bài liên quan nhạc sĩ tài hoa trịnh công sơn: "GIRL OF VIETNAM" -- trích từ WE PROMISE ONE ANOTHER ...

Thứ Sáu, 16 tháng 9, 2016

attitude toward women: night crossing by giang nam + girl of vietnam by trịnh công sơn+ black flower by a high school student from đà nẵng (we promise one another/poems from an asian war/ washington d.c., 1971)

attitude toward women ...

the indochina mobile education project

washington d.c. 1971

                                           attitude toward women

                                                              attitude toward women

                                                           (a drawing odf artist painter Bé Ký)

Foreign observes are confused by the complexities of Vietnam and disagree on political issues, but almost all agree that Vietnamese women are among the the most beautiful in the world.  Vietnamese men, too, are proud of the beauty of the women of Vietnam.  Poets and songwriters sing their praises and invoke images of the willow tree and the peach blossom to portray their grace and softness.  Viet-namese from one region will  maintain that their women are prettier than those of of another.  Huế girls are the most beautiful, a citizen of Huế will insist, "have you ever seen the school girls of  Đồng Khánh walking home along the Perfume River wearing their áo dài's * and holding their palm-leaf hats against the evening sun?  What could be lovelier than that?"   "No," a citizen of Dalat will disagree, "Our girls are prettier for the cool mountain air puts a flush on their cheeks unknown to the pale girls of Huế."  "Oh, but the girls from Hanoi are the prettiest of all," a northerner will maintain.  "You don 't know what you are talking about."  And so it goes on. 

Vietnamese women are respected for other things, besides their delicate beauty.  The tradition of the women warrior is strong in Vietnam, stretching back to the  43 A.D. when the Trưng Sisters  led a revolt against the Chinese.  The following poem, 'Night Crossing,' tells of a peasant girl who row a boatload of guerillas across a river in the face of heavy enemy gunfire.  Other poems in this collec-

tion such as Lưu trọng Lư 's 'Women of the South' and Tế Hanh' s 'Girl of the South,' praise women for their courage on the battlefield.

The war has caused many changes in the traditional role of Vietnamese women.  They are becoming increasingly active in society.  Some Vietnamese are afraid that, as Vietnamese women become more active and aggressive, they will loose their traditional gentleness and delicacy.  A tendency to idealize women persists and is reflected in songs and poems like Trịnh công Sơn 's 'Girl of  Vietnam.  'Vietnamese see Vietnamese women, with their traditional grace and modesty, as the embodiment of much that is good in Vietnamese culture and this helps to explain many American GI 's treat all Vietnamese women as if they were prostitutes. 

---

* Traditional Vietnamese dresses consisting of side- slits, which are worn over silk trousers. 

                                                      NIGHT CROSSING

                          by Giang Nam

                                                        giang nam     [i.e. nguyễn sung 1929-   ]

                                                                                     (photo: internet)

Giang Nam is the pen name of the well-known pot and guerilla of the National Front. Before he joined the Front, he worked as a pedicab driver,  rubber plantation worker, and a bookkeeper in a business firm in areas controlled by the Saigon regime.  He later took part in many battles while his wife and five-year old child were kept in jail.  He has expressed through his moving poems and writings the simple aspirations and feeling of the average guerilla who loves his land, his neighbors, his family, but above all wants to see his country independent and reunified. ...

    The boat was coming in the dead of night,

    Clusters of bamboo, rising tide.

    The oars shook the starry sky,

    A stray bird circled above,

    Noiselessly the boat came in the dark,

    As searchlights swept the tops of the palms.

    Guns loaded, eyes wide open,

    We waited.

    The sampan girl had rolled up the legs of her trousers,

    As cold wind blew in from the shore,

    As she helped load our packs on board,

    Bringing the scent of flowers and dry grass

    From the forests and mountains.

    As our hands touched we imagined her cheeks blushed red,

    I felt her warm breath, sensed her quick gesture.

    Heavy laden, the boat pulled.

    "May we help you, Comrade?" I asked.

    She shook her head and made the sampan turn fast.

    Living in the midst of enemy posts and blockhouses,

    She was used to containing joy and sorrow.

    The boat went into the darkness,

    At the ride kept rising.

    The oars again shook heaven and stars,

    On the other bank, the palms beckoned us.

    The sampan girl kept her eyes fixed

    On the distant watchtower at the village entrance.

    Her nimble hands worked the oars,

    Her slender silhouette loomed over the river.

    A few more strokes!  The bank was now close,

    Tender joy welled up in our hearts.

    A burst of gunfire tore the night,

    Sparks flew in the darkness.

    "Sit still," she said,"don't move!"

    The boat kept advancing towards the enemy.

    It gave a lurch, bullets whizzed overhead,

    Her silhouette towered over the waves.

    "Sit down, sister, we will row," we pleaded.

    "No, brothers, don't worry."  Again the boat moved

                                                forward.

    The whole dark sky was in turmoil,

    Our hearts ached, our eyes shone with anger

    Enemy slugs swept the river,

    In our hands, our rifles burned with hatred.

    The boat was now safety moored to a tree,

    We were forced to leave quickly,

    But slowly shook the girl's hand,

    'Thank you," we whispered.

    A smile lighted her face as she shook her head,

    "I'm a member of the Revolutionary Youth," she said,

    "I've only done my duty."

    Her figure faded in the night.

    As you marched across the village,

    We still heard her muffled steps.

    Valiant girl, your memory

    Is alive in our hearts

    As we press on to other battles.

                  GIRL OF VIETNAM

                        by Trịnh công Sơn

                        p. 60    WE PROMISE ONE ANOTHER

    Vietnamese girl with golden skin

    Loves her native village

    As she loves the fields of ripe rice;

    Vietnamese girl with golden skin

    Loves her native village

    Until her eyes fill with tears.

    You've never known your village in peace,

    You've never seen the old Vietnam,

    You've never once sung a folk song with joy,

    You've never known a heart free of hate.

    Vietnamese girl with golden skin

    Love her native village

    The weak and poor of the land;

    Vietnamese girl with golden skin'

    Loves her native village

    As she once loved me.

    Vietnamese girl one day goes to her village,

    She goes in the night;

    The sound of a gun echoes noisily,

    She clutches her heart suddenly,

    On the fragrant skin the blood

    Spreads slowly from the wound.

    Vietnamese girl with golden skin

     Carries her dream to her village and dies;

    Vietnamese girl with golden skin

    Loved her native village but now is no more.

    Oh sorrowful death which wasn't intended,

    Oh my country, a thousand years in the dark,

    You came to your native village alone,

    And I, I still weep and search for you.

                      Trịnh công Sơn was a famous Vietnamese com-

                                                                  poser, musician, songwriter, painter and poet. 

                                                                  He, along with Phạm Duy + Văn Cao, is an im-

                                                                  poratnt gigure in modern Vietnamese music. 

                                                                  Many of Trịnh công Sơn' s songs re love song. ...

                                                                                        -- WIKIPEDIA -- 


                      BLACK FLOWER

                 by a High School Student from Đà nẵng

    You sit in car

    With a foreigner

    And wave your hand.

    Is it to say goodbye to me,

    Or farewell to days that have passed?

    Your face reminds me of someone I have known;

    I search my mind,

    I try to remember who it might be

    Who has waved to me

    In bitterness or sympathy.

    My God! It is you

    Whom I love, whom I have spent happy days with;

    Innocent and small,

    With soft cheeks and full lips

    With virgin skin unblemished

    With a scent fine as the frailest flower;

    The one I worshipped and respected.

    I remember when you were a student not long ago,

    Holding your palm-leaf hat against the sun

    To shade your face,

    Pouting when the teacher gave you a low mark.

    But you exchange your flesh for money,

    Dress up in powder and perfume.

    You are called Mrs. or Miss --

    Does it matter?

    You are a bitter glass of whiskey

    Which people of a different color, different race

    Buy to satisfy themselves.

    And I, still just a guy

    Who morning and night

    Drags his feet to the cafe we knew then,

    Without money enough for two cups of coffee.

    I look at the people.

    I look at you there;

    I look at everybody.

        And I bow my head to wipe tears from my eyes.

    I want to take the earth in my hands

    An squeeze it so tightly

    The meridians will be squashed out of shape

    So we, following our separate lines,

    Will never again meet under the great vault of heaven.

    Because a dream is always beautiful,

    Don't you agree?

    Oh but the cruel truth is

    The day I realty say goodbye to you

    I will instruct the sun not too rise

    So I can hold you in my arms forever,

    And will not tremble with fear;

    So no one will see me blush,

    And my shyness will be hidden.

                           a drawing of bùi văn minh

 (p. 55 -64  we promise one another/ poems from an asian war/ introduced, selected and printed by don luce + j.c. schafer + jacquelyn chagnon  ( the indochina moblie education project/ washington d.c. 1971).   

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         tưởng nhớ nhạc sĩ TRỊNH CÔNG SƠN TÀI HOA qua                       đời [01/ 04/ 2000 ở Sài Gòn
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