Επιμέλεια: Εύα Πετροπούλου Λιανού
His brief biography
Bui Xuan is a poet, a literary translator and a historical researcher. Born in 1959, in Quang Nam province, Viet Nam. Published 2 volumes of poems, 8 books of translation works, 1 literary refenence book and over 60 local history books. Won 6 literaty prizes.
Forever
Ancient scriptures teach: waves and water are one. Water is the essence of waves. I have always thought so. But I have another thought as well: that in the fleeting moment it exists as a wave, the wave possesses its own unique form.
Just as my body is a crystallization of earth, water, wind, and fire, formed by conditions. I am a combination of the five aggregates. When the aggregates gather, I exist. When they disperse, I vanish. Form is emptiness, yet emptiness is form. But I must say this: since being born from my parents, I am a human being. No matter how the wheel of birth and death turns, I remain aware of my human existence. I cherish myself in this human form. I see your soul through the image of humanity. Happiness or suffering, turmoil or serenity, the human realm remains my homeland. I am a human being. Forever.
Without Title
Do not doubt or question; just take your bamboo baskets and step onto the boat. The ferryman will take you across the river in time for the market. And along the way, if you look back, you will see joy blooming like those golden flowers along the riverbanks.
Do not doubt or question; just take your bamboo baskets and step onto the boat. The ferryman will bring you back to this shore. But on the way home, if you look back, you will see sorrow filling the boat’s hold, and the ferryman standing lonely at the dock.
Do not doubt or question; just go with a carefree heart, and do not look back. In the light of your joyous eyes, there is no trace of my sadness, for it is hidden deep in the faraway sea.
Do not doubt or question, if, upon your return, you see me standing where you once passed.
Sun shadow
At noon in the summer, I lay in a hammock under a bamboo grove. The bamboo leaves rustled, and the tall bamboo trees swayed in the wind. The sun shone down from above, filtering through the bamboo, creating sunbeams on the ground. The hammock I lay in, and even my body, was dappled with sunlight. I smiled and thought: “The sun is dressing me in a brocade shirt.” Then I closed my eyes and fell asleep. Under the shade of the bamboo, sunlight was dappled. The hammock swayed with a creaking sound.
Darling, life doesn’t offer many moments like that, but those moments will stay with us forever. And you will never be a sad sun. And I will never be a sea of suffering. Because in us there have been wonderful moments, worth living. Under the shade of the bamboo, sunlight was dappled. The hammock swayed with a creaking sound.
Eyes
For a long time, in the garden of my mind, sunlight has merged with the late afternoon. The love within me, once a joyful waterfall, has now slowed its flow. My soul resembles a moss-covered rock in the middle of a dry stream.
But why, this afternoon, has the sunlight in my garden suddenly become magical? Your eyes seem to speak to me of old things that remain forever fresh. It feels as though love is reviving within me.
Love is like a fresh stream pouring into my life, making it sparkle and stir once more.
Love makes my thoughts of illusion, impermanence, and selflessness suddenly become light, close.
The Moon
I often liken myself to the fleeting sunlight and you to the radiant moon. The sunlight, illusory and flickering. The moon, eternal and true.
I grieve for this body of mine, grown frail and gaunt. I am like the late afternoon that has forgotten the rosy hues of dawn, like a dark cloud lingering over a distant mountain range. I am like the cry of a bird lost from its flock, restless and panicked. Yet you, what are you thinking that makes you burst into laughter, bold and bright, sweeping away the perpetual sorrow within me. My body feels reborn. I walk, leaving firm footprints on the earth.
I often think of this life as fleeting, with only impermanence enduring forever. I let myself drift like a piece of wood, a stick, a leaf carried by the river of existence. I think of myself as a bubble, a ripple – fragile and easily dissolved. Yet, you, what are you thinking that your eyes, sharp as a betel knife, cut through the flow of my thoughts, leaving me no time to shake off all my worries before joy has already flooded my heart.
You make me wonder if the moon still lies hidden within me.
There
I’m afraid of the lotus blooming in the land to welcome my feet there,
my heart is as calm as a lake without ripples
wisdom is like the full moon shining through green gardens and rocky hills
there, my heart is not broken by chains
my chest is not broken by your whispers
there,
how can I still passionately call out
my love
