dai nam van hien books, saigon 1971.
this sdition, jan. 2011/ hcm city
UPLIFTING POEMS
by the phong
TO BE GIRL
Where there are flies there's God
Where's God lonely men have a friend
I've walked all trails in my country
When I stopped the city of Dalat
was shrouded in mist in the dead of night
fortunately I had a companion to keep off the ghosts
Your face is haunting me,
in day and night
Lying in bed
I keep thinking of you
I simply cannot help it
Your lips are so delicate,
your eyes just don't go away
On the threshold of adulthood
I' sitting looking for a sister soul
I have climbed to the top of Lang Biang Hill
When I all wanted was to bury my head in your floating hair
Is there any love story
which is not beautiful
Is there a blemish pervasive enough
to blot out deep humiliation inside ?
I think continuously
of you and me and all
To be a girl
to be a bar hostess
Is to be stripped to the liberty to live straight
And forced to put on airs
for the sake of money
Remembering the sweet moment
worth the money I saved in one year
You held me in your arms
Your warmth was better to me
than the heat from the fireplace
I was yours.
all yours,
even it for a brief moment only
We were together twelve long hours
(Tomorrow I will live a world of memories).
SAIGON, OCT. 23,1963
EPITOMIZING DAY TO DAY LIFE
Today the sun shone brightly as on other days
Rain or shine did not matter much,
but the cost of living
had risen sky hight
(The price of bicycle imported from Europe
had been increased by 50 per cent
If the bicycle was sick the owner would pale too)
In my family there were neither women nor small kids
There were just for four of us of various ages
The head of the family of forty six
had been a widower for four years
Oh his two sons the older son just turned twenty
We had enough food but we were not very happy
The sixteen year old boy started coloring nudes
He was fond of cutting out pictures from movies magazines
and watches female loveliness closely
As for me
I saw life pass calmly
This did not mean I was free from worry
O my twenty year old girl
I love your simple charms
You do not wear ornaments
(the price of gold had nearly doubled)
But your sweet smile
could make many a heart beat quicker
At the back of our house there was a thatched house
They needed a dependable sewing machine
but they could not afford it
The foreman had lost many a finger
Looking at him,
I suffered as much as he did
Every morning he got up early
and hastened to start work
he was a real beast of burden
Beside our dwelling was a house crammed
with so many beds
that there as apparently
no way out
The soldier's wives renting the house could do nothing
but sleep
Their husbands at war had not come back
We read in newspapers
that thousands of youths had been killed
their bodies left unburied
A silent sea of faces blurred in tears
Every month one thousand soldiers lost their lives
while the enemy casualties
were four times as numerous
Let's hang these papers as talismans on our beds ...
On the farther side of the road
A curious news is being spread
a reliable on
alas !
Concerning a seventy thousand- piaster
worth American motorcycle
A two-cylinder Harley
which can ride fast on the mute road
and the Vietnamese motorcycle whose price is unknown
A talkative woman-motorcycled
who only moves in bed
The two crazy owners exchanged the aforesaid things,
as in a fairy tale
A lover of good living
The airman preferred the flashing motorcycle to
his wife
So he was in treaty with the American sergeant for ... her
In working hours,
the American
and the woman-motorcycle are free to rock in their bed
(Meanwhile the Vietnamese husband can ride the Harley on the road)
We rightly guess he would evade any questioning on its price
Such is the story of the woman with two husbands
The story which makes an eighteen-year old girl burst out laughing hysterically
Sewer water, rain, tear, tea an semen
(Those kinds of water need being purified to become just clean water)
Epitomizing life I could not help frowning and sighing
The forty six year old woman is still a widow
The twenty six year old chap
is still reading death announcements of known persons
The sixty year old boy does not want to be a man yet
The foreman,
after the incident,
is still collecting trophies
The old man of seventy has died ,
buried without a proper funeral
I, over thirty now ,
is still without a woman
This bicycle ,
after being repaired ,
is laying still in a corner
And the eighteen year old girl is criticizing my poetry
" I don't know what you mean
I don' t like you at all
I hate all men who are bachelors
I hate your so called uplifting poems ".
SAIGON, JULY 7, 1963.
t.p
(p. 73- 79 UPLIFTING POEMS)
(to be continued)
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