Sa Aking Mga Kababata 5e3a24

Sa aking mga kababarta Rizal wrote the poem entitled “Sa aking mga Kababata” when he was eight years old. This poem had a strong sense of nationalism expressing Rizal’s love for our own language. He emphasized the significance and the usage of our mother tongue. Mother tongue was the language we learned since birth (which was Filipino). It gave us a sense of identity. Language could not only be our way to communicate but it also served as the reflection of our culture. Rizal also highlighted on this poem that all languages were equal in of its significance and usage. Filipino language like other languages had its own alphabet and words. The values and attitude that still valid and usable today is we should be more proud of our nationality and identity, and by enriching our language we could show our sense of pride as Filipinos. Ultimo adios Mi Ultimo Adios was the farewell poem of Rizal that originally had no title and was unsigned. This was believed as Rizal’s last will because he wrote it on the night before he was executed. Also through this poem, Rizal was giving his last message to his countrymen. For him, offering his life was the best way he could show his love for the country. Even he was going to die, he was not resentful instead he challenged the each of the Filipinos to serve and love our country. However he was also hopeful that his death would serve as inspiration to everyone. He encouraged the youth to continue to dream and fulfill it My first inspiration The word "inspiration" has two levels of meaning: the conventional one we use every day and the root meaning rarely used in modern language but always present as a connotation of the other: (1) Stimulation of the mind or emotions to a high level of feeling or activity, and (2) The act of breathing in; the inhalation of air into the lungs. This poem speaks to (2) in the first stanza: the breathing in of sweet aromas on what is declared to be a "festive day." The second stanza moves to the sweet, musical sound of birds singing in the woods and vales on such a day. The third stanza, of course, begins to merge the two images in a subtle way: the birds "start" to sing (or are startled into singing) by the sound of the wind blowing. The wind would supply them breath for singing, but it also seems to "inspire" their singing, as in (1) above; that is, it stimulates them to a high level of activity. In the fourth stanza, the spring of water tunes its murmur likewise to the sound of the breezes (zephyrs) as it flows along among the flowers. Hence, in this first half of the poem we have music of birds and brook "inspired" by the wind; that is, the very air we breathe. And also we breathe the fragrance of the flowers (among which the brook flows), for it is borne on the wind. The imagery of

these first four stanzas is, thus, neatly tied together, giving us a sense of the festivity of a beautiful spring day in nature. The poem could be complete at this point; it would be a sweet little nature poem, a song. But the poem moves in a different direction now. Why does this day seem so much brighter, more beautiful than others? Why is morning brighter today? The next two stanzas answer this question. The poem, it turns out, is addressed to the speaker's mother, and it is her day of "blooming" (birthday, probably). The perfume of the flowers, the songs of the birds, and the sound of the bubbling brook all celebrate her day, they "feast" in her honor. They wish her all the best: "Live happily ever after." Now the poem becomes more fragile, more understated. For one's "dear mother" is also one's inspiration--there at one's first breath in life, there to move one toward creative acts or ideas. But to say that in so many words would be trite and sentimental. So in the last stanza the speaker acts out the feeling. ing the music of the brook (and of the birds and the winds), the speaker will play upon a lute. The mother is asked to turn from Nature to Human art, from the birds and the brook to the sound of the lute expressing emotion wordlessly. And what is the "inspiration" that moves the lutist to play? Why, "the impulse of my love." The speaker's love for the mother. The mother's love reflected in her child. This is the first sound of music, which is inspired by the mother/child love; but, indeed, the whole poem--the music of its verses--has already been inspired also in the same way.

I think you should be warned, however, that is not THE interpretation of Rizal's poem (indeed, it is an interpretation of a translation, which may or may not accurately reflect the original--especially with its carefully, but somewhat laboriously rhymed stanzas, ABBA). Therefore, this is MY interpretation. There will be as many as there are readers, and one's written interpretation never adequately conveys one's experience of the poem--which will always be beyond words. It is, furthermore, merely AN interpretation. There will be as many others as there are readers. I am curious: what is YOUR interpretation. That's what's important to you. I hope mine may have been helpful to you, but it cannot be definitive. Sa Aking mga Kababata Kapagka ang baya'y sadyang umiibig sa kanyang salitang kaloob ng langit, sanlang kalayaan nasa ring masapit katulad ng ibong nasa himpapawid.

Pagkat ang salita'y isang kahatulan sa bayan, sa nayo't mga kaharian, at ang isang tao'y katulad, kabagay ng alin mang likha noong kalayaan.

Ang hindi magmahal sa kanyang salita mahigit sa hayop at malansang isda, kaya ang marapat pagyamaning kusa na tulad sa isang tunay na nagpala.

Ang wikang tagalog tulad din sa latin, sa ingles, kastila at salitang anghel sapagka't ang Poong maalam tumingin ang siyang naggawad, nagbigay sa atin.

Ang salita nati'y huwad din sa iba na may alfabeto at sariling letra, na kaya nawala'y dinatnan ng sigwa ang lunday sa lawa noong dakong una

My Last Farewell Farewell, my adored Land, region of the sun caressed, Pearl of the Orient Sea, our Eden lost, With gladness I give you my Life, sad and repressed; And were it more brilliant, more fresh and at its best, I would still give it to you for your welfare at most. On the fields of battle, in the fury of fight, Others give you their lives without pain or hesitancy, The place does not matter: cypress laurel, lily white,

Scaffold, open field, conflict or martyrdom's site, It is the same if asked by home and Country. I die as I see tints on the sky b'gin to show And at last announce the day, after a gloomy night; If you need a hue to dye your matutinal glow, Pour my blood and at the right moment spread it so, And gild it with a reflection of your nascent light! My dreams, when scarcely a lad adolescent, My dreams when already a youth, full of vigor to attain, Were to see you, gem of the sea of the Orient, Your dark eyes dry, smooth brow held to a high plane Without frown, without wrinkles and of shame without stain. My life's fancy, my ardent, ionate desire, Hail! Cries out the soul to you, that will soon part from thee; Hail! How sweet 'tis to fall that fullness you may acquire; To die to give you life, 'neath your skies to expire, And in your mystic land to sleep through eternity! If over my tomb some day, you would see blow, A simple humble flow'r amidst thick grasses, Bring it up to your lips and kiss my soul so,

And under the cold tomb, I may feel on my brow, Warmth of your breath, a whiff of your tenderness. Let the moon with soft, gentle light me descry, Let the dawn send forth its fleeting, brilliant light, In murmurs grave allow the wind to sigh, And should a bird descend on my cross and alight, Let the bird intone a song of peace o'er my site

as they hop from bough to bough?

Why should the spring that glows its crystalline murmur be tuning to the zephyr's mellow crooning as among the flowers it flows?

Why seems to me more endearing, more fair than on other days, the dawn's enchanting face among red clouds appearing?

The reason, dear mother, is

First Inspiration

they feast your day of bloom:

Why falls so rich a spray

the bird with its harmonies.

the rose with its perfume,

of fragrance from the bowers of the balmy flowers

And the spring that rings with

upon this festive day?

laughter upon this joyful day

Why from woods and vales

with its murmur seems to say:

do we hear sweet measures ringing

"Live happily ever after!"

that seem to be the singing of a choir of nightingales?

And from that spring in the grove now turn to hear the first note

Why in the grass below

that from my lute I emote

do birds start at the wind's noises,

to the impulse of my love.

unleashing their honeyed voices