A Preface of THEPHONG: THE WRITER, THE WORK & THE LIFE autobiography -- source: Thephong' s poems Blog

A Preface of THEPHONG: THE WRITER, THE WORK & THE LIFE autobiography -- source: Thephong' s poems Blog

The phong : the writer, the work & the life -  autobiography 

/  translated from the Vietnamese  B y Đàm Xuân Cận 

 Dai Nam Van Hien Books, SDaigon 1972

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

                                                                                             THE PHONG

                                                                       the writer, the work & the life
                                                                           autobiography

                                                                            translated from the Vietnamese by

                                                       đàm xuân cận 
                                                                              

                  DAI NAM VAN HIEN BOOKS, 1972        

            PO BOX 1123, SAIGON 

           South VIETNAM    
       

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

                                          PREFACE TO THE THIRD EDITION

     It is gratifying to know that this Vietnamese autobiography has been a collector's  item for a long time.  The very first of its kind to appear in English in this part of the world, it was published by Dai Nam Van Hiên in 1966, and reprinted in 1968.  The thir edition is a reprint of the second except that, in the text, we have made a few small corrections.  Still, it is best considered a a work in the making.

    We republish here in this hope of spurring others to write about their lives and times.  We look forward to reading good autobiographical works that are both culturally informative and  aesthetically  apt.

    We would be deeply  gratedul to all who care to point out  any of the translation mistakes which are bound to have crept into the text.

                                                                    THE PHONG
                                                                                                                       Saigon, Vietnam
                                                                      Februrary , 1972 

     
       ----------
           I do hope this sincere book will be read by  sympathethic public .
                                                                      THE PHONG

    

    INTRODUCTION CHAPTER 

   Sitting at the  workdesk  in front of the typewriter, I wonder  whether I am a writer, whether I am a poet.  A man of letters called me a poet, a journalist referred to me as a great writer.  ( The sad irony is, of course, none of the living can earn this title in a small country like mine, even when one fully deserve it ).  I thought I was a writer,  as recorded in my ID card, and confirmed by my thirteen-year-long search for identity.  Yet I want to  clear you need not rely on my judgment on this particular point, to say the least.  The writer, the worK,  and the life - I considered these three things intimately related to one another.  I am of the idea that at the root of innumerable wrongs in our  society is a discrepancy between word and deed.  It is entirely untenable for a bad man to write that he is good.  Only when a reader-author has the courage to  assume the responsibility for the right and wrong of his actions, only when he is sincere, he can hope his readers my share his feelings, his work  may serve a purpose, and has a chance to  weather the  attacks of time.  This was why I smiled at  Nhât Linh's  efforts to promote a universal and eternal literature.  Did he not understand that such a concept was ridiculous  and anachronistic ? Our  job is record life in our times as accurately as Lu Hsun  in ' The True Story of Ah'.   Q. lead a humilating life - he was a ' pill-like'  man whom anyone could beat at will.   With this  work, he proved to be a talented depictor of Chinese life at the beginning of this century.  But in his lifetime, he was denounced by most critics; he bitterly answered that it would make much difference whether they branded him as a respected scholar or a decadent intellectual.  As Lsu Hsun succeeded in penetrating  human sufferings he now enjoyed the honour of being awarded the title '  New China's Great Saint' .  To return to the subject, I paintfully admitted that  Nhất Linh had not written  anything significent about his time and therefore, his world would fall  into oblivion should follow  in the steps of Lsu Hsun rather be a Nhất Linh.

    To speak the truth, I still had great love and respect for him  and his small masterpiece ' Two Friends' (*)  and did homage to his suicide in protest of dictator Ngô Đinh Diêm on the 7th of July, 1963.

----
* Đôi bạn/ Nhất Linh

    He was far better than many of his contemporaries like '  antebellum' writers Nguyễn Đức Quỳnh, Lê Văn Siêu, Đỗ Đức Thu, Vũ Hoàng Chương ... in South Vietnam. 
   
     I had written an appraisal of Nguyễn đức Quỳnh, and a story about Lê văn Siêu.  The latter lectured learnedly about morality while he was really a mean person.  Athur Rimbaud wrote poetry because he wanted to give a meaning to his own existence and to improve the life of  others.  But he promptly stopped writing when he realised the futility of his tasks.  He even took part in the slave trade.   He simply did not want to be  a cheat to himself and others as well.  To me he was wise.  Really, we could not forgive Lê văn Siêu, Nguyên Sa-Trần bích Lan ... for what they had done.   Siêu was the editor of ' Light in the South' (*), a pictorial magazine of current events.   Ironically, it was full of photographs of President Diêm and his Political Advisor Ngô  đinh Nhu, along with the editorials of partisanship.  But Siêu refused to admit he was a ' literary' henchman for a government familiar with repressive measures.  Did he forget that he got a car and a house from the government ?  Yet, after the 1963 coup d'état, he wrote in Bách khoa Magazine a short story violently denoucing the old régime.  He claimed the story was written before President Diêm's downfall with the obstensible purpose of proving his ' innocence ' .  One of his oft-invoked statements runs as follows : 

    ' A bad doctor  can kill only a man '
    'A bad geomancer; a clan;
    'A bad politician destroys  all for ever !'
    'A bad ideology destroys all for ever !'

     Lữ Hồ told me that the son of Mr Siêu, a highschol teacher, attacked the old régime bitterly every time  they met.  Lữ Hồ answered mookingly that Mr Siêu's family owed much of its comfort to President Diêm.  It was really dirty practice those days; those who were against President Diêm's totalitarism régime became reticent and disillusioned while  the  old henchmen took providing their ' innocent' whenever an occasion arose .

----
*  Sáng  Dội Miền Nam.

    Nguyên Sa- Trân bích Lan was a secret information agent who had earned a bif fortune. After all, he was not so bad as  Lê văn Siêu. 

    Good Lord, Siêu wrote book after book claiming that Vietnamese literature had a five-thousand-year-long history, and Vietnamese nation had the most civilisation.  He also produced book dealing with how to be a good man, and to achieve a bright future.   It was like a policeman writing books teaching how to be a true revolutionary.
  
    In Summer 1964, I cam to Nha Trang to meet  and discuss with Thạch Trung Giả about the collection of short stories ' Chân giả luận'  a forthcoming  book of my publishing house.  On this occasion I got further information on Lê văn Siêu.  The author of ' Literature in Ly Dynasty' (*)  had  many borrowings from him.  But he never thanked him for it, and he did grieve him a lot.  After the book was publishd, he sent a number of copies to Thạch Trung Giả.  He later wrote to Thạch for  money collected. Thạch did not want to  send Siêu the sum as he thought it senseless, nor did he want to tell Siêu about his substantial contribution.  So, he left the letter  unansered.  But the author of' Vietnamese Civilisation ' (**)  refused to give in so soon; he told a relative of him to come and live at Thạch' s expense for a few months. Was it an act motivated by Taylorism ? I used to tell this to some of my literary friends after I read in newspapers that the American P.X. had lost three million piasters on tobacco in the Saigon port.  I also find the following story so interesting I cannot help putting it down here.

----
*  Văn học Thời Lý   **  Văn Minh Việt Nam .

    Once in the 1940's  the top Japanese officers convened a meeting of Vietnamese mandarins to discuss national issues.  Famous for their feudal manners, they dressed in their best clothes and took a serious air.  They dared not smiled and remained motionless even they itchy.   The Japanese offcer said , ' The fate of the world will be discussed now. ( The  Vietnamese were more serious - looking than before, they picked up their ears, the silence as perfect, even the sound of a  flitting fly could be heard ).  Please consider the question.  I am going to ask you. Which country, do you think, is the strong- gest in the world today ?'
   
    Vietnamese mandarins remained silent to ponder; they suddenly became awkwardly funny.   After a while, they unanimously answered that the Axis Powers were unrivalled all over the world.  It is not suprising to us.  But it may be heard to understand for European readers, those who have enjoyed independence for a long time; they do not appreciate flattery and have the courage to speak harsh truths to their superiors.  Alas, these  precious virtues are without existence among small and weak nations.  But seriously, can  you guess the answer of the officer :' I know your ananimous answer in advance.  Of course we belong to the Axis Powers; so, we hold that were becoming stronger and stronger.'

    All the Vietnamese mandarins were surprised and they maintained a death-like silence.  After a long while, one of them rose to speak like this:' In my opinion, the USA is the strongest nation  in the wrold.  I say this out of conviction, and am ready to accept whatever punishment you' ll impose on me.'

     Apparently delighted. the Japanese officer said,

    ' You are perfectly right.  Please accept my sincere congratulations. Now do me another favour.  According to you, how can we fight the USA ?  Suppose we have only a handful of unarmed men; in other words, we only have a negligeable manpower, and we want the best results in a very short time.  Please  think it over and let us know what you find out.  I hope you intelligent men succeed in your attempt '.

    Pleased with these compliments, the Vietnamese mandarins regained slf-confidence and became thoughtful again.  Another full hour passed .  After a short pause for drinking, the meeting resumed, and none of them had a new idea.  Smiling haughtily the Japabese officer said.

    Your mere presence has helped us to find the answer to our problems.  You are the men we need and you' ll win the  war with the US without your knowing.  Let me be more precise.  To  win the war, all we have to do is to send about four hundred Vietnamese to America in one year.  The  richest and strongest  empire in the world will surely be reduced to poverty.'

     The  Vietnamese mandarins still did  not know what it is about.  The Japanese officer threw  more light upon the problem, with a smile'
    ' Four hundred Vietnamese citizens will deprive the US of the privilege of being the leading nation in the world.   No modern weapon is required and still we get what we want.  You seem not to understand what I am saying.  The Vietnamese will improverish the USA in one year and after that it is no longer the old land of honey and milk.   I invite you all to get out and witness a demonstration of your particular skill. You are like a man who does not know that he is lying an a heap of pure gold .'

    The silly mandarins were guided to a yard where an old Vietnmamese woman was tied to a pole, cross-handed.  The sun shone hotly in a Summer afternoon.  Next to the old woman was a disemboweled horse.  A whisper passed from mouth to mouth, ' It's a Japanese horse'.  An officer approached the old woman, and ordered a soldier to untie her hands.  The Vietnamese mandarins were open-eyed.  Another officer pronounced a bill of indictment in Japanese.  After that, a soldier stuffed her into the dorse's belly. ' Help me !'  she wailed.  But none of the audience dared to utter a word.  The soldier mended the horse' s belly, and the voice of the victim thinned out.

     Most of the Vietnamese mandarins got the intended mesage.  But some of them had to visit for the Japanese officer to complete the story :' This old woman was captured, tried and executed because she sold bran mixed with sawdust for our horse's food.  She might be a heroine once sent to America to carry out our secret plan.  We the Japanese hate thieves like hell.  Now we get out of here! Quick!'.

  It was then that the most silly of the Vietnamese mandarins felt a seizure of shame.

                                                 ***

    Many of my readers will wonder why I spoke ill of my people.  Deep down I deseperately, that the word VIETNAM will be dearly loved and respected by everyone,  and that we will be proud to speak out our nationality abroad as at home.  We do not want to tell foreigners we are Japanese or Chinese as our fellow-countrymen in the old days.   I must say it hurt me to see Ambassador Frederick Nolting distributing rice to provincials.  Nolting had done much to help the Ngô đinh Diêm clan instead of the Vietnamese themselves.  I guess he got rice into the hands  of our countrymen to make sure that, at least, we could get a small portion of the aid of the US. 

     Who am I ? Who am I really?  Where did I come from ? How did I live ? Even some of my close friends ached with a fury that they did not understand me ?   A woman teacher said to me in Định Tường High School just recently, ' I haven't seen you for quite a long time.  Mr Hiền told me that you roving man was like a bird who stays in one place only for a brief moment and then flies elsewhere '.

    A Saigon Faculty of Letters student and his wife came to Dalat in Christmas 1964.  His first question when we met was as follows, ' How  did you earn your living this year ?'.  I was forced to reply evasively, ' Thank you for asking.  But sincerely, I have no definite idea of it .'  My friend Yến was not satisfied; So, he added, ' Where' s Mỵ ? Ho many children does she haves ?' 

    Cao Mỵ Nhân was a well-known poetess whom I loved and who loved me.  Still we could not manage to live together.  Of course I could not answer these questions in a crowded coffee shop.

   These details will be the matter for a full autobiography.  But I shall try, whenever possible, to set them down in this precocious book.  The little incident I just related induced me to write this  skectch for my autobiography.  Among those who wanted me, I want to cite the names of Bùi Khải Nguyên, a poet, Nguyễn hữu Hiệu . student, and Miss Lê Thị Kim Dung,  a Vietnamese student in Ottawa who often wrote me to me.

    I did  not forget this during my stay with Dalat University students : Nguyễn Nhật Duật, Thông, Cừ Nhật, Mô ... In my solitude at home, I started writing.

                                                 

                                                 ***

     Thirty three years.  My age. Thirteen years of pursuing literature.  Twenty years of hard work.  I felt sometime as if I could drop everything.  I can say I have abandoned all hopes nad turn away from my career.  But in fact, I merely I had a lover's quarrel with the world.  A lover kills himself only out of  loyalty to his love, not because he is tired of loving. 

                                                                              ( to be continued)  

   thế phong

                                            ***

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

                                        lời cảm ơn

                              giáo sư, dịch giả, thi nhân

                                    ĐÀM XUÂN CẬN

                        sống & viết ở Cabramatta/ Sydney

                                       vào tuổi 81

                                         Thế Phong

                                   blog Virgil Gheorghiu

                                  Saigon, August 5, 2020

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