four vietnamese poets : nguyen quoc thai -- ta quang trung -- du tu le -- hoang khoi phong / TENGGARA 4

TENGGARA 4
Dept. of  English / Univ. of Malaya
Kuala  Lumpur/ Malaysia

                                               1- Nguyen Quoc Thai
                                    [ Nguyễn quốc Thái 1943-       ]

                                                                                                                   
            Translated from the French
            by Chan Soo Ping*
   


                                   My Country and Points for Questioning

                        Often I am sad and often  I ask myself the question:
                        To whom does this country belong at this present hour?
                        The days when the bullets whistle all round the towns
                        and when the frail bamboos are smeread with flesh and blood.

                        For the ten, twenty years this war had lasted
                        our children have almost lost the power of smiling,
                        Often I am said and often I ask myslef the question :
                        How many springs would it cost my country ?

                        The clang of armour, dismal as the tide
                        The roar of planes, ominous as the storm
                         I hear, and often I say myself, not knowing how to cry ;
                         We have lost our brothers one by one.

                         Each noon, when the still sun gilds Saigon,
                         I consider the future so dim, so distant,
                         and the old mother, her eyes brimming with tears,
                         musing over coming battles and her children.

                         Winter brings forth an abundance of cold clouds
                         The sun sinks like youths
                         Often I gaze around and terror seizes me:
                         Till when will my country remain in this mosfortune ?

                          Poor country, poor Vietnam,
                          Often I am said and often I ask myself :
                          How many times could you rejoice at independence
                          and how many times proclaim liberty


--------
  *  The originals of these poems are in Vietnamese.  They are     translated into French as follow : "My country and Points for Qustioning "  by R.P Nguyen Ngoc Lan ; "Wild Grass" by  Lê van Hao ; " Oh! This is Nothing " by Lê van Hao -- the English translations here published were done from the French by Chan Soo Ping.  
  And, "Wild Grass by Ta Quang Trung" +" This is for my son not yet born and named by Hoang Khoi Phong"  are in Vietnamese, translated into English by Dam Xuan Can.[]




                               2-   Tạ Quang Trung

 Translated  from the the vietnamese
  by Dam Xuan Can


                                        Wild Grass
                                               
                          I have  resigned to my loneliness
                          like a star lost at the edge of the universe
                          sailing in darkness
                          with anguish and sorrows
                          loves and hates, 
                          with fading ideals ;
                          and deeds which meet defeat ;
                          for I have resigned myself to be a blade of wild grass
                          that grows and increases in this corner of the land.
                          And I have lulled myself to a deep sleep
                          of a mass of empty promises ;
                          in prison the awareness of liberty excerts itself ,
                          the dream of paradise flowers in hell.

                          And I have seen the soul decay
                          and the body tire
                          and my two hands wasted
                          and my past defiled
                          by more than one treachery .
                          I have resigned myself to be an anonymous blade of grass
                          in the botanical garden
                          which the giant's hell tramples on without pity.

                          So many times has hatred possessed me
                          when the will has wished in overcome fate
                          and the mind has carried this bitterness
                          of anonymous grasses, insignificant ,
                          trampled underfoot as a a nation is trampled.

                          And I have seen myself awakened, wild of looks
                          gazing at buds withered
                          and trees parched
                          by the fires of days and years .

                          Reduced to this vegetable state ,
                          I pray in silence
                          that my remain forever a blade of grass
                          which grows on this dear land
                          to bear all the outrages in store for the little and the weak ,
                          all the humiliations of todays .


                                                  3-        Du Tu Lê
                                                          [  i.e. Lê cự Phách 1942 -     ]


    Translated from  the French
    by Chan Soo Ping

                                                      Oh ! This is nothing

                           I have already told you, sleep my little love ,
                           The bullets crack constantly but they crack so far away
                           Even if their loud din sounds near tomorrow
                           That will change nothing, nothing will shock us
                            Not suprising is it, indeed, since we came into the world
                            The bullets have cracked in our honour, the fires have
                                                                       raised their flames of joy
                            The days have suffered, the nights have sobbed
                            And in the heart of the land
                            So many and so many looks of terror
                            So many and so many feet have dragged
                            So many and so many fingers have prepared to pull the trigger
                            The threatening air
                            Now the rows of barbed wire warn my friends and I who have
                                                                        almost given up
                            And the trumpet sounds harass us, they drive us mad .
                            I have already told you, sleep my little love
                            Oh all  this, it is nothing, such has life been for a good long time
                            Such is life, it is nothing, don't you know ?


                                      When one dies young

                             When  the killed in action is only a chap under twenty-one ,
                             What is left for him to bring to the world beyond ?
                             The rifle is too bulky for him to keep ;
                             And he surely does not have the heart to give the unused grenades
                                                                         to his parents .
                             Happiness  has never been fully within his tiny grasp .
                              And love is merely a vague thing in his splatered brain .

                             He aks himself why the must die,
                             Truth, as usual, remains hidden till the agony.

                             All of a sudden he realises his youthfulness;
                             All of sudden he senses the futile deat ;
                             Alas, everything is too late ,
                             And his only reward is his very last breath.

                             The soul is fading away, but the eyes are still turning backwards
                             On his footsteps
                             Countless people are dutifully followin .


                                              4-     hoang khoi phong
                                                     [i.e   nguyễn vinh hiển 1943 -     ]


      Translated from the vietnamese 
      by Dam Xuan Can


                                   This is for my son not yet born  and named

                             I am  tewnty four. I am not married, but have many sweethearts ;
                             Yet as a man I must think of the future ,
                             I will get married to one whom I love .
                             Problably I will then be twenty- eight and your mother just 
                                                                                                                turned twenty.
                              On the wedding night I will pretend to forget I am a soldier
                             I will whisper to your mother about my long-cherished pkan ;
                             At last you will see the day .
                             But the war will in all likehood outlast my life , 
                             So I must think of your future in the very first with your mother .
                             When you are born you will be as beautiful as your mother and 
                                                                                                 more intelligent than I am ;
                              You'll carry out my plan bravely ,
                              I am sure I cannot be with you always ,
                              In war bullets are insentisive .
                              These words you'll see and grasp through your mother
                              When you're about to enter high school
                              I want to say frankly to you
                                                                     You'll be with your mother more often .
                              Because of one or another reason
                                                                   (infancy or the war for instance)
                              She is very clever
                                                              while I am but a soldier .
                              All the time I wish your life were different from mine .
                              I won't be able to give you a handsome amount of money ;
                              I hope you'll have a happy childhood 
                              Because I knew of battles and their tragic aftermath as a child .
                              Whatever the situation your mother and I wish you to finish 
                                                                                                                     high school
                               In the event of the call-up you'll be an officer 
                                                                                                     - it's better that way.
                               It is good for you to learn one of the arts;
                               Poetry, writing or painting enables you to express yourself;
                               Music makes you relaxed and unlikely to indulge in delusions
                                                                                                                             of youth.
                               Don't be like me.  I hope in the pub whenever a fight end;
                               I drink to forget the slaughter and to down sadness;
                               Do you know drinking only makes my sadness more acute.
                               Your mother reproaches me a lot, but she gives in soon,
                               After all she prefers meeting me in a pub than in gambling dens 
                                                                                                                            of brothels
                               It is not because I do not love her,
                                                                                         I love her more than myself.
                               But I am a soldier,
                               And the war does, short of killing me body and soul when 
                                                                                                              I am away from her
                               It is very good for you to know an  art.
                               I know artists  suffer a lot in  a small  and weak country,
                               They simply are not free and do not have enough to eat --
                               I want you to express your feelings and pave the way for 
                                                                                                        those coming after yon.
                               This is the reason I am writing these lines to you.
                               In case I die
                                                     before the war ends,
                               You'll be a mona then.  You'll fight in my place to achieve peace.
                               If I die
                                           and peace returns,
                               Praise peace,
                                             Denounce war.  But in deadly seriouness,
                               I must say to you,
                                                  Rebuilt the nation
                                                                                      Regain your pride.
                               You should concern yourself with this all your life.
                               Without any help from me, you should know yourself.
                                    []

                                     (TENGGARA 4 - p. 37 - 41.)