Επιμέλεια Εύα Πετροπούλου Λιανού
Poems by Thach Quy
Poet Thach Quy from Vietnam
Thach Quy’s real name is Vuong Dinh Huan, born in 1941 in Dong Bich village, Trung Son commune, Do Luong district, Nghe An province (Vietnam). He was the teacher at the pedagogical school of Nghe An province. From 1973-2000, he transferred to be a creative writing and editorial cadre, standing member of Nghe An Literary and Art Association, in charge of Nghe An Literature and Art magazine. Member of the Vietnam Writers’ Association since 1980. He has 11 books published. Got the 3rd prize in Van Nghe newspaper; A prize of Vietnam Fine Arts Association; 3 times for First Prize of Ho Xuan Huong Literature and Art Award by Nghe An Province.
Beside “Leaves of Grass” of Whitman
Still the living sprouting in the grass
Still the earth rhythm
The rhythm of four seasons breathing
In every cell
On my body
When the poem is unclear of words
I bend down
Silently looking at the grass
When swords and guns casting into stone statues
I look at the moss on the statues for believing.
There is a synonym word: Grass and You
The saints in heaven pointing their index fingers
Into four directions where clouds flying, not the grass direction!
Do rest, the great men of the earth
Grasses are green on your graves
Dreaming of their graves do not grow grasses
This is my own fear.
Whitman’s grass is still budding green in the soil.
The heart
Just quietly in the chest, it beats softly
All the end of the deep night, my heart can’t be exhausted
Regularly beating
Seventy times a minute
Stringing the time into a chain of my life
Don’t think the heart is easy
Just beating like that
Don’t think that the heart will
By the time, the years, be gradually subsided.
I am living such many years
My heart has never been quiet
And I said – nothing could be tougher than you
So quiet, silent my heart!
I fell in love and confused myself
But the heart is never mistaken
The heart saying the important things
Even the things I thought were so silly…
I’ve lived
And sometimes, honestly
Can’t hear my heart anymore
When fading into the horizon in front of me
When getting lost in the somewhere four sides around
Maybe it’s the heart hunch
Still quietly following the stream of consciousness
Maybe the time is hidden
The voice sinking into the silent world
But if sleeping is not too enough thick blankets
Not too good drunk, not too peaceful
Then nights, the heart in the chest
It never forgets me.
The passing years may become a picture
Will become music, become poetry, become chorus
The heart is only a practical word
Everyone’s warm love blooms from here
The passing years, it may become a picture
Become the music, become the poetry, become the chorus
The heart is only a practical word
All kinds of people’s love, the warm blooms from here
Then the mind will be tired one day
My will can be ended
Still small heart in my chest
Infront of the real life, it is forever vibrating…
The statue
(For T-T-H)
You have lived peacefully like the statue
Not a man, not a woman
Rain or sunshine
Keep drifting
Outside the shell
Sunshine or rain
Just blooming
Outside the skin
Not a man, not a woman
You have lived
Peacefully like the statue
Is that you?
An angel?
A devil?
Who blowing a heart into the stone statue?
Who turning the statue into a human?
Turning the stone into you?
The peaceful days are dead
Since the statue turned into a human being
The peaceful years are over
What is the memory, the heart!
You are the bearer of the God miracle
Lead me to the God door
Please return me to the stone life
The stone turning into the human-like statue!
Far away traces
Our footprints are on the mountain
The mountain erases our footprints
Our footprints are on the sea
The sea erases our footprints
Amidst the immense heaven and earth
Our traces are erased
The mountain is the still rocky mountain
The sea is still the sea
Only among the people’s love
Old traces and old past
Only among the love
Our shadows are forever there
Tomorrow in the grave
Who know where we are
Immortal souls
Who know whether we will find each other…?
An old deaf man
Running to the terminal station, the train stops
The old man does not get off the train
Coming back to the first station, the train stops
The old man does not get off the train
The train driver asks the old man where he is going to.
The old man asks where the train is going to?
The terminal station, the first station
The first station, the terminal station
The old man babbles
The ticket seller keeps selling.
Running to the terminal station, the train turns back
Running to the first station, backs to the train
The train driver does not ask any more questions
That the old deaf man
Where to go?
And
Go where?…
