By Joefel Bolo
Ina Cariño’s debut poetry collection, Feast, prompts me to think of my mother shouting, “Mangantayon!” which translates to, “Let’s eat everyone!” Cariño’s collection creates an exquisite commotion in my head through its use of immensely alluring language on food, nostalgia, and childhood, reminding me of home, body, and religious experiences.
Cariño’s bright poems recall the Philippines with their Lolo and Lola, uncles and aunties, and cousins like manang and manong who are lushly enthralled and remembered in the collection.
“Ti parya ket agas (Bitter melon is a medicine),” my Nanay would remind me, as she has many recipes on bitter melon, but the food gets bitter as it digs in my mouth.
“Hunger” is an examination of boundlessness. Their opening poem, “Bitter Melon,” or ampalaya in Tagalog and parya in Iloko, is both a yearning and submission to obedience: “like your nanay did. like your lola did. like your manang braving hot parsyak—you’ll wince,” which operates to lithely connect bravery with reminders.
The speaker smoothly and continuously returns to their childhood experiences. As they get older, they grip these memories more, and further. The poem, “FEAST,” is an opener to blessings—food as prepared, served, and shared, as holy as it can be—to relatives, friends, neighbors, crowds, and to strangers. I found myself hushed by the slow and reminding voice of this:
I watch the slaughter—two men drag a suckling, roped & squealing across cement. // waiting for the gush of new blood // lolo says to eat is to be animal.
To comprehend these lines is to evoke a memory of seeing them slaughtering a pig, a slow and essential notice to look back. I think about this poem all the time—there’s a trajectory for young eyes to see that there’s so much death before the feast. A backdrop you are meant to see and a keenness to forget it, but I’m glad Cariño is here to write, to share, a somewhat mutual feeling. I’m grateful for their earnestness and visibility, and everything in these poems which shed some precision for food and offer cues and reliance.
Again and again, I love the breathlessness that these poems have. They mention their love, questions, and longing for their Lola. The lyrical and comforting quality of these poems demonstrates an enormous dedication to Lola across the poems:
my lola’s house pulled down a jar of black vinegar // of lola’s clove cigarettes // lola’s cracked rosary // mornings I wake to the sound of my lola frying eggs in the kitchen // lola makes things from rice // as memories of lola float up with the milkscent // lola will slice the lean flesh for a pan simmer // lola’s garden // lola’s purse.
Cariño ingrains destinations, such as Lola’s home, through these beautifully bright poems. I am still in awe of this collection and the way it makes me feel seen. It is a delicate dedication to Tagalog and my mother tongue, Iloko. Feast is a celebration of all this—the collection uses language so supplely and enormously sincerely, with an ode for bright urgencies.
Joefel Bolo‘s work has appeared in The Cortland Review, TIMBER, and bad apple, among other publications.