" xả " giãn cách xã hội, Covid-19 qua đi từ từ rồi ... - vui vẻ , đọc lại đôi bài viết từ mấy chục năm xưa ' / Thế Phong -- source: blog TP

Thứ Hai, 29 tháng 8, 2016

WHAT A SIGHT! 550, 000 GI' s IN VIETNAM by THE PHONG ( we promise one another/ poems from an asian war -- published by the indochina mobile education project / washington d.c.1971)

we promise one another/ poems from an asian war

 pusblihed by the indochina mobile education project/
washington, d.c., 1971

                                what a sight ! 550,000 gi' s in vietnam

                                                            By The Phong

                                                 TRANSLATED BY DAM XUAN CAN

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

                                                             p. 33    We promise one another

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

               Deserted places  
                              Becomes military bases.
               Petrified,
                              Stupefied,
               We Vietnamese see Americans establishments mushrooming:
               Cam Ranh Bay, Cam Ranh Air Base, Cam Ranh City,
               Quy nhon, Chu lai, Tân sơn nhứt, Biên hoa ...

               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 grain of rice we eat
                              Is imported from vast fields in California.
               Germany and Korea are divided countries too,
                              But  they are 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 have I to tell you?
                What have I to tell you?
                Where can I ask
                                          For a clean breathing space?

                In thousands of bars from muddy Pleiku,
                                          Kontum burled in the mud
                                          To dusty Nha trang, Đà nẵng,
                Our girls brazenly ply their trade to sex starved GI' s  ...
                                Coloreds,
                                 Whites,
                                 Reds,
                                 Blacks,
                                 Democracy protector!
                                 Freedom fighters!
                I've seen them all!

                Anyplace they set foot on
                                They are followed by our women and girls,
                                           The fun-makers par excellence,
                As for you,
                                 You must produce passes
                                           When you come down to any these places.
                Don' t you see signboards
                                  Reading "Locals, Keep Out"?
                Without respite
                                Day and night
                                Our country exposes itself to rockets and bombs,
                Hundred of raids are being carried out daily,

                In an office there was a Vietnamese woman
                                          Whose officer husband  was away;
                He had a 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 highland.
                The woman worked for the Americans
                                  To get money,
                 And what 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 friend
                 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 didn' t overturn
                                   But she was trapped.

                 Holding her tight
                                   In his two hairy arms
                                          He kissed her savagely,
                             Then rapped her in the back sear.

                 He gave her all the MPC's * he had,
                               A lot of money.
            
               

Humiliation

                                                                   By a Sudent
                                                        (  p. 37   WE PROMISE ONE ANOTHER)

                 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 ...

                 I have a question
                                 To ask good Americans like Bernard Fall,
                 Who wrote' The Two Vietnams', 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 names of Christ
                 You are people of wisdom,
                                                         People of strength
                                                              But you are honest enough
                 To admit the silly mistakes your fellow country men committed
                                                         in the names of friendship!

                  I for one cannot entertain
                              The prospect of your girls becoming prostitutes
                                                         And boy pimps.
                 This land of ours counts on you
                 Men who re not Communists,
                 Men who are not servants,
                 Men who have dignity,
                 Men who do not allow wives to work  for Americans,
                 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 is going on ...

                 THE PHONG

                
                 -------------------------
                  *   Military Payment Certificates (MPC)are issued to service-men
                as currency  for military-operated facilities and services provided
                    in Vietnam.  They are used in lieu of the green dollar.

                (WE PROMISE ONE ANOTHER/ poems from an Asian war-- 
          selected, published by Don Luce  and ... ( Washington, D.C. 1971).

   lời bàn:


 " ... chỉ vì cuốn WE PROMISE ONE ANOTHER (in kiểu mimeographed xuất bản ở Washington, D.C., 1971) -- do Don Luce & John C. Schafer & Jacquelyn Chagnon; tuyển chọn,sưu tập,in ấn,phát hành. .(tôi biết: Don Luce rất giỏi tiếng việt, thạo ngũ âm'sắc,huyền,hỏi,ngã,nặng). 

Bộ ba này sưu tập văn thơ, nhạc chống đối cuộc chiến tranh do Hoa Kỳ can thiệp vào Việt nam; từ việc Mỹ đổ quân lần đầu vào Đà Nẵng, năm 1965.

Phần đầu tuyển tập này;Don Luce +... cho đăng thơ các bậc tiền bối(ancien master/chữ Don Luce)- Bt) như : Nguyễn Du; Nguyễn Đình Chiểu; Phan Châu Trinh ...; tiếp, văn thơ miền Bắc[VNDCCH]: Hồ Chí Minh; Tố Hữu; Xuân Thủy; Lưu Trọng Lư; Tế Hanh ... ; tới Mặt trận Giải phóng miền Nam: Giang Nam; Thu Bồn; Cửu Long ... -- sau cùng đến Việt Nam Cộng hòa(VNCH): thơ  , văn phản đối chế độ độc tài Ngô đình Diệm; thơ  Nhất Chi Mai; lời nhạc Trịnh Công Sơn;[lời] nhạc 

Phạm Thế Mỹ ... 

 và, bài thơ dài nhất (tuy đã lược bớt) trong tuyển tập'WHAT A SIGHT! 550,000 GI's IN VIETNAM', thơ Thế Phong. 

Thế rồi, International Writing Program, chairman là bác sĩ kiêm thi sĩ Paul Engle mời một thi sĩ duy nhất của VNCH theo học khóa học viết văn (4 lần mời từ 1968- 1972).  Khi học xong khoá anh văn tại Staff Development Center, khoảng 6 tháng; tôi đến tòa đại sứ Hoa Kỳ ở Saigon xin cấp visa; thì bị từ chối thẳng thừng --  vị tham tán văn hóa, tên Linclon, chìa tập 'We Promise One Another/ poems from an Asian war'; trong đó có bài thơ 'What a sight! 550,000 GI's in Vietnam'-- ông ta cho là thơ phản chiến.  

biết vậy, tướng Minh,tư lệnh Không lực Việt Nam Cộng hòa, phán,
" Mỹ không cho anh đi dự thảo văn chương; thì,tôi cho phép anh đi làm hạ sĩ quan Không quân liên lạc tại Hoa Kỳ; được không? Sang đó rồi, anh muốn đi dự hội thảo, hoặc đi đâu; tùy ý ..."

                   Trần Văn Minh, tác giả CHẾT NON
                                                       (Nxb Vàng Son, Saigon 1967)

                                                    (ảnh: internet)

đúng lúc trận chiến 'dầu sôi lửa bỏng'của năm 1972; khi ấy tôi 1 vợ + 5 con; đứa nhỏ nhất mới sinh ra đời, sống ở khu gia binh Không Quân .Lương hạ sĩ quan không viết báo ngoài; làm sao có tiền thuê người làm -- hơn nữa, bên ngoại ở Dalat -- tôi đành cảm ơn lòng tốt của viên tư lệnh rất văn nghệ, tác giả tập truyện CHẾT NON.

...

sáng nay, ngày 30 tháng 4 năm 2015, đứa trai út được sinh vào'mùa hè đỏ lửa 1972'mời vợ chồng tôi đi ăn phở gà Hương Giang/ Võ thị Sáu. Ăn xong, lại mời đến tiệm cà phê Highland Coffee, ở góc Nguyễn Du Nam Kỳ khởi nghĩa.

 Vợ tôi nói với Đỗ Thông,

 " ... Con biết sao không, Mỹ không cho bố đi Hoa Kỳ dự hội thảo viết văn; từ chối cấp chiếu khán tơi 4 lần; thì, ông tướng tư lệnh Không quân gọi lên, hỏi:'có muốn đi làm hạ sĩ quan Không Quân liên lạc ở Mỹ' không? Sang đó rồi, tự do đi tham dự hội thảo, học hành viết văn'. Khi ấy; nhà không thể có người giúp việc; mẹ thì một nách 5 con; con là đứa nhỏ nhất, mới vài tháng tuổi. Tối tối; bố bị cấm trại,sáng về nhà, giặt một thau lớn tã lót; ấy là lúc con [chỉ sang phía Đỗ Thông] mới vài tháng tuổi..."   ./.


Thế Phong
  Saigon, 30/ 4/ 2015

           " khi ấy tôi 1 vợ 5 con ; đứa nhỏ nhất mới sinh ra đời ,
                           sống ở khu Gia bình Không Quân  Tân Sơn Nhất ..." 

                             ( Đỗ Thông được bế trên tay vợ tôi ) -- ( ảnh giữa)

                                                                    (tư liệu ảnh: Thế Phong)


                            http://thang-phai. blogspot.com/2015_05_01_archive.html


  
                                                                               

    
     
                      
  
      

Thứ Năm, 25 tháng 8, 2016

thephong by thephong / autobiography / chapitre 5 

thephong by thephong / autobiography. chapitre 5

http://thephongspoems.blogspot.com/ 

                                          Thephong by Thephong: the writer, the work 

                                                            the life   autobiography

                                                                     

                                        Thephong by Thephong/autobiography

                                                                    thephong

                                                        TRANSLATED BY DAM XUAN CAN

                                                                                               Chapitre 5

On the cover of the book Myself for hire are six angel like ants, my gracious guests in the first days of 1962.  While I boiled water to prepare coffee, they came to alight on my head and neck.  I had always love animals and insects especially when loneliness fell on me.  When I sar sipping coffee, I found a letter near the door.  Lifting it I guessed it was poet Diễm Châu alias Phạm văn Rao who threw it in.

 But the sender's name was Sao Trên Rừng alias Nguyễn đức Sơn.   I opened the cover and found a request for my introduction to his collection of First Love Poems * . He also asked me to publish it. I just could not make our why his youth knew for sure that I could come to see him at his house in Xóm Cỏ- Nguyễn bỉnh Khiêm St.  I had no intention of publishing books by those I did not know well.  I had had a difficult time with port Bùi khải Nguyên's new Eugene Ionesco play translation already stenciled.  But when I ask him money, Bùi khải Nguyên answered that he did not want to have it published any more.  I surely did not know the caprices of this fellow.  I guessed that he was worried by my asking to pay the cost of printing and advertising.  Did he know that I had no money?

And poet Bùi khải Nguyên brought the stenciled matter home I burned two hundred covers of the play The Rhinoceros and felt extremely sad, acutely sensible to the grief of having lost a close friend.  And I thought I should find comfort in my new friend.  This way why I was willing to publish his book.  In my first visit I noticed that he lived very miserable in a hut.  Obviously pleased, he asked me my address for further contacts as I seldom came to Pham van Rao's house. After reading the manuscripts I consented to print it, although there were problems to be solved about raising the necessary money.  Stencils would be obtained, I would borrow a typewriter, Miss Mỹ would be in charge of mimeographing.

------------

* Những bài tình đầu (TR)

                                            sao trên rừng [ i.e. nguyễn đức sơn 1937-   ]

                                                                    (photo: internet)

Some days later, he came to see me in the evening.  He complained that he had no means to support himself any longer and asked to stay in my house as there would be enough room for both us.  I agreed to receive a poor fellow like myself. Some time before, young writer Kiều Thệ Thủy came to pass the nights with me too. I brought my new friend to a shop to have dinner.  He suggested that we could cook rice at home for the sake of economy.  My house was wide and had a kitchen of its own.I tole the landlady that a cousin of mine came to live with me to get prepared for the coming Bacca-laureate examination.  So, we cooked rice at home. It was convenient for us as the rainy season would come very soon.

He asked me to hasten the writing of the preface.  Then, we came to a commercial school, I proposed to type on the spot.  Damn it! my request was turned down.  So I had bring the young poet to Mr Nguyễn đức Quỳnh' s and asked him to let us us use his typewriter.  We  came there twice a day. The young poet read aloud the poems for me to type.  We spent hard times with a worn-out machine, I sometimes skipped a whole paragraph.  At last, we bought the stenciled matter home for Miss Mỹ.

A friendly printing-house offered to print the cover, and we had dome reams of paper left at Miss

Mỹ' s.  The printing-cost was not too high for us ! Another good thing was that she liked to take part in literary activities.  The poet came from her hometown and was a close acquaintance of Chinh, her cousin.  One morning, when the books were already bound, he set out to distribute the copies to his friends.  I asked  journalist-poet Xuân Hiến to use his poems more frequently as this would give him additional money.  I also presented him to Đoàn Thêm as he could influence Bách khoa Magazine, editor Lê ngộ Châu.  I readily admitted Sao Trên Rừng was a good guy and live with me very difficult.  I was dictatorial to those around me, and I was already angry with all who were young,especially my younger friends.  He was sometimes chagrined by that.  These times, he used to climb the trứng cá treee, saying nothing, looking soft and sad.  One day, he asked me one hundred piasters, all I could do then  was to tell him to shift for himself.  When dispatched him to  Pr.- poet Lữ Hồ alias Nguyễn minh Hiền for money to print the book of poetry he took one hundred and spent it without telling me.  Once back home he bought for me two eggs and two bananas.  I scolded him for doing this, but I soon forget the whole thing.  Alas, I alone had to pay the rental, the printing of books, and the allowances for both us ...  Through me, he became acquainted with Pr. Lê xuân Khoa, Nguyễn minh Hiền and some others.  Prior to book delivery he was old to return Xóm Cỏ- Nguyễn bỉnh khiêm St. because I had to be in Mỹ Tho province for some days.   I promised to see him later.  In fact, I was really broke and could not afford to publish his book, I tole myself.  I also had to face another urgent problem; I had to pay the landlord a little sum in the case I wish to stay on.  Nguyễn văn Ngơi' s mother remained in my house all the day long to wait for me to pay back her money.  But I refrained from returning.  Later she decided to take a harsher measure -- she threatened me to sue me.  I really couldn't give myself away so soon as I was penniless than.  Two days later I paid journalist-poet Xuân Hiến a visit and he disclosed that SaoTrên Rừng had cast blame to borrow money from Đoàn Thêm.  Good Heavens! If this were true, it meant that my young friend had imposed upon my kindness.  Fortunately, Mr Đoàn Thêm wanted confirmation on my part.  I returned to Xóm Cỏ- Nguyễn bỉnh Khiêm St.   He looked at me in a kind of dread.  I told him to see me in the boarding house.  All this vexed me terribly.  When he met me in my house, I said, " Why did you do like that? Boy, I was hurt real bad today.  Why didn't you let me know your worry as I did ?  Don't you know it is so bad to borrow money in the name of another." He tried to hide the truth until I took the letter he wrote to Mr Đoàn Thêm out of drawer.  He remained silent then said that he would sue me if I refused to give him twenty copies of his books.  I asked whether he had received twenty copies or not, he nodded but he added there was no legal proof for it.   I was so angry I reached out and slapped him across the face and told him to get out of my sight.

I did not want to see a young man behaving like that.  Before fleeing he said, "Do remember you have beaten me". I answered, " Yes.  Be sure not to come back in five years.".  I stood in the middle of the room, trying to imagine what had happened .

When poet Nhị Thu came and heard this, he proposed to punish this on of a bitch.  The following morning we set out to recuperate some hundred copies already distributed to the bookshop, tore the covers, and sold them to a bazaar.  Because I thought this young man had better not to write poetry, while he was so mean.  And I could not afford to be the publisher of his book even it had already been printed.  Later, journalist Nguiễn Ngu Í wrote in weekly Văn đàn that I failed to appreciated poetry as a critic.  All I could do then was to promise to let him know the whole matter in the future.  Every time I saw poet Sao Trên Rừng in the street and his trying to avoid me I could not help laughing, thinking that my blow was sometimes quite necessary.

                                                                             ***

                                                           professor-poet diễm châu

                                                         [i.e. phạm văn rao 1937- france 2006]

                                                                 (photo: internet)

The Têt festival that year was extremely sad.  I recalled pasts Têt festival in my house in  359/15 Trương minh Giảng St. when I ate boiled chicken drank Beaujolais and talked ll nghht. When poet Diễm Châu alias Phạm văn Rao came to landlord disclosed I spoke French the whole evening, blaming President Ngô đình Diệm.  Phạm văn Rao stayed untill late in the night.  He came again on the first day of the year.  The day before, I sat watching the sunflowers and evening came unnoticed. Then there was a knock at the door.  It was artist painter Đinh Cường.  In the talk, Đinh Cường said that many Huế students and there was rumor of my arrestaion.

I invited him to pay a visit to Lăng Ông Pagoda and that night he slept with me.  Đinh Cường knew me since the days in Lý thái Tổ St., he sat in the late night helping me to bind the copies of Post WarWriters * until he was too tired to continue.  Đinh Cường then brought Duy Năng to see me and asked me to preface the latter's book of poetry entitled The Sleep on the Pass. **

---

* Nhà văn tiền chiến 1930-1945     ** Giấc ngủ chân đèo  (TR)

Unfortunately, he addressed me as mate in time I could allow only a friend of many years' standing to do such a thing.  Duy năng as a contributor to' s Hanoi Weekly Quê hương like me. He sent aricles by mail from his hometown Nha Trang.  We knew the names of each other but never met.  So Duy năng's telling to artist Đinh Cường that he knew me well vexed me terribly.

I did nothing about the manuscripts he handed.  One day, I meet Duy Năng and an officer I knew in the street.  He said, 'Hello' and was familiar terms with me just like our first encounter.  I stared at him in astonishment.  He thought again that I really liked him.  He blurted out triumphantly, " Boy have you completed the introduction to my poems?"   My voice was calm and dry as I told him that I did not appreciate the way he spoke.  Lieutenant -poet Thế Hoài alias Trần hoài Châu tried his best to reconciliate us in order to avoid further painful development.

When artist painter Đinh Cường let me know Duy Năng was so depressed he decided not to publish his book and stop writing were altogether.  I felt very sorry.  After recreating his poems, I felt convinced he had own language ant it was a great pleasure to introduce him to the readers. But, worrying about the a matter of no importance, I had became disppointing to him.  I wrote to him a apologize.  I wrote twice and got no answer.

Probably, my fault was so great that it could not be forgive.

                                                    artist painter đinh cường

                                                    [ i.e. đinh văn cường 1939 --2016)

                                                                    (photo: internet)

                                                                            ***

I could almost do nothing else than eat, sleep and stare at the red road in the Catholic Refugees' Hamlet.  I wrote poetry and let mosquitos sing my bare face.  This was to me sign that I was still alive.  Here was the poem entitled Mid Afternoon:

                                 ... I took so long siesta I forget the dinner

                                     Do you remember, my love, the red road to the 

                                                                                                     Catholic church

                                     Where there was on Easter Day a long procession

                                     Bearing flowers without fragrance on their heads.

                                     In mid-afternoon I already hung the mosquito-net

                                     While mosquitoes were singing happily around me

                                     It seemed they only liked to suck the blood of people like me

                                     Who could afford to have lunch only and then lie down

                                                                                                           for them to sting ...

and another poem entitled The Century Old War: *

                                  ... I remember when I was a little boy

                                      Every time I had a cough

                                      My mother told me to come to the doctor so that

                                                                                might live until my 100 th year

                                      But I want to die  when I am barely thirty one ...

-----------

* Bức TƯỜNG  trăm tuổi - TƯỜNG is the real name of the author.  Translated, it means 'WALL'. (TR)

Fortunately I had rarely been sick since the day I left my mother I recall once I shot a high fever due to venereal disease, my temperature topped 104 degree and nobody gave me a drink.  I had to crawlto grab a cup of coffee left on the table some days before.  At the beginning of 1963, I incidentally made acquaintance with doctor-writer Nguyễn tuấn Phát.  He was so kind to me but I only came to him desperate situation.  I liked to go others.  Once, I went to Dr Nguyễn hữu Phiếm in Trương minh Giảng St.  The old doctor had written many editorials about social reform.  After a couple of visits I noticed one thing.  He gave me Dectancyl 0,05 in three days.  I bluntly told him this medecine had nothing to do with venereal diseases.  Only then the old man gave me another prescription.  And urged me to come again.   Every time he got $100 . I have never told this to anybody.   In case you happen to read this, do remember it was a patient about thirty named TƯỜNG, who used   to say,

"I have slept with a prostitute and I am unwell.  Doctor, I have one counsel to offer you.  Don't bother to write any more!  Nobody likes your editorials in 'Mai' and 'Bách khoa Magazines', 'Chính luận Daily'.  And stop your most dirty practice first!  But I congratulate you one thing, " You are good at curing venereal diseases, when you really try". 

As far as  my teeth were concerned, I had a friend named Doãn đình Thái.  He had firnished me artificial teeth.  I called him 'my doctor chirugien dentiste' *.  One day I came to see him, but he wasn't home.

 I left a message.  His answer was a quatrain which I deemed worth recording here :

                                                   You are very good caligrapher

                                                    So, you should be a lady-killer

                                                    Do know this, my friend!

                                                    You'll suffer all your life.

He was right.  Do you know, my 'docteur chirugien dentiste-poète' *.  I have had only unhappy loves ?    ./.

---------------

* in French in the text .(TR)

 THE PHONG

                                                                    thephong writer / epaint by phan nguyen

                                                                                            

  htttp://thephongspoems.blogspot.com/2014/02/thephong-by-thephong-writer-work-like.html

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