vài bài của một số tác giả đã "post" trên Thephong' s poems (2016) -- bài đăng lại ( blog Virgil Gheorghiu / Tp -- July 4, 2018.)

Thứ Hai, 26 tháng 9, 2016

quand les ans s' additionnent/ tháng năm chất chồng-- thơ dịch: tâm minh_ngô tằng giao (chim việt cành nam/ france -- số 64/ 01- 09-2016)

quand les ans s' additionnent .../ thơ dịch
chimviệtcànhnam (france)

                                                     chim việt cành nam  số 64/ 01- 09- 2016

                                    quand les ans s'additionnent
                                                                AUTEUR  INCCONU
                                                     


                                    Le coin de la rue est deux fois
                        plus loin qu'auparavant !

                        et ils ont ajouté une montée que
                        je n'avais jamais remarquée.

                        J'ai du^ cesser de courir après l'autobus,
                        Parce qu'il démarre bien plus vite qu'avant.

                        Je crois que l'on fait des marches
                        d'escaliers bien plus hautes
                        que dans notre temps !

                        L'hiver le chauffage est beaucoup
                        moins efficace qu'autrefois !

                        Et avez-vous remarqué les petits caractères
                        que les journaux se sont mis à employer ?

                        Les jeunes eux-mêmes ont changé !
                        ils sont bien plus jeune que
                        lorsque j'avais leur âge !

                        Et d'un autre côté les gens de mon âge
                        sont bien plus vieux que moi.

                        L'autre jour le suis tombée sur
                        une veille connaissances;
                        elle avait tellement veilli qu'elle ne
                        me reconnaissait pas !

                        Tout le monde parle si bas qu'on
                        ne comprend quasiment rien !

                        On vous fait des vêtements si serreés, 
                        surtout à la taille et aux hanches,
                        que c'est désagréable !

                         Je refléchissais à tout ca en
                         faisant ma toilette ce matin.
                         Ils ne font plus d'aussi bons miroirs
                         qu'il y a 40 ans ...
                         AUTEUR INCCONU
                                                              www.lespasseurs.com



                          tháng năm chồng chất
                                       bản việt ngữ TÂM MINH_NGÔ TẰNG GIAO


                          Xưa thường đi tới góc đường
                          giờ sao cảm thấy xa dường gấp hai

                          Lại thêm con dốc thật dài
                          trước nào đã có, nay ai tạo thành

                          Xe buýt dường phóng thật nhanh
                          giờ đây không đủ sức mình chạy theo

                          Mình còn tin thêm một điều
                          bực thang nay cũng cao nhiều thêm lên

                          Mùa đông sưởi chẳng ấm thêm
                          so cùng thời trước thấy liền khác xa

                          Bạn xem báo, chắc nhận ra
                          thời nay chữ nhỏ người ta đem dùng ?

                          Thanh niên [thì] khác vô cùng
                          trẻ hơn lứa tuổi mình từng trải qua

                          Và người cùng cỡ tuổi ta
                          so ra mình thấy quá là già nua.

                          Một hôm gặp lại người xưa
                          nàng nay héo úa không như thuở nào
                          nhìn mình lạ lẫm xiết bao
                          chắc mình thay đổi sau bao tháng ngày

                          Mọi người nói chuyện quanh đây
                          hầu như quá nhỏ tai này khó nghe

                          Áo quần may, sao chật ghê
                          chắc mình ni tấc xồ xề thêm ra !

                          Sáng nay soi ngắm mặt ta
                          tấm gương phản chiếu thấy mà xót xa
                          bốn mươi năm đã trôi qua
                          thấy mình sắc diện quả là tàn phai ...
                          chuyển ngữ/  tháng 9- 2016
                                           t.m._n.t.g.

                                   trích CHIM VIỆT CÀNH NAM ( France)

Thứ Sáu, 23 tháng 9, 2016

in a time of disturbance in saigon + trouble of mind / poems by the phong (uplifting poems/ dai nam van hien books, saigon 1971 -- this edition ; jan, 2012/ hcm city)

 uplifting poems
 published by dai nam van hien books,
 saigon 191-- hcm city 2012

                                                  p. 84   UPLIFTING POEMS/ THE PHONG

                                                              (ảnh: blog Cao Mỵ Nhân)




                                       In a time of Disturbance in Saigon
                                                                 by the phong


      1        
     It was noon,
     A big crowd in Saigon looked up
     The sun was turning purple,
            green,
            yellow
      Buddha was shedding tears
      I looked up too
          what was is happening
     (People sure talking of the age old prophetic of Trạng Trình ...)

       I was a misty morning in Dalat
       The pilgrims
          from anywhere
          were climbing Lang Biang Heights
     A story was spreading
          any disease could be cured
          by fire and incense
     Standing at the top
     I looked at the swarming crowd
     True,
          our life today was too tiring
          people would go anywhere for some help
     all of us were as the edge of an unfathomable abyss ...

     Oh my girl student I met by chance
    What do you have
          if it' s not love my dear
    We need many things
        a hell of a lot of things
        things will be worse
        before they are better
    Love is a pressing as freedom
        from hunger and thirst
       without it my life is a nullity, a void ...


    I hope
        you' ll share my faith in our land
    Our faith in the future of each of us
    You' ll be back
        you' ll be with me
    Love
        real love
    is what we need
    I' ts all we ever need
    This shabby land
         should be destroyed by fire or by water or both
    We' ll build the sun anew
    once the river had flown
          it will be never roll back same again.


     Oct. 30, 2963


    Yes,
         predestined encounter
    I was hunted by you
       week after week
    Now in hot, sweaty Saigon
        my heart is still in cool Dalat
    I am thankful for all that
         even if I am stripped of possessions
    O would give all
         for that precious encounter
    (When we shared our companion for our wretched land
          it really uplifted me)
    How I hope
         to see again


    2
    I was right
          Saigon was as sad as a graveyard
   Alas,
           poor people were making love
           even when they had empty bellies
    I had been without a woman
           for a long, 
                long time

    So at night
       I kept thinking of strange words ...
    An eighteen year old girl
          talked of sex
                as expertly as a doctor
     Even when she was only a hairdresser
    "My being at home
        at night
              was not necessary
    My stepfather
        would try to seduce me
        he was a horrible man ...
     I want to follow my love
       who has never pressed about marriage
     As  far as Dalat to pass the night together
     We will be warm,
         we will be cold
               And forget
         all, all, all ...
    I want to follow any man
    I am thinking of dead young men
         who will never come back
    My presence
          in the family 
             at night
                  is not necessary at all."


    3
    My mates
         have gone
              I am left alone
                    in this dark, mean place
     Where has the red sun gone
           I have not seen
                the student again


    Now I am worrying
         where will my next meal come from
     Life is so difficult
          a small cup of coffee
               has become a luxury
     Apart from this
          I cannot believe what I read
               what I am told
     I' m so miserable
         I have no tears left

     (The people in the West re so mature)

     We are so childish
           in spite of our long history
     We are so weak
          we depend on outside aid too much
     We are so immature
          we dare not have cool look
               at ourselves
     (Anyway my simple remedy is as follows)


     Let us take care of ourselves
          we are sick of advice
               no counsel no nothing
     let us refuse any aid as long as we are not equals
     (Two lovers who share the same bed
            but have different dreams
                would do better to part)

     Just let us
          live on our own
     So that we can be ourselves


     It is noon
     The people of Saigon are looking at the sun
     They wait
        All of us wait.

      Saigon, Oct. 30, 2963



                                                          Trouble of Mind


     I'm troubled when you are by y side
     It' s a good thing -- then I don' t feel any sadness
     I feel as young as an eighteen year old boy
     When I look at myself in your bright eyes
     You' re off today,
         I am alone in this highland


     Everything is mute,
          not sound is heard
           my soul is following you
     I only hope there will be moments you think of me
     I known
          I know
          you' re just a plain girl
     But I cannot put you out of my mind
     Late noon
          the car moves up the slope
     I' m standing here
          feeling the future hold for us
     When you' re with me I forget all,
          all,
          all.
     I forget the wretched land which is ours
     I forget all,
          all /
          all ?


     It' s raining
       It' s raining hard and strong
          I' m sleeping soundly

     O my girl now
           that you' re over nineteen.

       Dalat, 1963

       Thephong

      (p. 80- 87   Uplifting Poems)

                                                        (to be continued)
   
   

                


                                                           

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).     

Chủ Nhật, 11 tháng 9, 2016

uplifting poems, poems by the phong (dai nam van hien books -- south vietnam 1971, this edition, jan. 2011 hcmcity)

uplifting poems  by the phong -7-

dai nam van hien books, saigon 1971.

this sdition, jan. 2011/ hcm city

                                                  UPLIFTING POEMS

                                                               by the phong

                                                           

                                                   

 TO BE  GIRL

Where there are flies there's God   

Where's God lonely men have a friend 

I've walked all trails in my country 

When I stopped the city of Dalat

            was shrouded in mist in the dead of night

                     fortunately I had a companion to keep off the ghosts

Your face is haunting me,   

                in day and night

Lying in bed

                 I keep thinking of you

                          I  simply cannot help it

Your lips are so delicate,

                      your eyes just don't go away

On the threshold of adulthood

                        I' sitting looking for a sister soul

I have climbed to the top of Lang Biang Hill

When I all wanted was to bury my head in your floating hair

Is there any love story

                  which is not beautiful

Is there a blemish pervasive enough

                  to blot out deep humiliation inside ?

I think continuously

                  of you and me and all

To be a girl

          to be a bar hostess

Is to be stripped to the liberty to live straight

And forced to put on airs

          for the sake of money

Remembering the sweet moment

          worth the money I saved in one year

You held me in your arms

Your warmth was better to me

         than the heat from the fireplace

I was yours.

         all yours,

                even it for a brief moment only

We were together twelve long hours

(Tomorrow I will live a world of memories).

SAIGON, OCT. 23,1963

 EPITOMIZING DAY TO DAY LIFE

Today the sun shone brightly as on other days

Rain or shine did not matter much,

           but the cost of living

           had risen sky hight

(The price of bicycle imported from Europe

      had been increased by 50 per cent

      If the bicycle was sick the owner would pale too)

In my family there were neither women nor small kids

There were just for four of us of various ages

The head of the family of forty six

        had been a widower for four years

Oh his two sons the older son just turned twenty

We had enough food but we were not very happy

The sixteen year old boy started coloring nudes

He was fond of cutting out pictures from movies magazines

        and watches female loveliness closely

As for me

       I saw life pass calmly

This did not mean I was free from worry

O my twenty year old girl

       I love your simple charms

You do not wear ornaments

(the price of gold had nearly doubled)

But your sweet smile

        could make many a heart beat quicker

At the back of our house there was a thatched house

They needed a dependable sewing machine

         but they could not afford it

The foreman had lost many a finger

Looking at him,

         I suffered as much as he did

Every morning he got up early

         and hastened to start work

he  was a real beast of burden

Beside our dwelling was a house crammed

         with so many beds 

         that there as apparently

         no way out

The soldier's wives renting the house could do nothing

         but sleep

Their husbands at war had not come back

We read in newspapers

          that thousands of youths had been killed

          their bodies left unburied

A silent sea of faces blurred in tears

Every month one thousand soldiers lost their lives

          while the enemy casualties

          were four times as numerous

Let's hang these papers as talismans on our beds ...

On the farther side of the road

A curious news is being spread

           a reliable on

           alas !

           Concerning a seventy thousand- piaster

           worth American motorcycle

A two-cylinder Harley

           which can ride fast on the mute road

and the Vietnamese motorcycle whose price is unknown

A talkative woman-motorcycled

           who only moves in bed

The two crazy owners exchanged the aforesaid things,

            as in a fairy tale

A lover of good living

            The airman preferred the flashing motorcycle to 

            his wife

So he was in treaty with the American sergeant for ... her

In working hours,

            the American

            and the woman-motorcycle are free to rock in their bed

(Meanwhile the Vietnamese husband can ride the Harley on the road)

We rightly guess he would evade any questioning on its price

Such is the story of the woman with two husbands

The story which makes an eighteen-year old girl burst out laughing hysterically

Sewer water, rain, tear, tea an semen

(Those kinds of water need being purified to become just clean water)

Epitomizing life I could not help frowning and sighing

The forty six year old woman is still a widow

The twenty six year old chap

           is still reading death announcements of known persons

The sixty year old boy does not want to be a man yet

The foreman,

           after the incident,

           is still collecting trophies

The old man of seventy has died ,

           buried without a proper funeral

I, over thirty now ,

          is still without a woman

This bicycle ,    

          after being repaired ,

          is laying still in a corner

And the eighteen year old girl is criticizing my poetry

" I don't know what you mean

        I don' t like you at all

            I hate all men who are bachelors

               I hate your so called uplifting poems ".

SAIGON, JULY 7, 1963.

thephong

          (p.   73- 79    UPLIFTING POEMS)

                                                                       (to be continued)

                                    []

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vài bài của một số tác giả đã 'post' trên blog Thephong' s poems ( 2016)
                                blog Virgil Gheorghiu/ Tp ( July 4, 2018.)
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