Επιμέλεια: Εύα Πετροπούλου Λιανού
About the author: Author Pham Ngoc Dong was born in 1949, in Thuy Loi village, Thuy Loi commune, Tien Lu district, Hung Yen province, Vietnam. He is a member of the Hung Yen Literary and Artistic Association, former executive committee member of the Literary and Artistic Association, and Head of the Poetry Department (2008 – 2018). His published work includes the poetry collection “Seasonal Changes” (published by Literature Publishing House), which won the 2nd Pho Hien Literary and Artistic Award in 2006.
SCENT OF HONEY GRASS
Not grand or luxurious
Just gentle, green grass
Quivering under the moon
Passionate scent of honey grass
Half a lifetime in the bustling city
Yearning for the scent of the countryside grass
The more it’s crushed, the more honey it smells like
Fragrant as the scent of love
Reluctant like the scent of longing
Arduous like the scent of missing
Restlessly the moon breathed at night
The words of grass and trees scattered
Who persuaded one to stay
Wandering around, seeking for the scent of the past
At night, the ground was drenched
Grass – where to find it now?
COUNTRYSIDE BEAUTY
Your countryside beauty doesn’t need makeup
Your beauty, tanning the skin to have a crispy complexion
No need fluttering stylish robes
Your beauty is obvious through your young brown shirt
Your beauty is wholly like the full moon
Your beauty is passionate like young lotus buds
Grass clings to your clothes as you walk,
Shyly you said, “I know nothing, my dear”
You are like the gentle Tam
Ripening fragrant fruits for tomorrow
Green young rice fields, long flowing hair
Maze full of plump kernels, your shirt is buttoned like your lush youth
You are like a ripe apple on the branch
Making someone astounded and follow you
The intense scent of longans and poetic souls
Even the Capital moon dreams of the Moon Lake
Whose boat docks at the pier idly?
Carrying lotuses, longans, or perhaps waiting to… carry destiny.
TOGETHER WE KINDLE
(For poetess D.T.L.L)
I came to visit you one early spring afternoon
Fog of the capital blended with the sky full of Indochina dragon plum flowers
The To River, where was its pier…!
Why did La Thanh Dike have no ripple on its shores…!
I came to find you as if in a dream
The slope of Buoi Street was swinging, perhaps like a bib strip bridge
Meeting you, my heart was stirred
Your poetry’s smoke entwined with my soul
Hand in hand, like a smoldering passionate fire
Persistently still, as if our hearts were tied
I dreamed and once I saw in my dream
Together we kindled to wet the night
Suddenly, the fire broke out… the two of us turned into… burning coal…
SUMMER!
Summer arrives exciting, dyeing the silk pink
The cicadas’ chirps weave the sky
The kite gently rocks the hammock, singing a lullaby in the sultry weather
Summer pours its passion into the river
Slim waist, gentle breeze, soft curves
Afternoon is like a conical hat’s tilting rim, evoking waves of emotions
I’m bewildered, falling in love with the summer
Half of the sunset, sunbeams are puffing.
FATHER’S MEMORIAL DAY…!
My old mother reclined like the shadow of time
Trembling before the altar of my father
The tearful incense was burned
In the dim light of the lamp
In the old photo, my father still wears a carefree smile
With his name in the sacred certificate of Nation’s Heroic Contributions
I saw countless soldiers in the dense smoke of war
And my father’s name suddenly shined like a red flash
My father never returned since then
Never saw his child’s face
Never wore his uniform before passing away
Father, as your son I understand the brutality of the battlefield
And the fragility of life and death
The final efforts were devoted for the end
Victory – defeat
Father, I understand that war is no joke
It’s the most irrational and cruel thing
If I were born in the same era, I wouldn’t escape your fate
Wouldn’t regret shedding my blood if our country is in peril
No one trades pride for separation
But father!
Because it’s for our country
No pain compares to the pain of losing one’s homeland
No loss equals to losing independence and freedom
My father was gone at the age of twenty three
He remained forever young, and was unable to grow older
Father, you still supports me and I’m raised up by you
Even though I’m twenty seven years old –
to father, I’m still a child
The tearful incense reddened the altar
Wiping her tears, my mother was startled
My child was holding her tight and babbling
Grandmother…!
Translation by HFT
