'Thou still hast thy fun'

From the shelves of the High School Library of HCDC, I found a book, “The Philippines: Democracy in Asia,” by Prof. Salvador Roxas Gonzalez, who joined the Opposition when former President Ferdinand E. Marcos declared martial law, wrote in the celebrated Opposition paper WE FORUM, was imprisoned by Marcos and placed under house arrest for three years.

In Chapter XII of the book, he wrote an “Ode to a Corrupt Politician (with apologies to Shelley) which, to my unlettered literary mind, is classic, meaning its message borderless and its lessons timeless.

The poem was written half a century ago, but remains as relevant as before. “Believe it or not,” Prof. Gonzalez said, “I wrote this…poem, in Cambridge in 1959, paraphrasing the ‘Ode to a Nightingale’ which was written by that Oxford poet Shelley. There were at that time corrupt politicians in the Philippines, there still are. We hope someday this breed will disappear. Then the Filipinos will see the light of day, as Rizal too hoped.”

I don’t know how Prof. Gonzalez got it wrong, but the “Ode to a Nightingale” is not Shelley’s opus but John Keats’. What he paraphrased instead must be Shelley’s “To a Skylark,” whose first lines ran thus:

Hail to thee, blithe Spirit!
Bird thou never wert—
That from Heaven, or near it,
Pourest thy full heart
In profuse strains of unpremeditated art.

Still, the mistake is no matter. It does not distract the reader from understanding the message the poem tries to communicate.

The poem, especially the passage

In the dimming light
Of the setting sun,
Amidst our country’s plight
Thou still hast thy fun,
And all thy work is always left undone.

sends echoes of GMA and her gang’s lavish dinners in the USA. And many other passages of the poem resonate, as though they are comforting today’s afflicted and afflicting the comfortable.

Thus it bears rereading as our country is in the throes of yet another “sly spirit,” and corrupt politicians roam about scot-free. Below is the full text of the poem:

Ode to a Corrupt Politician (with apologies to Shelley)
By Prof. Roxas Salvador Gonzalez

Hell to thee, sly spirit!
Queer bird thou ever wert,
Away from Heaven, not near it,
Pourest thy fool’s heart
The confused strains of thy misguided art.

Lower still and lower
To Hades thou sinkest,
Dragged by evil power
Thy soul it bringeth
To the deepest, sinking to its deepest.

In the dimming light
Of the setting sun,
Amidst our country’s plight
Thou still hast thy fun,
And all thy work is always left undone.

The puzzled citizens
Marvel at thy sight,
Like a star in the heavens
In a cloudless night,
Thou art seen, with thy foolish pomp and might.

Lean as their tomorrows
On this earthly sphere,
Their faces speak their sorrows,
Anguish, and their fear,
They fail to see that thou wouldst really care.

All the earth and air
Filled with thy speech, loud
As it is often bare,
And to the curious crowd
Thy voice gives out its scream, reason in a cloud.

What thou art we know not;
What is most like thee?
For circus clowns are not
So funny to see
As thy presence is to us, a comedy.

Like frog so hidden
In the mud it sought,
Croaking hymns unbidden
Till all around are brought
To curses and despairs they wanted not.

Like a foolish maiden
In her secret bower,
Whispering things that deaden
Noble thoughts in her lover,
How subtly thou beguilest the voter.

Like foul worms wriggling
In a filthy row,
Slimy and nauseating
Thy well-fed cronies grow
Among thy group that immunes thee from the law.

Like a rose deflowered
Our abused country grieves,
From those she has empowered
The shame she receives
Makes faint the guilt and crimes of common thieves.

Fond of eternal powers
Is thy tyrant class;
Greed-awakened powers!
All that ever was
To us so dear, thine aim is to trespass.

Tell us, sprite or bird,
What mad thoughts are thine;
We have never heard
Praise of lust or wine
That panted forth such ruptured thoughts as thine.

Chorus infernal,
Thy pre-election chant,
Matched with thy tricks all
Are but childish stunt,
We always felt thou hast some hidden want.

What projects are the fountains
Of thine ill-gotten gain?
What deal still remains?
What robberies so plain?
What love of thine own self; justice calls in vain!

With thine interference
Progress cannot be;
Red tape and annoyance
Always comes with thee;
Thou knowest not how to think consistently.

Awake or in sleep
Thou of elections deem
More power and wealth to keep
Than we voters dream;
How thy speeches flow in obnoxious stream!

We look before and after
To see what thou hast done;
Our sincerest laughter
To find out there is none;
Our sweetest songs are those that tell thou art gone.
Yet if thou shouldst scorn
Greed and pride, revere
The truth we were born
To hold ever dear,
We know not how thy wretched joys could come near.

Better than all pleasures
To thee thy speeches sound,
Yet all the empty measures
In thy words are found,
Thy promises are the joke all around.

Spare us half the madness
That thy brain must know,
Such confounded dullness
From thy lips doth flow,
The day will come we’ll surely see thee go!