Thephong's poems :Kennedy + Asian morning western music ( TENGGARA 2 .1968)

TENGGARA 2/ 1968
Dept.of English - Univ.of Malaya
Kuala Lumpur / Malaysia

                         
     The poems reprinted here are taken from a mimeo-
     graphed collection of poetry by the Vietnamese
     poet, Thêphong, entiled  Vietnam : the sky under
     fire & flames, published in Saigon in May 1967.
     The collection was obtained for TENGGARA  by the
     young writer, Bur Rasuanto, who was on a visit
     there recently.
        Thêphong was born in 1932 at Nghia Lô, Yên Bai,
     and spent his childhood in the northemost part of
     Vietnam. He took part in the resistance at an early
     age  and has been a farmer, soldier, school teacher
     and editor, besides writing stories, poetry and
     critiques. X.H., [Dam xuân Cân] in presenting his 
     English translations of Thêphong's poems in Vietnam:
     the sky under fire & flames, wrote, " Thêphong's poems
     are particularly difficult to translate, and I have
     no illusion whenever about my command of Englsih.
    I trust that one day a poet of talent will revise this
     version and do more justice to the original ". Readers
     are bound to feel that Dam xuân Cân does not do 
     himself justice

     LLOYD  FERNANDO
           DEPT. OF ENGLISH
       UNIVERISTY OF MALAYA



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               Thêphong's poems
                                translated from the Vietnamese
                                   by Dam xuân Cân


                        KENNEDY


In a whole evening
I wander
   casting a glance at the sea
      and the horizon
counting every quarter of an hour
   while the sun appears and disappears
      on the waves

my secret sadness
      refuses to go
I wonder whether there is any meaning for life
in the wood Our Lady with innumerable pebbles
in this place I find no solace at all
the sea today is sad like me
furious waves do not cease rolling
and breaking on lonely rocks
     and rocks seem to be shattered to pieces of russet color
thousand of yers ago
     at the beginning of the universe
probably this hill was part of the sea
     with billow roaring
after so long a time
    now a lone man 
     I walk slowly, sadly
up and down this place
visit friends and inanimate things
    and then depart once more.

Sitting in the evening shop, waitingto be served
 looking at nude pictures on the wall
and hearing Western music
suddenly I realise
  Christmas is coming soon
          in this war-ravaged land
the hostess
      after collecting money
               leaves the counter
goes into the kitchen
      to prepare roast fish
yesterday the duty cook
      went to the training camp
women repalce men in all matters
       except for being husbands
I begin to weep
       over my lonely state
o my love
       are you happy away from me
today
        for dinners
              I will eat more
thinking of your beautiful hands and body
I' ll smile in tears

Do you know
       in this time of civil war we all have burning pains
let us turn away 
       not to see the obscene scene
a naked G.I.
       shows his comtempt for prostitutes
by going out of the bath room
        without a dress on
a wife turns wawy, looks at her husband and wait for him to react
head bowed
         he goes on sipping his soft drink
aware that the blue-eye soldier
thinks all Vietnamese women are keen on seing naked bodies
in fact his beastly attitude should only shame
         compatriots of hero Abraham Lincoln
whose statue was carved on great mountain
as for me I remember the photo of Kennedy
          hero of the world with floating hair
                    assassinated not long ago
since then Vietnamese youths
         night after night
               look at his picture hung over the bed
                       feel respect and love for him
                             champion of New Frontier Policy
o the obscene jingle full of petty things
only makes prostitutes laugh
        professionally
I will never forget this morning
        I came to the cage like shop
               surronded by wires for fear of  terroist activities
there were four at a table
          three Americans and a Viet woman
they seemed to be gallant like Europeans
I sincerely thought so
until the little waiter brought a small
                     plate full of cheese
he stuttered in front of an American
"she order this
         gentleman
               why you shake your head"
not knowing what had happened
the Viet prostitute went on laughing and talking
even after she admitted she had ordered this extra thing
her lover still shook his head
I felt sorry although I had breakfast twice
now I know another characteristic of a  leading nation in the world
the American woman has her own purse even after she is married 
this Vietnamese woman, the prostitute turned temporary
                                                                                 and profitable wife
has no money and has begged for a breakfast in vain

The memory of the G.I. opening the door
      of the bathroom to let women appraise his body aches me
for him Americanism simply means this miserable husband
     with gold-rimmed spectacles who
walks in the direction of the G.I.
and speaks so softly as if saying prayers
I at first take him to be a pimp
but after the quarrel breaks out
I understand the weeping woman in his legitimate wife
one afternoon
        she left Saigon for the fresh sea air
but only to feel all the humiliation of her people

After the G.I gets out to consult his friends 
        on how to right his grevious wrong
he walks in
  the red cap on his head
losing his arrogance he say softly
"I am very sorry
   please accept my apologies..."
then firm handshake with the husband
   as an acknowledgement of friendship
like the handshake insignia printed a bag
" I am sorry 
         I' m really very sorry 
               please accept my apologies..."
then a firm handshake with the husband
        as an ackonowledgement of friendship
like the handshake insignia printed on aid bags
"I 'm sorry
      for thinking all Viet women are 
                            prostitutes
and dollars could buy everything"

Still another story
every time the interpreter goes on leaves
he sees on the highway
a love starved G.I. simply brandishes
                          his dollar coin
to find the woman he could go ahead with

In my war-torn land
    every night
flares shine bright in every corner
                           of the country
deafening sounds of artillery disturb further
      uneasy sleeps of war-weary people
never have I found the image of any man more shining than Kennedy's 
now his image
        fade out as bubbles
               on the immensity of water
                     the wind in his hair
                             he seems to weep
at the Kennedy Square in Saigon
the man whose wife was mistaken as a prostitute by a man
                of Kennedy's nationality
cannot fight back his bitter tears
Christmas night
         stars are shining brightly
                 on the Saigon Basilica
evrything is shrouded in the fog of shame
        war
              and
                     war ...

CAP SAINT JACQUES
21st  DECEMBER, 1965



                     ASIAN MORNING WESTERN MUSIC
                            

This morning like any other morning
I open the eyes, stretch to greet red sunrays
             which have burned the rancour in me for thirty years
love now is sweet, sour and bitter
           my lips prick but I still hold a piment fruit
I cannot remain thoughtless before the big cup  of black coffee
part of our diet in the barracks

looking at my lean silhouette
          on the hot sands
I sadly think of my only amusement is eating rice
dearer to me than my sweetheart's caresses
let me live more days of despair and sweat
hour by hour my people are increasingly
          suffering the war fever
in the sound and fury of mortar fire, tanks and jet fighters
rosy lips of beautiful women glisten  amidst war
a young soldier ruins his future
with the hostess in the café on the beach too keen on betrayals
watching her guests with experimed eyes she orders drinks on
           their behalf
what will be left to us after years of war
           countless rosy lipped youths have died to
                  preserve bright eyes of yours
I am but a perfect stranger
         last night I lived to my utmost
this morning
         I feel ten years older
beautiful love is love in the morning
love
         late in the night
                  is nasty
the European female singer with passionate voice
makes me feel like crying
tapping the this female dog lying at  the road side
a G.I. pushes the door in
while I am sitting at this table to write verse 
        to bury sad days
the mountain not far from me has witnessed
        the twenty-year long desultory war

1943
Japanese troops dug trenches for ammunition

1965
American troops rushed to Vietnam
with the ball point pen
         I write line aftewr line
on the sea at Vung tau
         are ship and carriers
last night there was a hilarious party
for Vietnam, US, New Zealand, Australia, the Phillipines,
         Free China and South Korea
this is why I am often mistaken for another
even by a South Korean girl
I am Vietnamese, I am not a Korean
my skin is yellow and I want to defend my country
as any of my friends of other races
I look in her eyes
as if to tell her we should put old conflicts out of my minds
and carry on a new life for all of us

the European singer's voice has shattered
     me in Eo Quan Vung Tau five years ago
O sweet memory alays dear to me
it has been flooding back into my consciouness 
to me any Vietnamese girl is lovable
this is precisely why I worry
because weeping cadets
torment me prior to time to departure

o young soldiers
you will go and I will stay in this training camp
         for how long I cannot tell
after your departure
          head down I cry my eyes out
on account of communion the iron bed sweats
nothing is more gracious than highly exalted love
between youths og twenty and thirty
          who swear to live and die together
who meet amidst the fury of fire
as none will bath twice
         in the same river
we will never meet again
         like this --the graduate night
                of us all on the sands
dunes and hills crible away
and the moon shines not for our enjoyment
after your departure
          I look around
in the studying, eating, and sleeping rooms
there is nothing left on the floor but desks,  and chairs
                                and rubbish
there are women to entertain us for a moment
but I count on you
         so that later on when I become an old man
leaning on the stick
         I will sing of memories as a young man
O youths dying with head broken
where is peace that we will long for
later
         of course
                 I can't meet all of you
an army is complete
         only before the battle
who will be missing
o my dear brothers, my loved ones.

Birds warblings in the morning in the dreamlike coffea
          arabica flower garden
dry brown terminalia leaves grace the pebble-covered lanes in the park
an old man with white hair and beard
           walking past, leaning on the stick
                   is myself after years
sad sounds of music begin wounding my heart
I pray, I pray
         so that eveything will be all right
and the rosy lips of the bar hostes  with not hasten to fate
the lamps in the room will remain lighted
these things, however trivial 
         all contribute to our happiness
o my love
         I am in the sulks on account
                 of your not so sincere words
though it is my understanding
         women speak these in spite of themselves
o young lovers of tomorrow
do understand that insincerity is part of the love play
the Siamese cat with yellow fur lies  in the sun
          makes me think of a loving hand's caresses
you are walking in my heart
your lips and velvety eyes, though distant awaken on me
I'll surely love our first child
          whether son or daughter
without you
         how miserable I am
you still remember don't you
the golden afternoon you sat by my side
the setting sun
         partly hidden by my helmet
my sunny smile is for you
         in lieu of suffering people
love, though noble, is very selfish
but what I can do
         when I am but a man
at thirty I love you
my love s ripe as bananas with tart- shaped dots

when autumn comes Hanoians have tears in their eyes
I met and loved you at Saigon and Vung Tau
the salty wind of the sea has been the witness of our love
we'll pass another winter
but don't you see spring is coming round again
and very soon
        nature will be renewed
like our love today
       we'll be happy
            we'll be sad
my love, do feel more rancour
the heritage of us two
        is years of despair
o my love my love
        in order to break our solitude
              let us cry more
and strengthen our love
        without me
             will you cry
o my love my love
        without you
              what is left to me
and how can I go on writing
          to contribute to our literary heritage
lines of poetry
           of bitter mornings and afternoons
surely our country
          will lose a poet
with the name Thêphong
the sun has risen high
         and is shinning straight
         into my eyes
music is also fading away
         in the morning café.
     CAP SAINT JACQUES
23 NOVEMBER, 1965

     the phong *

   ( TENGGARA  2 - 1968-  p. 6 - 12 )

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*  ....  In looking for the best work, by Southest Asia writers,  TENGGARA plays it quite literally by ear.  The 1967 number was much enhanced by among such other excellent work, the tragic simplicity of Taufiq Ismail's poems .   Readers of that issue will know how Taufiq's poems were obtained. ( Indonesia.  For the present issue we were fortunate again in discovering the English translation of a book of poems by the Vietnamese poet, Thêphong.  The selection we publish here is a moving reminder of the devastation and waste his country  has undergone for twenty years without respite.  We hope to publish more of Thêphong's work in the near future ...

      ( TENGGARA DIARY  2  - 1968  - p. 97)