The Top 10 Most Memorable Poems by Poet Vũ Đình Liên

This year, the peach blossoms bloom again
To celebrate the Party and the People’s Congress
The scholar’s brush sketches once more
With strokes of elegant, profound calligraphy

The streets are filled with flags
As the peach petals flutter in vibrant red
Like a thousand springs
Blossoming on each word written

Youth renews, the old fade away
As ink flows and paper sings
Looking at the scholar, the poet
Revealing a bright, radiant face

In my heart, I feel the thrill
My steps slow, unwilling to leave
Listening to these verses
Praising the beauty of the written word

The Socialist Republic’s Spring
Plum and peach blossoms, fresh and vibrant
A new source of happiness arises
As the pen flows, and poetry spills forth.

Silently, on the road where leaves fall and rain flies
"Like sparking memories of sorrowful loss"
The scenes and the people long gone
Lingering faintly, still present somewhere!

Remembering those innocent young girls,
Graceful as willow trees, melancholic like memories.
Every day they would powder their faces and wait,
For the scholars absorbed in their cloud and dragon gatherings.

Silently, on the road where leaves fall and rain flies
Like sparking memories of sorrowful loss
The scenes and the people long gone
Now lost to time, forever out of reach?

Those scenes of old, radiant in every hue
So peaceful, vibrant, yet so small
Beautiful as a painting or an ancient poem
The people of the past, so quiet, so gentle
With dreams and wishes still lingering
But now, they are forever gone from us!

But where can we find those past scenes, those old souls:
Silently on the road where leaves fall and rain flies?

The traveler, long away from the old homeland
Suddenly feels a deep yearning for the ancient bamboo fence
The sound of a distant flute echoes in the dream
Carried by the wind, like the delicate strings of music

The creaking sound in the quiet night
Weaves through the mist, a melancholy melody
In harmony with the croaking of frogs
Drifting in the breeze, the soul of past lives

There are times when the rain pours down fiercely
The bamboo fence bends under the heavy downpour
The leaves and branches droop, draped in sorrow
Like it stands in the eternal grief of ages

Sometimes the old bamboo fence cries
Then bursts into laughter in the face of a collapsing world
Its heart, deep and honest, reveals its true feelings
No one understands the perpetual sorrow it carries

An everlasting peach tree
Blooming with flowers through all seasons
An immortal scholar
With a pen that never grows old

The blossoms are as vibrant as the land
The words soak up the love from every corner
The peach branches and couplets
Will forever symbolize Vietnamese New Year

The inkstone still waits
For poems written a thousand years ago
For couplets born from a thousand years
But now, the Party composes anew

Artists with their "scholar"
The boundless love for the nation
Much like the Party with Uncle Ho
The fragrance of Earth and the Socialist sky

Each year, the peach tree blooms again
Joy for the new generation, the spirit of the past
An eternal spring
With vibrant art and song.

The crickets chirp beneath the earth
The stars twinkle in the sky
On a long-ago night so thick
Who lay awake through the long night?

The human body is like worms and crickets
The human heart is like the stars
Who once honed their poetry
Until each verse was like a sharp blade

Recite poems for the stars to fall
For the cricket's song to rise
For the worms to wriggle in the waves
The seas to stir up the storm

Tonight, I lie awake in the dark
Grieving for those long gone
For a hundred years of the past
Tossing and turning in restless dreams.

This year, the peach blossoms bloom again
The marketplace is crowded with flowers
From the deep past's forgotten depths
The old scholar reappears

Today, a cool rain falls
The sun rests upon the pink paper
A group gathers nearby
Among them, a poet sits with us

I ask for a couplet
The elder carves it on a sheet of silk
His old hand writes with ease
Forming these beloved characters

The poem “The Scholar” unfolds
Under his pen, it blossoms anew
I faithfully transcribe it
To mark another spring season

Just a small note to add
These ancient verses, these modern ones
Remain loyal to their hearts
Despite the changing tides of joy and sorrow.

Quietly follow the path of sincerity so high
The shimmering shadow fades into the sad mist!
Oh, warriors from ancient times
Where are you headed now to conquer new lands?

Like the heroes of the distant past who've perished!
Who do you battle now in this empty silence
The drums don't call, the gongs don't ring, the horses don't neigh
In the distant sky, all is still, devoid of life

The shadow of the great walls stretches forever
Carrying the silent grief that never fades
For the days of glory that can never return!
And so, you silently dream of distant, fiery visions:

The walls covered in moss, stretching over the green field
The injustices of the past, echoing into the future
Oh, warriors from ancient times!
Where are you heading now to conquer the realm of dreams?

Each year, the peach blossoms bloom
And once again, the old scholar appears
Setting out his Chinese ink, red paper
In the busy street with people passing by

So many hire him to write
Praising his skilled hand:
"His elegant strokes are like
A phoenix dancing, a dragon soaring"

But each year, fewer people come
Where are the ones who hired him before?
The red paper fades without vibrance
The ink stagnates in a sorrowful inkstone...

The old scholar still sits there
Unnoticed by those passing by
Yellow leaves fall on the paper
As fine mist rises in the air

This year, the peach blossoms bloom again
But the old scholar is nowhere to be seen
The people of long ago
Where have their spirits gone now?

Seventy-three years old
Teaching, writing poetry
My eyes are dim
My hair turned grey!

The debt to my father remains
The duty to my mother unpaid
The world and life continue on
Yet my burdens are unchanged.

But one thing I am glad about
That power and fortune
I've hardly enjoyed
Living among the people in hunger and abundance.

With just a little breath left
I have the will, but no strength
I turn to gaze at the kingdom
And feel ashamed before Heaven and Earth

I remember the gratitude to the Elder
Finding it hard to swallow a meal
My eyes struggle to close
Regret pours out in verses

In the past, Life, Regret
Still lives beneath the grave
“Humanity’s Meaning” Nguyễn Trãi
Botley’s “Poetry’s Compassion”

At the same age of seventy-three
Reading the poem “Self-Reflection”
My heart aches for the poet of old
Bringing deep regret to the surface

A few words of Self-Admonition
A few lines of Self-Regret
Endless remorse
Left for my students and friends

To lighten the weight of regret
To soothe the sorrow within
The teacher’s duties unfulfilled
And the poetry lacking soul.

Rise up, the boat is lying at the dock,
For tonight, we set the sails again
The oars dream of drifting, floating gently
To a distant sky, where clouds frame the moonlit night

The wind does not blow, the river's water runs cold
The boat moves silently through the ruins of ancient walls
From a high tower, after a thousand years, I awaken
In the quiet moonlight, a faint sound of a distant horn calls

After a thousand years, my soul wakes up again
The horn echoes briefly, stirring the moonlit night
But it fades away, leaving a hollow silence
My soul remains still, lost in the moonlight

Let the boat sail away, drifting farther still
As the moonlight ripples, the oars dream on
My heart is like those old, broken walls
Echoing faint sounds of horns from ancient times.