Top 10 Best Poems by Poet Dong Duc Bon

A beggar enters the temple at noon
The monk gives him a talisman and sends him away
The talisman, unsure of its use
The beggar stuffs it in his pocket and continues begging.

Source: Let's Return to Our Mother, NXB Hội Nhà Văn, published November 2000.

I
I just managed to earn my meal
And then lost a bit of fire, a little straw for the stove.
I just survived a fierce storm
But now, I must wade through the deep river's flow.

II
Lost in thoughts that go nowhere
The bridge collapses as I walk, no worries.
I gathered just a few strands of thread
And spread them, but others already took it all.

III
My life, shattered and alone
Longing is waiting, and waiting is love.
My life, like a kite in the sky
The string broke, leaving me in a daze.

IV
My life, whether in the rain or sun
Now, I comb the wind as my hair falls.
My life, torn with love’s rags
And now, I gather the fallen stars to mend my soul.

Hai Phong, Autumn 1986

Source: Dong Duc Bon, The White Horse and the Bitter Fruit Forest (Poetry), NXB Van Hoc, 1992

The melancholy market sells the joy once known
Have you bought the sorrow it offers, my dear?
The melancholy market exchanges memories for forgetfulness
Sells rain for sunshine, and night for day.
The melancholy market trades sobriety for intoxication
Sells love throughout a lifetime for desire.
Now that I am far away
I trade my poems for afternoons filled with longing.

Love, in a moment of confusion,
Suddenly finds a poem, turning into a boat.
Then, at the rise of the moon,
My boat rests in the middle, surrounded by temple bells.
And as the waves gently sway,
My boat drifts, yet never fully sinks.

Hue City, 1989

Source: Dong Duc Bon, The White Horse and the Bitter Fruit Forest (Poetry), NXB Literature, 1992

I went in search of a love,
On a river that holds countless dawns.
I journeyed through a thorny stream,
With the marks of time upon my weary shoulders.
Without you, from then until now,
My hands remain withered, like a flag mourning loss.

Without you, I went out to fly a kite,
But unexpectedly, I caught the fading glow of the evening moon.
I threaded memories through my heart,
Yet the love I had unraveled in my hands.
The Thương River turned to wood, its scent lingering,
Leaving marks, purple and bruised on my skin.
Since the day you left, the river lost its spark,
My hands reached, only to touch the cold, empty air.
You flew away like a bird, returning to the mountains,
And all that was left was a broken petal in the fading light.

Hà Bắc, 1990

Source: Đồng Đức Bốn, The White Horse and the Bitter Fruit Forest (Poetry), NXB Văn học, 1992

Still, I see the springtime dust,
Your clothes hanging out, slowly fading under the noon sun.

Still, I see the raindrops,
Weaving into the moonlight on the old shore where we once sat.

Still, I feel it on my lips,
A strand of your hair, lost in a playful breeze.

Still, I hear it in the folk songs,
The same two pieces of grapefruit you once gave me.

Still, I feel the warmth of the dimming sun,
You and I stepping onto the boat at dawn.

Hà Nội, May 1989

Source: Đồng Đức Bốn, The White Horse and the Bitter Fruit Forest (Poetry), NXB Văn học, 1992

1.
All my life, I've traveled far and wide,
Yet, Mother remains, like a tree that sways in the wind.
All my life, tightening my belt and holding back,
Yet Mother gives everything, like a silkworm spinning golden thread.
The road of life stretches far ahead,
But her hair is now silver, like the sky at dusk.
Even in pain, she keeps smiling,
Even in joy, she remains a memory of love.
A bowl of rice, and sunshine mixed with dew,
In hunger and fullness, she always shares with us.
Mother searches for songs among the wind,
Her voice, once vibrant, now lost in time.

2.
No one knows my mother,
Her hair now gray, under the blossom-filled sky.
She bends under the weight of wind and rain,
Her feet battered, still searching for something yet to come.
Holding back, she sells her gold,
To buy things that are often worth less than gold.

3.
Mother bought duck feathers for the straw hat,
In midday, under rain and sun, her shoulders grow frail.
The village still has muddy paths,
The city, still lacking trees to shade the roads.
Her cries fade in the cold wind,
I hear them, but the road ahead still hurts.

4.
Amid the dust, full of sorrow,
Why did Mother leave this world of hardship?
I crossed mountains and rivers,
Only to return, just in time to bury her body.
That day, the storm hadn't cleared,
The earth had no golden rice fields left.
I took her for the final journey through the village,
With three souls and seven spirits, I laid her in the grave.
Mother lies as she did when I was young,
And here I stand, aged in front of her.

5.
Now, I return to my mother,
Amidst all the bitterness of the vast sky.
No longer will she age, no longer will the winds make her hair wave.
I will not be foolish enough to remain naive.
My memories now buried deep in the earth.
I wonder if I still remember or if I’ve forgotten.
The brown coat she wore still fades in the sun.
I remember how she colored my life with poetry,
While the years carved scars in the sky.
Now, I return to my mother,
For if I die tomorrow, I will be an orphan in the grave.

Hải Phòng, March 1986

This poem was later adapted into a song by composer Trần Quang Lộc.

The above poem was included in the collection *The Golden-Billed Bird and Poisonous Flowers*. The *White Horse and the Bitter Fruit Forest* only included the first two verses, titled *My Mother*.

Source:
1. Đồng Đức Bốn, *The Golden-Billed Bird and Poisonous Flowers*, NXB Hội nhà văn, 2006
2. Đồng Đức Bốn, *The White Horse and the Bitter Fruit Forest* (Poetry), NXB Văn học, 1992

A day apart feels like a million cold winters,
Will you leave your husband and come live with me?
The longing for you churns like the ocean,
I travel to where you live, and I arrive and leave,
So that your days are less lonely.

The green snake slithers on the swaying rice fields,
The scent of wild grass still lingers by the bitter waters.
Your love is like a blank sheet of paper,
Only now am I writing it into poetry.

Your love is like an unexpected detour,
A road I may walk for a lifetime, never fully knowing.
Even if I reach the end, even through death,
Will you leave your husband and come live with me?

I don’t believe that in the midst of a storm,
You would surrender to a sinking ship,
But I do believe that even on scorching sands,
You, like a cactus, will still bloom.

You are close, yet still far away,
My heart beats most strongly where you are.
And I trust that your love is real,
It is only in my sorrow that I write this poem.

And sometimes joy comes unexpectedly,
I sing you to sleep.
Your home is in the heart of Trung Tự street,
Near the water tower, where flowers still remember where we sat.

The grass withers, but new grass will grow,
Flowers still bloom with their gentle fragrance.
And I believe that soon,
You will leave your husband and live with me.

Hà Nội, Autumn 1989

Source: Đồng Đức Bốn, *The White Horse and the Bitter Fruit Forest* (Poetry), NXB Văn học, 1992

Herding buffalo and lighting a fire on the fields,
The straw is running low, but the winter wind blows strong.
Engrossed in chasing a kite,
Sweet potatoes roast slowly until evening turns them to ash.

This evening, a storm brews over West Lake,
I sit atop the waves but don’t sink.

Yet the old folk song still lingers,
Just like the two slices of grapefruit you gave me.

In the soft glow of the setting sun,
You and I drifted down the river in the morning mist...

Source: Đồng Đức Bốn, *Golden Beak Birds and Poisonous Flowers*, NXB Hội nhà văn, 2006