Rafael Zulueta da Costa (born 1915-1990[1]) is a Filipino poet. He uses the name R.

Zulueta da
Costa as a writer, and Rafael Zulueta as a businessman.[2]
He was a graduate of De La Salle College (now University) where he specialized in business
administration. He began writing poems in Spanish and later he also wrote in English.[3] His most
famous work is Like the Molave and Other Poems, which won the Commonwealth Literary Award for
Poetry in 1940.[4]

Pre-war literature
The Filipino writing in English was somewhat formal and imitative from the Spanish literature brought
in during the Spanish rule in the country. Grammatical expressions and terms used were awkward
and unpolished. Filipino writers found difficulties in the use of prepositions and pronouns, thus the
quality of their works were quite poor. However, after several years of painful endeavor of the
Filipino writes and the establishment of publication, newspapers and magazines, brought about
distinguishing improvement in their works. Filipinos received much encouragement and more
influential group of writers were found

References
1. ^ José Villa Panganiban; Consuelo Torres- Panganiban (1962). A survey of the literature of the
Filipinos. Limbagang Pilipino. p. 265. Retrieved 19 November 2010.
2. ^ The Mentor book of modern Asian literature from the Khyber Pass to Fuji. New American Library.
1969. Retrieved 19 November 2010.
3. ^ R. Zulueta da Costa; Lourdes Gatmaitan Bañez (1994). The works of R. Zulueta da Costa: a critical
edition. De La Salle University Press. ISBN 971-11-8131-2. Retrieved 19 November2010.
4. ^ Cabanilla; J.Q. et.; al. World Literature. Goodwill Trading Co., Inc. p. 206. ISBN 978-971-574-030-2.
Retrieved 19 November 2010.
LIKE THE MOLAVE’’ by Rafael Zulueta da Costa

Not yet, rizal, not yet. Sleep not in peace:There are a

thousand waters to be spanned;There are a thousand
mountains to be crossed;There are a thousand crosses
to be borne.Our shoulders are not strong; our sinews
areGrown flaccid with dependence, smug with
easeUnder another s wing. Rest not in peace;Not yet,
Rizal, not yet. The land has needOf young blood-and,
what younger than your own,Forever spilled in the
great name of freedom,Forever oblate on the altar
of The free? Not you alone, Rizal. O soulsAnd spirits of
the martyred brave, arise!Arise and scour the land!
Shed once againYour willing blood! Infuse the vibrant
redInto our thin anaemic veins; untilWe pick up your
Promethean tools and, strong,Out of the depthless
matrix of your of your faithIn us, and on the silent
cliffs of freedom,We carve for all time your marmoreal
dream!Until our people, seeing, are becomeLike the
molave, firm, resilent, staunch,Rising on the hillside,
unafraid,Strong in its own fibre, yes, like the molave!
We, the Filipinos of today, are soft,Easy-going,
parasitic, frivolous,Inconstant, indolent,
inefficient.Would you have me sugarcoat you?