vài tác phẩm của nhiều tác giả đăng trên blog Thephong's poems (2016)
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)
web chim việt cành nam
chimviệtcànhnam (france)
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
published by dai nam van hien books,
saigon 191-- hcm city 2012
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
The Phong
(p. 80- 87 Uplifting Poems)
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.
the indochina mobile education project
washington d.c. 1971
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,
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 --
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 OneAanother/ 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 HCM city)
uplifting poems by the phong
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.
THE PHONG
(p. 73- 79 UPLIFTING POEMS)
***
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quan chức, văn nhân , thi sĩ
GIANG NAM
[ i.e. Nguyễn Sung 1929 - ]
vào tuổi 91
blog Virgil Gheorghiu
Saigon, June 17, 2020
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