Επιμέλεια: Εύα Πετροπούλου Λιανού
Translated to English by Vo Hoang Long
About the author: Born in 1956 at Thanh Trach Village, Bo Trach District, Quang Binh Province
Currently living in Cam Lo Village, Cam Lo District, Quang Tri Province
Tel: 0982055454
Member of Vietnam Writers’ Association (since 2000)
Education: Bachelor of Literature
Head of Vietnam Writers’ Association’s branch in Quang Tri
Publications:
7 Poetry collections: “A thousand aspirations”, “White lily”, “Island village”, “Quietness up above”, “The country I call my homeland”, and “Don’t tell about your mother’s effort”
8 Epic poems: “Born at the end of the river”, “Million – mile Truong Son mountains”, “Launching dreams to the water”, and “Nine times it rained and my mother”
1 Collection of short stories: “Purple ocean”
5 Autobiography, memoirs, short prose: “In the shade of the Bodhi tree”, Hien Luong rainbow”, “In Hung temple looking at the sea”, “Pass then return”, and “Whispers of the sand”
3 Collections of literary criticism: “By the poetry river”, “Along the poetry river”, and “Life season, poetry season”
3 Collections of poem commentaries for children
Literary awards from: Vietname Writers’ Assoication, Ministry of National Defense (3 times), Arts newspaper, Military Literature magazine, Kim Dong publishing house, Hanoians newspaper, Cua Viet magazine…
Work experience: Served in the People’s Army of Vietnam from 1974 to 2017 in Troop 559, Army Corps 12, and worked for Military Literature magazine. He is a colonel and a former Head of the Poetry Department of the Military Literature magazine.
POST WAR SONG
Would you ever be angry if I hug your nemesis
forty years after the day US bombs stormed the village
burning night, nightful of explosive charge
At night, we became five orphans
Moarning you
I moarned three days
three months, three years…
Forty years
mẹ the incense stick is bursting into tears on your memorial day
but today, mother, I could not
refuse to give the former enemy roses
They flew across the Pacific Ocean on Poetry wings
and cried on my shoulder, mother!
(There are veterans who haven’t left their houses after war ended, they came to Vietnam seeking to heal)
Instead of hatred
I gave them my long gone dream of you:
the fine smoke above village roof murmurs
sings a song as if
you just brought home for me a persimmon
from the village market smelled of fresh autumn
And, I believe that your song
shall heal all the deep wounds
that the beginning
is nothing more than the flimpsy smoke
that draws an afernoon so blue above our village…
LOOKING FOR THE LITTLE COIN
The little coin that you gave me years and years ago
lost in the grass, haven’t been found
silver shiny little coin
why on earth I was made finding it?
I remember the village quarter that is sheltered by green bamboo
a touching straw roof under rain and sun
mom’s life is misery, empty handed
collect every single panicle that soaked of sun!
Mother’s cloak covers storm from all around
so as to bring me a peaceful life
all household goods are thriftily saved
you collect every single letter, every single word for me…
The dropped little coin
didn’t get a chance to comfort you
thoughtless as a child
fond of joy, lost its way home
The little coin burried in dirt
laying somewhere around after decades
letting me, not that little anymore
empty mindedly looking for that little of a coin
CARRY YOU ON MY POETRY BIKE
No billionaire on earth shall possess this bike
for it is made by my only love for you
splendid poetry bike
rides from day til night
On the spin of a green planet
I praise you like I praise a river
flows passionately for having forgotten that itself had been flowing
I praise you like I praise a paddy field
The delta’s carrying pole carries aroma
I praise you like I praise a house
in which countless sweet memories are kept
As love is ours we have the right to sing
to the blue sky that just been reconstructed after the last summer rain
as we love each other we have the right to let our leaves fall
down onto golden wind shades of autumn
Modest and charming as you are
when clothes oversleep…
YOUR HAIR WHISPERS
At night, tree’s canopy gets more infatuate
they thank darkness for having covered them a mystery cloak
like your hair
more charming by the night
At late night, tree’s canopy is bright stars’ shelter
the hair by the night and the rain’s relaxation are so much alike
they understand that they have the right to move
Standing under tree’s canopy I hear you calling
The call that leans twenty three point five degree
I hug you like I hug my planet
in a blue galaxy
Night of love is tree’s chlorofyl
that’s what your hair whispered…
