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Excerpts from
“Memories of Franz,”
by Marra PL Lanot

The year was 1961 or ’62. I had Franz as teacher only once, and it wasn’t long after that that Franz, as he wanted his students to call him, and wife Emerenciana, or Emy, came to visit my parents at our house, and a series of exchange visits ensued...

In December 1964, our batch of English majors joined the annual UP Lantern Parade. We broke tradition by displaying Playboy centerfolds and attacking the English department, and by carrying placards in protest of the Vietnam War. We were a very small, closely-knit group, but it stirred some higher-ups to conduct an investigation.

At that time (when there was no Creative Writing Center yet, put up by Franz), the Department of English was divided between the terrors and the writers. And the faculty was summoned to explain why we were getting a grade of 4 or 5 while at the same time we were obtaining a grade of 1. The terrors defended the low grades, while the writers, including Franz, defended our talent. Maybe the perplexed inquisitors wanted to find out whether we were geniuses or idiots...

Most memorable is the time Franz suddenly without warning whipped out from his pocket a copy of a poem of mine, which was published in the Philippine Collegian. I listened, astounded and dumbfounded, when twice he read my poem, “Litany.” He then proceeded to ask the class what the piece was all about. He deconstructed the work and peeled correctly the meaning, symbol by symbol, and discussed how the medium was appropriate to the message.

Franz never failed to attend my book launchings, unless he couldn’t really make it. When he failed to come to the launching of my latest book of poetry, Witch’s Dance, he asked me to give him a copy so that he could write a review. When he had stopped driving and walking to UP, ceased altogether doing his long walks, I went to his house to give him my book. He thanked me profusely and repeated that he would write about it. Seeing he was quite weak and in bed most of the time, I told him it was okay if he couldn’t find the time to review Witch’s Dance. I only hoped, I added, that he would like the book. “I’m sure I’ll enjoy reading it, of course, I like your poems!” he answered.

I believed him, because every time he read a poem of mine, like those that came out in the Sunday Inquirer magazine, he would come up to me when he would see me at UP, and say, “I like your poem, it’s very good, it’s very, very good.”

That was something, coming from Franz, a brilliant fictionist and a fine poet. Who could forget his powerful stories, “The Yellow Shawl,” “Divide by Two,” “The Mats,” “The Flowers of May,” and the rest? Most of his characters are silent but intense. His narrative, which may grip the reader with suspense, is not tainted by prolixity or verbal sludge.

But over and above Franz’s being a writer and a well-loved mentor and friend, he is indeed a kind spirit and a generous soul.

Franz by Dr. Francisco Nemenzo
Tribute to a Writer and Teacher by Cristina Hidalgo
The realest Franz by Jose Dalisay
For Francisco Arcellana, National Artist by Gilda Cordero-Fernando
Memories of Franz by Marra PL Lanot

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Updated September 25, 2002
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