published by indochina mobile
education project -- washington d.c. 1971
poems from an asian war
/growing up in viêtnam:
But they like understand much younger now,
Not like when I was a boy.
And they ask their uncle
Harder questions
"Where can be find our country?"
-- HUY VŨ
invasion
by huy vũ
As a child
I was curious
And asked my mother over and over
" Why are called invaders?"
With tears in her eyes she answered,
" Have you not seen
Their tread upon our villages
And cannons, the airplanes?"
And angered she would say
" They are not Vietnamese."
I nodded but didn't understand
For others said the French
Had come to help,
" Why have Mr. Hai and Mr. Ba grown rich
With the French?
Why do you call them invaders, my mother?"
And sadly she answered,
" Wait, grow up, you' ll understand."
Oh, why did you cry Mother? Why Mother?
She is dead now,
And the French have all gone.
Still I see my mother crying,
Tears rolling down the curve of her face.
Today. Is it today? or years ago?
For I am grown
And my nephews ask the same old question.
"What is an invasion?"
I want to cry, but only say
" You'll know when you grow up."
But they understand much younger now.
Not like when I was a boy.
And they ask their uncle
Harder questions,
" Where can we find our country?
" We know now, we all know now
What an invasion is,
But where an we find our country ?
thirty-four years
by nguyễn văn biên
In 1936
My mother was a coolie
In the rubber plantation. Morning and evening
She swallowed hatred,
The lashes ribboned her back;
She felt the pains of the nation,
The managers,
The imperialist puppets,
The people, workers, beaten,
Night in the cold, windy plantations.
The workers dreamt the dream of escape:
One more second,
One more soul departed.
Beside her friends, her heart hardened.
In 1945
The autumn of revolution,
Chains were broken,
Bamboo spears
Protected my mother,
In 1970
Among the cars of Saigon
My mother's back bends in pain
'Austerity' *
The tax-chain on her shoulders.
With gnarled hands she works
Waiting for the day
I will stand up,
My people behind me;
I shall ask for food and clothing,
The years of humiliation have gone,
I must peak my mind.
Yet I remain here,
Twice a day
In white and blue school clothes --
Color or hope --
My studies!
Nothing lose to my life
But the bell ringing.
My friend area all poor
Forty students together --
Our parents are laborers,
Can we overlook injustice?
We must strengthen our feet
To step on the tides of Bạch đằng
Our minds are red like fire
Burning on the Nhật tảo hills,
Shinning with our pages of history.
Mother,
Our eyes shine
We promise one another
To meet again in victory.
---
* An 'austerity' tax was passed by the Thiệu regime in 1970,
causing prices to skyrocket. This greatly angered the population
already suffering from runaway inflation. (Don Luce' s note).
letter to my father
by H.T.
During the year of hungers
And degradation, tears
Wet my father's face
"What can we do, child?
Hush, don't break our heart."
In the burning sun
He sold his labor
To get our bowl of rice,
In the icy mornings
My mother was a servant --
Even food and clothing were heavy chains.
My children!
We have struggled in life
To overcome injustice and fraud,
To raise you.
You shall bear the world on your shoulders,
Love,\justice and truth.
Look ahead and make the dreams come true,
The dreams of your father,
of your mother,
Of your suffering people,
Dreamt in pearling sweat.
The year I was born,
My brothers in their twenties
Were singing in excitement,
Taking steps to break
The bond of degradation.
Today, my father, your dream is true.
Since my first days
I have felt pains and sores
From the iron boots.
I have chosen justice
As my source of life,
I have learned hatred
While fire destroyed my country.
My sword-blade shines under the moon,
My heart hangs high on the mountains,
Exited,
I follow the call to the flag.
p. 21- 25 WE PROMISE ONE ANOTHER/ POEMS FROM AM ASIAN WAR
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