uplipting poems by thê phong ( dai nam van hien books, south vietnam 1974/ this edition, jan.2011-hcm city)

uplipting poems/ thê phong
dai nam van hien books, saogon 1974
this edition, jan.2011/hcm city

                                                                 asian morning westenr music/ poems by thephong


                                           Death Consciouness



                   When the big dragonfly in flight over the May paddock
                   In two eyes engaged in hunting a certain smaller dragonfly for food;
                   The little kid quit school to stroll along the edge of the paddock,
                   Then stopped,
                             and used a striker with sticky breadfruit resin to catch
                                        the dragonfly turned hunter
                    But this insect was wiser
                             than the kid allowed it to be:
                             it quickly moved elsewhere
                    The kid did not give in,
                              he took the small dragonfly as bait
                     Which enjoyed a measure of freedom
                              at the end of the string in the hand of the kid
                     The dragonfly turned hunter was not good enough
                              to avoid the string
                     It alighted on the victim,
                              then lifted it up to its mouth
                     the kid spun back the string
                              took the dragonfly by its tail
                     he burst out laughing
                     " Here you are, say goodbye to your freedom"
                      I spent the whole morning
                              to search for the truthful meaning of life
                     Looking at the germinating seeds washed
                              in by rain last night
                     This morning
                              I met the kid who quit shool for a stroll
                     The sun was high
                              near the red flower thicket
                              he dug the earth to bury the insect
                     Its is no longer in life
                              its body cuts to bits
                     Ah!
                     Returning to dust,
                             it no longer cared
                             if there was still light in the world
                     The little kid used to feel sad
                              when evening came
                     He was sick with learning,
                              he scorned to hear the teacher's words anymore
                     he now asked me
                     What is the use of all this miserable business
                     And tell me
                     "you are old enough
                               why do you  waste time with a kid's play
                               why did you borrow my sling
                               and you hid behind the gourd plant
                               throwing little stoned at the bees hovering
                               from flower to flower
                      and tell me
                               you kept the light on all night
                               did you study inside the mosquito net"
                      You had a funny face when another bee stung you
                                you little insect
                                but surely you must be curious
                                why it stung you go savagely


                       I know the meaning of life already,
                                my boy
                                it died
                                and it death taught me courage
                       Death or life really makes very little difference
                       The dragonfly hunter had no choice
                                 but to live on a smaller one
                       It died because of you
                                 and no other fellow insect took
                       to revenge its death
                       It was not the same with ants either
                       I live by myself
                                  I have no worry whatsoever
                       because I do not except anything from anyone
                       We are bees
                       We are ants
                       We are dragonflies


                        We are full of hatred
                                   and consciousness of death
                        But let's face it
                                    you are not old enough
                        to grasp why I'm still nursing my deep wound ...

                        THE PHONG
                        Saigon, July 16, 1963

                         
                                              (p. 47-50 UPLIFTING POEMS )
                      

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