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21ST CENTURY LITERATURE FROM THE PHILIPPINES AND THE WORLD

GRADE 12
Quarter First
Module No. 3
Week 2
Subject Matter
“Authors and Works of National Artists in Literature”
Topic:
In this module:
Content Standards: Performance Standards:
The learner will be able to demonstrate
understanding and appreciation of 21st Century
The learner will be able to understand Philippine literature from the regions through:
and appreciate the elements and context 1. a written close analysis and critical
of 21st century Philippine literature from interpretation of a literary text in terms of form
the regions. and theme, with a description of its context
derived from research; and
2. an adaptation of a text into other creative
forms using multimedia.

Most Essential Learning Competencies…

Writing a close analysis and critical interpretation of literary texts and doing an adaptation of
these require from the learner the ability to identify:
a. Representative texts and authors from each region (e.g. engage in oral history research
with focus on key personalities from the students’ region/province/town)

At the end of the lesson, the students should be able to:

-Name the Filipino authors who became National Artists in Literature.
-Analyze the relevance of the authors’ choice of literary selection’s theme.
-Infer values from each literary work

PROCEDURE
A. Introduction
Literature is a creative way of expression through the use of words and symbols. Every author has a
purpose of creating a literary work. Some of their writings reflect their personal and aesthetic experiences
while some uses cultural or societal viewpoint as an inspiration for their writings.
Motivation
“Photo-Review”
Direction: identify the authors of the famous literary works on the given pictures.

1. _______________ 2._______________ 3.__________________ 4. _________________ 5. __________________

Pre-Activity
Direction:If you were given a chance to become a famous author, what thing will you think symbolizes you as a
writer? Draw it on a neat sheet of bond paper.

B. Development

*Lesson Proper:
In Philippines, National Artist for Literature is the highest recognition given to those Filipino individuals who
have made significant contributions in the world of literary writing. Works were measured through creative
expressions of imagination, theme, relevance and highly aesthetic form of art. As part of honor and cultural
heritage, each of the nominees for the prestigious recognition should be recommended by the National Commission
for Culture and Arts (NCAA) and Cultural Center of the Philippines (CCP) with the confirmation of the Philippine
President

NATIONAL ARTIST IN LITERATURE

National Artist in Literature Year Awarded Literary Works

1. Jose Garcia Villa 1973 “Footnote to Youth”
2. Amado H. Hernandez 1973 “Mga Ibong Mandaragit”
3. Nick Joaquin 1976 “May Day Eve”
4. Carlos P. Romulo 1982 “I am a Filipino”
5. N.V.M. Gonzales 1990 “The Bread of Salt”
6. Francisco Arcellana 1990 “The Mats”
7. Edith L. Tiempo 1999 “A Blade of Fern”
8. F. Sionil Jose 2001 “Ermita”
9. Alejandro Reyes Roces 2003 “My Brother's Peculiar”
10. Virgilio S. Almario 2003 “Ibong Adarna”
11. Bienvenido Lumbrera 2006 “Sulyap at Suri sa Nababagong Lipunan”
12. Cirilio Bautista 2014 “The Archipelago”
WORKS OF NATIONAL ARTISTS IN LITERATURE

Enjoying Literature
(Story Reading 1)

*Pre-Reading Phase
About the Author and Background
Alejandro Reyes Roces
National Artist
(JULY 13, 1924 - MAY 23, 2011)
- aside from being National Artists in the Philippine Literature, he rode his
career as the Secretary of Education during the presidential term Diosdado
Macapagal from 1961-1965.
-also known as the “Country's Best Writer for Humorous Stories.” Most of
the writings talk about gambling and negative habits of Filipinos. Other
than stories about cockfighting, he also wrote “We Filipinos are Mild
Drinkers.”
-In 1965, his story “My Brother's Peculiar Chicken” first appeared in New
Mexico Quarterly University under the title “Cocks and Hen.”
-Roces was not a fan of gambling or other aspects of cockfighting. His
purpose was just to awaken the minds of the readers about the country's
ancestral sport before the rise of American games during their
colonization.

*Reading Phase
“My Brother’s Peculiar Chicken”
By: Alejandro Reyes Roces
My brother Kiko had a very peculiar chicken. It was very peculiar because no one could tell whether it was a
rooster or a hen. My brother claimed it was a rooster. I claimed it was a hen. We almost got lynched trying to settle
the argument.
The whole question began early one morning, while Kiko and I were driving the chickens from the cornfield. The corn
had just been planted and the chickens were scratching the seed out for food. Suddenly we heard the rapid flapping
of wings. We turned in the direction of the sound and saw the two chickens fighting the far end of the field. We could
not see the birds clearly, as they were lunging at each other in a whirlwind of feathers and dust.

“Look at the rooster fight!” my brother said pointing excitedly at one of the chickens. “Why, if I had a rooster
like that I could get rich in the cockpit.”

“Let us go and catch it,” I suggested. “No, you stay here, I will go and catch it,” Kiko said, my brother slowly
approached the battling chickens. They were so busy fighting that they did not notice him as he approached. When
he got near them, he dived and caught one of them by the legs. It struggled and squawked. Kiko finally held it by
both wings and it stood still. I ran over to where he was and took a good look at the chicken.

“Aba, it is a hen!” I said.

“What is the matter with you?” my brother asked. “Is the heat making you sick?”

“No, look at its head. It has no comb or wattles.”

“No comb or wattles! Who cares about its comb or wattles? Didn’t you see it fight?”

“Sure, I saw it fight, but I still say it is a hen.”

“A hen! Did you ever saw a hen with spurs like this? Or a hen with a tail like this?”
Kiko and I could not agree on what determines the sex of a chicken. If the animal in question had been a
carabao it would have been simple. All we would have to do was to look at the carabao. We would have wasted no
time at examining its tail, hooves, or horns. We would simply have looked at the animal straight in the face, and if it
had a brass on its nose the carabao would undoubtedly be a bull. But chickens are not like carabaos. So the
argument went on in the field and the whole morning.

At noon, we left to have our lunch. We argued about it on the way home. When we arrived at our house, Kiko
tethered the chicken on a peg. The chicken flapped its wings – and then crowed.

“There! Did you hear that?” my brother exclaimed triumphantly. “I suppose you are going to tell me now that
carabaos fly.”

“I do not care if it crows or not,” I said. “That chicken is a hen.”

We went in the house and the discussion continued during lunch.

“It is not a hen,” Kiko said. “It is a rooster.”

“It is a hen,” I said.

“It is not.”

“It is.”

“That’s enough!” Mother interrupted. “How many times must Father tell you boys not to argue during lunch?”
What is the argument about this time?”

We told Mother and she went out to look at the chicken,

“The chicken”, she said, “is a binabae. It is a rooster that looks like a hen.”
That should have ended the argument. But Father also went to see the chicken and he said.

“No, Mother, you are wrong. That chicken is a binalake, a hen which looks like a rooster.”

“Have you been drinking again?” Mother asked.

“No,” Father answered.

“Then what makes you say that rooster is a hen? Have you ever seen a hen with feathers like that?”

“Listen. I have handled fighting roosters since I was a boy, and you cannot tell me that thing is a rooster.”

Before Kiko and I realized what had happened to Father and Mother were arguing about the chicken all by
themselves. Soon Mother was crying. She always cried when argued with Father.

“You know well that it is a rooster,” she sobbed. “You are just being mean and stubborn.”

“I am sorry,” Father said. But I know a hen when I see one.”

Then he put his arms around Mother and called her corny names like my Reina Elenea, my Madonna and my
Maria Clara. He always did that when Mother cried. Kiko and I felt embarrassed. We left the house without finishing
our lunch.

“I know who can settle this question,” my brother said.

“Tenienteng Tasio.”
Tenienteng Tasio was the head of the village. I did not think that the chief of the village was the man who could
solve a problem. For the chief was the barrio philosopher. By this I mean that he was a man who explained his
strange views by even stranger reasons. For example, the chief frowned on cockfighting. Now many people object to
rooster fighting, their reason being either that they think cockfighting is cruel or that they think gambling is bad.
Neither of these was the chief’s reason. Cockfighting, he said was a waste of time because it has been proven that
one gamecock can beat another.

The chief, however, had one merit. He was the oldest man in the barrio, and while this did not make him an
ornithologist, still, we have to admit that anything said always carries more weight if it is said by a man with grey
hairs. So when Kiko suggested consulting the teniente, I voiced no objection. I acquiesced to let him be the arbiter of
our dispute. He untied the chicken and we both took it to the chief.

“Tenienteng Tasio, is this chicken a male or a female?” Kiko asked.

“That is a question that could concern only another chicken,” the chief replied.

Both Kiko and I were taken aback by this replication. But Kiko was obstinate, so he tried another approach.

“Look, teniente,” he said, “my brother and I happen to have a special interest in this particular chicken. Please give
us an answer. Just say ‘yes’ or ‘no’. Is this a rooster?”

“It does not look like any rooster that I have ever seen,” said the teniente.

“It is a hen, then,” I said.

“It does not look like any hen that I have ever seen,” was the reply.

My brother and I were dumbfounded. For a long while we remained speechless. Then Teniente Tasio asked:

“Have you ever seen an animal like this before?”

Kiko and I had to admit that we hadn’t.

“Then how do you both know it is a chicken?”

“Well, what else could it be?” Kiko asked in turn.

“It could be another kind of bird.”

“Oh, God, no!” Kiko said.” Let’s go to town and see Mr. Cruz. He would know.”

Mr. Eduardo Cruz lived in the nearby town of Alcala. He had studied poultry husbandry at Los Baños, and he
operated a large egg farm. When we got there Mr. Cruz was taking his siesta, so Kiko released the chicken in his
yard.

The other chicken would not associate with ours. Not only did they keep as far away from it as they could, but
they did not even seem to care to which sex it belonged. Unembarrassed by this, our chicken chased and disgraced
several pullets.

“There!” my brother exclaimed.

“That should prove to you it is a rooster.”

“It proves nothing of the sort,” I said. “It only proves it has rooster instincts – but it could still be a hen.”

As soon as Mr. Cruz was up, we caught the chicken and took it to his office.
“Mr. Cruz,” Kiko said, “is this a hen or a rooster?”

Mr. Cruz looked at the bird curiously and then said:

“Hmmmm, I don’t know. I couldn’t tell at one look. I have never run across a biddy like this before.”

“Well, is there any way you can tell?”

“Why, sure. Look at the feathers on its back. If the ends are round, it’s a she. If they are pointed, then it is a he.”

The three of us examined its feathers closely. It had both!

“Hmm. Very peculiar,” said Mr. Cruz.

“Is there any other way you can tell?”

“I could kill it and examine its insides,”

“No, I don’t want it killed,” my brother said.

I took the plumed creature in my arms and we walked back to the barrio. Kiko was silent most of the way. Then
suddenly he snapped his fingers and said:

“I know how I can prove to you that this is a rooster.”

“How?” I asked.

“Would you agree that this is a rooster if it fights in a cockpit – and it wins?”

“If this hen of yours can beat a gamecock, I would believe anything,” I said.

“All right,” he said, “we will take it to the cockpit this coming Sunday.”

So that Sunday we took the chicken to the cockpit. Kiko looked around for a suitable opponent and finally
decided on a red rooster. I recognized the rooster as a veteran of the pit whose picture had once graced the cover of
the gamecock magazine Pintakasi. It was also the chanticleer that had once escaped to the forest and lured all the
hens away from the surrounding farms. Raising its serpent-liked head, the red rooster eyed the chicken arrogantly
and jiggled its sickle feathers. This scared me. For I knew that when the gamecock is in breeding mood it is twice a
ferocious.

“Do not pit your hen against the rooster,” I told Kiko. That the rooster is not a native chicken. It was brought over the
from Texas.”

“That does not mean anything to me,” my brother said. “”My rooster will kill it.”

“Do not be a fool,” I said. “That red rooster is a killer. It has killed more chickens than the cholera. There is no rooster
in this province that can take its gaff. Pick on a less formidable rooster.”

My brother would not listen. The match was made and the birds were headed for the killing. Sharp steel gaffs
were tied to their left legs. Kiko bet eight pesos on his chicken. I only bet two. The odds were two to one. Then I said a
tacit prayer to Santa Rita de Casia, patroness of the impossible.

Then the fight began. Both birds were released at the center of the arena. The Texan scratched the ground as if
it were digging a grave for its opponent. Moments later, the two fighters confronted each other. I expected our
rooster to die of fright. Instead, a strange thing happened. A lovesick expression came into the red rooster’s eyes.
Then it did a love dance. Naturally, this was a most surprising incident to one and all, but particularly to those who
had stakes on the Texas rooster. For it was evident that the Texan was thoroughly infatuated with our chicken and
that any attention it had for the moment was strictly amatory. But before anyone could collect his wits our foul
rushed at the red stag with its hackle feathers flaring. In one lunge, it buried its spur in its adversary’s breast. The
fight was over! The sentencer raised our chicken in token victory.

“Tiope! Tiope! Fixed fight!” the crowed shouted.

Then a riot broke out. People tore the bamboo benches apart and used them as clubs. My brother and I had to
leave through the back way. I had the chicken under my arm. We ran towards the coconut groves and we kept
running till we lost the mob. As soon as we felt safe, we sat on the ground and rested. We were both panting like
dogs.

“Now are you convinced it is a rooster?” Kiko muttered between breaths.

“Yes,” I answered.
I was glad the whole thing was over.
But the chicken had other ideas. It began to quiver. Then something round and warm dropped on to my hand.
The chicken cackled with laughter. I looked down and saw – an egg!

*Post-Reading Phase
ACTIVITIES
a. Expanding Vocabulary
Look for the following words in the story, and then give their meaning in the context.
1. Acquiesce

2. Chanticleer

3. Ferocious

4. Gamecock

5. Squawk


b. Exploring the Text

1. Who were the main characters of the story?

2. If you were one of the characters of the story, is it important to find out the gender of the chicken? Why or
why not?

3. Explain the significance of the title? If you were given a chance to think of another title for the story, what
would it be? Why?

4. What were the conflicts raised in the story?

5. What was the theme of the story?

6. How was the theme of the story relevant to the current situation of the Filipino people? Cite an example.
C. Engagement

Enjoying Literature
(Story Reading 2)

*Pre-Reading Phase
About the Author and Background

Jose Garcia Villa

National Artist
-was a Filipino poet, literary critic, short story writer, and painter. He was
awarded the National Artist of the Philippines title for literature in 1973,
as well as the Guggenheim Fellowship in creative writing by Conrad Aiken.
-He is known to have introduced the "reversed consonance rhyme
scheme" in writing poetry, as well as the extensive use of punctuation
marks—especially commas, which made him known as the Comma Poet.
-He used the penname Doveglion (derived from "Dove, Eagle, Lion"),
based on the characters he derived from himself. These animals were also
explored by another poet E. E. Cummings in Doveglion, Adventures in
Value, a poem dedicated to Villa.

*Reading Phase
“Footnote To Youth ”
By: Jose Garcia Villa

The sun was salmon and hazy in the west. Dodong thought to himself he would tell his father about Teang when
he got home, after he had unhitched the carabao from the plow, and let it to its shed and fed it. He was hesitant
about saying it, but he wanted his father to know. What he had to say was of serious import as it would mark a
climacteric in his life. Dodong finally decided to tell it, at a thought came to him his father might refuse to consider it.
His father was silent hard-working farmer who chewed areca nut, which he had learned to do from his mother,
Dodong’s grandmother.

I will tell it to him. I will tell it to him.

The ground was broken up into many fresh wounds and fragrant with a sweetish earthy smell. Many slender
soft worms emerged from the furrows and then burrowed again deeper into the soil. A short colorless worm
marched blindly to Dodong’s foot and crawled calmly over it. Dodong go tickled and jerked his foot, flinging the
worm into the air. Dodong did not bother to look where it fell, but thought of his age, seventeen, and he said to
himself he was not young any more.
Dodong unhitched the carabao leisurely and gave it a healthy tap on the hip. The beast turned its head to look
at him with dumb faithful eyes. Dodong gave it a slight push and the animal walked alongside him to its shed. He
placed bundles of grass before it land the carabao began to eat. Dodong looked at it without interests.
Dodong started homeward, thinking how he would break his news to his father. He wanted to marry, Dodong
did. He was seventeen, he had pimples on his face, the down on his upper lip already was dark–these meant he was
no longer a boy. He was growing into a man–he was a man. Dodong felt insolent and big at the thought of it
although he was by nature low in statue. Thinking himself a man grown, Dodong felt he could do anything.
He walked faster, prodded by the thought of his virility. A small angled stone bled his foot, but he dismissed it
cursorily. He lifted his leg and looked at the hurt toe and then went on walking. In the cool sundown he thought wild
you dreams of himself and Teang. Teang, his girl. She had a small brown face and small black eyes and straight
glossy hair. How desirable she was to him. She made him dream even during the day.
Dodong tensed with desire and looked at the muscles of his arms. Dirty. This field
work was healthy, invigorating but it begrimed you, smudged you terribly. He turned back the way he had come,
then he marched obliquely to a creek.
Dodong stripped himself and laid his clothes, a gray undershirt and red kundiman shorts, on the grass. The he
went into the water, wet his body over, and rubbed at it vigorously. He was not long in bathing, then he marched
homeward again. The bath made him feel cool.
It was dusk when he reached home. The petroleum lamp on the ceiling already was lighted and the low
unvarnished square table was set for supper. His parents and he sat down on the floor around the table to eat. They
had fried fresh-water fish, rice, bananas, and caked sugar.
Dodong ate fish and rice, but did not partake of the fruit. The bananas were overripe and when one held them
they felt more fluid than solid. Dodong broke off a piece of the cakes sugar, dipped it in his glass of water and ate it.
He got another piece and wanted some more, but he thought of leaving the remainder for his parents.
Dodong’s mother removed the dishes when they were through and went out to the batalan to wash them. She
walked with slow careful steps and Dodong wanted to help her carry the dishes out, but he was tired and now felt
lazy. He wished as he looked at her that he had a sister who could help his mother in the housework. He pitied her,
doing all the housework alone.
His father remained in the room, sucking a diseased tooth. It was paining him again, Dodong knew. Dodong had
told him often and again to let the town dentist pull it out, but he was afraid, his father was. He did not tell that to
Dodong, but Dodong guessed it. Afterward Dodong himself thought that if he had a decayed tooth he would be
afraid to go to the dentist; he would not be any bolder than his father.
Dodong said while his mother was out that he was going to marry Teang. There it was out, what he had to say,
and over which he had done so much thinking. He had said it without any effort at all and without self-
consciousness. Dodong felt relieved and looked at his father expectantly. A decrescent moon outside shed its feeble
light into the window, graying the still black temples of his father. His father looked old now.

“I am going to marry Teang,” Dodong said.

His father looked at him silently and stopped sucking the broken tooth. The silence became intense and cruel,
and Dodong wished his father would suck that troublous tooth again. Dodong was uncomfortable and then became
angry because his father kept looking at him without uttering anything.

“I will marry Teang,” Dodong repeated. “I will marry Teang.”

His father kept gazing at him in inflexible silence and Dodong fidgeted on his seat.

“I asked her last night to marry me and she said…yes. I want your permission. I… want… it….” There was impatient
clamor in his voice, an exacting protest at this coldness, this indifference. Dodong looked at his father sourly. He
cracked his knuckles one by one, and the little sounds it made broke dully the night stillness.

“Must you marry, Dodong?”

Dodong resented his father’s questions; his father himself had married. Dodong made a quick impassioned easy
in his mind about selfishness, but later he got confused.

“You are very young, Dodong.”

“I’m… seventeen.”

“That’s very young to get married at.”

“I… I want to marry…Teang’s a good girl.”

“Tell your mother,” his father said.

“You tell her, tatay.”

“Dodong, you tell your inay.”

“You tell her.”

“All right, Dodong.”

“You will let me marry Teang?”

“Son, if that is your wish… of course…” There was a strange helpless light in his father’s eyes. Dodong did not read it,
so absorbed was he in himself.
Dodong was immensely glad he had asserted himself. He lost his resentment for his father. For a while he even
felt sorry for him about the diseased tooth. Then he confined his mind to dreaming of Teang and himself. Sweet
young dream….

Dodong stood in the sweltering noon heat, sweating profusely, so that his camiseta was damp. He was still as a
tree and his thoughts were confused. His mother had told him not to leave the house, but he had left. He had wanted
to get out of it without clear reason at all. He was afraid, he felt. Afraid of the house. It had seemed to cage him, to
compares his thoughts with severe tyranny. Afraid also of Teang. Teang was giving birth in the house; she gave
screams that chilled his blood. He did not want her to scream like that, he seemed to be rebuking him. He began to
wonder madly if the process of childbirth was really painful. Some women, when they gave birth, did not cry.
In a few moments he would be a father. “Father, father,” he whispered the word with awe, with strangeness. He
was young, he realized now, contradicting himself of nine months comfortable… “Your son,” people would soon be
telling him. “Your son, Dodong.”
Dodong felt tired standing. He sat down on a saw-horse with his feet close together. He looked at his callused
toes. Suppose he had ten children… What made him think that? What was the matter with him? God!

He heard his mother’s voice from the house:

“Come up, Dodong. It is over.”

Suddenly he felt terribly embarrassed as he looked at her. Somehow he was ashamed to his mother of his
youthful paternity. It made him feel guilty, as if he had taken something no properly his. He dropped his eyes and
pretended to dust dirt off his kundiman shorts.

“Dodong,” his mother called again. “Dodong.”

He turned to look again and this time saw his father beside his mother.

“It is a boy,” his father said. He beckoned Dodong to come up.

Dodong felt more embarrassed and did not move. What a moment for him. His parents’ eyes seemed to pierce
him through and he felt limp. He wanted to hide from them, to run away.

“Dodong, you come up. You come up,” he mother said.

Dodong did not want to come up and stayed in the sun.

“Dodong. Dodong.”

“I’ll… come up.”

Dodong traced tremulous steps on the dry parched yard. He ascended the bamboo steps slowly. His heart
pounded mercilessly in him. Within, he avoided his parents eyes. He walked ahead of them so that they should not
see his face. He felt guilty and untrue. He felt like crying. His eyes smarted and his chest wanted to burst. He wanted
to turn back, to go back to the yard. He wanted somebody to punish him.

His father thrust his hand in his and gripped it gently.

“Son,” his father said.

And his mother: “Dodong…”

How kind were their voices. They flowed into him, making him strong.

“Teang?” Dodong said.

“She’s sleeping. But you go on…”

His father led him into the small sawali room. Dodong saw Teang, his girl-wife, asleep on the papag with her
black hair soft around her face. He did not want her to look that pale.

Dodong wanted to touch her, to push away that stray wisp of hair that touched her lips, but again that feeling
of embarrassment came over him and before his parents he did not want to be demonstrative.

The hilot was wrapping the child, Dodong heard it cry. The thin voice pierced him queerly. He could not control
the swelling of happiness in him.

“You give him to me. You give him to me,” Dodong said.

Blas was not Dodong’s only child. Many more children came. For six successive years a new child came along.
Dodong did not want any more children, but they came. It seemed the coming of children could not be helped.
Dodong got angry with himself sometimes.
Teang did not complain, but the bearing of children told on her. She was shapeless and thin now, even if she
was young. There was interminable work to be done. Cooking. Laundering. The house. The children. She cried
sometimes, wishing she had not married. She did not tell Dodong this, not wishing him to dislike her. Yet she wished
she had not married. Not even Dodong, whom she loved. There has been another suitor, Lucio, older than Dodong by
nine years, and that was why she had chosen Dodong. Young Dodong. Seventeen. Lucio had married another after
her marriage to Dodong, but he was childless until now. She wondered if she had married Lucio, would she have
borne him children. Maybe not, either. That was a better lot. But she loved Dodong…

Dodong whom life had made ugly.

One night, as he lay beside his wife, he rose and went out of the house. He stood in the moonlight, tired and
querulous. He wanted to ask questions and somebody to answer him. He w anted to be wise about many things.
One of them was why life did not fulfill all of Youth’s dreams. Why it must be so. Why one was forsaken… after Love.
Dodong would not find the answer. Maybe the question was not to be answered. It must be so to make youth
Youth. Youth must be dreamfully sweet. Dreamfully sweet. Dodong returned to the house humiliated by himself. He
had wanted to know a little wisdom but was denied it.
When Blas was eighteen he came home one night very flustered and happy. It was late at night and Teang and
the other children were asleep. Dodong heard Blas’s steps, for he could not sleep well of nights. He watched Blas
undress in the dark and lie down softly. Blas was restless on his mat and could not sleep. Dodong called him name
and asked why he did not sleep. Blas said he could not sleep.

“You better go to sleep. It is late,” Dodong said.

Blas raised himself on his elbow and muttered something in a low fluttering voice.

Dodong did not answer and tried to sleep.

“Itay …,” Blas called softly.

Dodong stirred and asked him what it was.

“I am going to marry Tona. She accepted me tonight.”

Dodong lay on the red pillow without moving.

“Itay, you think it over.”

Dodong lay silent.

“I love Tona and… I want her.”

Dodong rose from his mat and told Blas to follow him. They descended to the yard, where everything was still
and quiet. The moonlight was cold and white.

“You want to marry Tona,” Dodong said. He did not want Blas to marry yet. Blas was very young. The life that would
follow marriage would be hard…

“Yes.”

“Must you marry?”

Blas’s voice stilled with resentment. “I will marry Tona.”

Dodong kept silent, hurt.

“You have objections, Itay?” Blas asked acridly.

“Son… n-none…” (But truly, God, I don’t want Blas to marry yet… not yet. I don’t want Blas to marry yet….)

But he was helpless. He could not do anything. Youth must triumph… now. Love must triumph… now.
Afterwards… it will be life.
As long ago Youth and Love did triumph for Dodong… and then Life.
Dodong looked wistfully at his young son in the moonlight. He felt extremely sad and sorry for him.

*Post-Reading Phase (Activity)

I. Enhancing Skills
Direction: Make a story pyramid of Footnote to Youth
1. Name the main character
2. Two words describing the main character
3. Three words describing the setting
4. Four words describing what the main character thinks about his son’s decision
5. Five words describing the life of the main character
6. Six-words describing Blas
7. Seven words stating the situation/problem of the story.

_________________
_____________ ____________
___________ ___________ _________
__________ _________ _________ ________
_________ _________ _________ _________ _________
_________ _________ _________ _________ _________ ________
_________ _________ _________ _________ _________ ________ ________
II. Graphical Organizer
Direction: Create a venn diagram, comparing and contrasting the characters of Dodong and his son Blas.

D. Assimilation

GENERALIZATION
1. Why is it relevant for the authors to have their choice of literary theme?

2. What is the difference between Alejandro Roces Reyes’ and Jose Garcia Villa’s way of writing?

Reflective Writing
1. Think of a quotation or a wise saying that you can associate in the story “MY BROTHER’S PECULIAR CHICKEN.” In a
brief essay, explain its relationship to the theme of the story.

2. Write a different ending for the story “Footnote to Youth.”

ASSESSMENT

Direction: Give the name of the authors of each literary texts.

1. “Banaag at Sikat” : _____________________
2. “Footnote to Youth” : ____________________
3. “How my Brother Leon Brought Home A Wife” : ______________________
4. “May Day Eve” : _______________________
5. “Pag Ibig sa Tinubuang Lupa” : ___________________________
6. “Florante at Laura” : ____________________________
7. “El Filibusterismo” : ____________________________
8. “Mga Ibong Mandaragit” : ____________________________
9. “Ibong Adarna” : ______________________________
10. “Hindi Ako Patay” : ____________________________

Prepared by: Approved by:

___________________ ______________________
GERMALYN R. JABAT CHRISTOPHER C. DE LEON
SHS Teacher School Principal
AGONCILLO COLLEGE INC.
Poblacion, Agoncillo, Batangas
Tel: (043) 2102228 / (043) 2102905
email: agoncillocollege_inc.@[Link]

21ST CENTURY LITERATURE FROM THE PHILIPPINES AND THE WORLD

GRADE 12

Quarter First
Module No. 4
Week 3
“Major Genres of the 21st Century Philippine National
Subject Matter
Literature”
Topic:
-POETRY
In this module:
Content Standards: Performance Standards:
The learner will be able to demonstrate
understanding and appreciation of 21st Century
The learner will be able to understand Philippine literature from the regions through:
and appreciate the elements and context 3. a written close analysis and critical
of 21st century Philippine literature from interpretation of a literary text in terms of form
the regions. and theme, with a description of its context
derived from research; and
4. an adaptation of a text into other creative
forms using multimedia.

Most Essential Learning Competencies…

Compare and contrast the various 21 st century literary genres /periods citing their elements,
structures and traditions. EN12Lit-Id-25

At the end of the lesson, the students should be able to:

- Identify the different major genres of Philippine literature in the 21 st century.
- Compare and contrast the various 21 st century literary genres from the earlier periods of Philippine
literature.

PROCEDURE
Introduction
The art of literature is not being described by the words and language used as a tool for writing alone, but
also in relation to the form, content and authors’ choice of style. Genre refers to the art used by literary
authors to categorize a certain literary composition.

Motivation
Directions: Using your mobile phone, listen to the music listed below and try to determine its genre.

1. “The Way You Look at Me” by Christian Bautista - _________________________

2. “Where is the Love” by Black Eyed Peas - _________________________
3. “Memories” by Chocolate Factory - _________________________
4. “Mandy” by Westlife - _________________________
5. “Sinta” by Aegis - _________________________
6. “It’s All Coming Back To Me Now” by Sarah G. - _________________________
7. “10000 Reasons” Matt Redman - _________________________
8. “Nandyan Agad Ako” by Flow G. - _________________________
9. “Beautiful People” by Ed Sheeran - _________________________
10. “This is Me” by Camprock - _________________________

*Pre-Activity
Direction: What is your favorite genre of a song? In a brief essay, explain why you are fond of listening to the
particular genre and site some examples of it.

Development

Major Genres of 21st Century Literature

 Poetry
 Fiction
 Creative Non Fiction
 Drama

Poetry
- it is a literary type written in verses that make up stanzas. It consist of language with a strong musical
quality in which words are highly-charged with meaning. It is written in in lines which are grouped into stanzas.

Elements of Poetry

1. Sense - it is revealed through words, images and symbols .

 Diction - refers to the denotative and connotative meanings of the lines in poetry.

 Images and Sense Impressions - these refer to the choice of words used to create sensory images
which appeal to the readers’ sense.

[Link] - it refers to the creative use of words by the poets to imitate sounds.

 Rhythm
- this is the order alternation of strong and weak elements in the flow of sound and silence.

 Meter
- this refers to the duration, stress, or number of syllables per line.
 Rhyme Scheme
- this is the formal arrangement of rhymes in a stanza of the whole poem.

3. Structure - it refers to the arrangement of words and lines to fit together and the organization of the parts from
the whole.

 Word Order
- this is natural arrangement of words in each verse.

 Punctuation
- this is the use punctuation marks to clearly indicate emotions.

 Shape
- this refers to the poet’s choice of contextual and visual design, omission of spaces, capitalization
and lower case

 Tone
- refers to the poet’s or speaker’s attitude toward the subject, toward the reader, or toward
himself

 Voice
- refers to the speaking persona in poetry where specific characters are not indicated as the
speaker.

Classes of Poetry

1. Lyric Poetry

- this is a kind of poetry which expresses emotions, mood and reflection of the musical language of poet.
It is characterized subjectivity and the powerful use of imagination in which all lyrics are melodious.

a. Ode - a majestic type type of lyric poetry with expression of enthusiasm and dignity to someone loved.

b. Elegy - a lyric poem with a subject matter of death. It represents a tone of a deep feeling of a personal
grief for someone who passed away.

c. Song - intended primarily to be sung and has the particular melodious quality required by singing voice.

2. Narrative Poetry

- a long descriptive poem that narrates a story in a sequencial order about life and events that may be real or
imagenary.

a. Epic - this is a long narrative poem that tells stories about life, quests and adventures of a supernatural
hero.

b. Ballad - considered to be te simplest and shortest form. Its verses suggest significant events meant to be
sung.
Enjoying Literature
(Poetry Reading 1)

*Pre-Reading Phase
About the Author and Background

Jose Corazon De Jesus

“Huseng Batute”
(November 22, 1896 - May 26, 1932)
- a Filipino poet and lyricist. He wrote the lyrics of the nationalistic song “Bayan Ko”.

the Liwayway Magazine on the same year during the American -

Colonization.

*Reading Phase
“A TREE”
By: Jose Corazon De Jesus

Viewed from a distant vantage

I appear as a cross with arms outstretched;
As I stayed on my knees long enduring,
It seems that I am kissing God’s feet.

Like an organ in a church,

Praying amid extreme sorrows,
Is the candle flame of my life
Keeping vigil upon my tomb.

At my feet is a spring
That sobs all day and all night;
Upon my branches lie
The nests of love-birds.

By the sparkling of that spring

You’d think of flowing tears bubbling;
And the Moon that seems to be praying
Greets me with a pale smile.

The bells tolling the vespers

Hint to me their wailing;
Birds on my branches are covered with leaves,
The spring at my feet has tears welling,

But look at my fate,

Dried-up, dying alone comforting myself.
I became the cross of the withered love,
And a watcher of tombs in the darkness.

All is ended! Night is a mantle of mourning

That I use to cover my face!
A fallen piece of wood am I, and prostate
Neither bird nor people find any pleasure.

And to think that in the days past

A tree I was of luxuriant and leafy growth;
Now my branches are crosses o’er graves,
My leaves made into wreaths on tombs!

*Post-Reading Phase
(ACTIVITIES)

I. Expanding Vocabulary
Directions: Make inferences from connotations. Study how each of these words is used in the poem. Then beside
each word, write the idea or concept it refers to.

1. Withered

2. Wreaths on thombs

3. Pale smile

4. Distant vantage

5. Leafy growth


II. Exploring the Text

1. What is the general tone or mood of the poem? Is it explicitly stated or implied? Which line supports this?
2. Cite the lines that signal a turning point in the tone and meaning of the poem. How was it significant in the
development of the poem?
3. Describe the regular rhythmic pattern of the poem. Take note of the number of syllables per line and the
prevailing occurrence of a accented syllables. Does the pattern contribute to the mood of the poem? Why?

Engagement

Activity
“About Me”
Direction: Students are given a sequence of line beginnings and must complete each line to make an
autobiographical poem.

Example:
I seem to be as prickly as a cactus spike
But really I am as soft as the juicy flesh inside
Suggested Beginnings:
 I’m good at … / I’m not good at …
 I used to be … / But now I’m …
 I am … / I am not …
 If you … / Then I’ll …
 I like … / But I don’t like …
 I know a lot about … / I know nothing about …
 I admire … / I don’t respect …
 I believe in … / I don’t believe in …

Assimilation
GENERALIZATION
Direction: Compare and contrast the form of poetry in the 21 st century genre from the earlier genre.

21st Century Genre Earlier Genre

Enhancing Skills
Directions: The total effect of the poem creates a visual image. Recapture the image and express it in your own
creative way. You may write a short essay, depict a symbol, cut out and show a collage, deliver a song or make a
drawing.

ASSESSMENT
Directions: Go about to your old pictures from your photo album. Think about the time you enjoyed in the
photograph and describe it. Write the description in a form of poetry considering its elements. You can decide on
what class of poetry you are going to use. Your output will be graded based on the given rubrics.

Points

Content 10

Relevance 15

Originality 10

Vividness 15

TOTAL 50 POINTS

Prepared by: Approved by:

___________________ ______________________
GERMALYN R. JABAT CHRISTOPHER C. DE LEON
SHS Teacher School Principal