Buzz
1. The Steadfast Comrades
The water surrounds from every side
The crimes of the enemy pile higher
Oh, my comrades
The poor villages are left stranded
The floodwater rises to the rooftops
The flood reaches deep into the village
The hidden bunkers have vanished
Amid the waves of flooding water
The cannonfire slices through the air
The water splashes, homes are shaken
- Where will the mother take her child?
Water so deep, so overwhelming
The cannons roar around the village
- Where can we go now?
The village lies heavy, silent
The bullets tear through the bamboo fences
The rooftops tremble quietly
The cattle wade, confused
- Has the cannonfire ceased yet?
Blood flows through the storm
Blood mingles with the red floodwaters
Oh, my comrades
The poor villages are left stranded
The crimes of the enemy pile higher
The enemy's crimes reach a towering height
In the floodwaters' path
Our comrades
Climb over the fortifications
Our comrades
Shivering in the fever’s grasp.
The enemy arrives by boat
The enemy retreats in amphibious vehicles
But we stand our ground
We hold onto our villages
We cling to the sweet potato fields
With the blood of the brave young men
Swirling with the waves.
Is there anyone like us
Lying by the riverbank, eyes wide open?
Lying here, unable to sleep
Letting the soul float by
To ease the heart's sorrow and yearning
The vast heart of the North...
By the running machine
The woman worker turns the wheel
The male farmer wakes up
Preparing for the morning's toil.
The woman vendor wipes the glass
Setting up her stall in the early dawn
The child wears a new scarf
Or the red flame trees at school.
The entire North awakens
Another day of transformation
Driving away the darkness of ignorance and hunger
Life now lies in our hands.
Here we rise once again
The gunfire erupts in chaos
Another day of bloodshed
Another day of losing loved ones!
The entire South stays awake
Restless with anger
Late at night, the rooster crows
The people rise, surging forward...
Oh, the old days, long gone
The Song Gianh River separated us
Who else, like us
Lying by the riverbank, eyes wide open?
On this side of the river, no one sleeps
The night resounds with rooster calls
The crows echo far and wide
Urging the sky to light up soon.
1961
Source: Poetry with Childhood, Kim Dong Publishing House
2. The Drifting Boat
Oh, the drifting boat
Where is it sailing off to?
Our shore is poor and humble
But there’s a green bamboo fence
Simple meals, yet enough
With just a pair of chopsticks
A spicy red pepper
A crisp, fragrant slice of eggplant.
Oh, the drifting boat
Forgets the harvest of the hay
Forgets the white lotus flowers
Forgets the calm moonlight
Forgets the flying fish
Forgets the familiar paths
Every New Year, the journey home...
The waves crash and call out
Boat, oh boat, what do you seek?
The tall buildings, the long streets
Perfumed incense, sweet wine
The night filled with music
The day full of the rush of cars
The dancers spinning away
Frantically lost in their dance
The storm-tossed boat moves on
Turning the waves in search of freedom
The distant shore, the far land
Let the boat drift aimlessly.
Here’s the wine, boat, oh boat
The boat of freedom that strays
Youths in search of freedom, boat
The boat of freedom, disintegrating
The sails follow the wind
Where will it go, where will it go?
The waves surround, all the same
The waves know their homeland: the sea
Though one may sail to a hundred shores
They will always have their homeland
Still, the drifting boat remains
Bowing its head in the quiet evening
Now I long for the scoldings
From my mother in those childhood days
Now I yearn for a slice of sour melon
With the sharp scent of preserved starfruit
Now I long for the familiar alley
Where someone waits for my return
Now I yearn for my village
For the scent of the season lingering
Oh, the drifting boat
The waves crash outside the sea
Where is it headed, where is it headed?
Do you hear the call of the shore?
The shore does not resent the boat
The shore cares for the boat on the sea
The shore cares for the drifting boat
The shore reminds the boat not to forget
The kindness of the homeland
Oh, the drifting boat.
1979
Source: Poetry with Childhood, Kim Dong Publishing House.
3. A Collection of Poems Written in Quang Tri
The flowers of Quang Tri
On the bomb crater in Trieu Hoa village
There’s a apricot tree
Its yellow flowers glowing
At the base of the crater
The water spinach flowers pale purple
Spread wide... stretch far...
On the bomb crater, beneath the crater
Life still blooms with flowers
The eyes
The enemy has left
Leaving in your eyes a question
Like the soul’s question marks
Questions that do not grow bigger
But fade into a stream of tears
Soaking through your shirt, your shoulders
The belief in love gives your eyes a shade of green
The land of Quang Tri!
The land of Quang Tri filled with bullet shards
White sand stained with rusty yellow
We can measure the cost of victory
Through the endless craters in the countryside.
1974
4. The Bamboo Spike
The bamboo transforms into sharp spikes
Mother sharpens them under starry nights
To avenge her husband by counting each enemy head
As the spikes are sharpened, the bamboo reaches higher.
5. The Grassland Dune
Mother cuts a bamboo branch to hold the national flag
The flag flutters, bright red, it waves in the wind
Oh, the bamboo branch and the unyielding figure
Carrying within them today's victory.
October 1973
6. By the Winter Hearth
By the winter hearth
The sound of the wind chimes echoes
October in the span of months
Oh, my friend from the Soviet Union
Whose voice sings a farewell
On the snowy train platform
Belarus
For Mother Russia, goodbye!
The birch forests, the enemy's rear
Who lights the fire on the cold night?
Drinking cups of black tea
Singing songs of loyalty
Kachyusa! Kachyusa!
Oh, the Russian girl
She has turned into blazing fire.
Leningrad still resounds
With the “Song of the Seaport”
The day I arrived in August
On the Rạng Đông ship
The cannon freshly cleaned
After a day of chilly weather.
“My Moscow”
Whose horse rides swiftly?
The red capital, our pride
The enemy can never win
By the winter hearth
October within the months
I hear the march
On the snowy white roads
The fire keeps roaring, keeps roaring
In the earthen-walled house
Isn’t that the guerilla
By the fire in the liberated zone?
You think of the enemy
Just as I am thinking
You look towards the future
Just as I am looking
Under the light of Lenin
The bond of brotherhood is pure
October in the span of months
August in the months of May
By the winter hearth
I hear the march
On the snowy platform...
November 1973
By the Hearth of the Liberated Zone
7. Trường Sơn's Hammock Marks
The soldiers have left
The forest still holds the traces of hammocks
Imprinted on the tree trunks.
Here are the two rope ends
Deep and heavy
This hammock surely belonged to
The commanding officer
Tossing and turning in the late-night forest
Thinking of various strategies.
Two green tree trunks
The bark shedding in chunks
The twisted rope ends
Here, whose hands were these
Joyful and lively
Swaying in the hammock
Gazing at the sky, watching the clouds drift.
A single tree trunk split
The hammock ends meet
The branches spread wide
The ropes tangled together
Surely, here there were two
Comrades in arms
On the way to the battlefield
Reading letters from home together.
Two old tree trunks
Bound together with leaves
In the night, with rain and wind
Someone must have slept here
Fearing the rain would follow the ropes
The rain would soak the hammock.
Trường Sơn, Trường Sơn
On those windy afternoons
On the distant visitor’s grounds
The memory of the hammock’s rope
What does it say to me?
Today, the sapling
Tomorrow, the towering tree
Will the hammock marks remain?
Will the lines etched in the wood still be there?
The grains of wood remind us
Of the days of marching...
1972
Source: Poetry with Childhood, Kim Dong Publishing House.
8. A Small Spring
In the middle of the green river
A single violet blossom blooms
Oh, little bird, chirping so loudly
Your song echoes through the skies
Each drop sparkles as it falls
I reach out and catch them in my hands.
Spring is here and the soldiers march
With buds woven into their belts
Spring is here as the workers go to the fields
New shoots stretch out across the rice paddies
Everything seems hurried
Everything is full of excitement
Our country, four thousand years old
Full of struggle and hardship
Our country, like a bright star
Always moving forward, never looking back.
I become a singing bird
I become a branch of flowers
I join the chorus
A single note of sorrow.
A small spring
Quietly offering itself to life
Even at twenty years old
Even when my hair turns gray.
This spring, I sing
The song of the southern rivers
The thousand-mile-long land of ours
The thousand-mile-long love of ours
The rhythm of the drum from Huế...
11-1980
This poem was written by the author on their sickbed shortly before passing, expressing their deep love for life and the country, as well as their wishes. It was published in the poetry collection 'Huế Spring.' The song was later composed by musician Trần Hoàn into a song of the same name.
Source:
1. Huế Spring, Văn nghệ Giải phóng Publishing House, 1970
2. Vietnamese Poetry 1945-1985, Giáo dục Publishing House, 1987
9. I Remember Uncle Ho
Tonight by the Ô Lâu riverbank
I sit and think of Uncle Ho's beard
Remembering Uncle's figure beneath the flag
His rosy cheeks, his silver hair
His kind eyes, shining bright like stars
Uncle's gaze reaching all the way to Ca Mau
Remembering the full moonlit night
On Mid-Autumn, Uncle sent his greetings
Remembering the day my village was devastated
The flood washed away, but Uncle sent golden rice
Remembering when our house turned to ash
Uncle sent soldiers to protect us
Oh Uncle, do you remember me too?
Each night, I feel restless
I look at the photo of Uncle I've kept so long
Staring at his bright eyes, his beard
At his broad forehead, his silver hair
The more I look, the more I lose myself
I kiss Uncle's photo, thinking he's kissing me
Uncle, though we're far apart
Your image is forever close in my heart
The enemy may try to tear the land apart
But the South will always look towards Uncle Ho
Towards the red flag
To reunite North and South as one
At night, I dream
Of the day our country is unified, and Uncle arrives in the South
The streets are filled with joy
Uncle stands on the village temple steps, smiling warmly
Uncle speaks kindly to the people
He calmly strokes his beard
And pats my head with love
Tonight, the moon is bright again
On Mid-Autumn, I sit and wait, thinking of Uncle
From afar, I hear the drums beating
And the children dancing and singing
Uncle must surely miss us too
The South, in pain, awaits his return
8-1956
This excerpt of the poem was used in the 2nd Grade Reading Textbook (Volume 2) during the 1976-1979 period.
10. My Brother's Grave, Flowers Bloom
Yesterday, they killed him
His body lay in the street corner
As they turned away
His eyes still stared, threatening
- This man is a communist
No one is allowed to bury him!
No one is allowed to bury him!
As they turned their backs
The red-painted coffin
Carried him to his grave
Following his soul
The entire village, the streets
Everyone, men and women alike
The procession grew longer
It stretched out, and the crowd kept growing
His grave lies on a high hill
This flower, I picked for you
This wreath, my sister made
This rose, I nurtured
I planted it at your grave
On the hill, your grave stands
The roses bloom and bloom
The fragrance spreads and spreads
When they pass by here
Even the vultures won't dare to look:
On the grave of the communist
The red roses bloom
Like blood, they blossom...
This poem won first place in the Thống Nhất Newspaper Poetry Contest in 1960.
