dai nam van hien books, australia, 2014
prose poems by mai trung tinh
TRANSLATED BY DAM XUAN CAN
Dai Nam Van Hien Books, Australia, 2014.
RAIN
The blue sky is an ocean of silence where white sails glide happily.
On the land the trees flutter and dance in glee.
Along the margin of a sea rows of house cannot but be gay in such a company
When the sudden brutal wind rushes to the scene, the leaves quickly signal their defeat
The horrible black painted boats but it is too late already, so they are destroyed
Amid the invasion filled with threatening sounds I am a small child looking the sky
All myself I set out to seek a resting place, aching with my helplessness
Some bullets have raced through the air
Aware that I cannot do anything about it, my hands in my pockets, I wander about the hapless land.
NIGHT WIND
The light is suddenly on, and the wind turns suddenly cold. One day in my life takes wing and fly away. Why do not for no one I welcome no one. I am just an ill fated roamer. At a corner of the street that burns with all its red and blue signs alight, in a night of dust and wind. I walk about in a pensive mood. Where shall I meet you tonight? Shall I meet you on the dancing floor where excitement and drinks blunt my senses? In that fleeting moment while you are half enjoying the sweetness of love I feel your soft arms streaming with sadness. Shall I meet you in a deserted place where I hear the soundless noises of nothingness? Dear sweet little creature, I must take leave of you.
No, no I have only myself. My friends are so far away. The sounds of fire at night are just too much for me. Khải has gone without a word of farewell. Tạo has fallen in Đồng Xoài, his body mutilated beyond recognition in the foxhole. Vũ keeps going like a bird has been consuming me without respite. Morning, afternoon, evening, I keep asking myself like this: What must I do to escape the deepening sadness tearing my soul? And I am but a small sampan caught in the cateract of destiny.
The night walk tires me awfully. Of my life to me little remains, let me not be outcast from life' s feast.
Night is drawing to a close. Quickening my steps I depart after asting a glance at the sleepy housed town as mute as deserted tombs.
THE EAGLE & SLEEP
I live as in a dream. In lulls me with two wings of the eagle braving the wind so my lot is only tipsy minutes.
I turn with the invisible giant on top of which you are bursting with life. With my legs and hands and the brain and the heart -- possesions of a miserable creature, -- I rise up to catch the glory. But glory is only fit for a crystal clear soul while I am but a money minded merchant towards the end of a market day. No matter how strenu-
mous my search I fail and I fail. I keep walking without meeting a generous customer. On a certain day to come I will depart leaving my dust to life.
EVENING WHEN I COME BACK
Day ends. Across my sky passes the cloud of melancholy. I take the long way to the sad abode like a beast of affliction which has found nothing in its daily search.
With my two legs my two God given stick I carry my wretched body back to the station where I get some miserable food to get prepared for the next performance. I have tried more than once; Yet notwithstanding the oufit I remain my old self, a figure of sorrow. I have tried to find you many times, but you hide your heart like the door to a race, precious heritage so the visitor which I am loses heart in the red morass of evening.
In the sad, dreary days I set out searching medecine or begging pity from the crowd. But I went forth in the dead of winter when snow turned to ice and the fire kept flickering I have had only seen inclement weather -- Sadly feel my veins streaming down and I cast a glance at no-
thingness which brings tears to my eyes.
The sky is low on my head like a lid, a giant lid nothing will ever pierce. Surely it will not disintegrate under the blows from my hands which are short and frail.
Now the abode is within my sight. Streching my hands like two oars, I pace slowly at the mercy of the wind coming from behind.
HE OLD WOUND
One day in city I heard the cries screeching from every direction, wounding me to the depths of my being. I turn my face skyward, blue and mute like the wide opened eye bearing witness to my lifelong exile. In convulsions I recall you. Quickly I take my usual way back to where my poor soul my have some rest. But I find only strangers. Walls and trees begin to roam, blocking my way. In despair I search my soul your image for solace. I find to my aching surprise there is no trace left. And, I have to brave the cold autumnal winds tearing at my soul, carrying away the few fallen leaves on your old path. I say to myself I alone have to care for my thoughts of nothing and the pasage
of time. I tell you I will be stoic like Sisyphus. Nothing will bring tears to me, my blind pride in my ego I will always treasure. I have to finish the way where I have mursed so many pleasures, illusions and wild fantasies. Your past love shone bright within myself. But I was wrong: the cruel darkness did not fail to write its messge of destruction. So
you no longer blessed my faithful love. Something was wrong somewhere that I could not change. Holding back my tears I found your arms loosening and you were about to leave me. Because I lost you I lost all I had. Upon awakening with my scattered brain, I spend day after day sculpturing a wreath for my former self filled with incense.
Dusk saddenly falls on the empty city.
Stricken with fear I walk home to bandage the old wound which starts tormenting me again.
to be continued
mai trung tinh
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