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voices from vietnam: hoang khoi phong — the phong — tran thi tue mai — van nguyen duong (TENGGARA 6 / Kuala Lumpur 1973)

voices from vietnam:

hoàng khoi phong– the phong–

tran thi tue mai — van nguyen duong

TENGGARA 6/ Kuala Lumpur 197 3

TENGGARA 6

(Department of English — University of Malaya

— Kuala Lumpur/ Malaysia).

VOICES FROM VIETNAM *

T RANSLATED BY DAM XUAN CAN

Hoang Khoi Phong

My Legacy to you

This is for HUONG.

When I am near you I can never think of tomorrow

Because of mixed feelings in my heart.

My joy-lit eyes suddenly darken

When I think of long, cold nights without you.

I can only think for the future

Awakening at midnight inside the tent

not much higher than the grass;

Lying ready for the night battle

the wind blowing in my hair.

I can also plan for thew future

When I come back to the boarding-house following the fight

In the room empty of everything

Apart from the table de nuit with your portrait on it,

A mess of dirty dresses,

and a couple of studies of nudes with tantalizing smiles.

These times

I can think of a very modest future free from picture-like

prospects,

We know we cannot hope to have happiness, living on

plain- water,

I could by

a presentable house somewhere in the suburbs,

And a bicycle to ride to work twice a day.

We do not need barbed wire fences around the house,

nobody envies the land;

But it should have a flower garden for you.

Alas,

these things

though modest

seem to be beyond our reach.

I want to rise higher

but my knees re tired already.

Besides, fate seldom fails to play fatal dirty tricks on me

So, a second thought comes to minds :

In the event of my death

Though I cease to breathe

I will provide for you all the same.

What else can I leave you ?

The tent which shelters me through the nights won’t do for

any worthwhile purpose ;

A best it could be set up as a make shift selling stall,

It cannot be used for living

in a townful of buildings.

Let me think some more …

They are of no earthy use — the rusty sliver and copper medals

Awarded to me before my journey into death’s country ;

They deserve to be pinned to the coat hanger as relics of

this war.

Let me see again …

My posthumous twelve-month gratuity

Will amount to something like one hundred thousand piasters

(because of the recent pay rise) ;

You will see it’s a very handy sum of money, roughly the price

of the vespa

— but a vespa will not be much use

Unless I am there to take you for an evening drive,

I do not have the heart to leave to you my sorrows as a youth,

I have already paid for them toiling and facing dangers

perspiring and bleeding

Throughout my miserable career.

O darling,

there is one precious thing I would like to give to you,

The thing I do not hesitate to die for

PEACE!

If God is

Hd’ll do the same.

That’s right, my dear,

PEACE!

With peace you’ll have plenty of genuine happiness.

* Selected from Voices , (Dai Nam Van Hien Books 1971).

hoang khoi phong [i.e. nguyen vinh hien 1943- ]

(photo retouché by phan nguyen)

The Phong

translated by Dam Xuan Can

What I choose in this mad World.

I choose autumn, pine forest and sad sunshine ;

I give up writing poetry

and will not torture myself anymore

Do me a favour, my solemn-faced and wise wife.

Say to me,

“Burn a fire! Hang the mosquito-net!”

I am the voluntary slave who is full contented.

Let us have a long sleep,

O wife, sons and daughters !

Tomorrow morning

we’ll wake up early

set out to grow vegetables.

Outside the hedge

near the farm gate

We’ll put up a board “Trespasser Will Be Prosecuted”

In all the languages of the world.

1964

Tran thi Tue Mai

translated by Dam Xuan Can

tran thi tue mai

[i.e. tran thi gia minh 1923- saigon 1983]

( photo: internet)

Way to look at things at dawn

Here I am with the long night

Of days in the past and the future

The late carriage hastily bids farewell to the sad streets ;

The time-ground wheels still go round and round;

Lofty trees cast shadows on the road,

While the leaves are waiting for the wind, and the branches

pitying the leaves.

Here I am with the deep night,

Bewildered with love and tormented by hate ;

Nothing is left in my arms,

Spring is only a useless and bitter memory.

Here I am with the long night,

With myself scattered on the open book and out in the rain-

tapped yard.

Embracing the flowery land

Is not enough to express my d boundless and compassionate

love and hope.

Here I am with the deep night.

My shoulders suddenly ache under the weight of history ;

Roads, far and near, are choked with the smell of history;

Whatever the name, my country is the testing site of war.

What is left? What is still amendable ?

Thousand of eyes are watching each other with rising despair.

In the long night, here I am

Awakened within the blood — mine and my people’.

Ups and downs of life should not dishearten us ;

We will survive, we will survive

I am still with the tender night

My arms open, I look forward to watching things at dawn.

July the twentieth *

Nine o’ clock at night;

The Faculty of Arts campus is packed as on festival night.

I sneak in

The fire has risen high ;

Shoulder to shoulder in a circle

We assemble around the fire

The fire is burning hot :

-let us all sleep not.

Sleep not!

After years of intolerable ignorance

The call is thundering in every direction.

Wake up. We cannot indulge in sleep anymore.

Stand up! March !

The turning of history is here

We have had too much bloodshed and misery in this

wretched land ;

We will no longer stand such cruel humiliation ;

We are all children of Trung Vuong, Tran hung Dạo,

Quang Trung, Le Loi,

Keep on marching ! says the voice yesterday.

Clear the trail! is today’s call.

His voice resounding

The young speaker on the platform delivers the message ;

The starlight in his eyes he walks out to the road

Screaming in the fog and wind

The young and brave demonstrate

To wake up the town.

Sleep not to-night!

July the Twentieth

Sleep not tonight!

Whether in the North or in the South

Let us keep up our anger ;

Whether in the North or in the South

Let us hod each other’s hands tightly

The hour has struck !

Wake up everybody.

* The 20th of July, 1954 was the day of the partitioning of Vietna m.

Van Nguyen Duong

translated by Dam Xuan Can

The still- remaining sadness

Give me the still-remaining sadness

Of your pair of pearl- shaped and crystal tears ;

At the bottom of the sea there are pearls

Along with mysterious eyes floating here and there

At sad as your tear-glistening face in the night light

Christmas night wakes my memory

With music in the background

Accompanying the worn-out song ‘Desperate Frontier

Love’

I see your wet eyes

And crystal tears dissolve in my body

drop water of lip-burning gin.

My heart bitterly grieves as in a dream

You have become tears yourself,

O my old flame, now the wife of PHIEN,

The chap used to sing the song, and was always by

my side

In battles on green paddies ;

With his beautiful voice he took you from my hands.

You have moved on the dancing floor in the dim light

As on the desert of life to the waltz of the century of

wars,

The waltz you PHIEN and I liked so well.

You moved from country to town,

I from the partition line to the South

And poor PHIEN became a war casualty

We there belong to the generation of shattered dreams.

ou are familiar to no one. You are frightened

At being exposed as a prey at the music and drinks

And the singer’s staccato voice keeps ringing in your

ears.

You will hold orther bodies

than that of the husband surviving the war

Give me the still-remaining sadness

The pearl shaped eyes

And crystal tears,

I will cry for you in the days ahead

Filled with the sounds of the lean waltz of the troubled

century.

Autobiography

I first learned the story of my life the year I turned ten,

When I started learning the history of my country.

My teacher used to say,

“Long ago our predecessors founded the country of Vietnam

Under the Sun.

Now the sun has gone down– but why in the East?”

Then I understood and was deeply moved.

In the morning I looked at the bridge sun on the fields

Where scarecrows had been set up for some thousand years

Where Black buffaloes were pulling plough

And the menfolk planting seedlings with their hands

For one thousand years my country was enslaved by

the Chinese

For eighty years by the French,

No change whatsoever was brought about

So runs my biography up to the age of ten ;

The story of my ten years in the darkness of eighty years ;

I learnt more about my life when I was twelve,

I started missing the school drum beating.

Dreadful scenes right under my eyes …

My family fled to the coastal area leaving the beloved

House behind;

The peasants rose up to fight.

Vast fields were left overgrown with weeds.

I no longer heard love songs alternately exchanged in sun-

drenched days.

The sarecrows were in tatters showing patches of straw

and mud.

Decent common folk were like scarecrows

They woke up very early in the morning to watch the

situation,

At dusk they were still heading to some refuge in

the hamlets.

Everywhere we fled the soldiers wearing combat boots

We saw with our own eyes

The stinking corpses drift to the riverside

And attached by hawks and crows.

So runs my biography at the age of twelve,

At the start of a bloody war.

With the turn of the tide life changed,

Life was so sad when I was fourteen

When the comeback took place everywhere.

I returned to my old village

In the old days my beautiful three-roomed house with

red tiles

Occupied a privileged spot at the end of the village

Right in front of a bamboo hedge.

Now the fire of war had burned all the supporting pillars,

Even trees were mowed down, the trees with gorgeous

leaves,

Weeds were growing everywhere, blocking the entrance.

VAN NGUYEN DUONG

– p. 93- 99 TENGGARA 6 / 1973

dam xuan can (translator) [1939 – ]

(courtesy photo of dam xuan can/ australia)

=============

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