ECHOES FROM THE SPIRAL GALAXY (Collected Poems). Mai Văn Phấn. Translated from Vietnamese by Hồ Liễu. Edited by Susan Blanshard

Mai Văn Phn

English translation by Hồ Liễu

Edited by Susan Blanshard




 






ECHOES FROM THE SPIRAL GALAXY

(Vietnamese version: “thả”)


 













Poet Susan Blanshard
 



 

Maivanphan.com: Mundus Artium Press (USA) just published my poetry book, translated into English by Hồ Liễu and edited by poet Susan Blanshard, titled “Echoes from the Spiral Galaxy.” The poetry collection consists of over 600 poems drawn from collection “Letting Go”(Publishing House of The Vietnam Writer's Association, 2015) with an introduction by the literary critic, Dr. Lê Hồ Quang. I would like to thank translator Hồ Liễu, poet Susan Blanshard and Dr. Lê Hồ Quang for their time and effort on this anthology! Moreover, I would like to express my gratitude and affection to poet, Doctor of Philosophy Gjekë Marinaj for his role as the Director of Mundus Artium Press. Mundus Artium Press was founded by Professor Rainer Schulte at Ohio University in 1967.

 

I would like to introduce to my readers the cover of the book, designed by Prof. Marilyn Waligore. Mundus Artium Press released this poetry book in the United States and on Amazon's book distribution network at theprice of $ 17.95 (Perfect Paperback: $ 17.95).




 

Maivanphan.com: Nhà xuất bản Mundus Artium Press (Hoa Kỳ) vừa ấn hành tập thơ “3 câu” tiếng Anh của tôi, có tên “Echoes from the Spiral Galaxy” (Âm vọng từ thiên hà hình xoắn), do Dịch giả Hồ Liễu và Nhà thơ Susan Blanshard dịch từ bản tiếng Việt. Tập thơ gồm hơn 600 bài rút từ tập thơ “thả” (Nxb. Hội Nhà văn VN, 2015) với lời giới thiệu của nhà phê bình văn học, TS. Lê Hồ Quang. Xin trân trọng cảm ơn dịch giả Hồ Liễu, nhà thơ Susan Blanshard, TS. Lê Hồ Quang đã dành thời gian và tâm huyết cho tập thơ của tôi! Hơn nữa, xin được bầy tỏ lòng biết ơn sâu sắc nhất của tôi tới nhà thơ, TS. Triết học Gjekë Marinaj trên cương vị Giám đốc Nhà xuất bản Mundus Artium Press. Mundus Artium Press và Tạp chí Vă­n học quốc tế và nghệ thuật Mundus Artium được thành lập bởi Giáo sư Rainer Schulte tại Đại học Ohio vào năm 1967.


Xin giới thiệu với các bạn yêu thơ hình bìa tập thơ, do giáo sư nghệ thuật Marilyn Waligore (Hoa Kỳ) thiết kế. Mundus Artium Press độc quyền phát hành tập thơ này tại Hoa Kỳ, đồng thời 
trên mạng phát hành sách của Amazon, với giá 17,95 đô-la Mỹ (Perfect Paperback: $ 17.95).






CONTENT

 

I – Spring Breath

II – Summer Voice

III – Autumn Wind

IV – Winter Peak

V – The Cup

VI – Mayflies

VII – Running Into The Jungle

VIII – Rice Fields

IX – Ways To The Sea

 

 

 

 

 

“The Secret of the Moment”

(Introduction to “Echoes from the Spiral Galaxy”)

 

 

 

By Dr Lê Hồ Quang

 

 

Mai Văn Phn’s poetry is a continuing journey of renovation and exploration. Each phase of his creation is marked by interesting works. A consciousness of serious reflection and study of the essence of the world’s great poetic traditions, in addition to an ardent desire towards a voice of contemporary Vietnamese poetry, are all motivation to his ceaseless quest and experimentation. Of course, in parallel to a selective reflection, is his consciousness of building an independent aesthetic point of view. Therefore, his poetic world has undergone various multifaceted transformations, yet consistently keeps the spirit of a movement towards the new, the unaccomplished. It is not closed off, but on the contrary, is ready to call for multidimensional interpretations. From Gi xanh/ Calling to the Blue, 1995; Vách nưc/ Water Wall; Bu tri không mái che/ Firmament Without Roof Cover, 2012; và đt nhiên gió thi/ And Suddenly the Wind Blows, 2009; hoa giu mt/ Hidden-face Flower, 2012 to The Secrets of Light, 2015 we see the new creative state of mind of Mai Văn Phn. The Secrets of Light is the continuous expansion and deepening of the author’s aesthetic view about the world with a prosodic study of three-line composition, multifaceted but consistent. Right with the title – The Secrets of Light – it is implied a radical abandonment of the ego in search of the true face of oneself. By the same reason, The Secrets of Light opens to a particular artistic world where the interior and the exterior, space and time, the individual and the cosmos… seem to be integrated and co-emergent right on/ in the same moment of the true present time, authentic, concrete, and freshly alive proof of the living and life experience of the person. Thus, we may understand The Secrets of Light as a metaphor of time in the manner of Mai Văn Phn – the time of beautiful moments of human existence, worthy of remembering and of living. However, together with the unceasing progress of time, those moments are easily buried and hidden in the perpetual, everlasting, without beginning and without end, revolution of the cosmos. For that reason, The Secrets of Light is also the journey of free fall of the poet’s ego to penetrate deeper into the profound and ambiguous realm of spirit and creativity, in order to explore and reveal the secret of those moments.

 

In correspondence with the inspiration of time, this book of poetry is mainly composed in the linear order, following the flow cycle of seasons, starting from Spring (and mainly about Spring and Summer, the most beautiful seasons of the year in the poet’s eyes). Nature appears in full with images and feelings on the steps of the seasons. Thus, The Secrets of Light consists of innumerable moments of everyday life contemplated and described through the vision of an individual. We easily encounter here casual scenes of daily activities represented through the ‘reality’ and interested eyes of the poet. Simple and fresh, spontaneous thoughts are tiny fragments of life described in the poems of The Secrets of Light. When refusing the traps of unilateral metaphors and trying to depict life in natural drawing lines without self-conscious intervention, the poet has slowed down the swift flow of time and held up transparent and wonderful moments of existence that have, in fact, disappeared on the trackless current of the busy and dusty realm of human affairs.

 

With a mindful attitude, but at the same time with a relaxed mind, the poet looks for the implicate dimensions of living, and wakes up the hidden secrets there – the innocent beauty of life. It is not entirely an objective beauty, opposite to and detached from the subject. On the contrary, it is the beauty born from the intimate intercourse between the subject’s soul and the natural environment. However, even in trusting and searching for the wonderful in all moments of existence, and considering it as the sacredness with a great capacity of transforming and purifying human life, he does not mystify or consecrating those moments in an extremist way. In this poet, there is an aesthete’s attitude towards life and creativity, rather than, as much, practical.

 

But The Secrets of Light does not deal exclusively with nature’s and life’s beauty. The self, preoccupied with human existence, so strongly marked in the previous works of poetry, also returns and takes possession of numerous poems in this book. It is not by accident that The Secrets of Light  has many images of the hooked fish, the caught fish, the fish in cage, the surviving fish… It is a reality full of uncertainty and danger. The image of ‘the hooked fish’ and The Fishes, Bewildered/ Swam around/ the hooked one suggest the terror so that whenever ‘the sleeping surface of water’ is seen, a suspicion of traps still lingers somewhere The Secrets of Light: I cast/ The bait/ Into the middle of the dream… The dark patches of worldly affairs seem to haunt the poems of nature’s description when the poet’s Telling Wild Grasses: The sky/ Has turned dark/ Close your eyes or when he tells us about A child: stopped to watch/ a pig-sticking/ Then went away… Many poems evoke the hauntings of real insecurity in an age of digital technology when people are pursued, controlled, watched over even in their dreams: Of being together/ Filmed on the sky/ In black and white. Sometimes, that tragic reality is expressed by the author by means of a humor noir style of writing, for example: All people/ Write their dreams/ On slips of paper/ To submit to one person. Raised up into a general symbol, in The Historical Feast: Guests just sat down/ The table was hollowed/ Into a grave. In that feeling for human, affairs, the sounds of a boring machine is not merely a casual noise of cityscape, it evokes layers and layers of the feelings about insecurity and powerlessness: Another black hole/ In the dark night/ Intensely black and thus the reader is encircled in the feeling of: Bewildered/ Looking at the way/ In the dark night (‘Reading books’).

 

Thus, The Secrets of Light is not just an attitude of abandoning worldly life, turning back from existence to pay attention only to spiritual echoes, deep and distant in the inner mind. In fact, here The Secrets of Light is truly a way to help the poet penetrate reality to understand and concisely describe absurd and tragic human situations in sharp lines so that he could reach a fuller and profounder awareness of the values of life that we must have, must attain. It shows that if the nature of the writer’s soul is truly sensitive to and engaged with life, in whatever way, he organizes his images and words in the poems in a rather concentrated field of association. At the center of each poem there is generally an image that at first sight seems very concrete and sensuous, but structurally, it quickly becomes a productive, significant element. The natural conciseness of Mai Văn Phn’s three-line poems is an original creation of value, but on the other side, it implies a challenge to the reader: to recognize beauty and value, the reader has to be a co-creator with the poet.

 

Accuracy, serenity, and nobility seem to be the overwhelming aesthetic characteristics of The Secrets of Light. Accuracy in the observation, serenity in the state of mind and creativity, way of life to be selected, in whatever way of writing to be chosen, the authentic voice of existence would find the means to be present in their work. The pressure of the three-line style compels Mai Văn Phn to adopt the conciseness of expression, in a symbolic form, but nonetheless we may see the clear-cut and resolute manner of the author’s attitude. Viewed from this angle, the modernity in the meaning of the author’s close attachment to contemporary life, is very marked.

 

Realizing and comprehending human existence and the cosmos in the depths of universal principles has, become a style of Mai Văn Phn’s aesthetic thinking and this has powerfully influenced the composition of his poems. In this way, the author frequently shows a nobility in the expression of speech. The precision of the observing eye, the ability to discover latent relationships between things and events, the generalizing capacity, and the justness of words used are readily found in the text. But the real connection of the above elements is in fact the rich instinct of poetry, the abundance and humanity of the heart of a person who discovers oneself in the communication with present existence, with plants and seasons, with all creatures, the living as well as the dead, right in the present time and also in distant and mysterious spheres. This blots out the feeling of the sharp rational mind in some other books of poems by the same author. It gives the reader a sense of warmth, together with a natural symbolic aspect in poetics. That is a particular capacity of the author’s sensitive and rich soul.

 

In that way, the moment is truly Mai Văn Phn’s philosophy of life and art. The moment may offer people to see through the secrets of the cosmos and spirit. In the moment, we may see infinity. It is not easy to live and create in every moment. It compels the artist to ceaselessly overcome oneself to go forward. But, perhaps, that challenge is exactly what constitutes the true beauty and meaning of existence and creativity.

 

 6 December 2015

L.H.Q

 

 

 

 

 

I – SPRING BREATH

 

 

 

 

Towards the Sun

 

The worm

And the young leaf

Are close enough

 

 

 

 

During the Storm

 

A sprout rises 

Face to face

With the mountain

 

 

 

 

The Earth

 

Grasps the roots

The leaves hold sky in their mouths

As the sap rises and falls

 

 

 

 

Spring Rain

 

Infuses into the mountain

In deep caves

Massive showers

 

 

 

 

Young Grasses

 

Struck with dew

Wait for passing clouds

In mindfulness

 

 

 

 

One Bean Seed

 

In the glass bottle

Near the open window

An evening star

 

 

 

 

My Seed

 

You sowed

And let go

Has germinated

 

 

 

 

The Rain

 

Divides each drop

Equally

Between the horse and me

 

 

 

 

Foot Washing

 

Sharing a shower

With grasses

And some ants

 

 

 

 

The Buffalo Calf

 

Satiated after suckling

Looks at green grass

And its mother

 

 

 

 

The New Season

 

The canopy of leaves

Gathered dew

The tree was sweating

 

 

 

 

The Fault of Rain

 

We

Shared the same dream

The seed has emerged from its pod

 

 

 

 

Early Winter

 

The bird

Sings

With a spring voice

 

 

 

 

Omen

 

In the morning

I held the potato seedling

Roots across my palm

 

 

 

 

A Light Drizzle

 

The elder

Under the umbrella

Walked slowly across the yard

 

 

 

 

 

The Steady Rain

 

Falls drop by drop

Without filling the jar

Still, I can make coffee

 

 

 

 

A Newly Planted Tree

 

Is watered

And drenched

With hope

 

 

 

 

The Wind Razed Grasses

 

Every morning

I pour boiling water

Into the exhausted teapot

 

 

 

 

Traces of Sunlight

 

In golden splendor

Each ray laying

On the palm of my hand

 

 

 

 

The Southern Wind

 

Spreads

To caress

Each blade of grass

 

 

 

 

Fresh Baked Cakes

 

Scorching hot from the oven

To be bitten and swallowed

Digested in imagination

 

 

 

 

Wearing Warm Clothes

 

Tucking my hand into a pocket

I touched the piece of paper

You gave me years ago

 

 

 

 

Walking in Rain

 

Touching one drop

I knew

Its loneliness

 

 

 

 

The Cricket

 

After several falls

Taught the drops of dew

To cling to blades of grass

 

 

 

 

Night Sounds of Insects

 

Sprouts of grass emerged 

Damp and cool

From the earth

 

 

 

 

A Veil of White Mist

 

Fell on green trees

To purify

A dirty puddle

 

 

 

 

The Buffalo Calf

 

Pushed its nose

Gratefully

Into the ground

 

 

 

 

Hammering in a Stake

 

During sunset

To support the primrose

If frost is heavy

 

 

 

 

The Shadow of the Night

 

Oppresses everything

Except the interstice

Of seed and leaves

 

 

 

 

The Seeds

 

In self-knowledge

Sprout

On a broad expanse of soil

 

 

 

 

Early Morning

 

The dove

Holding sunrise in its beak

Flies away

 

 

 

 

After the Sowing

 

It rained

I grew up fast

In darkness

 

 

 

 

The Host

 

Like the seed in a pod

Held securely

In my mouth

 

 

 

 

The River at Dusk

 

Flashed past

The hill of apricots

Invisible on the bank

 

 

 

 

Spring Rain

 

The earthen pot

In the painting

Is totally drenched

 

 

 

 

 

II - SUMMER VOICE

 

 

 

 

 

Watching the Garden in Sunlight

 

Yellow butterflies hovered

Yellow flowers

Carpet the ground

 

 

 

 

 

Sitting on the Dunes

 

Missing you

Slowly I sink

Into the sands

 

 

 

 

 

The Tired Butterfly

 

Perched on the window sill

A breeze blew

Fluttering its wings

 

 

 

 

 

Together With Tears

 

I wrote the letter

To my mother

During the sound of rainfall

 

 

 

 

Without Rain

 

Hearing the thunder

Half the lotus petals

Fell apart

 

 

 

 

 

On Branches of  Flame-tree

 

Flowers were weighed down

The wind blew

Earth to sky

 

 

 

 

 

Watching Rain

 

Merely to see

The twining currents

Around the feet of trees

 

 

 

 

 

A Change of Season

 

Thunder struck

On the spot the white stork

Had just left

 

 

 

 

 

During the Shower

 

Taking refuge under the bridge

I found out

What pebbles were thinking

 

 

 

 

After Rain

 

The moon just washed

Hangs

On wet foliage

 

 

 

 

One Torrid Day

 

The frog jumped into the pond

You cut open a watermelon

In the shade

 

 

 

 

On Top of the Hill

 

I met the rain

Taking pity on fledglings

Lost without feathers

 

 

 

 

Shower on the Street

 

People walked

Like whispers

Under their umbrellas

 

 

 

 

A Clock on the Wall

 

Hung near an air-conditioner

The second hand

Runs faster

 

 

 

 

Dragonflies

 

Fly higher on sunny days

I have seen from a balcony

The dragonfly flying alone

 

 

 

 

The White Sand Beach

 

I stretched my legs

To reach

The afternoon’s end

 

 

 

 

 

The Rainbow

 

Ran parallel

Along the road

To my front door

 

 

 

 

To Stave Off Hunger

 

Right before a meal

Buy whatever’s available

For a secret snack

 

 

 

 

Palm Leaf Fronds

 

Weaving to and fro

To cover me

Or the ant hill

 

 

 

 

The Waning Lotus

 

From faraway

The white petals

Covered the green stalk completely

 

 

 

 

 

The Noon’s Voice

 

Found blue sky

And tipped it

Into the depth of the well

 

 

 

 

 

In Dry Rice Fields

 

The bittern’s eyes

Saw one grave

Completely drowned in water

 

 

 

 

By the Expressway

 

The lotus leaf

Embraced the bud

Recently opened

 

 

 

 

 

 

In the Storm

 

Grave by grave

Like flexed muscles

Protecting one another

 

 

 

 

Simplicity

 

After the thunder

I went into the garden

A simple pea just sprouted

 

 

 

 

The Cicada Corpse

 

Fell

As summer

Pollinated into fall

 

 

 

 

 

A Quieter Sky

 

I plucked one blade of grass

To predict

The direction of the whirlwind

 

 

 

 

 

The Withered Barringtonia Flowers

 

Several petals

Willingly

Stuck to the broom

 

 

 

 

 

Harvest End

 

The fields turned white with ducks

Swaying together

Newly piled up haystacks

 

 

 

 

 

Heavy Rainfall

 

Cleaned up the surface of leaves

The caterpillar

Clung to the underside

 

 

 

 

 

Rough Seas

 

The seagull

Hides its wings

Reluctant to fly

 

 

 

 

Cicadas

 

Make loud reverberating sounds

In case the coming year

Forgets to give them a voice

 

 

 

 

Wide Blue Sky

 

The dragonfly

Flew alone

Highly intoxicated

 

 

 

 

More Rain

 

The white heron in the field

Raises its long neck

To look for the sun

 

 

 

 

 

In the Middle of the Field

 

The wind told

A black cloud

About the zenith

 

 

 

 

 

The Skirt

 

As you closed your legs

The afternoon

Turned infinite

 

 

 

 

Waiting for Rain

 

The thunder resounding

It’s early

I am falling asleep

 

 

 

 

The Season of  Longans

 

People haven’t picked the fruit

That bats

Dare not eat

 

 

 

 

 

A Storm is Coming

 

On the streets

Strangers greet one another

With great affection

 

 

 

 

 

The Clear Stream of Water

 

Ran over pebbles

I placed jackfruit bulbs

One by one on the dish

 

 

 

 

 

Waiting

 

Half-ripened fruit

Cover their faces with dark night

To reach maturity

 

 

 

 

 

The Malabar Almond Ripened at Night

 

Delicious nut

The night lamp’s light

Sheltered me

 

 

 

 

 

One Sunrise

 

The caterpillar

Indifferent to the morning

Climbed down the leaf

 

 

 

 

 

After the Storm

 

Strong torque of wind

Tides rise

Quiet and stillness of mind

 

 

 

 

 

The White Butterfly

 

Perches on reeds in bloom

I look for its pale shape

Through the rain again

 

 

 

 

 

In Garden Hammock

 

Lying on my back

I touched a bird’s song

It closed my eyes

 

 

 

 

 

 

In Strong Wind

 

The foliage waving

The nearby wind bell

Chiming and chiming

 

 

 

 

On the Verandah

 

The clusters of liana flowers

Keep on dangling

In my absence

 

 

 

 

Surprise

 

The flock of birds

Called one another

To fly against the storm

 

 

 

 

 

A Dense Foliage

 

 

Left one small

Hole

For the spreading sunlight

 

 

 

 

 

Summer’s End

 

The cicadas

Made a mutual funeral 

In tree shadows

 

 

 

 

 

The Heron in Rain

 

Trembled

At the thought of carrying

The whole flock on its back

 

 

 

 

 

The Snipe

 

Had just flown away

When rain poured down

Showering its perfect perch

 

 

 

 

 

The Storm Cleared

 

The evening star rose early

I picked up

An immature pomelo

 

 

 

 

 

The Moon in the Garden

 

Brings bright and dark places

The light settled on your breast

Shines until tomorrow

 

 

 

 

 

 

Bewildered Bamboo Shoots

 

Emerged

From the ground

On a day of storms

 

 

 

 

 

Hearing Solitary Thunder

 

The water spider

Still

Stayed motionless

 

 

 

 

 

Mother’s Lullaby

 

Sung softly

Reminds me

Of passing storms

 

 

 

 

Enter the Shade

 

To look for

The sun

Inside cool foliage

 

 

 

 

The Red Pepper Dragonfly

 

Impassively perched

On the pond’s border

During the absence of people

 

 

 

 

The Star is Extinct

 

Barringtonia flowers

Now cover

The entire ground

 

 

 

 

 

The Young Bird

 

Raised its voice

Up to

The drop of mist

 

 

 

 

In the Clear Blue Sky

 

A single cloud

Opened

Another world

 

 

 

 

 

When I Drank the Water

 

The cup was left

With the moon

Shining on the bottom

 

 

 

 

Collecting Water

 

As sweet rain 

Filled up the bucket

I watched it spill over the brim

 

 

 

 

Dreaming of Being a Raft

 

Early morning

Waking afloat

My back lashed to a reed mat

 

 

 

 

 

The Drop of Dew

 

Dangling

As the iron bell

Was tolling

 

 

 

 

The Starling

 

Picked up

Drops of light

To sow into the shade

 

 

 

 

 

The Rain is Falling

 

Water

Is scooped up

Bucket by bucket

 

 

 

The Cluster of Water Hyacinths

 

Trapped at the bridge foot

The river flowed over

To wash their tired feet

 

 

 

 

 

The Flooded Base of the Dyke

 

The bright moonlight

Appeared

To hold down the water level

 

 

 

 

 

Flood Water

 

The more the flood reached out

The more the dawn rose up

To equal the water

 

 

 

 

 

In Tall Foliage

 

A solitary bird

Sang by itself

As clear as crystal

 

 

 

 

 

Seeing the Moon

 

Embrace the tree’s shadow

I fell asleep

With no reason

 

 

 

The Perfume of Persimmon

 

Fully ripened

I inhale her fragrance

With the wind

 

 

 

 

The Storm Warning

 

A flock of birds

Scattered bewildered

I turned and walked away

 

 

 

 

In Mother’s Garden

 

Birds

Built their nests

Close to the ground

 

 

 

 

 

Encounter

 

A sudden rain

Showered the trees

And departed

 

 

 

 

The Perfume of Michelia

 

Penetrated

Through a shrub of thorns

All the more enchanting

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sprinkled with Sesame Seeds

 

The simple cake

Baked in the oven

The sky became full of stars

 

 

 

 

The Grand Old Tree

 

So luxuriant

At its base

My plants and flowers took refuge

 

 

 

 

 

Hands Clap

 

Rain

Beats a better sound

On banana leaves

 

 

 

 

 

Black Clouds

 

Release

Drop by drop

Dark crystalline sorrows

 

 

 

 

In the Artist’s Studio

 

During thunder

The colors vibrated together

One painting to another

 

 

 

 

 

III - AUTUMN WIND

 

 

 

 

 

Seeing Ripe Fruit on Trees

 

Let your feet go

Into the running water

Dont think of anything

 

 

 

 

White Chrysanthemum Flower

 

The sunset

Slowly

Dyes it darker

 

 

 

 

Nesting bird

 

The silvereye’s song

Knits around me

Round by round these silken threads

 

 

 

 

Peeling a Grapefruit

 

Yellow peel continuous

Hung on the clothes-line

Until sky turns bluer

 

 

 

 

 

 

Late Autumn

 

Tasting ripe persimmon

While seeing

Green fruit on the tree

 

 

 

 

Ripe Fruit

 

Reluctant to be picked

As if someone is holding

Me back

 

 

 

 

 

Cutting a Yam Bean

 

Pure white flesh

Washed clean

By reluctant hands

 

 

 

 

Autumn’s Coming

 

Wind penetrates trees

Change them into new clothes

Then leaves

 

 

 

On Cold Dry Days

 

The wind

Entwines

The fan

 

 

 

 

First Morning of Autumn

 

As wind blows through the back door

I calmly

Go out the front

 

 

 

 

At the End of Autumn

 

Leaves around the pagoda fall

Incense smoke

Rises up to the sky

 

 

 

 

When Sacred Bodhi Leaves

 

Fall

The wind may blow

But they do not rise

 

 

 

 

The Butterfly Corpse

 

Rises up

Mournfully

In autumn wind

 

 

 

 

 

A Brittle Leaf

 

Touching

The ground

Still rolls round and around

 

 

 

 

 

Cooking Fish in Brine

 

Adding spices

The dry sunlight

Bakes so many things

 

 

 

 

The Autumn Sky

 

The fruit are ripe now

Raising the pot

To pour tea through its spout

 

 

 

 

Yellow Leaves

 

Wait

For cleared ground

Before falling down

 

 

 

 

Autumn Raindrops

 

The summer stream of water

The white stork

The river's surface bubbles

 

 

 

 

 

Autumn Afternoon

 

One pebble

Lay

Silently on the ground

 

 

 

Alone at Home

 

Paring a persimmon

It seems a somebody's figure

Passed like a ghost close by

 

 

 

 

Moonlight on Base of Tree

 

On the altar

The persimmon

Has just ripened

 

 

 

 

 

End of Autumn

 

Dewdrops

Helped one another

Return to earth

 

 

 

 

 

The Spider

 

Wove its last web

Tomorrow

Autumn will be over

 

 

 

 

One Dry Day

 

 

Leaves from the Bodhi tree

Fell

Like raindrops

 

 

 

 

 

The Autumn Flow

 

Yellow leaves

Fall on the corpses

Of dead yellow leaves

 

 

 

 

Autumn

 

The seed gourd

Hanging on the lattice

Was withering

 

 

 

 

 

I am in the Middle

 

Of a ripe fruit

Between the skin of sky

And high side of ground

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sunlight at Autumn’s End

 

Sliding

Into a spiders web

To slowly pull me up

 

 

 

 

The Succulent Persimmon

 

Reached out ripe

To preserve

The whole autumn

 

 

 

 

The Dense Mist

 

I looked up

For a long time

A single dewdrop

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mountain Peak in Autumn

 

In the distance

You can't see the mountain base

Only a peak is visible

 

 

 

 

The Sword Squash

 

Hanging

Pulls lacy tendrils

Towards pond's surface

 

 

 

 

 

On the Road

 

Meeting the white chrysanthemum

Without an appointment

I dare not stay too long

 

 

 

 

The Wind Runs in Circles

 

In fear of

The random scattering

Of dry leaves

 

 

 

 

Mid Autumn Festival This Year

 

The moon

And tree shadows

All are silent

 

 

 

 

 

The Rustling of Leaves

 

All night long

I lay

Under autumn wind

 

 

 

 

A Patch of Sunlight

 

Laying down

Turns over

The driest leaf

 

 

 

 

Withered Lotus Flowers

 

In the moonlight

The swamp’s surface

On fire

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

August Sunlight

 

In August sunlight pomelo fruits are scorched ” *

 

Everything turns dry

The hands on fire

Give firmer grasp

________

* A Vietnamese proverb

 

 

 

 

A Sound Sleep

 

Waking up

Moonlight

Laying across my chest

 

 

 

 

The Season of Guava

 

Dreaming to be a ripe fruit

Also dreaming

To be a lapwing

 

 

 

 

Ripe Autumn

 

Thinking about you

All the time

Your sweet mouth

 

 

 

 

Cool Taste

 

Drinking water

How your lips

Touch the glass

 

 

 

 

The Falling Leaves

 

Held by autumn wind

For a long time

Before released to the ground

 

 

 

 

The Pomelos

 

Plead with the orchard

To sit

On the ground

 

 

 

 

 

The Stem of Autumn

 

Kissing you

My whole body

Turned passionately ripe

 

 

 

 

 

Moonlight

 

Stretched out

To touch

The flower stalk

 

 

 

Conversations of Ripe Fruit

 

Promise not to drop

Where

Other fruit have dropped

 

 

 

 

A Worm Lay Listening

 

To the gardener

Counting

Each ripe fruit

 

 

 

 

A Strawberry

 

Obeying my mouth

Dyes

My tongue crimson red

 

 

 

 

 

Rice Fields in Autumn

 

Moving up

And down

The plough blades sharpen

 

 

 

 

 

 

On the Hill

 

The pregnant cow

The bending rice

The bird sitting on eggs

 

 

 

 

The Milk Tree Flowers

 

Aware

Tiny white petals

Hurry to yield another blossoming

 

 

 

 

Moon Fall

 

Dancing

Around tree base

Under resplendent foliage

 

 

 

 

In Ancient Quarters

 

Leaves

Watching one another

Fell quite silently

 

 

 

 

 

 

Transparent Sky

 

Washing day over

Clothes hung up

Spread evenly over wires

 

 

 

 

 

IV – WINTER PEAK

 

 

 

 

 

The Sun Flower

 

Slowly

Emerged

Through the fog

 

 

 

 

Listening to Music

 

Frying maize

Young seeds

Were chattering

 

 

 

 

At the Temple Gate

 

Picking a flower

The wind blew in

To cool the statues feet

 

 

 

 

 

 

During Sleep

 

On leg under the blanket

The other outside

Dreaming about the meeting point

 

 

 

Snails

 

Called one another

To move forward

In the fog

 

 

 

 

 

A Singing Bird

 

Voice through fog

A bullet flew by

Silently

 

 

 

 

A Dream of Becoming a Young Bamboo Shoot

 

Awakening

Discarding the blanket

To free old sheaths

 

 

 

 

Mist Falling

 

Denser and denser

To cover bushes of thorns

Sharp peaks of rocks

 

 

 

 

In Thick Mist

 

A flower pecker

Hopped branch to branch

Arduously

 

 

 

 

Yesterday

 

A winter wind

Camouflaged

As the autumn

 

 

 

 

 

A Breeze

 

Pressed

The picture frame

To the wall

 

 

 

 

A Smoke Screen

 

Embraced

The pile of firewood

About to become charcoal

 

 

 

 

 

Cold Wind Blew

 

Gust by gust

Pigeons

Stood close to one another

 

 

 

 

 

One Winter Morning

 

The young woman

Swept malabar almond leaves

With absent-minded eyes

 

 

 

 

 

The Coming of Winter

 

Wearing warmer clothes

A sudden thought

Watermelon left in the refrigerator

 

 

 

Chrysanthemum Tea

 

Concocted by fire

Is unlike

The fragrance of the real flower

 

 

 

 

Farewell to Autumn

 

The cat and I

Fell asleep

When autumn left

 

 

 

 

A Flock of Birds

 

Flew laboriously

Into

The not quite twilight

 

 

 

 

Thirsty Trees

 

The clouds tease

Gather around

Then disperse

 

 

 

 

A Cold Wind Announced

 

The novice monk

Wiped the pagoda gate

With hurried hands

 

 

 

 

One Winter's Night

 

Fireflies

Gathered together

To warm each other up

 

 

 

 

Close to Dawn

 

A cold wind

Penetrated

My midsummer dream

 

 

 

 

Hoar Frost

 

On the river

Froze

The boats sides cold

 

 

 

 

 

On a Cold Night

 

The leaf

Covered warmly

The worm

 

 

 

 

Leaves

 

Were falling

The tree trunk shrank

Past autumn

 

 

 

 

The Winter Wind

 

Slipped through

The door

Of your perfumed coffee shop

 

 

 

 

Night Sky

 

Dewdrops hang

Either in front

Or behind the roof

 

 

 

Following a Band of Light

 

On the back

Of a bird

About to fly off

 

 

 

 

 

The Shadow of an Old Tree

 

Fell

Onto decaying

Flowers and grass

 

 

 

 

Watching the Shade of Sunlight

 

Guessing

The hollow

Innards of the tree

 

 

 

The Magnolia in Bloom

 

Remember

To walk into the garden

With silent steps

 

 

 

Seasons Change

 

The foliage

Gathers dew

The tree in a sweat

 

 

 

 

 

V – THE GLASS OF LIGHT

 

 

 

 

 

Hell Under Flower Bushes

 

Awareness

Of hellfire

Flower by flower

 

 

 

 

Chopping Firewood

 

Tying

Bundle by bundle

Without thoughts of fire

 

 

 

 

Wet Towel On My Face

 

Craning my neck

Water dropped

Nearer to suffocation

 

 

 

 

 

You Were Drinking Coffee

 

I received your message

By the lake

The water surface turned darker

 

 

 

 

Near the Pagoda

 

Sutra recitation resounding

As the lizard

Crawled across the rock

 

 

 

 

Cutting the Tree

 

To make firewood

Drying out logs

Takes a long time

 

 

 

 

The Time of Seeding

 

Was over

I took a bath

A long time spent cleaning

 

 

 

 

In the Dark

 

Reaching for a bottle of water

Its nature unknown

Until the sip I was drinking

 

 

 

 

Watching Fire with Eyes Closed

 

The light

Like a white pill

Dissolved quickly

 

 

 

 

 

A Friend’s Visit

 

The bike placed

In the shade

Announced your arrival

 

 

 

 

After Drinking

 

Place the glass

Slanting

Towards the sea

 

 

 

 

 

Serving Tea

 

Inventing a story

Let the power bill collector

Drink at their leisure

 

 

 

 

Keeping the Cage

 

After the last bird

Had flown away

I shut the hinged door

 

 

 

 

Dreaming I was Sprouting

 

 

Waking up

I saw potato cuttings

Piled up with the knife

 

 

 

 

Sitting Alone

 

I examined

One nail

Driven deep into my wall

 

 

 

 

Together

 

Girl and boy kissing

As if pounding stakes

Into the surface of the Earth

 

 

 

 

Birds Stopped Singing

 

To drink water

Their voices

Turned quiet

 

 

 

 

All Pervasive Feeling

 

Early summer

People asked for poems

To print on the new year's calendar

 

 

 

 

 

Seeing a Pregnant Woman Passing by

 

I searched for the right pole

To support bunches of bananas

Ripening

 

 

 

 

Dreaming of an Open Door

 

Waking up

I sent you a message

Fix the lock

 

 

 

 

Praying

 

Even in silent recitation

Still anxious about my breath

Unclean

 

 

 

 

 

In the Bathtub

 

Obsessing over my faults

I kept washing

One foot only

 

 

 

 

 

Sea Mist

 

The daughter insistently requested

The X-ray film

Of her fathers decayed tooth

 

 

 

 

 

Blank Sound

 

Another black hole

In the dark night

Stark black

 

 

 

 

 

Dreaming of Ripe Fruit

 

Waking up

My mouth aromatic and sweet

Not sure why

 

 

 

 

 

During a Full Moon

 

In the pagoda garden

Barringtonia procera flowers fell

Into a tray of steamed sticky rice

 

 

 

 

 

 

Scooping Water From the Well

 

Hearing sutra recitals

I wait for a quiet space

To wash my face

 

 

 

 

The Gate of the Pagoda

 

In the sunset

Yellow sunlight

Pouring from the inside out

 

 

 

 

 

While Tea Infuses

 

I watch a nightingale

Dancing

Inside the leaf canopy

 

 

 

 

 

 

My Heart is Quiet

 

A glass

Pressed on a piece of paper

Still flutters at the edges

 

 

 

 

 

The Child

 

Holding warm cake

Waited for the flight of the kite

Before taking a bite

 

 

 

 

 

Red Light at Crossroads

 

An elder who fell

In front of a car

Raised both hands to stop it

 

 

 

 

Open the Drawers

 

A set of old clothes

Spread scent in the wind

A sample of their owner

 

 

 

 

 

 

In Front of the Computer

 

Surfing the net

Without a reason why

Leads me back to the anti-virus

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Signal Star Shell

 

Laying dumb on the ground

A few minutes later

Lights up flares in the sky

 

 

 

 

 

Enjoying Tea

 

My friend gave up his seat for me

The chair facing the gate

Directly forward

 

 

 

 

 

Open Gate

 

The cat

Turned to look at me

From head to foot

 

 

 

 

 

End of Day

 

A child

Fried popcorn

The dike bank turned golden

 

 

 

 

 

 

Morning or Afternoon

 

The cup of tea

In the picture

Grows more intense

 

 

 

 

 

From the Home Well

 

A bucketful of water

Revived the plants

With heavy drops

 

 

 

 

 

The Spider Mother

 

Wove silken threads

Into a blanket

To embrace her bag of eggs

 

 

 

 

 

Musing

 

In a circle

Petals fall

To leave behind naked calyx

 

 

 

 

 

Lone Sparrow

 

Pecked at the moss

In gradual withering

Then flew away

 

 

 

 

 

The Ideal Product

 

Penetrated my hair

I lift my hat

You raise the flag

 

 

 

 

 

Awake Early

 

Filling a tub

Washing garments

Before sunrise

 

 

 

 

 

Ten O’clock Flowers

 

I'll take care of the plants

Water them tomorrow

At the same time

 

 

 

 

 

Neighbors are Home

 

Knocking

On closed doors

Becomes louder

 

 

 

 

Hearing Hammering

 

Through the door

Early morning

Shines on each grain of dust

 

 

 

 

Taking Refuge in the Temple

 

The wind blew out the lamp

In such a moment

Only look outwards

 

 

 

 

Green Light

 

The vehicles behind

Sound their loud horns

To rush past everyone

 

 

 

 

Incense Offering to Ancestors

 

Complete with meat,fish

Rice wine

Subdued lamp light

 

 

 

 

The Bees

 

Returned to see their hive

Once stuck to a branch

Now down on the ground

 

 

 

 

The Hen Laying Eggs

 

At dawn

Completes the white

With the yolk

 

 

 

 

Sleepless

 

Counting

Each ants walking step 

Carrying food to the hill

 

 

 

 

Holding Your Hands

 

As two fledglings

Perch

On one anothers shoulders

 

 

 

 

Weaving

 

Tying bundle by bundle

Sunset darker and darker

Without getting entangled

 

 

 

 

Dreaming About Father

 

Thoughts so pathetic

Beyond endurance

Make me glad to wake

 

 

 

 

When I Missed You

 

A pharach ant

Crawling across my leg

Dares not bite

 

 

 

 

Maternal Grandchild

 

Listen to birdsong

Let me pick you

A bunch of early ripe lychee

 

 

 

 

While I Watched

 

The flowing clouds

Rendered the sky transparent

As they advanced

 

 

 

 

 

A Cure for Hiccups

 

Laying one side

Then the other

Divides the room equally

 

 

 

 

 

 

Night Falls

 

Shop signs

Sink

Into darkness

 

 

 

 

Market Day Over

 

The unsold dog

And the dog seller

Look at each other

 

 

 

 

 

Early Mist

 

With tender tongue

The puppy

Absorbs more than a dish of milk

 

 

 

 

 

Sky Canopy

 

Lying back

Homeless

Breathless

 

 

 

 

 

Pressing the Pillow

 

I know that

Birds are plucked

Naked of feathers

 

 

 

 

 

Clock Ticking

 

Tick-tock

After the rain

The sound is somewhat changed

 

 

 

 

 

Rearranging Furniture

 

Dissatisfied after many tries

I stop to watch

The bird hop on wooden branches

 

 

 

 

 

That Flower

 

Whats its name

With a scent

Of mothers own perfume

 

 

 

 

 

In a Dream

 

The night curtain cast its net

Carried away by clouds

I remained alone

 

 

 

 

So Lovely

 

The boy kept playing with dirt

Grimy face

Please don't wash it off

 

 

 

 

Drinking Coffee in the Garden

 

I kept one mouthful

In wait for

The cuckoo’s song

 

 

 

 

The Carnation Blossom

 

Bent by the wind

Held by the hand

Of the earth

 

 

 

 

At the Tea Table

 

Listening to the story

Each person faces the same direction

Please take another cup

 

 

 

 

The Worm

 

Crawls onto a leaf

From time to time

Twisted torture

 

 

 

 

The Children’s Game

 

A dragonfly

And a chili fruit

Sharing dreams

 

 

 

 

A Stones Throw

 

Playing ducks and drakes on water's surface

To drive away the kingfisher

Who stays too long, loses

 

 

 

 

 

Turning on the Fan

 

The furniture

And I

All whirl together

 

 

 

 

Outstretched Arms

 

The ladybug

Looked back and decided

To teach me how to fly

 

 

 

 

Returning Home

 

Locking the steel door

Relaxed enough

To look down on people passing by

 

 

 

 

 

The Puppy

 

Stomach full from sucking

Looks up at its mother

Then searches fur for teats

 

 

 

 

Anniversary of  Grandfather's Death

 

Burning incense sticks

Ten-oclock flowers

In full bloom

 

 

 

 

 

For the Rose

 

Without warning

Your thorns

Just pricked me

 

 

 

 

 

As I Lay Listening

 

To bird song

Chirps and trills fly off

In many directions

 

 

 

 

 

Pouring Tea

 

Waiting for

Your fragrance

To fill the living room

 

 

 

 

 

Contemplating the Slope

 

At night I dream

About a flower

Missing its step

 

 

 

 

 

The Frog on Father’s Grave

 

Hush hush

It has been standing guard

For a long time

 

 

 

 

Just Opening the Door

 

From inside

The butterfly rushed out

And hovered in front of me

 

 

 

 

 

The Lipstick Flower

 

That is you

My flower

With your face upturned

 

 

 

 

Watching Birds in Flight

 

Like child's play

Wishing to be in front

Now wishing to be behind

 

 

 

 

Sunset

 

On the back of

The hen

Hatching her eggs

 

 

 

 

 

The Temple’s Light

 

One mouthful of water

Relieves

The thirst

 

 

 

 

 

Sobering Up

 

The sunset

Squarely

In the water-jar

 

 

 

 

Finding a Fallen Nightingale

 

Hold the bird in a hat

Then carefully put

It back

 

 

 

 

 

The Scent of Magnolia

 

At midnight

Penetrated the room

I withdrew to the edge of the bed 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Before Leaving

 

I washed the towel

And hung it

On the clothesline

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Drinking Cool Water

 

Looked at an ant

Crawling

Into the shade

 

 

 

 

On my Arrival

 

The aglaia flowers

Fell

In another wave

 

 

 

 

The Dog

 

Stopped barking

At the rain

And snuck under the table

 

 

 

 

At the Spot Marked by the Moon

 

I upturned soil

To plant

A chrysanthemum

 

 

 

 

 

Tying the Kite String

 

A child played hopscotch

The earth

Also hopped along

 

 

 

 

A Drop of Water on the Tree

 

Stayed overnight

To wait for

Me to come

 

 

 

 

 

In Sorrow

 

Wherever I went

Sparrows

Turned away

 

 

 

 

 

 

Meditation

 

With the appearance of

Kwan Yin Bodhisattva

The lotus petals bowed down

 

 

 

 

Daybreak

 

Looking in the mirror

While washing my face

Water rushed at me from the faucet

 

 

 

 

 

Bringing the Plant Pot Inside

 

Hopefully

To save

Yellow leaves

 

 

 

 

A Sketch

 

A bird

Flying across Autumn

Left smoky trails on the sky

 

 

 

 

A Flock of Sparrows

 

Searched for food

In the place

A child had been

 

 

 

 

 

At Sunset

 

The cluster of pomelo flowers

And the monk

Turned scarlet

 

 

 

 

Under the Starry Sky

 

A toad in a dark corner

Awake

Or is it asleep

 

 

 

 

 

Feeding an Oriole

 

After drinking tea

I collected dregs

To plant another orchid

 

 

 

 

An Old Man

 

 Lifted his net

Above the water's surface

And called his childs name

 

 

 

 

 

 

On the Mound

 

I watched

A stork

In its futile search for prey

 

 

 

 

Dreaming of Rain

 

Waking up

I saw you

Weaving silk threads

 

 

 

 

On a Sunny Day

 

Maintenance people

Brought up

Rolls of wallpaper

 

 

 

 

Waiting for Flowers to Bloom

 

I set up a chair

Four legs squared

To sit under moonlight

 

 

 

 

 

Needle Grass Flowers

 

Stuck to my trousers

I detangle the needles

Of my native homeland

 

 

 

 

 

In the Park

 

When the child left 

Sparrows

Perched on the wooden see-saw

 

 

 

 

 

A Spider Web

 

 

On the power pole

And I

Swinging in electricity

 

 

 

 

 

Picking Flowers in My Garden

 

I chose new buds

And early dewdrops

Offerings on Fathers altar

 

 

 

 

Turning on the Faucet

 

While a rain cloud

Is gathering

Over the roof

 

 

 

 

As You Were Leaving

 

A red chili dragonfly

Hovered

Above you

 

 

 

 

When I Was Tired

 

A mouse

Came closer

To gnaw on my toes

 

 

 

 

Going Down in the Lift

 

Its raining

Half a dozen people

Held in a drop of water

 

 

 

 

Horse Riding

 

Thinking

Of riding the wind

To help the horse gallop

 

 

 

 

Watching a Seashell

 

Shut its valves

I hurried home 

Shut the door

 

 

 

 

Disturbed Sleep

 

Opening the door

I knew

The moon was lying on the roof

 

 

 

 

Candles

 

Were laying

Together

In dark drawers

 

 

 

 

Early Morning Rain

 

Under luxuriant foliage

I pared a pear

More than generous pieces

 

 

 

 

Evening Bells

 

Absorbed in reading

I only heard

The final tolling

 

 

 

 

 

Holding a Flower

 

As small as your buttonhole

I did not know

Where to put it

 

 

 

 

So Preoccupied

 

Tea turned cold

I saw the fragrance

In the picture

 

 

 

The Green Frog

 

Stared

At duckweeds

Constantly

 

 

 

 

Before Sleep

 

Carefully fluffing the pillow

To prepare feathers

Flying to another dream

 

 

 

 

The Tree

 

Waited for the child

To sit on the swing

Before the wind blew

 

 

 

 

 

A Sleeping Cat

 

Watching its belly moving

The patch of early dawn

Was coming

 

 

 

 

 

 

Boiling Sweet Potatoes

 

Just finished

The sunset

Turned deeper

 

 

 

 

Missing a Step

 

I hit

A dream

Forgotten by someone

 

 

 

 

Near the End of a Birdsong

 

I covered my ears

So many wings beating

Faraway

 

 

 

 

Yesterday’s Calendar Page

 

Was discarded

Then picked up

To use the other side

 

 

 

 

Coals in the Stove

 

Almost dying

I saved another one

At the point of blazing

 

 

 

 

As I Lay Reading

 

I fell asleep

Right on the line

… water rose to the boats sides

 

 

 

 

The Grandchild at Play

 

Forgot

To call grandpa

To share the flower's blossoming

 

 

 

 

The Tree Trimmer

 

Cut branches and boughs

Protruding outside the cage

Each week

 

 

 

 

A Still-life Drawing

 

A pencil stub

A piece of white paper

Slow as the sketching

 

 

 

 

Brewing Coffee

 

Hearing a nightingale’s song

This is your note

And this is mine

 

 

 

 

Closing a Window

 

How empty spaces

After daylight

Seem grander

 

 

 

 

An Old Radio

 

After frequent tuning

Raises its voice

Hold your breath to hear

 

 

 

 

Close-up

 

Image of the mosquitos corpse

Imagine

Its bloody biting before

 

 

 

 

Rainfall

 

With a small drainpipe

Water simply

Flooded the house

 

 

 

 

At the Village Pond

 

Crabs and snails

Kept silent

When I asked questions

 

 

 

 

Prepared for a Dream

 

Listening to bird song

Laying on my back

Every thought crystal clear

 

 

 

 

A Train Passing by

 

The dragonfly

And child

Take refuge in the hedge

 

 

 

 

As I Drank a Cup of Tea

 

A snail

Slithered

Crossing half the wall

 

 

 

 

Young Voice Breaking

 

I sang in a tenor voice

About the impossibility of returning

To the sound of childhood

 

 

 

 

A Bird Flying

 

Saw me

As a point

In an eye

 

 

 

 

Waterfall Sounds

 

I shared

With you

Half and half

 

 

 

 

Kissing You

 

The bird

Opened its eyes

And flew away

 

 

 

 

The Swallow

 

On the top of the tower

Waiting for bells tolling

Before taking flight

 

 

 

 

Climbing the Stairs

 

Step by step

I remembered an event

Twenty years ago

 

 

 

 

 

The Patterns

 

Splendid

On the back

Of a wooden horse

 

 

 

 

 

A Gust of Wind

 

Blew

Farther and farther

Only the flower remains

 

 

 

Landscape Portrait Photo

 

With the lock in the background

The photographer said

Cheer up and smile

 

 

 

 

The Child Going to Grade One Class

 

Remembered

What his parents said

Do not cry, keep a tight face

 

 

 

 

Frog Sounds at Night

 

Pushed me

Through the narrow gap

Into another dream

 

 

 

 

 

The Mother Bird

 

Feeding her young ones

As the sun

Was setting

 

 

 

 

A Mother

 

Watched her child sucking

Her milk

Came again

 

 

 

The Day

 

Close to its end

I place the bundle of silk

In the drawer

 

 

 

 

 

Collecting

 

Dewdrops

The pebble

Became clean

 

 

 

 

Eating Peanuts

 

Drinking a cup of tea

Birds pecking

Moss off the roof

 

 

 

 

Several Days’ Silence

 

Hearing no bell toll at prayer time

This morning I heard

The bell-ringer was dead

 

 

 

 

Snapping Pomelo Tree Thorns

 

To extract snails meat

I felt

Deep nostalgia

 

 

 

Burning Rice Stalks

 

The dog

And I

Keeping watch over mice holes

 

 

 

 

In the Middle of Ploughing

 

Cool wind

Penetrates a body

By itself

 

 

 

 

The Old Angler

 

Fish did not eat his bait

Just dashed up

To snap on bubbles

 

 

 

 

 

Eating an Orange

 

Segment by segment

The other half

Refreshes the room

 

 

 

 

 

The Cup

 

I drank

During flower contemplation

Forever fragrant

 

 

 

The Gorgeous Warbler

 

Was chirping

Then flew away

Beyond my understanding

 

 

 

 

 

A Jet Plane’s Roar

 

Looking up

White clouds

Shattering

 

 

 

 

Looking at You

 

I changed

Into lighter clothes

To feel the cool air

 

 

 

 

 

With a Clay Bird

 

Outside

On the window sill

The wind blew stronger

 

 

 

 

I Stretched Out my Hand

 

To hold up

The poem

As the tower fell down

 

 

 

 

Good News

 

Like a baby

At mothers nipple

Sleeping peacefully

 

 

 

 

Hand in Hand

 

We looked

At the sun

Slower in its setting

 

 

 

 

 

As You Passed by

 

Did you know

The reeds on the road side

Turned to watch

 

 

 

 

Behind the Stage

 

As the curtain was rising

The protagonist

Stole another pie

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Magpie

 

Raised its voice

The areca tree

Stretched higher

 

 

 

 

 

Just Perfect

 

A coffee cup

Morning sunlight

One bird flying by

 

 

 

 

Noon Rest

 

People

Buffaloes

All with muddy feet

 

 

 

 

Figures on an Ancient Dish

 

A poor scholar

Watching the moon

White trousers faded background

 

 

 

 

A Challenge for a Grandchild

 

I dare you to become a kite

Sleep well

The bandage is nearly dry

 

 

 

 

Burning Worldly Goods

 

Of the recently deceased

The acrid smoke

Of medicines

 

 

 

 

An Arched Window

 

Seemed from a distance

 Like embers of coal

 Endlessly burning

 

 

 

 

 

A Pine Tree

 

The child

Took care

To draw its needles

 

 

 

 

The Rain Ceased at Midnight

 

The roof

Perhaps

Was not yet clean

 

 

 

 

 

VI – MAYFLIES

 

 

 

 

 

Strong Wind

 

Snatched

Dewdrops

From mouths of green grass

 

 

 

 

Ladybird Near The Meeting

 

Heard the plan 

Too frightened

To fly away

 

 

 

 

On The Arboured Tree

 

The bird

Came to perch

On yesterday’s branch 

 

 

 

 

On Writer Nguyên Hồng’s Statue

 

His beard

Shared sunlight

With a white butterfly

 

 

 

 

By The Newly Fallen Tree

 

The bird

Did not pick at feed

Only bowed its head

 

 

 

 

Out of Tune

 

The candle-tree nuts

Dropped

Outside the brick yard

 

 

 

 

Reading the Fifteenth-century Nguyễn Bỉnh Khiêm’s Oracles

 

The book binding

Kept those characters

For over five hundred years

 

 

 

 

Sound of Stone Blasting in the Mines

 

Outside clouded by dust

I rearrange the furniture

Indoors

 

 

 

 

The First Lesson

 

The child

Wore new trousers

Too many zippered pockets

 

 

 

 

Corpse of an Earthworm

 

Close to a dirt hole

Was it a departure

Or a home-coming

 

 

 

 

Entrance to the Shrine

 

Leaning an umbrella against the wall

As the prayer finished

The umbrella fell horizontal

 

 

 

 

Attending a Funeral

 

Descendants were busy returning bows

In the alley visitors faced

Rising winds

 

 

 

 

With the Sun

 

The stagnant pond

And dewdrops

Become close friends

 

 

 

 

The Day Flies

 

The dark night

Rushed

Indoors

 

 

 

 

 

Mayflies

 

Rush into fire

Or

Follow their kind

 

 

 

 

 

Angling in the Rain

 

Casting the fishing line

Live or fake bait

Caught in confusion

 

 

 

 

Bricks

 

Clumps of earth

Passing through the furnace

Become good friends

 

 

 

 

Grasses

 

Everlasting through time

In a crisis

Turn invisible

 

 

 

 

In a Festival

 

Packed with people

I stop

To fasten the last button

 

 

 

 

 

The Sound of Hands Clapping

 

Reminds me

Of waterfalls

Or is it the chopping of forest trees

 

 

 

 

The Torch

 

Close to the beehive

Only queen bee and larvae

The drones are busy seeking flowers

 

 

 

 

During Waking Hours

 

The chairs dream of touching the table

The table

Dreams of other chairs

 

 

 

 

Fishes

 

Panic stricken

Swam around

The one hooked by the bait

 

 

 

 

The Day’s End

 

People

Engrossed in debating

About ways of baiting

 

 

 

A Lotus Flower

 

Blossoming

I held my breath

In fear of my own odor

 

 

 

In the Shrine of the Mother Goddess

 

Listening quietly

I heard good things

From people beside me

 

 

 

 

The Doll

 

Didn’t know

It would be discarded

This very evening

 

 

 

As I Arrived

 

The butterfly flew away

Forgetting

Itself

 

 

 

 

Paddy Rice Grain

 

A flock of brown sparrows flew down

Who knows

Which one will be full 

 

 

 

 

Waiting for  Coal to Cool

 

Tipping a water basin

The fish swam away

Not knowing it was released

 

 

 

 

A Tree Stump

 

Sheltered by its neighbor

At the rising

Of the moon

 

 

 

 

 

 

Brown Sparrow and I

 

Two directions

The meeting point

Amidst the sky

 

 

 

 

The Surface of a Beautiful Lake

 

Constant calm

Without the appearance

Of a single fish

 

 

 

 

The Kingfisher

 

Did not take flight

In the belief

Of becoming a fish in the next life

 

 

 

 

The Sound of Gunshot

 

A bullet

Pursuing

Birds

 

 

 

 

A Flower Vase

 

Taro leaves

Become background

For other flowers

 

 

 

 

At Vespers

 

Bells were tolling

A frog stood solemnly

At the mouth of its cave

 

 

 

 

People Dream of Other Worlds

 

Trees dream

At night

Of being indoors

 

 

 

 

The Stunned Fish

 

Was caught

By a hook without bait

Dangling in water

 

 

 

 

The Season of Turtle Doves

 

All fields

Densely laid

With traps

 

 

 

 

 

The Big Fish

 

Camouflaged

As if dead

In a shallow water-hole

 

 

 

 

The Offering to the Buddha was Over

 

A school of little fish jostled

At the water surface

Begging for food

 

 

 

 

Wandering Lonely Ghosts

 

Visited the fish tank

To take dry food

As no offerings had been left

 

 

 

 

 

The Dove Flew Overhead

 

As consolation

To a windless

Sky

 

 

 

 

 

The Familiar Path

 

Ahead

The clever snail

Changed its direction

 

 

 

 

A Fish-shaped Kite

 

Pulled

The dream

Up to heaven

 

 

 

 

 

The Sleepy Water Surface

 

I cast

The bait

Into the middle of a dream

 

 

 

 

A Strange Bird’s Song

 

From the foliage

Searched in vain

Tomorrow then

 

 

 

 

 

Message For a Released Fish

 

Dive to the depths

And swim

Don’t bite baited hooks

 

 

 

 

The Decoy Stork

 

Eyes sewn shut

To prevent it pecking

At the master’s

 

 

 

 

In Early Morning Mist

 

The barbed-wire fence

Looked

Daubed

 

 

 

 

The Heron

 

Stood still on a grave

Perhaps it met

Somebody at rest

 

 

 

 

The Grasses Advance

 

Open fields

Heavy rains

The soil not yet eroded

 

 

 

 

At Chanting of Prayers

 

Fish in the pagoda’s pond

Were dazed

Not splashing

 

 

 

 

Listening to Bird Song in Trees

 

Becoming aware

Of many things

Unknown

 

 

 

 

In the Countryside

 

Mother-in-law complained

About her daughter-in-law

Breaking banana leaves

 

 

 

 

Endless Wind

 

Ignored tree blossom

Freshly

Pollinated

 

 

 

Dreaming of Turning Into a Mouse

 

I awoke to ripe fruit

To scared to eat

Fearful of chemicals

 

 

 

 

White Clouds

 

Flew between

Transparent sky

And muddy waters

 

 

 

 

Knowledge After Drinking

 

Everything

Begins

Here

 

 

 

 

Warning Wild Grasses

 

The sky

Has turned dark

Close your eyes

 

 

 

 

Knowing Bell Sounds

 

In the wind

The reeds

Bowed their heads

 

 

 

A Lark

 

Singing

Above its head

Another bird sings

 

 

 

 

Another World

 

Encircled

The bird’s cage

Covered by cloth

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Firewood Drying

 

Trees

In the garden

Trembled

 

 

 

 

A Flock of Sparrows

 

Pecked at paddy rice

At the feet

Of the scarecrow

 

 

 

 

Wearing a Mask

 

Going to the garden

Flowers

Remain indifferent

 

 

 

 

Hearing

 

Cold wind

Shutting

The beaks of birds

 

 

 

 

A Historical Feast

 

As guests sat down

The table was hollowed

Into a grave

 

 

 

 

A Secret Dream

 

Of being together

Projected on the sky

In black and white

 

 

 

 

In the Enchanted Light

 

Go

Keep going

Without looking back

 

 

 

 

The Group of Roots

 

Hitting a rock

Climbed back

Along the ground

 

 

 

 

Measuring Eyesight

 

Vision in focus

Might reveal

The utmost truth

 

 

 

 

A Good Neighbor

 

Decidedly drunk

Made a slip of the tongue

‘I am watching you’

 

 

 

 

A Radio Set

 

Loud speaker

Now

Full of spider webs

 

 

 

 

Eels in Basket

 

Intertwined

Slippery

In the mud

 

 

 

 

Near to Autumn’s End

 

Persimmons

Immersed in herbal solution

Never have to ripen

 

 

 

 

Trees in a Small Alley

 

Could not know

The beginnings of sunrise

Or end of sunset

 

 

 

 

All People

 

Write their dreams

On slips of paper

To submit to one person

 

 

 

 

The Heart

 

Caught

In an early ray of sunlight

Startled

 

 

 

 

The Cat

 

Played with the mouse

Until death

Then left

 

 

 

 

The Earth Took Fire

 

Where

From generation to generation

Dreams had been cultivated

 

 

 

 

The Old Vehicle

 

Proudly

Emitted smoke

In the middle of Autumn

 

 

 

 

It Took a Long Time

 

To hear out

The cry

Of a wounded bird

 

 

 

 

 

Human Effigies to be Sacrificed

 

All look alike

Inscription of names

For the burning

 

 

 

 

A Long Train

 

The last wagon

Can’t hear the engine

Still it is pulled

 

 

 

 

Street Lights

 

Cast down

Preventing me

From seeing the sky

 

 

 

 

Dead Fish

 

Floating on the river

Last night

What did you dream of

 

 

 

 

 

The Cutting Board

 

Sawed from

A tree trunk

While still living

 

 

 

 

In a Narrow Cage

 

The dog

Could not

Look back

 

 

 

Other Fish

 

Could not understand

The fish

Caught on the hook

 

 

 

 

Pet Birds

 

The magpie

Stared into the jay’s cage

Same kind of seed

 

 

 

 

I Kneeled

 

To kiss the flower petals

The plant top

Trembles

 

 

 

 

Aware of My Eyes

 

The lone ant

Crawled

To the edge of the abyss

 

 

 

 

The Well and the Water Jar

 

Both dreamed

Of osmanthus perfume

Each and every night

 

 

 

 

On the Boat

 

Those who think

About stupid things

Dare not dip their hands into water

 

 

 

 

The Flower Pecker

 

Pecks at

Sharp thorns

But never falls into a trap

 

 

 

 

 

Two Trees

 

At day’s end

Exchange

Their shadows

 

 

 

 

 

The Age

 

Will pass by

The place where I am standing

As a blind person

 

 

 

 

 

The Bear Kept at Home

 

In a cage

Always looks in the same direction

Encircled by stares

 

 

 

 

The Glass Marble

 

Hit the wall

Knowing

It could not fly

 

 

 

 

A Dead Fish

 

Drifted to the bridge piers

Hears stories

From passers-by

 

 

 

 

The Planning of Roads

 

Drawing a straight line

Without regards

Of what’s in the way

 

 

 

 

A Bird Cage

 

The gorgeous rays

Of sunlight

Refused to enter

 

 

 

 

Strict Treatment

 

Of the disobedient

Elimination

By secret ballot

 

 

 

 

Holding Precious Things

 

At night

Everything is known

By thieves

 

 

 

 

I Am

 

Water

In the pot

Waiting for my boiling point

 

 

 

 

Feeding Birds

 

I cast paddy rice

In the shade

Birds peck at moss in sunlight

 

 

 

 

Two Clocks

 

In the same room

With conflicting chimes

So annoying

 

 

 

 

Watching the Flow of Water

 

I don’t know

How to tell

My child about this

 

 

 

 

 

Hearing Parrot Sounds

 

The leaf

Unmasked

The worm

 

 

 

 

 

Some Day Soon

 

We will look for

The dead

To ask for the truth

 

 

 

 

 

VII – RUNNING INTO THE JUNGLE

 

 

 

 

 

A Landscape Painting

 

The eucalyptus tree doesn’t know

Its soul

Is in the river

 

 

 

 

Evening

 

The mountain shadow

Tinged the old man’s beard

Carrying home herbs in a basket

 

 

 

 

The Rites of Heavenly Worship

 

A nightingale singing

The sound of falling fruit

A girl sitting on a rock

 

 

 

 

 

The Coming of Sunset

 

Leaves on trees

Dancing

Reluctant to enter darkness

 

 

 

 

The Wind Blew Over The Hill

 

Entering the house

It extinguished flames 

Of the altar lamp

 

 

 

 

 

Bird-less Forest

 

A hunter

Sat alone

Finger thoughtlessly on the trigger

 

 

 

 

 

I Walked

 

Trees walked

Wind blew

Leaves fell in front of me

 

 

 

 

 

A Spring

 

Taking water from both sides

Of a spring

Taking from one another

 

 

 

 

 

The Wren

 

Bending a branch of bamboo

Waits for sunset

To take flight

 

 

 

 

 

The Lost Deer

 

Stand right there

Don’t go anywhere

Your Mother is coming now

 

 

 

 

 

Entering the Forest

 

 

All trails are wonderful

Sit here

Let’s wait for spring

 

 

 

 

 

A Pagoda on the Mountain

 

The elder monk

Lightly

Strikes the bell

 

 

 

 

 

Night is Coming

 

The leaf

Changed its color

To crimson red

 

 

 

 

 

Goodbye

 

The birds among reeds

Will fly far away

How can I wave goodbye to them

 

 

 

 

 

The Fireplace

 

Boiling sweet potatoes

Ears of corn for grilling

Ardent red is all covered up

 

 

 

 

 

The Old Ironwood Tree

 

Stands still

The wind

Blows gently

 

 

 

 

 

What Birds Tell Each Other

 

Tomorrow

The sun will shine 

Go to sleep now

 

 

 

 

 

Together We Imagine

 

Making a rosary

Each pebble a prayer

Under our feet

 

 

 

 

 

The Eucalyptus Tree

 

While blooming

Dreams

Of another spring

 

 

 

 

 

Pelargonium Flowers

 

Fluttered in the wind

The shirt on my body

Wears thinner

 

 

 

 

 

Flowers on Pulo Condor/ Côn Sơn Island

 

Are fragrant

The transparence of spring

Threaded through shiny pebbles

 

 

 

 

 

A Huge Hill

 

Bloomed

Into

Tiny flowers

 

 

 

 

 

Landscape

 

A bow of clouds

With birds form

An arrow in flight

 

 

 

 

 

Through the Door’s Crack

 

I heard

Rain

No waterfalls

 

 

 

 

 

The Roe-deer

 

Darted into the forest

Rushed out

At the sound of gunshot

 

 

 

 

 

Lost in the Forest

 

I met a frog

Sitting

Guarding the trail

 

 

 

 

 

A Vacant Shrine

 

Gods

Taking a bath

In the sound of spring

 

 

 

 

 

The Leaves Falling

 

Into the spring

Resound

Like water boiling

 

 

 

 

 

The Little Frog

 

Clutches a branch

As river flows

From the source

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

From a Thorn Bush

 

Fireflies

Flew out

Shaking

 

 

 

 

 

 

In Clear Moonlight

 

Bats

Sleep

Self-confidently

 

 

 

 

 

 

Watching the Hill

 

Submerge slowly

Into the fog

I moan softly

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dense Forest

 

Trees block vision

I move forward

By grabbing branches

 

 

 

 

 

By the Roadside

 

Picking a flower

Such color

In a wild one

 

 

 

 

 

A Mountain

 

Earth choked

To blossom

At the foot of the mountain

 

 

 

 

 

A Big Apple

 

Taking small bites

Cool juice

Flowing from mountain springs

 

 

 

 

All of a Sudden

 

Water flooded the lake

Bulbuls

Hollowed out guava fruits

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Deep Well

 

Strenuous efforts to dig

In the hope of

Meeting moonlight

 

 

 

 

 

At the Foot of the Mountain

 

I bent down to see

A dewdrop unbroken

Under  pressure

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Squirrel

 

Snuck about

Between dark night

And sunrise

 

 

 

 

 

Reed Flowers

 

Grew high

To hide

A deserted tomb

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Eagle’s Flight

 

At dawn

Divides the world in half

With its eyes

 

 

 

 

 

 Powder Milling

 

With the sound of water flowing

The foot of the mountain

Turn soft as powder

 

 

 

 

 

VIII – RICE FIELDS

 

 

 

 

 

I Think

 

The brown sparrow

Suddenly changed direction 

Flying with new purpose

 

 

 

 

Trees Around the House

 

Raised their feet

At night

To wait for the orchard passing

 

 

 

 

 

Night

 

Fireflies

In close flight

Let me see the trees in silhouette

 

 

 

 

 

Picking Lotus Flowers

 

Having a blossom

Open like a prayer on my hand

I returned home

 

 

 

 

 

Night Fell

 

I did not want to dip

My muddy sandals

Into the clear stream

 

 

 

 

 

A Swimming Teal

 

Stared at me

On a fresh gust of wind

Everything drifts in another direction

 

 

 

 

 

Happy News

 

Hearing happy news

The girl wore a hat

With tree silhouettes

 

 

 

 

 

A Vacant Park

 

Two butterflies perched

For a long time

Without flying

 

 

 

 

 

Hearing the Sound of Water

 

At the point of overrunning

My heart

Was in the flow

 

 

 

 

 

Underground Veins of Water

 

I dropped a bucket into the well

Everywhere

Trees and plants were whispering

 

 

 

 

 

Narrow Earth

 

At the fog diminished

I thought the crowd

Had dissipated

 

 

 

 

 

Right at Water’s Edge

 

The river pulled

The soul of trees and plants

From the banks

 

 

 

 

 

The Water Course

 

Flows downwards

With opposing wind

It seems to flow upstream

 

 

 

 

 

Walking into the Night Garden

 

Shirtless

I bang against the scarecrow

A sudden shape of sadness

 

 

 

 

 

Wood and Fire

 

Trees in the garden

Are sighing

As fires blaze up

 

 

 

 

 

A Small Pond

 

With pipes set

Towards

The large river

 

 

 

 

 

Under Tree Shadows

 

Intention unseen

The river flow

 Sparkles

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Croaking of Frogs

 

From unknown places

In the dark

The frog-catcher was afraid

 

 

 

 

 

The Magpie

 

Swooped down

I felt myself

Caught in the same ascent

 

 

 

 

 

Just Coming

 

The wind

Upturned

The banana palm

 

 

 

 

 

The Tree Shadow

 

Above

Beside

Right in the middle of the road

 

 

 

 

 

Looking at a Picture

 

The swallow takes flight

Covering the earth

I see it fly amidst the sky

 

 

 

 

 

A Small River

 

With stone paved banks

Water swirls

As it flows

 

 

 

 

 

A Night Oriole

 

Sang

To share moonlight

With tree shadows

 

 

 

 

 

The River at Night

 

Flows through the village

Dreams

Are enriched with silt

 

 

 

 

 

Tree Tops

 

Sway

But the heart of the lake

Is still

 

 

 

 

 

The Hedge Trees

 

Stand firm

The spider

Weaves its web

 

 

 

 

 

The Lake Surface

 

Ruffles gently

Mountains and clouds

Disperse rapidly

 

 

 

 

 

In a Puddle

 

A pulpul

Washed itself

As clouds tremble

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When Flowers Were Blooming

 

An earthworm

Snuck

Into the ground

 

 

 

 

 

A bird is Singing

 

Lower branches

And higher ones

All a flutter

 

 

 

 

 

Here I Am

 

The sunset

Embraces

Garden flowers 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Swamp Hen Called

 

From time to time

Some sound

Enters through the door’s crack

 

 

 

 

 

Meeting an Angler

 

With full basket

I moved

Across the quiet surface of water

 

 

 

 

 

 

Suddenly a Flower

 

A bird soared up

Carrying sweet fragrance

Into the distance

 

 

 

 

 

The Mouse Left Its Hole

 

Nightfall hurried

Mimosa flowers

Closed their eyes

 

 

 

 

 

On the River

 

Quietly

The mist

Descending

 

 

 

 

 

By the River

 

Dawn

Reflects water surface

Brightens everyone

 

 

 

 

 

The Surviving Fish

 

Emerged

The people fishing

Had long gone

 

 

 

 

 

The Wagtail

 

Flew over the open fields

Singing

To sow seeds

 

 

 

 

 

On the Still Lake

 

The swamp hen

Breathtakingly

Flew over

 

 

 

 

 

This Morning

 

I am aware of

The soul of fragrant grass

The voice of crickets

 

 

 

 

 

On the Dike

 

Was I led

By its quiet slope

Or by flute sounds

 

 

 

 

 

The Heron

 

Escaping the trap

Vented its voice

Towards the ground

 

 

 

 

 

On the Fields

 

Dawn

Stooped low

To flood paddy stalks

 

 

 

 

 

The White Stork

 

Perches on bamboo

As I stoke a fire

To light a candle

 

 

 

 

 

A Heron’s Call

 

Just the second bugle

In support

Of one another

 

 

 

 

 

In a Puddle

 

Of still water

The moon

Couldn’t go anywhere else

 

 

 

 

 

IX – WAYS TO THE SEA

 

 

 

 

 

At the Isthmus

 

Between currents of clear water

And the muddy

A fish swims in trepidation

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Sea So Heavy

 

Clams shut tight

Still

Grow

 

 

 

 

 

 

Morning on the Beach

 

The early rising seagull

Hovering

While I was still asleep

 

 

 

 

 

 

Clear Water

 

Shrimps and fish

Swam by my side

Fearless

 

 

 

 

 

Fish Swam With the Sun

 

Raising waves

Surface of water swells

In such a hurry

 

 

 

 

 

Splashing Sounds

 

From memory

Or from the sky

Cry of a fish in hunger

 

 

 

 

 

 

Waves Rise on Cliffs

 

Mollusks build their homes

On backs of

Petrified ones

 

 

 

 

 

Precedence

 

Before a wave ends

The oyster

Shuts its valves

 

 

 

 

 

The Seas Secret

 

The oyster drifted onto beach

Opened its mouth

Then rolled by waves

 

 

 

 

 

Casting Anchor at Sunset

 

I landed ashore

While friends of mine

Preferred to stay aboard

 

 

 

 

 

 

Without Human Presence

 

Waves swiftly

Wipe the beach

Smooth

 

 

 

 

 

Market at a Beach Village

 

Rough roaring waves

And tender

Faces of fishmongers 

 

 

 

 

 

Lan Hạ Lagoon

 

Is broken into pieces

Of blue water

From mountain creeks

 

 

 

 

 

Dry Fish

 

Lie side by side

Parallel

To the beach

 

 

 

 

 

A Visit to the Hidden Inlet

 

Without a boat

Clouds

Are drifting

 

 

 

 

 

A Short Day

 

The clam

Opens and closes

Its mouth

 

 

 

 

 

 

Quiet Waves

 

Dark night

Embraces

Sandy beaches

 

 

 

 

 

Sitting on a Beach

 

To clasp

Sand

In one hand

 

 

 

 

 

The Perfume of the Sea

 

So salty

Trees thirst

On a hot day

 

 

 

 

 

A Sparkle of the Sea

 

Swinging

In the shape

Of a silver ship

 

 

 

 

 

A Beach of Finest Sand

 

Covering our feet

With handfuls

Of fine sand

 

 

 

 

 

Swift Waters

 

Weighed anchor 

The delinquent boat

Reluctant to be moored

 

 

 

 

 

Fishermen’s Sweat

 

Pours down

The surface of the sea

Is seething

 

 

 

 

 

Quietude

 

Imagine waves rising up

Without descending

Here I am

 

 

 

 

 

 

Infinite Sea

 

Choose a clean piece of ground

To put down

Belongings to carry aboard

 

 

 

 

 

Salted Fish

 

Laid in vertical

Or horizontal lines

What does it matter

 

 

 

 

 

The Rain Stopped at Midnight

 

Perhaps

The house roof

Isn’t clean yet

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Bottomless Sea

 

The way to the sea

Is a narrow path

Full of footprints

 

 

 

 

 

The Mast

 

Is broken

By

South winds

 

 

 

 

 

Sea Currents

 

Carry along

Schools of fish

Extraordinary

 

 

 

 

 

 

Rough Waves

 

Swallowed

The tender

Moonlight

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Boat on Sea

 

At night

In the distance

She looks like a pagoda

 

 

 

 

 

The Sea is Waiting

 

For the clam gatherer

Woman

On the beach

 

 

 

 

 

A Monk’s Visit to the Sea

 

Headdress and robe

In place

He walked down to wash his feet

 

 

 

 

 

 

Taking a Sip of Tea

 

Hearing the sounds of waves

Watching the boat

Swing to and fro

 

 

 

 

 

 

Water From the Source

 

On days of rough seas

Disappears

Into the river’s mouth

 

 

 

 

 

Facing the Sea

 

Alone

Sea foam

Far saltier than tears

 

 

 

 

 

 

It’s Early

 

Dark clouds

Cover the sea

Like a black blanket

 

 

 

 

 

You Walked on the Sand

 

Seeing you

The sea withdrew

Further away

 

 

 

 

 

The Sea is Infinite

 

Carrying a package of sticky rice

I held it for a while

Before eating

 

 

 

 

 

A Water Spout

 

Sucked creatures

From the sea's belly

Up towards the sky

 

 

 

 

 

Daybreak

 

The fish who swallowed light

Dived into

The depths of the sea

 

 

 

 

Recording Sounds of Waves  

 

Listening

To the washing out of solitude

By seawater

 

 

 

 

 

Biography of Susan Blanshard

 

Susan Blanshard was born in Hampshire, England. She is an internationally acclaimed Poet, Essayist, and Best-selling Author. Susan has written more than 35 books. She has edited translations for 9 international volumes of poetry. Selected poetry and essays are published in The World’s Literary Magazine, Projected Letters, Six Bricks Press, Arabesque Magazine, Lotus International Women’s Magazine, ICORN International Cities of Refuge. PEN International Women Writers’ Magazine. PEN International Writers Committee The Fourth Anthology, Our Voice, Nuestra Voz, Notre Voix. Her literary essays The Pillow Book, Four Recipes, The Traveler, Orientation, published in Arts And Culture, Lotus International Magazine, Hanoi. Her collected poems Running the Deserts, Midnight Mojave were included in the Vaani 9.69 seconds, a collection of short stories and poems dedicated to the London Olympics 2012. Selected new poetry from Poems from the Alley, have been translated into Bengali to be included in three upcoming literary reviews. She has also published book-length poetic prose: Sheetstone: Memoir for a Lover, Sleeping with the Artist, Fragments of the Human Heart, Memoir of Love and Art: Honey in My Blood. Susan is member of PEN International Women's Writers and a Foundation Member of Asian Pacific Writers APW. She lived in Hanoi for eight years and has written two non-fiction travel books on The Old Quarter of Hanoi. She is married to a visual artist and writer. They have two adult children. Susan resides near Sydney, Australia where she is currently completing a three book work of fiction.

 

 

 

 

 

Biography of Hồ Liễu

 

Born in 1987, in Hà Tĩnh Province, Vit nam. 1988–2004: HLiu lived on the Central Highlands when her family took part in the New Economics in Pleiku city, Gia Lai Province. From 2005–2013 she studied at the University of Social Sciences and Humanities in Saigon. Completing a Master's Degree with a dissertation on Pham Thi Hoài. Her centers of interest include: Literature in South Vietnam, period 1954–1975; and feminism in Vietnamese contemporary literature. HLiu currently works as a freelance translator, researcher and editor.

 

 

 

 

 

 

To contact the Author Mai Văn Phn:

http://maivanphan.net

http://maivanphan.vn

maivanphan@gmail.com

amazon.com/author/maivanphan

 

 

 

 


  

 





Nội dung in trên bìa 4:

“Mai Văn Phấn’s poetry is a continuing journey of renovation and exploration. Each phase of his creation is marked by interesting works. A consciousness of serious reflection and study of the essence of the world’s great poetic traditions, in addition to an ardent desire towards a voice of contemporary Vietnamese poetry, are all motivation to his ceaseless quest and experimentation. Of course, in parallel to a selective reflection is his consciousness of building an independent aesthetic point of view. Therefore, his poetic world has undergone various multifaceted transformations, yet consistently keeps the spirit of a movement towards the new, the unaccomplished.”

- Dr. Lê Hồ Quang

 

"Thơ Mai Văn Phấn là một hành trình liên tục cách tân, tìm tòi. Mỗi giai đoạn sáng tác của ông đều được đánh dấu bằng những tác phẩm đáng chú ý. Ý thức tiếp thu, học hỏi nghiêm túc tinh hoa những nền thơ lớn trên thế giới cộng với khát vọng mãnh liệt hướng tới một tiếng thơ Việt hiện đại là động lực thúc đẩy nhà thơ không ngừng hăng hái tìm kiếm và thử nghiệm. Dĩ nhiên, song song với việc tiếp thu có chọn lọc là ý thức xây dựng một thẩm mĩ quan cá nhân độc lập. Bởi vậy, thế giới thơ ông dù biến đổi hết sức phong phú, đa dạng song vẫn rất nhất quán ở tinh thần vận động hướng về cái mới, không hoàn tất."

TS. Lê Hồ Quang



 

 

 

 Direct Line: 214-810-8614. Email: map@mundusartiumpress.org








Mundus Artium Press Offices

 

 

 

 

 

Designed by Prof. Marilyn Waligore

 










 

 






image advertisement
image advertisement
image advertisement




























Thiết kế bởi VNPT | Quản trị