Thứ Sáu, 9 tháng 12, 2016

foreign intervention :a poem by the phong+ miên đức thắng muscian +phạm thế mỹ musican + lê dân producer ( we promise one another / published by the indochina mobile education project -- washington, d.c. -- 1971)

foreign intervention :a poem by the phong + miên đức thắng musi ...
(we promise one another/ published by ...  washington. d.c., 1971)

                                                                 we promise one another/ poems from an asia war/
                                                                 selected, translated and published by don luce+
                                                                        j.c, schafer+ jacquelyn chagnon
                                                                                  (washington d.c., 1971)

 foreign intervention/ we promise one another ... 
(p. 29)





                                                                                      And allies support the two regions
                                                                                                With bullets of their civilization
                                                                                                            -- MIÊN ĐỨC THẮNG

In Việtnam the family has traditionally been the most important social unit.  The whole family was involved in the planting, growing and harvesting of the rice.  The smallest boys watched the water buffalo while their fathers plowed and cultivated the rice paddies.  Toward the end of the day, an older boy would take his father's place and plow the last few furrows while his father rested.  When a man married, the cycle would begin again.  The following folk song tells what life was like in the village when there no war:

                                            Our village has a lovely landscape,
                                            With its people living along the rivers
                                            Curved like a dragon.
                                            Thanks to the Supreme Sky, summer follows winter,
                                            Making farming prosperous.
                                            In every profession in the village,
                                            Both men and women excel in their work,
                                            When the sun shines, they work hard;
                                            When the sun sets, they return home,
                                            Day after day, month after month,
                                            they enjoy their work and hardships.

But the beginning in 1965, with the large forced refugee movements, this family structure began to break down. Thousands of foreign troops pored into the country.  The fathers joined one army or the other, the women washed uniforms for the foreign soldiers, the young girls worked in the bars and brothels, and the children shined shoes and became pimps for the American GI 's.  Modern American military technology inflicted increased violence on the land and population, provoking fear among Vietnamese that no place in their land was safe.

Now refugee camps surrounds South Vietnam' s larger cities which have become increasingly  crowded as people flee the countryside to escape Việt Cộng terrorism and American bombing. The importing of consumer goods and luxury items in a futile attempt to curb rampant inflation has led only to an increase in corruption and a confusion of Vietnamese value.  Faced with such circumstances, many Vietnamese    have become lost and disoriented,
                                            
                                                                              HUẾ, 1968   (Võ Đình' s sketch)


                   AUCTIONS
                            By Phạm Thế Mỹ

               
                           phạm thế mỹ musician [qui nhon 1930-  saigon 2009]
                                           (photo: internet)

                      Fifty piasters. who will buy from me?
                      Five million piasters, who will  buy from me?
                      Five million piasters,  a million youth for sale
                      Fifty piasters, who will buy this bright young student?
                      A pair  of legs still strong,
                      Who will buy from me?  Who will buy from me?

                      For sale, all my land,
                      For sale, all my love,
                      For sale, my friends,
                      For sale, my kind wife;
                      For an extra million,
                      I' ll sell myself,
                      Who will buy from me?  Who will buy from me?
                      For an extra million, I' ll sell all for me;
                      I need to buy a patriot.

                      Anything for sale?  I'll buy everything,
                      Fifty thousand for an pimp,
                      Five million for a mandarin
                      With a big salary
                      Who gained power step by step;
                      Who gained for sale?  I' ll buy anything.

                      I need dirty hands,
                      And playboys,
                      Sweet smelling as garden worms
                      Wandering up and down the streets.
                      I' ll buy anything,  I'll buy everything;
                      Here is a million, I' ll buy a monk
                      For a million;
                      Don' t forget me,
                      Anything for sale?  I' ll buy everything,
                      An extra million, don' t  forget me,
                      An extra million, don' t forget me.

                       phạm thế mỹ



                         WHAT A SIGHT!  550,000  GI' s  IN VIÊNAM
                         By Thế Phong

                   
                        Thế Phong   [ i.e. Do Manh Tuong 1932 -  ]
                             (photo by Phat Nguyen/ Con Dao Island, 1974)


                        Thế Phong is an airman working with the press office of the Vietnamese
                        Air Force.  He spent two years working for the American military in 
                        Việtnam and was a lecturer in politics  at the Vũng Tàu training center
                        which produced cadres for the Government of the Republic of Việtnam' s
                        pacification program.  Working closely with the American military in
                        South Việtnam, he has had an opportunity to observe the effect the
                        presence of GI 's has had on Vietnamese society.  Many of his poems 
                        contain lurid details of the actions of Americans in Việtnam.  Included 
                        here are excerpts from a long poems.



                        Well, well,
                        Our friends
                                        The Americans have arrived in our country.
                        They have manpower,
                        They have money,
                        They have munitions 
                                        (the recipes of the magic formulas,)
                         And there are 550,000 of them.

                         Deserted places  
                                                Become military bases.
                         Petrified,
                                          Stupefied,
                         We Vietnamese see American establishments mushrooming:
                         Cam Ranh Bay, Cam Ranh Air Base, Cam Ranh City,
                         Qui Nhơn, Chu Lai, Tân sơn Nhứt, Biên Hòa ...

                         How many have died?
                                            We don' t know.
                         The dead never asked to be counted
                                                                    Or even to be remembered,
                         We can only be sure of one thing;
                                              We will never suffer over-population.
                         For the survivors
                                              Each grin of rice we eat
                                              Is imported from vast fields in California.
                         Germany and Korea are divided countries too,
                                              But they' re doing all right --
                         While we suffer in the most cruel and obscene way,
                                                                                   What an irony!

                         I' ve been walking the roads of my beloved land; 
                                               One afternoon when I stopped, terribly hungry,
                         What I have I to tell you?
                         Where can I ask
                                                For  clean breathing space?

                         In thousands of bars from muddy Pleiku,
                                                              Kontum buried in the mud,
                                                              To dusty Nha Trang, Đà Nẵng,
                         Our  girls brazenly ply their trade to sex- straved GI' s --
                                                           Coloreds,
                                                           While,
                                                           Reds,
                                                           Blacks,
                                                           Democracy protectors!
                                                           Freedom fighters!
                         I ve seen them all!
                         Anyplace they set foot on
                                                     They re followed by our women and girls,

                         As for you,
                                            You must produce passes
                                                  When you come down to any of these places.
                         Don' t you see signboards
                                                              reading  'Locals, keep Out'
                         Without respite
                                                Day and night
                                                our country exposes itself to rockets and bombs,
                         Hundreds of raids are being carried out daily.

                         In an office there was a Vietnamese woman
                                                               Whose officer husband was away;
                         She had  cute son,
                                                     He could mumble a few words.
                         He wept and screamed,
                                             Scared of his mother' s American visitors;
                         Unlike her,
                                          He was not a bit impressed by dollars;
                         Shaking his head
                                          Shouting louder,
                                                        Broken into tears,
                                                                   He called his father' s name.

                         His father had long been denied a leave,
                                                He was leading  his troops
                                                Against the enemy in the highlands.
                         The woman worked for the Americans
                                            To get money,
                          And that would be that --
                                                                 She thought.

                          The American officer who employed her
                                                thought differently,
                          He said,  " I will help you,
                                           Your husband is an army officer,
                                           He is my best friends ..."
                          Not long after that
                                            He felt madly in love with her.

                          One rainy evening
                                            He proposed to drive her home,
                                                                It rained,
                                                                   It rained,
                           The car ran smoothly on the road
                                       When suddenly he pressed the brake pedal.
                           The car didn 't overturn
                                                              But she was trapped.
  
                     
               

                                                             HUMILIATION 
                                                             By a Student



                                     Holding her tight
                                                                  In his two hairy arms
                                                                            He kissed her savagely,
                                           Then raped her in the back seat,
                               He gave her all the MPC 's (*) he had, 
                                                                             A lot money.

                               That night
                                           Her child went to bed early,
                                       Unaware the officer had taken the place of his father.
                               In the bed of his parents
                                           The next morning
                                                                     He got up
                                                                            Amazed to see so many MPC' s (*)
                               He did not like them
                                                       And tore them to pieces
                                                                                  Calling to his mother.
                               Startled
                                               She rushed to him
                                                                            Handed him a parcel of candies
                               Telling him it was from his father in the war zone.
                               Jubilant
                                             He held tight his present
                                                                  Mumbling his father 's name ...
                                [Dead tired
                                after a hellish night of love
                                she did not bother to go to work
                                Stretching her shoulders
                                half smiling
                                she looked at her bed filled with MPC' s
                                All this from the work of a single night
                                                    now she had become a millionairess
                                She summoned the household
                                handing out to them all Vietnamese notes left
                                The 500 piaster note with the hero Tran Hung Dao on
                                The 200 piaster note with the hero Quang Trung On
                                The 100 piaster note with Le van Duyet On
                                She said:
                                "I give you all these cheap things
                                                    I do not want  them anymore
                                                    They are very, very cheap ..."

                                 To day
                                 the 22nd October
                                 she came to work
                                                      read about it all in the newspaper
                                 Two days previously
                                 the American authorities announced the change of color of the MPC' s
                                 She wanted to cry
                                 her dream of wealth
                                 remained a dream
                                 Also the Yankee officer departed to the States at 5 in the morning
                                 Suddenly
                                                     she remembered her husband
                                 Suddenly       
                                                     she remembered her son
                                She was taken to the hospital
                                after swallowing an overdose of sleeping pills
                                And she refused to be brought home
                                for fear of seeing the worthless pile of dollars
                                She broke down again
                                                     Those around her thought her delirious
                                                      When they heard her speaking English to herself:
                                                      "Go home
                                                       Go home
                                                       the Yankee
                                                       I disliked .."

                                Today I went out
                                                        The roads now are as good as the highways in the States
                                I felt gratified to the RMK
                                and the US Army financed road reconstruction program
                                Today I went out
                                                     and I had a strange feeling --
                                                     it was not election time

                                 But I saw
                                                    NIXON-AGNEW posters everywhere
                                                    I was confused beyond words
                                 I want to ask what they think
                                                   the soldier wife died in the hospital
                                                   exhausted from making love with the GI' s
                                                   the officer whose wife became delirious after losing
                                                                                                      'hard earned'money (*)
                                 ---
                                 * page 91- 92 TENGGARA 5/ 1969 -- Dept. of English/ Univ. of Malaya/ Malaysia/ Kulua Lumpur/Malaysia)
                                                                             
                                                                     TENGGARA 5/ 1969

                                I have a question
                                                         To ask good Americans like Bernard Fall,
                                Who wrote 'The Two Việtnams', "discussing problems in both
                                                                                              the North and the South,
                                Who died on Vietnamese soil
                                                            In a field trip with the Us Marines in Quảng Trị

                                 I want to ask good Americans
                                                                            Like the US missionary
                                 Who tried to learn about us
                                                     And to do good things in the name of Christ.
                                 You are people of wisdom,
                                                                          People of strength;
                                                                                         But are you honest enough
                                 To admit the silly mistakes your fellow country men committed
                                                            In the name of friendship!

                                 I for one cannot entertain
                                               The prospect of your girls becoming prostitutes
                                                                          And boys pimps.
                                 This land of ours counts on you,
                                 Men who are not Communists,
                                 Men who have convictions,
                                  Men who are not servants,
                                 Men who have dignity,
                                 Men who bring salvation,

                                 I know you will feel humiliated,
                                 I tell you
                                                You must learn American
                                 If you want to know
                                                                What the hell going on ...
                              
                                  the phong                                                                            [TRANSLATED BY ĐÀM XUÂN CẬN]

                                  ---
                                   *  Military Payment Certificates (MPC 's) are issued to servicemen as currency for military -
                                               operated facilities and services provided in Việtnam.  They are used in lieu of green dollar.
                                              ( Don Luce 's note)




                                         BULLETS
                                  By Miên Đức Thắng

                                   
                                                      miên đức thăng musician [1945 -    ] 
  

                                  Oh, the allied countries have given our people
                                  Bright pretty bullets made of copper!
                                  The Vietnamese people need food and clothing,
                                  So generous allies increase their aids,
                                  And supply us with more bright pretty bullets.
                                  The Vietnamese strave to death,
                                  They cannot eat a million bright pretty bullets.
                                   We, father and son, meet each other
                                                                  under the flying bullets,
                                   We, brothers, meet each other
                                                         under the flying cannonballs,
                                   We, fellow villagers, meet each other under
                                                                          the gun in the square;
                                   In the name of peace
                                   The allies support the two regions
                                   With the bullets of their civilization.

                                    miên đức thắng



                                      CHILD OF MỸ LAI
                                      By Lê Dân
                                 
                                     
lê dân producer [1928-- saigon 2016]


                                                             Dear Mỹ Lai, my heart aches
                                                                          With the cry of my young brother
                                                                          Dying beside the corpse of his mother and grandmother,
                                                                          Among the sound of guns
                                                                          And barbarous laughter


                                      Ricefields raise our children,
                                      Why kill them, our people,
                                      In so many places, so many times?
                                      Why add hatred and violence?
                                      Is it to achieve your rule
                                      Upon this country
                                      Of red blood and yellow skin?
                                      Look at the heap of flesh and bones!
                                      From thousands of years of struggle,
                                      Each priceless person
                                      Belong to Việtnam.
                                      My young brother is like a bud
                                      Just growing on the tree of our nation,
                                      The root, his father, he was never met;
                                      The sap, his mother, he has never known,
                                      And so it is with million of brothers and sisters,
                                      They have killed him, the but of our tree;
                                      They have killed his mother,
                                       Killed his source of milk,
                                       Yet can they kill four thousand years of tradition?
                                       Can they kill four thousand years of tradition?
                                       Can they kill his father
                                       Who carries the gun against the invaders?
                                       And can they kill the hatred
                                       Within him as he dies?
                                       His farewell is not his last word
                                       For his brothers will be born and grow up,
                                       Like the warriors of Phù Đổng,
                                       To repay the nation
                                       Which has raised them,
                                       The nation standing like a centennial tree,
                                       And on its branches like the green buds
                                       They will grow up,
                                        Millions of hands to end this war
                                        And drive from our country
                                        These killers who cannot hide themselves,
                                        Humanity will judge them.
                                        Mỹ Lai, I ache every second,
                                        I cannot wait for an hour,
                                        Or for the evening to pass,
                                        I must act now
                                        To save old mothers
                                        And young children.

                                        lê dân 




                                   
                                  
                                               
                                            
                                        

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