Poems by Thach Quy from Vietnam

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Poems by Thach Quy

Poet Thach Quy from Vietnam

Thach Quy’s real name is Vuong Dinh Huan, born in 1941 in Dong Bich village, Trung Son commune, Do Luong district, Nghe An province (Vietnam). He was the teacher at the pedagogical school of Nghe An province. From 1973-2000, he transferred to be a creative writing and editorial cadre, standing member of Nghe An Literary and Art Association, in charge of Nghe An Literature and Art magazine. Member of the Vietnam Writers’ Association since 1980. He has 11 books published. Got the 3rd prize in Van Nghe newspaper; A prize of Vietnam Fine Arts Association; 3 times for First Prize of Ho Xuan Huong Literature and Art Award by Nghe An Province.

Beside “Leaves of Grass” of Whitman

Still the living sprouting in the grass

Still the earth rhythm

The rhythm of four seasons breathing

In every cell

On my body

When the poem is unclear of words

I bend down

Silently looking at the grass

When swords and guns casting into stone statues

I look at the moss on the statues for believing.

There is a synonym word: Grass and You

The saints in heaven pointing their index fingers

Into four directions where clouds flying, not the grass direction!

Do rest, the great men of the earth

Grasses are green on your graves

Dreaming of their graves do not grow grasses

This is my own fear.

Whitman’s grass is still budding green in the soil.

The heart

Just quietly in the chest, it beats softly

All the end of the deep night, my heart can’t be exhausted

Regularly beating

Seventy times a minute

Stringing the time into a chain of my life

Don’t think the heart is easy

Just beating like that

Don’t think that the heart will

By the time, the years, be gradually subsided.

I am living such many years

My heart has never been quiet

And I said – nothing could be tougher than you

So quiet, silent my heart!

I fell in love and confused myself

But the heart is never mistaken

The heart saying the important things

Even the things I thought were so silly…

I’ve lived

And sometimes, honestly

Can’t hear my heart anymore

When fading into the horizon in front of me

When getting lost in the somewhere four sides around

Maybe it’s the heart hunch

Still quietly following the stream of consciousness

Maybe the time is hidden

The voice sinking into the silent world

But if sleeping is not too enough thick blankets

Not too good drunk, not too peaceful

Then nights, the heart in the chest

It never forgets me.

The passing years may become a picture

Will become music, become poetry, become chorus

The heart is only a practical word

Everyone’s warm love blooms from here

The passing years, it may become a picture

Become the music, become the poetry, become the chorus

The heart is only a practical word

All kinds of people’s love, the warm blooms from here

Then the mind will be tired one day

My will can be ended

Still small heart in my chest

Infront of the real life, it is forever vibrating…

The statue

(For T-T-H)

You have lived peacefully like the statue

Not a man, not a woman

Rain or sunshine

Keep drifting

Outside the shell

Sunshine or rain

Just blooming

Outside the skin

Not a man, not a woman

You have lived

Peacefully like the statue

Is that you?

An angel?

A devil?

Who blowing a heart into the stone statue?

Who turning the statue into a human?

Turning the stone into you?

The peaceful days are dead

Since the statue turned into a human being

The peaceful years are over

What is the memory, the heart!

You are the bearer of the God miracle

Lead me to the God door

Please return me to the stone life

The stone turning into the human-like statue!

Far away traces  

Our footprints are on the mountain

The mountain erases our footprints

Our footprints are on the sea

The sea erases our footprints

Amidst the immense heaven and earth

Our traces are erased

The mountain is the still rocky mountain

The sea is still the sea

Only among the people’s love

Old traces and old past

Only among the love

Our shadows are forever there

Tomorrow in the grave

Who know where we are

Immortal souls

Who know whether we will find each other…?

An old deaf man

Running to the terminal station, the train stops

The old man does not get off the train

Coming back to the first station, the train stops

The old man does not get off the train

The train driver asks the old man where he is going to.

The old man asks where the train is going to?

The terminal station, the first station

The first station, the terminal station

The old man babbles

The ticket seller keeps selling.

Running to the terminal station, the train turns back

Running to the first station, backs to the train

The train driver does not ask any more questions

That the old deaf man 

Where to go?


Go where?…