive Council, Philippine Center for Social Research, 1986-87.
    Occasional guest lecturer on Philippine politics, economy and culture in Utrecht University and other European universities, 1987- present.


    II. Political Record

    Founder & National Chairman, Kabataang Makabayan (People's Youth).
    Vice President for Education, Lapiang Manggagawa (Workers' Party), 1963-64.
    General Secretary, Socialist Party of the Philippines, 1964-65.
    National Vice-President, Socialist Party of the Philippines, 1965-68.
    Director for Education, National Association of Trade Unions, 1964-68.
    Consultant, Malayang Samahang Magsasaka (Free Association of Peasants), 1964-68.
    Adviser, Pagkakaisa ng Magbubukid sa Pilipinas (Unity of Peasants in the Philippines), 1969-71.
    Founding Secretary General, Movement for the Advancement of Nationalism (a broad alliance of democratic forces), 1966-68.
    Founding Chairman, Communist Party of the Philippines 1968-1977.
    Chairman, Preparatory Commission of Partido ng Bayan (People's Party), 1986.
    Chief Political Consultant of the National Democratic Front of the Philippines (NDFP) in peace negotiations with the Manila government, 1990 - present.

    Chairman, International Initiative Committee, International League for Peoples? Struggle, 2000-01.
    General Consultant, International League for Peoples? Struggle, 2001- present


    III. Other Significant Information

    Torture victim and political prisoner from November 10, 1977 to March 5, 1986.
    International University Lecture tour in Asia-Pacific and Western Europe, 1986-88, on Philippine politics, economy and culture in more than 80 universities.
    Political refugee in the Netherlands, 1988 - present. The asylum case is on appeal to the European Court of Human Rights because of Dutch government refusal to admit him as a refugee despite two favorable decisions of the Raad van State (1992 and 1995) recognizing him as a political refugee and as someone protected by the UN Convention on Refugees and the European Convention for the Protection of Human Rights and Fundamental Freedoms.
    Under continuing persecution by the Manila government. A prize of one million pesos on his head, 1989- present.
    Chairman, International Network for Philippine Studies, 1989 ?
    Chairman, Center for Social Studies, 1993 -
    Featured poet in poetry readings in the Netherlands: a. Rotterdam, Poetry International (1994), b. Vondelpark Poetry Festival, Amsterdam (1994), c. Poetry Park (1994), d. Dunya Open Podium (1995), e. Nacht van de Gekleurde Poezie-Kleurrijk Festival, Groningen, (1995).
    Successful individual plaintiff in the human rights litigation in the US against the Marcos estate.


    IV. Publications (Abbreviated List)

    Brothers (a collection of poems), Manila, Filipino Signatures, 1962. This collection established him as a nationally recognized poet.
    English translation of the poems of the Indonesian poet laureate Chairil Anwar, Djakarta, Jajasan Siswa Lokantara, 1962.
    Struggle for National Democracy (a comprehensive book of essays on Philippine politics, economy, culture and foreign relations), Manila, Progressive Publications, 1967. This has influenced the legal national democratic movement since the 1960s. Available in Pilipino and English.
    Philippine Society and Revolution, Hongkong, Ta Kung Pao, 1971. This has been used by revolutionary organizations as a basic textbook on Philippine history, basic social problems and the national democratic revolution. Available in Pilipino, English, Chinese, Japanese, German and Turkish.
    "Jose Maria Sison on the Mode of Production in the Philippines", serialized in New Philippine Review, Vol. I, Nos. 1-3, 1984.
    Prison and Beyond: Selected Poems, 1958-1983, Quezon City, Asphodel Books, 1984.
    Philippine Crisis and Revolution, series of ten lectures delivered at the Asian Center of Graduate Studies, UP, 1986. Available in Pilipino, English, French, Dutch and Japanese.
    The Philippine Revolution, New York, Crane Russak, 1989. Available in Pilipino, English, German and Japanese.
    Articles and editorials on major political, economic and cultural forces, issues and trends in the Philippines and Southeast Asia, appearing in Progressive Review, Ang Bayan, Rebolusyon, etc.
    Poems and essays on aesthetics and literary articles in various periodicals.
    Inclusion in major national and international anthologies:
    11.1 Pintig, Volumes 1 and 2. Manila: KAPATID, 1985
    11.2 The Guerrilla Is Like a Poet, edited by Robert Majzels Dunwegan, Ontario: Cormorant Books, 1988
    11.3 Brown River, White Ocean, edited by Luis H. Francia New Jersey: Rutgers University Press, 1993
    11.4 Voices of Conscience (Poetry from Oppression), edited by Hume Cronyn, et al. Manchester: Iron Press Work, 1995.
    Gedichten, Selected Poems, translated from English to Dutch. Utrecht, Stichting INPS, 1993.
    Ten volumes of selected works now in the process of being edited for publication.


    V. Literary and Other Awards

    Literary Achievement Award for poetry and essay writing from the Writers' Union of the Philippines, 1985.
    National Book Award for Poetry (Prison and Beyond), Manila Critics Circle, 1985.
    The 1986 Southeast Asia (SEA) WRITE Award for the Philippines for essay writing and poetry, chiefly for Prison and Beyond. Prestigious literary award in Southeast Asia.
    Special award of recognition for outstanding contribution, as selfless and humane leader, patient teacher, caring and compassionate friend and exemplary comrade to the national democratic struggle of the peasants, workers and the entire Filipino people., 26 November 1994: Kabataang Makabayan 30th Year (1964-1994).
    Marcelo H. del Pilar Award bestowed by the College Editors Guild of the Philippines as the highest accolade to its most distinguished alumni for their continued service and commitment in upholding and defending the people's rights and welfare. Given to Jose Maria Sison, poet, writer, revolutionary leader, during the 29th Biennial National Student Press Congress and 56th Annual National Convention, 21-26 May 1998


    VI. Editorial Work

    Founder & Editor-in-chief, Progressive Review (a political, economic and cultural journal), 1963-68.
    Editor-in-chief, Ang Bayan (The People), 1969-77.


    VII. Literary, Journalist and Cultural Associations

    President, UP Journalism Club, 1958-59.
    Founder & Chairman, Student Cultural Association of UP (SCAUP), 1959-62.
    Member, UP Writers' Club, 1962-
    Member, National Press Club, 1965-68.5. Member, Afro-Asian Journalists' Association, 1966-
    Member, Afro-Asian Writers' Bureau, 1966-
    Member, Wereldschrijvers Werkgroep, Netherlands 1993-
    Member, Vereniging van Letterkundigen-Vakbond van Schrijvers (Association of Literary Arts - Union of Writers), Netherlands 1994 -
  • one of his closest friends was my professor. both of them write poetry very well and they both taught at the Lyceum of the Philippines.
  • JoRedJoRed PExer
    "From the great treasury of Marxism-Leninism, we draw basic principles and historical lessons to shed light on the people's war that we are waging. But these are of general value; they are a general guide to our action. To rest content with them, without integrating them with out concrete practice, is to turn them into lifeless dogma. To dispense with them is to engage in blind action."


    -- Specific Characteristics of our People's War
    1972
  • JoRedJoRed PExer
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    Ulos!
  • More please, including the non-fiction ones!

    How about including the works also of the late Tony Zumel, another poet/literateur I like?
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