kennedy + asian morning western music: poems by the phong - TENGGARA

TENGGARA Vol. 2. No 1- 1968
Dept. of English/ Univ. of Malaya
Kuala Lumpur.

             kennedy + asian morning western music 
                                         poems by the phong
                                                                       TRANSLATED BY DAM XUAN CAN

                                                                        The Phong [1923-       ]

  THE POEMS reprinted here are taken from a mimeographed collection of poetry by the Vietnamese                             The Phong, entiled Vietnam :  the sky under the flames, published in Saigon in May 1967.  The colle tion was obtained for TENGGARA by the young writer Bur Rasuanto, who was on a visit there recently.
        The Phong was born in 1932 at Nghie Lo, Yen Bai, and spent his childhood in the nothernmo  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, poems and critiques.  Dam Xuan Can in presenting his  English translation of The Phong's poems in Vietnam: the sky under firea and flames, wrote, " The Phong's poems are particularly difficult to translate,ans I have no illusions whatever about my commandof English.  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 Xuan Can do not himself justice.        TENGGARA


                                                         Kennedy

         In a whole morning
         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 very sadness 
              refuses to go
         I wonder whether there is any meaning of life
         in the wood Our Lady with imnumerable pebbes 
         in this place I find no solace at all
         the see 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 years ago 
                 at the beginning of the universe 
         probably this hill was part of the sea 
                 will billows 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, waiting to be served 
         looking at nude pictures on the wall 
         and hearing Western music 
         suddenly I realise 
               Christmas is coming soon 
                      in this 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 replace 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 dinner 
                  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 haves burning pains
       let us turn away 
            not to see the obscene scene
       a naked G.I.
           shows his contempt for prostitutes
       by going out of the bathroom
          without a dress on  
       a wife turns away, looks at the husband and waits for him to react  
       head bowed 
          he goes on sipping his soft drink
       aware that the blue-eyed soldier
       thinks all Vietnamese women are keen on seeing naked bodies
       in fact his beastly attitude should only shame 
           compatriots of hero Abraham Lincoln
      whose statue was carved on a 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 obscure jingle fall o petty things 
       only make prostitutes laugh
                 professionally
       I will never forget the morning 
           I came to the cage-like shop
       surrounded 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 as small plate full of cheese 
       he stuttered in front of an American 
       "she orders this 
             gentleman 
                  why you shake your head"
       not knowing what had happened  
       the Viet prostitute wen 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 breakfasted 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 nad 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 womenis his legitimate wife 
       one afternoon
           she left Saigon for the fresh see 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 says softly
       "I'm sorry
              I'm really very sorry
                   please accept my apologies..." 
       then a firm handshake with the husband
       as an acknowledgement of friendship 
       like the handshake insignia printed on aid bags   
       "I'm sorry for thinking all Vietnamese are prostitutes
       and dollars could buy everything"

       Still another story
       every time the interpreter goes on leave
       he see on the highway 
       a love- starved G.I. simply brandishes his dolla coin 
       to find the woman he could go ahead with 
       in my war-town 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 
           fades 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 shinning brightly 
                on the Saigon Basilica 
      everything is shrouded in the fog of shame
           war 
              and 
                  war ...

                                                               cap Saint Jacques
                                                                                                   21st  December, 1965



                             Asian morning Western music

                                                                             to VU THI TY

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


       looking at my lean sihouette
           on the hot sands
       I sadly think my only amusement in 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 cafe on the beach too keen on betrayals 
       watching her guests with experienced eyes she orders drinks on
           their behalf  
       what will be left in 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 in 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 paasionate voice 
      makes me feel like crying 
      tapping the thin female dog lying at the road side 
      a G.I. pushes the door in 
      while I am sitting at this table in 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 after line 
      on the sea at Vung Tau
          are ships and carriers
      last night there was a hilarious party
      for Vietnam , U.S. New Zealand, Australia, the Philippines,
               Free China and South Korea 
      this is why I am often mistaken for another
      even by a South Korean girl
      I am Vietnmese, 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 our mind
      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 always dear to me 
      it had been flooding back into my consciouness
      to me any Vietnmaese girl is lovable
      this is precisely why i worry
      because weeping cadets
      torment me prior to time of departure
   
      o young soldiers 
     you will go and I will stay in the 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 precious than highly exalted love
    between youths of twenty and thirty
         who meet amidst the futy of fire
    as none will bathe twice
         in the same river
    we will never meet again
         like this -- the graduation night 
             of us all on the sands 
    dunes and hills crumble away  
        and the moon shines not for our enjoyment
    after your departure 
        I look around 
    in the studying, eating an 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 heads broken 
    where is peace that we eill 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 warnings 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 
    and sounds of music begin wounding my heart
    I pray, I pray 
        so that everything will be all right
    and the rosy lips of the bar hostess will not hasten to fade 
    the lamps on the room will remain lighted 
    these things, however trivial  
         all contribute to our happiness 
    o my love 
         I am is 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 awakes 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 at 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 can I do
        when I am but a man 
   at thirty I love you
   my love as ripe as bananas with tart-shaped dots

   when autumn comes Hanoians have tears in their eyes 
   I met and loves 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 
   o my love my 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 The Phong 
    the sun has risen high
        and is shinning straight
        into my eyes 
   music is also fading away 
       in the morning cafe.

                                                                                                                 cap Saint Jacques
                                                                                                           23rd November, 1965

       the phong 

          <TENGGARA- Vol. 1 -No.2/ 1968 - p. 1-12>