Marne Kilates: Poet, Editor, Translator and My Mentor

By Vincent R. Pozon

It was once remarked that, amongst us, referring to the band of brothers behind Our Brew, it was Marne Kilates, the man already hobbled and holding a cane with gnarled fingers, who had an active social life, or to be more precise, was a member of three social circles.

The first is the Literati, people who bend the knee before his talent; they include the famous and the adulated in literature and in the arts, many already ribboned and sashed and trophied by literary bodies devoted to putting words together in a certain fashion.

The second circle, with some overlap, is the Glitterati—the rich and perpetually fashionable, whose names would grace the 'Society Pages' of newspapers.

The third circle is the Inebriati, and that would be us, coming together to clink glasses and solve the problems of the world.

As advertising people (Marne was with AMA-DDB) – we naturally had a brand name for it: the RM Faction. Being former activists, we jested about factions—RA for the ‘Reaffirmists,’ those who advocated staying the course; RJ for the ‘Rejectionists,’ who broke away from old ways of thinking; and us, the RM Faction (RM for ‘RiteMed’), the ones who believe we are too old to wage revolutions but are still eager to raise wineglasses, carp about government iniquities – loudly, and sing.

Our headquarters is Trellis, an unairconditioned drinking place of significance to people who stood and stand on beliefs and principles. There we would devise devious plans which we would drunkenly make known to people within earshot.

There we are nourished well, with sisig, said to be their most popular offering; panga, peanuts, and small plates of vegetables as dutiful token to health. And chicharon, Marne loved chicharon. The inebriants include red wine, a preference of the poet.

And there the multi-awarded writer drank, sang, ate, railed against the sinful in government, dozed off, drank and sang and all, in a continuous loop.

The sessions – we prefer to call them Plenums --are not all revelry and carousal. The group has fruit: Our Brew – an online publication of views and insights and considered opinions on governance, media, arts, music, poetry, or any topic we would talk and argue about.

Here the latest of Marne Kilates is displayed.

The Mind and Heart of Marne Kilates in Poetry

“We go places but we never leave.” — Marne Kilates

Our BrewOur Brew

I asked to be mentored in the craft in which he is most distinguished. Though he lived just a village away, our lessons unfolded via email.

I told him that I wrote poems in my youth, having been editor-in-chief of the high school organ, but that sort of writing I stopped – to work and to grow old, in advertising. After decades of writing blurbs, slogans, spiels, and TV copy, picking up a pen again for poetry felt daunting. I feared I had dulled that part of the ear that hears the small voices, moderates the liveliness of words, and fine-tunes the forking of meanings. My initial attempts at poetry left me dismayed; even poet friends politely discouraged me from pursuing it further.

The award-winning poet encouraged and then shared his wisdom

"It has been observed that humans first learn to use their hands for expression—drawing something from within themselves. Then they learn to speak, to sing, to give shape to the formless and chaotic inside them. Perhaps this is the origin of poetry—before we become mathematicians, merchants, or scientists, we are first painters, singers, poets. These expressions come before everything else, forming the foundation of our culture."

Marne believed that poetry wasn't something to be taught but something to be discovered within oneself. He encouraged me to listen to the voice of the poem, to recognize when words required a different tone, a slight lilt as if they were being sung. "If you read a line or a group of words, you will know it is poetry if you change your voice a bit as if you're looking at the sky or at nothing in particular; if you lower your voice a bit as if you are talking to yourself; if you give it a little lilt or tone as if it has a tune as if you're singing it, then most probably it is poetry."

"If you look at your own work, where do they belong, what voice do each of them use? Perhaps this starts our exercise of looking at our work from the outside. Now read them to yourself. Do you change your voice? Write me your answers so we can start our little conversation."

His mentoring was hardly gentle – he shoved

When I would beg for advice, he joked,

'Wahaha. Ang pagtula ay di nakukuha sa salita! Kaya sulat lang nang sulat!'

After rereading my early work, I have to agree. 'Can't really be taught, Vincent R. Pozon. You discover it!'

When the pandemic bolted doors and windows and locked us in our homes, I might as well, I thought — write. I posted a poem a day to keep busy. Marne noticed my growth: "This is different, Vince. You are growing into poetry." 

A pat on the back from an established master... 'Priceless!' 'ika nga ng Mastercard.

He would often send me messages like, "This is nice, Vincent R Pozon! Oh, your other storm was more formidable and ruthless," referring to a poem that drew a parallel between an actual storm and martial law.

Another time, he remarked, "Remarkable! You've found your voice, Pareng Vince!" And once, simply, "Ang ganda, ang lungkot."

And the highest compliment came when he asked to include one of my poems in an anthology. Later he would share my poems as posts, endorsing them to friends.

In January of this year, he came to a meeting to help in planning my book of poetry.

He was especially generous with compliments for my more established skills. He admired what we did for RiteMED, particularly our campaign 'Gusto naming gumaling kayo'. "Great campaign... selling the ultimate objective. Other pharmaceutical companies say, 'Gusto ko bumili kayo ng gamot ko.'

When I mentioned in a post that several campaigns of mine (Promil's "Gifted Child", Clusivol's "Bawal Magkasakit") are still running after decades, he was profuse: "good advertising survives agencies. Am your fan, Mr. Vince R Pozon!"

Marne was an admirer of my digital art, commenting, "Thanks to Vincent R Pozon, iPad artist extraordinaire!" and, on my painting of an uncle: "Ang ganda nito. And I don't even know your uncle. I suppose this is what is meant by the phrase "done with heart."

Of the group, I was the last to see him awake. I kidded him about putting wine in his feeding tube and told him to hurry up and get well—I could have him fetched and brought to my house, which is close to the hospital and has become an alternative to Trellis due to the scorching heat.

In his last days, he told Grace, his partner, that he misses our sessions. I have known of Marne longer than the ten years I have known him in person, and I know the country will miss his progressive heart and his poetry; we, the discussions and the laughter and the singing that marked our time together, and I, the rough yet invaluable mentoring he provided.

I think we had the best part of Marne Kilates, his best years.

Marne Kilates was an award-winning poet, freelance writer, editor, and translator. He has published six books of poetry and translated works by leading Filipino poets such as National Artists Rio Alma, Bienvenido Lumbera, and Lazaro Francisco. He has won the Philippines’ Palanca Memorial Awards, the National Book Awards, and the SEA Write Award given by the Thai royalty.

His pen is now idle. Marne Kilates was friend, comrade, collaborator, wordsmith in the ad game, one with whom we clinked many wineglasses. Our loss is meager compared to that of the country. He loved it dearly, and he strove for change with what he did best.

And is that not exactly all we are asked of?