Buzz
1. The Land of Buddha
The autumn gathers all the bells into a golden robe
Clouds form nests for doves by the sacred chants
The flowers of the Land of Buddha gently spread their fragrance into the world
People, caught in life, yearn to become monks.
1998 - 2001
Source: Song Huong Magazine, Issue 02-2003
2. Far Away
Too far away, restless, I ask the sand
The road is crowded, where are the traces of your footsteps?
Too far away, I walk alone, asking the pier
The person crossing the river didn’t leave any new waves
Too far away, I linger, asking the market
The one who bought a mirror, did they ever return?
The one who bought a mirror once came back
Looked deeply, then quietly turned away
2-1999
Source: Hữu Thỉnh, “Negotiating with Time,” Writer's Association Publishing House, 2005
3. The Evening on Thuong River
Walking through the entire autumn day
Still not yet home
Lingering, the Quan Ho flowers
Blooming in purple by Thuong River
The water still flows in two streams
The evening still carries the sickle of dusk
The river speaks of things unsaid
Its sails are singing softly
The clouds over Viet Yen
Cast shadows over Bố Hạ
The rice bends, hiding its grain
The wind sweeps over the green fields
The water, obedient, flows smoothly
Through the trenches and canals
The young rice stretches its leaves
On the soft mud, the seasons turn
For the prosperity of the harvest
The land of my homeland flourishes
All we’ve entrusted to the earth
Is about to turn golden around us
The familiar silt deposits
Seem like a fairy tale
The girls tending to the water machines
Eyes long, like the betel knife
Oh, the brown river
Oh, the green river
Offering the coming harvest
Nourishing the fading season
The autumn sun spreads across the fields
The grapefruit tree glows under the new moon
By the bridge, the calf waits
As the evening dusk crosses the river.
4. The Endurance of the Land
The fireflies emerge near the red flower of the kapok tree
Mother at home has already packed a woolen coat
Mother walks to the riverbank
To see her child off at the ferry crossing
The path down to the ferry has sixteen steps
Mother's love has turned her hair grey...
The battlefield I’m on connects to the riverbank
It carries the thirst of many battles
There is joy before every storm
Hands cupped to catch fireflies as they fly out
Memories flicker like lights on a watchtower
The enemy in front
The A.R.15 unleashes a rapid fire
The personal cannon sounds loud
Long-range artillery intentionally defies the rules
The B-52s target us before every meal
The trees thin out
The final camouflage is the color of the earth.
And mother is the one we miss the most
In times of war
Mother still offers us red betel leaves
Warming the trust in the behind.
The waves crash high on the surface of Sa Thay River
The enemy’s artillery rumbles in Dak Siang and Dak Mot
The 18th road splits like a severed thread
Falling on both sides are the abscesses of the enemy
We’ve been here for twenty-eight days
Both quiet and noisy on the posts
Hanging the morning dew towel to wash our faces
Resting hurriedly between two attacks
Our hands toughen every time we dig trenches
We share dry rations
Sixteen times the enemy drops leaflets asking us to collect the bodies
Their faces tremble with black words...
The clouds drift ahead of Dak-Ba-Si
Who’s burning fields, the smell of sweet sugarcane?
The trench is like a storyteller
We’ve never had a moment’s peace, oh land
We’ve never found the words to express
Our hearts, mother!
Golden light from the dry season's blue sky
Hot sweat pours from the land around us
We exchange glances without words
Our comrades
One with an A.K., another with a B.41
They smile through clenched teeth
Their smile as refreshing as a white bird flying by
We travel from the headwaters of the Lo River to the end of the Thuong River
From the Sa Thay valley to the Trường river with its white sands
The land remains the place of folk songs and sweet sugarcane
The wind stirs the bamboo forests with so much restlessness
Still the grinding stone laughs out white grains
Still the banana tree at the end of the garden reflects
The knife chops water plants, the pulley spins thread
The brown sail flutters in the thin evening
The land works year-round with the refrain of the harvest
The older sister ties her hair up higher, diligent and hardworking
Mother still serves meals with a small tin can
In the fields for the child who is far away
What strength comes from the ancestral land
Passing into the battlefield with a fervent heart
What light from the vastness of mother’s love
Guiding us through the trenches with a gleam in our eyes
We’ve grown up to reach this battlefield
To face the enemy that squirms and writhes
Now comrades, now the people, friends too
Mother at home can rest assured about us
The enemy hides quickly, retreating into their hard shell
Using bombs and artillery to scatter the panic
They spread leaflets filled with deception
Barbed wire winds endlessly
For us, there is still too much emptiness
The enemy urges the wearing of thin clothing
They like the steel shells of their tanks
Concrete bunkers, sandbags, and waiting mines
Not settled, they inject more stimulants...
The enemy refuses to call us brothers
They don’t address us as uncles or elders
They want to break the ties that run deep in our blood
They uproot villages and push us into “resettlement zones”
The enemy makes us miss even more, our longing now a hundredfold
Young men and women remember each other through bomb craters
The green rice becomes a shield of protection
The dark caves feed our strategy for the right moment
We delay marriage for one year, then two
Going to battle, the horizon painted with the colors of letters
The highland ginseng can’t be sent to you
Mother is over sixty now
This longing alone
Has raised us to become warriors
We thank the sacred forests
The shady trees calm us down
The medicine pines behind the house, the stones sharpening the knives in the stream
The red dirt road burns beneath the thousand trees
One wild vegetable reminds us of our roots
Raw banana stalks recall our lasting grudge
The stars above the creek fall like silver
Reminding us that the sea is breaking below
The road, burnt, speaks like an oath
The land calls us, the village calls us, hot with urgency
We lean against the smooth road-side trees
As if comrades are lifting us up
The children who are used to throwing betel leaves now know how to shoot machine guns and throw grenades
We sawed bomb tubes to make bowls and plates
We marinated rice in forty-millimeter shells
We camouflaged with vines while riding
During rest, we hide in foxholes
We ambush the enemy with sudden attacks
We plant explosives in moving formations
We infiltrate tanks, crushing them underfoot...
The thorns of the jungle must be sharp
Mother taught us this from the start
Far from mother, we learned hundreds of lessons
Eat while watching the pot, sharing with comrades
Sit while facing the enemy, knowing the darkness of shadows
We create new songs
The hammock, the crab... the language of our ancestors
We know how to dig trench Z’s, carve A-shaped tunnels
The bamboo walls and reed doors open like fans
The forest vine binds us together
The rooster’s crowing every evening
The youthful wind shakes the trees
We sing with the deep voice of the battalion
We lay down the dirt for those who stay behind
The most dangerous battle: all hands in the air!
The camouflage clothes, the cloudy eyes
The heart sends a kite back to visit mother
The longing for a lover makes the night tense with preparation
Again the forest is thick, the reed hills...
The campaign begins, the season of war opens
Bringing the cold of January to confront the enemy
Shaping steel on the sandy battlefield
Crossing fields of freshly deposited alluvial soil
We balance on the banks
Quietly understanding the endurance of the land
We trample on enemy positions
Following the footprints
We recognize the color of mud across the flooded fields.
Central Highlands - Lunar New Year, 1975
The Endurance of the Land is Hữu Thỉnh's first epic poem, marking his foray into the epic genre, and it was a great success. The work won first prize in the 1975-1976 Poetry Contest held by the Văn nghệ newspaper.
Source: The Endurance of the Land, Tác phẩm mới Publishing House, 1977
5. The Earth Isn't That Big
We couldn’t live in that house
We walked out onto the street
Vehicles rumbling by
People rushing past
We had no choice but to move to the side
The Earth isn't that big
We took shelter under a tree
Birds were flying in flocks
The Earth isn't that big
We searched for homes to rest in
Small houses, lit by the evening glow
One person's happiness is another's division
The Earth isn't that big
We roam wild beneath the sky
Love became our shelter.
Vân Hồ 1980
Source: Hữu Thỉnh, Negotiating with Time, NXB Hội nhà văn, 2005
6. A Wish
Something has fallen
And then fallen again
Only I remain
Staring out the window
Autumn has also left the sky
And gone to a land of regret
A tired train rolls by
Its whistle echoes in my heart
I wish for you, gentle and soft
To suddenly appear with the breeze
Your hair, or the clouds' breath
Startling on my shoulder.
1993
Source: Hữu Thỉnh, Negotiating with Time, NXB Hội nhà văn, 2005
7. Flowers Given
This flower is for you
After many bargains made
This path leads to you
After countless mistakes
People have lifted it
Then gently placed it down
I'm the foolish one
Buying this flower to give to you
I wish to walk softly
But how can I hold back the wind?
Still, you smile and say
"Look, the flower has just bloomed".
Source: Hữu Thỉnh, Negotiating with Time, NXB Hội nhà văn, 2005
8. Approaching Fall
Suddenly, I smell the guava's scent
Carried by the crisp wind
The mist lingers through the alley
It feels like autumn has arrived
The river flows slowly
Birds begin to hurry
A summer cloud
Leans halfway into autumn
There’s still so much sunlight left
The rain has started to fade
The thunder no longer surprises
On the trees that have stood for years.
Source: From Trenches to the City, NXB Văn học, 1991
9. On a Tank
Five brothers on one tank,
Like five flowers blooming from the same root,
Like five fingers on a single hand,
All five go into battle as one.
In the tank corps, from front to back,
Different temperaments, both warm and cold,
When they sing, their voices unite,
If one feels pain, all forget to eat.
Five brothers, each from a different place,
Once aboard, they share the same direction,
Once aboard, they share all joys and hardships,
Together, they charge at the enemy.
Five brothers, each with a unique name,
But once they climb aboard, their names no longer matter,
On the turret, a blazing star shines,
Five hearts beating as one.
A red dirt road,
An endless green forest of hope,
A single will rising from the barrel of a gun,
A belief that crushes all enemies.
Campaign Road 9 - Southern Laos
March 1971
This poem was adapted into a song titled "Five Brothers on a Tank" by composer Doãn Nho.
Source: Echoes of the Trenches (Poems in Compilation), NXB Quân đội nhân dân, 1975
10. A Poem Written by the Sea
I am far from you
The moon is lonely too
The sun is alone as well
The sea still boasts its vastness,
Yet a missing sail makes it feel empty
The wind isn't a whip, but the mountain stones must wear down
You are not the evening, yet you dye me in purple hues
The waves can't go anywhere without bringing you along
For the waves have made me
Sway and fall
Because of you...
This poem was later adapted into a song by composer Phú Quang titled "The Sea, Longing, and You."
