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 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. It is not closed off, but on the contrary, is ready to call for
multidimensional interpretations. From Gọi xanh/ Calling to the Blue, 1995; Vách
nước/ Water Wall; Bầu trời không mái che/ Firmament Without Roof Cover, 2012; và đột nhiên gió thổi/ And Suddenly the Wind Blows, 2009; hoa
giấu mặt/ Hidden-face Flower, 2012 to The Secrets of Light, 2015 we see the new creative
state of mind of Mai Văn Phấn. 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 Phấn – 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 Phấn’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 Phấn 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 Phấn’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 Phấn’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
Don’t 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 spider’s 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 statue’s 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 boat’s 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 father’s 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 ant’s walking step
Carrying food to the hill
Holding Your Hands
As two fledglings
Perch
On one another’s 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
What’s its name
With a scent
Of mother’s 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-o’clock 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 child’s 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 Father’s 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
It’s 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 boat’s 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 mosquito’s 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 snail’s 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 mother’s 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, Việt nam. 1988–2004: Hồ Liễu 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. Hồ Liễu
currently works as a freelance translator, researcher and editor.
To contact the Author Mai Văn Phấn:
http://maivanphan.net
http://maivanphan.vn
maivanphan@gmail.com
amazon.com/author/maivanphan