'death consciousness' / a poem by the phong - translated by dam xuan can
Thứ Sáu, 27 tháng 1, 2012
DEATH CONSCIOUSNESS
a poem by THE PHONG
translated by ĐÀM XUÂN CẬN
When the dragonfly was in flight over the May paddock
Its two eyes engaged in hunting a certain smaller dragonfly for food;
The little kid quit school to stroll along the edge of the paddock,
Then stopped,
and used a striker with sticky breadfruit resin
to catch the dragonfly turned hunter
But this insect was wiser
than the kid allowed it to be:
it quickly moved elsewhere
The kid did not give in,
he took the small dragonfly as bait
Which enjoyed a measure of freedom
at the end of the string in the hand of the kid
The dragonfly turned hunter was not good enough
to avoid the string
It alighted on the victim
then lifted it up to its mouth
the kid spun back the string
took the dragonfly by its tail
he burst out laughing
" Here you are, say goodbye to your freedom"
I spent the whole morning
to search for the truthful meaning of life
Looking at the germinating seeds washed
in by the rain last night
This morning
I met the kid who quit school for a stroll
Then sun was high
near the red flower thicket
he dug the earth to bury the insect
Its is no longer in life
its body cuts to bits
Ah!
Returning to dust,
it no longer cared
if there was still light in the world
he little kid used to feel sad
when evening came
He was sick with learning,
he scorned to hear the teacher's words anymore
he now asked me
What is the use of all this miserable business
And tell me
" you are old enough
why do you waste time with a kid's play
why did you borrow my sling
and you hid behind the gourd plant
throwing little stones at the bees hovering
from flower to flower
and tell me
you kept the light on all night
did you study inside the mosquito net ? "
You had a funny face when another bee stung you
you little insect
but surely you must be curious
why it stung you go savagely.
I know the meaning of life already,
my boy
it died
and its death taught me courage
Death or life really makes very little difference
The dragonfly hunter had no choice
but to live on a smaller one
It died because of you
and no other fellow insect took
to revenge its death
It was not the same of bees
it was not the same with ants either
I live by myself
I have no worry whatsoever
because I do not expect anything from anyone
We are bees
We are ants
We are dragonflies.
We are full of hatred
and consciousness of death
But let's face it
you are not old enough
to grasp why I'm still nursing my deep wound...
Saigon, July 16 1963
THE PHONG
(from Uplifting Poems in' Asian Morning
Western Music , poems by The Phong
This Edition, Jan,2012- Ho Chi Minh City).
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được đăng bởi khedo@outlook.com @ 22:44
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