“I refused for so long to be published in the daily papers or Sunday magazines where my poem of only 4 lines and 12 words, let us say, would be placed between Tampax and hemorrhoid ads. And after so placing the poem, they expect the poet to wait two or three months to be paid for it, or not at all. I can give away more easily my last bowl of rice, my head of hair. It’s only rice, it’s only hair. But pieces of my life are not for waste.”—Virginia R. Moreno quoted by editors Edna Z. Manlapaz and Marjorie Evasco in Six Women Poets (Manila: Aria Edition Inc., 1996)
I remained a timid student before my cinematic arts professor, Virginia R. Moreno, from 1979 until the last time I saw her in 2018. (The poet-playwright died on the early morning of Aug. 14, 2021.) The only time my awestruck self opened up to her was when I’d write letters addressed to her Malate home. She would acknowledge them through friends we have in common or through her caregiver, Mariel Corpuz.

A Virginia Moreno photograph by Isa Lorenzo, with card inscription to the author (Photo from E. Lolarga)
In January this year, Mariel emailed an MP4 video showing the be-ringed hand of Miss Moreno (she will always be that to me) opening the Christmas card I mailed her. The video came with special effects of stars sparkling all over my handwritten text and a background audio of Sinatra crooning The Way You Look Tonight. Viewing it again only triggered a waterfall of tears for she who had been called La Tondeña by fellow poet Jose Garcia Villa (a backhanded compliment to her Tondo roots), the high priestess of Philippine poetry, the only woman member of the literary group The Ravens.
I was thrown back to the second floor classroom at the old Palma Hall, University of the Philippines Diliman, where Moreno taught without a syllabus. I hung on to her every word lest I miss anything vital. Mid-semester, she suddenly disappeared for what appeared to us was her annual rejuvenating break in Paris. But she left us to the tender mercies of scriptwriter Jorge Arago and director Peque Gallaga.
Like Moreno, they lectured sans notes and syllabus and accompanied their spoken words with screenings of Filipino, European and American films. When our teacher returned, she had us undertake individual creative projects. Being a scrapbooking aficionado, I made one honoring the comedians who have lightened our loads via the big screen. One of her staff at the early UP Film Center told me that after she leafed through my scrapbook, looked at the pictures and read the text, Moreno’s long hair was in disarray. I didn’t know what to make of it, if she was pleased or not. She gave me a final grade of 1.5 (Very Good).
What deeply impressed me about her was her poetry. Her confidante and my journalism professor, Raul R. Ingles, lent me her limited edition book of poems (I heard only 13 copies were printed) The Batik Maker and Other Poems. It was a delicate piece of art in form, but the content blew my head away. How I wished for the same paucity of writings but of a high quality like hers! The title alone of one poem, Lament of a Cathay Handmaiden in Marco Polo’s Tent Pavilion, told me in no uncertain terms that here was poetry at its finest.
A friend saw me with my borrowed copy of the book and tempted me, “Babeth, why don’t you keep that for yourself? It’s a collector’s item.” But I couldn’t betray Professor Ingles’ trust. So I returned the book after some weeks.
Moreno and Ingles seemed inseparable. They came to my husband Rolly’s and my silver wedding anniversary party in 2009. I kept in touch with her through postal mail and one day, finally heeded her invitation to visit her in December 2017. I still couldn’t bear being by my lonesome in her company so I was “chaperoned” by Rolly and filmmaker Martin Masadao.
She met us in her house on the corner of Malvar and Leon Ma. Guerrero streets, Malate. Out came a bandehado of sliced Chinese ham with star anise, puto, kropek and buko fruit salad. From the merienda hour, her story-telling stretched until dinner at To Yuan restaurant. She told tales of rebels/revolutionaries/insurrectionists who sought succor in the Moreno house. It was a safehouse below the radar of the military. After all, her younger brother, Pitoy Moreno, dressed high society, including First Ladies.

The author (standing) with Virginia Moreno and Dr. Melendre Araos (Photo from E. Lolarga)
In November 2018, I had a joint exhibit with paper cut artist Sinag de Leon at Gourmet Gypsy Art Cafe. People gasped when Moreno walked in carrying a box of Conti’s cake. Her card, featuring a painting of Vicky Zubiri of a Parisian café, was addressed to me who would attempt to paint:
SANS RIVAL!
Without Equal!
is the Cake that I snacked on
in the Parisian cafe
La Rotonde
and that here now you deserve
with your Art!
Remembering Paris and You…
Virginia R. Moreno
Until the end, I would associate her with the good life, and then some. When death came, I imagined it to be like the gentle lover of her poetry. Following is her poem found in Ravens in Love, edited by Hilario Sevilla Francia (Anvil Publishing Inc., 2002).
Love the Third
In your cool hut of earth
Lure me now, Death,
And I shall come
In the thickening heat
Under the rot-sweet tree
My lust I’ll hang to fan
Till the last passerby pass
Then we can come
On a hundred legs climb
Your hollow stairs and down
Your herb root beds down
I have come
Though you feel my violet past
Trickle in clotted whispers
From what was once my eyes:
(While concubine to Life
And to art still concubine
Was passionate only when flogged
Was fertile mostly when denied)
Now be my lover
The third and my only
Matrix keeper and my last
Death in a cool hut of earth.
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Moreno in her residence with guests, filmmaker Martin Masadao and the author, her former student (Photo from E. Lolarga)

Moreno (third from left) and Raul Ingles (to her left) with other guests in the silver wedding celebration of the author and husband Rolly in 2009 (Photo from E. Lolarga)

Moreno holding up a book with noche buena fare before her (Photo from E. Lolarga)

Covers of Raven anthologies where Moreno is the only woman represented (Photo from E. Lolarga)
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