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 Rizals 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 terms 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 Rizals 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. Joining 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, passionate
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