Top 10 Remarkable Poems by the Great Poet Nguyen Du

Đối tửu

Sitting in meditation, the window open, the wine slowly numbs the eyes,
Countless petals fall, carpeting the green moss.
While alive, never finishing a full cup of wine,
After death, who will pour it over my grave?
The hues of spring change, the oriole flies away,
The years silently press on, turning my hair to gray.
Among the many desires, none more than to drink deep and often,
Life's fleeting nature, like passing clouds, truly brings sorrow.

Translation

Seated cross-legged before the window, the wine dulls the senses, eyes half-closed,
Countless flowers fall onto the soft, green carpet.
In life, never finishing a cup of wine,
After death, who will pour it onto my grave?
Spring's beauty fades, the golden oriole flies away,
Time relentlessly pushes forward, turning hair white.
Among all the hopes, none is greater than to be drunk day and night.
The affairs of the world are like passing clouds, truly something to lament.

Commentary:

The emotions expressed in *Đối tửu* reflect those of a great hero. Nguyen Du, who once stood face to face with Nguyen Hue and understood well the intellect and cunning of Gia Long and Minh Mệnh, knew that they were capable rulers who valued talent but also maintained a cautious, suspicious approach. As the chief diplomatic envoy to the Qing court, and the head scholar of the royal academy, Nguyen Du was a polymath deeply knowledgeable in fields such as Buddhism, the *I Ching*, feng shui, physiognomy, history, geography, culture, and language. Despite his vast knowledge, he remained remarkably humble and cautious, a rare combination in any era.

Sở Kiến Hành

A woman with three children
Sat together by the roadside
The child still in her womb
The older one carrying a basket
What is in that basket so full?
Leek, or perhaps some rice husks
It is past noon, yet no meal has come
Her clothes are torn and ragged
She doesn’t lift her eyes to those who pass
Her tears flow down her sleeves
The children still laugh with joy
Unaware of their mother's deep pain
How does a mother’s heart ache?
In that year of famine, they wandered to another village
In that village, crops flourished
The rice price was not too high
She had no regrets about leaving home
As long as there was a way to survive
One person works tirelessly
But cannot feed all four mouths
They beg along the road each day
How long can this last?
Before her eyes, the moment of death draws near
Her blood and flesh feed the wolves
The mother dies without regret
Her sorrow only deepens as she comforts her children
Her heart aches terribly
The sun itself turns yellow with sadness
The cold wind blows sharply
Those who travel the road feel the pain too
Last night at the West River station
There was a lavish feast
Venison and fish with the finest wine
Tables full of pork and goat meat
The officials refused to touch the dishes
Only their attendants sampled the food
And cast it aside without care
The neighbor's dogs even turn away from the food
But does anyone know
That on this very road
A mother and her children starve and suffer?
Who will paint this scene
And present it to the king?

Translation:

The poem "Sở Kiến Hành" is one of the masterpieces of Vietnamese classical literature. This poem once again affirms the great heart and talent of the great poet Nguyễn Du. The poem reveals various tragic aspects of the human condition: the tragedy of a person forced to leave their homeland, the tragedy of a beggar, the tragedy of a person living with the shadow of death looming over them… and the tragedy of the callousness of innocent children who do not comprehend the deep sorrow in their mother’s soul.

Chapter 01

In the realm of humanity,
Talent and fate often seem at odds.
After enduring the turmoil of life,
One witnesses painful truths that tear at the soul.
5. It's no surprise that jealousy exists,
As even the sky’s whims favor beauty over fairness.
Thick fragrance lingers as the lamp flickers,
While poetic history continues to unfold.
In the year of Jiajing during the Ming dynasty,
10. The world was calm, and the capitals secure.
There was a family of modest means, the Wang family,
Living a life typical for the time,
With a son, the youngest, named Wang Quan,
Whose destiny was marked by the heritage of scholars.
15. His household had two beautiful daughters,
Thuy Kieu, the older, and Thuy Van, the younger.
Each was graceful, with purity of spirit.
They were like the beauty of nature, each perfect in their own right.
While Van was elegant and noble in demeanor,
20. Her face full, her features soft and rounded.
Her smile as gentle as the morning dew, her skin as smooth as porcelain.
On the other hand, Kieu’s beauty was sharp and captivating,
Her talents outshone even her beauty.
25. Her eyes sparkled like autumn water, her expression refined.
Her charm outdid the flowers, her sorrow surpassed the weeping willows.
She could sway the hearts of both people and nations,
Her gracefulness rivaling that of the finest poetry.
Her intellect was innate, a gift from the heavens,
30. And her talents in painting, poetry, and music surpassed all others.
Her compositions could outshine even the finest musicians.
At the height of her beauty and grace,
She stood on the threshold of womanhood, a perfect blend of elegance and charm.

Analysis:
Chapter 01 is an excerpt from the famous work *The Tale of Kieu* by Nguyen Du. In the feudal society of ancient Vietnam, women were not valued or respected. However, Nguyen Du transcended these injustices with his compassion and empathy for their plight. He portrayed the beauty, intelligence, and suffering of women with great care. The excerpt highlights the bond between the two sisters, Thuy Kieu and Thuy Van, and emphasizes Nguyen Du’s remarkable skill in character depiction through these first few verses.

The Village at Night

In the front of Thanh Thao village, an old man lies resting,
As the dusk darkens the southern riverside.
The full moon illuminates the sky, casting light on the still waters,
A cold lamp flickers in the breeze, hanging amid countless trees.
Though aged, the man still does not realize his struggle for livelihood,
Only when the burdens of life ease does he find peace within.
Through the years, he remains a companion to the fishermen and woodcutters,
And laughs freely amidst the mist rising from the lake and the wild grass.

Translation:

Before the Thanh Thao village, an elderly man lies hunched,
As the darkness from the southern river gradually envelops the screen.
The bright moon in the sky reflects on the water's surface,
And the cold lantern hangs, flickering in the wind among the thousand trees.
Old age has come, and he is still unaware of his missteps in livelihood,
But with time, the worries fade and his heart becomes light again.
Year after year, he befriends the fishermen and woodcutters,
And he laughs in the haze of mist and the grass-covered land.

Analysis:
The poem *The Village at Night* comes from the collection *Thanh Hiên Thi Tập* (written between 1785-1802 when Nguyen Du lived in seclusion at his wife’s homeland in Thai Binh, before returning to Hồng Lĩnh and then back to Bắc Hà to serve the Gia Long dynasty). The poem carries a solemn yet deeply emotional tone, reflecting inner contemplation and the passage of time.

The Beggar's Alms

The long sword, proud and strong, gazes at the endless sky,
Rolling through the muddy soil for thirty years.
What use have the written words served for me?
How unexpected that I must endure hunger and cold, with others' compassion.

Translation:

The long sword stands tall, defying the blue sky,
Rolling in the muck for three decades.
What use have the words ever been to me?
Alas, now I suffer hunger and cold, only to find solace in others' pity.

Interpretation:

This poem is taken from *Ten Years of Dust and Wind*, written by Nguyễn Du between 1786-1795. His Chinese-language poetry often expresses a deep sigh, reflecting on human nature and the state of the world, while also lamenting personal hardship. One recurring symbol in Nguyễn Du’s life and work is his prematurely gray hair, which represents worry, melancholy, and a sense of helplessness.

The Stone of Waiting for the Husband

Is it a stone? Or a human form? Who stands there?
Alone atop a mountain, enduring the passage of a thousand springs.
For countless lifetimes, no rain or mist will grace the stone,
Its figure immortalized, forever faithful.
Autumn rains fall like endless tears,
The moss upon the stone records a tribute to her.
Looking around, the mountains stretch on endlessly,
Is the cycle of loyalty reserved only for women?

Translation:

Is it a stone or a human form?
Standing alone on the mountaintop for thousands of years.
For eternity, no clouds, no rain will bring dreams or mist,
The stone remains, steadfast in its purity.
The autumn rains fall like never-ending tears,
The moss writes an enduring tribute to her story.
All around, mountains and hills extend endlessly,
Is the concept of loyalty truly only for women?

Source: *The Chinese Poetry of Nguyễn Du*, Trần Văn Nhĩ, Văn Nghệ Publishing House, 2007

Interpretation:

This poem is from *Serving as an Official in Bắc Hà* (1802-1804). It is a heartfelt expression of Nguyễn Du’s empathy for the plight of women during that era.

"Is loyalty truly only for women?"

The Words of the Young Man at the Hat-making Street

What a pity, the fate of Tấn and Tần,
So unfamiliar, so distant, from close to far.
Before the dawn, the day is already long,
Even now, I am still angry at the chicken that died in vain.
Pity the bright star, for no reason,
And how foolish to strike the sky with a hammer.
As I passed by, I glanced at the region,
The voice of the nightingale, its sound like a lingering cry.
On the old doorstep, the last embers still glow,
The areca nut remains, waiting for my lover.
High above, Mount Hồng Sơn rises steeply,
The boat ride is long, yet love is still constant.
Why all these strange doubts and worries,
From last night to this evening, everything seems uncertain.
As I travel further, I hear the distant sounds,
And the whispers are almost like whispers in my ear.
In my homeland, the morning sun and the evening rain,
Already sorrowful, it only deepens as I travel further.
Indifferent, I pass the familiar sights,
Now tired of the same places, I grow angry.
The moon, slanting, casts a golden shadow,
And I pause, remembering the distant door.
Restlessly, I lie under the wide, flat screen,
Confused, as though tangled in threads that can never be undone.
When the market at Vịnh opens, I look again,
On the third day, but I don't see you, perhaps by the thirteenth.
The more I wait, the more I can't see you,
The betel nut is consumed in vain, several times now.
Thinking I was joking, I was wrong.
But it has stirred my heart, deeply.
Looking to the sky, the clouds form distant layers,
Looking to the moon, it promises to return by the thirtieth.
Unintentionally, the moon behaves like a person,
And here I am, silently smiling, as I think of my own fate.

Interpretation:

Hoàng Xuân Hãn believed that Nguyễn Du wrote *The Words of the Young Man at the Hat-making Street* when he was around 19 or 20, and *The Funeral Elegy for the Two Girls of Trường Lưu* was written a few years later, before he reached 25. He also speculated that the young man in the poem might be based on Nguyễn Du himself. Nguyễn Thạch Giang argued that *The Words of the Young Man at the Hat-making Street* was written between the ages of 16-19, while *The Funeral Elegy for the Two Girls of Trường Lưu* was written between 1796-1802, or even towards the end of that period, placing Nguyễn Du between the ages of 32-38 when the latter poem was created.

The garden by West Lake has now turned into a wasteland.
I visit her only through the book I read at the window.
The makeup has a soul, it must feel sorrow for the events that unfolded after death,
Literature lacks destiny but still suffers from consequences, with a few poems remaining.
The sorrow of the past is too difficult to inquire about,
In the face of misfortune, I, too, am one who shares her fate.
Who knows, three hundred years from now,
Who in the world will mourn Tố Như?

Translation

The garden by West Lake has become a desolate place,
I only pay my respects to her through the book I read at the window.
The makeup, with its spirit, surely feels pity for the tragedy that followed her death,
Literature, without its own fate, also gets entangled, with a few verses left behind.
The grief of the ages is too hard to ask of the heavens,
I consider myself as someone in the same boat, suffering from a strange injustice due to my refined nature.
Who will cry for Tố Như three centuries later,
Is there anyone in the world who will weep for her?

Regarding the story of Tiểu Thanh, refer to the author Phùng Tiểu Thanh (Ming Dynasty, China).

Source: Nguyễn Du's Chinese poetry, Literary Publishing House, 1978.

Commentary

'The beautiful garden by West Lake has turned into a wasteland.' This refers to West Lake in Hangzhou, China. The opening line paints a scene of decay, but it does not just evoke a general sense of decline, it specifically ties to the location, West Lake. Tiểu Thanh, a woman of talent and beauty during the Ming Dynasty, was forced to become a concubine and suffered under the harsh treatment of the first wife. West Lake was where she was forced to live in solitude by the first wife, ultimately leading to her tragic death at 18. This poem conveys Nguyễn Du's sympathy for Tiểu Thanh, reading her book, paying homage to her. The book is 'Tiểu Thanh's Record' (Tiểu Thanh ký), which contains 12 poems left behind after the first wife burned her works. Nguyễn Du, upon reading her life and poems, felt deep pity for her fate, an act of posthumous tribute.

Văn tế thập loại chúng sinh

In the damp rainy season of July, the misty air brings a cold chill, as if the evening of autumn wraps around the bones. The swaying grasses are tinged with silver, and the leaves of corn fall golden, creating an atmosphere of melancholy.

5. The birch trees cast long shadows in the waning light of the day, while the mist rises along the road of pears. One cannot help but feel deeply connected, as if the human world is just as fleeting as the world of the spirits. In the dark, desolate night, there is an ethereal presence, a feeling of cold and distant things.

There is a sense of pity for the myriad souls—each one drifting alone, their essence scattered in this world, their spirits homeless in the night. With no shelter, their souls roam, lost and forsaken, unclaimed by any one person, indifferent to virtue or vice.

10. In this time of sorrow, a ritual is performed to release the spirits from their suffering. Water is poured gently, as the Buddhist teachings of compassion promise salvation, leading souls to the Western Paradise of peace and liberation.

But there are those who, in life, sought fame and glory, climbing over others in their quest for power. Yet, even they must face the unpredictability of fate. The storm brings ruin, and no matter how mighty their reach, they cannot escape the inevitable.

25. Suddenly, the storm comes. The proud ones, once wealthy and powerful, are left broken and bloodied. Their once grand fortunes are reduced to nothing, as they are swept away by the tide of misfortune, scattered across the battlefield of life.

The wandering souls have no place to rest. In the darkness of the night, they cry out in torment, lost in the bleak winds. Their existence is but a fleeting moment, a brief passage between life and death, caught in a never-ending cycle of despair.

There are those who once enjoyed wealth and power, their bodies surrounded by luxury. Yet, now, their lives are but ashes in the wind. Once vibrant, now lifeless, they are left in the emptiness of time, with no one to care for them, no one to mourn their passing.

40. The rich and the powerful, once full of life, now find their time has passed. Their fortunes, once grand, are now but memories fading into the abyss of oblivion. What was once theirs is now nothing, as they have become mere shadows, drifting through the winds of fate.

45. There are those whose lives were marked by ambition, whose hands once held the power to shape kingdoms. But now, they too are caught in the same fate, powerless and alone. They, too, must face the inevitable end, where all their efforts and struggles are for naught.

In the deep of night, the mournful cries of souls lost to the passage of time fill the air. Their lives, once full of potential, now lie forgotten. Their names, once sung in praise, are now whispered in sorrow, as they too must face the fate that awaits all.

Even the great and mighty, those who thought themselves invincible, must bow to the greater forces of nature. The winds and the rains do not spare the proud. They, too, are subject to the laws of the universe, and in the end, they must face the same fate as the lowliest of souls.

60. The battlefield of life is harsh and unforgiving. The strong and the weak alike must face the consequences of their actions. In the end, there is no escape from the fate that awaits us all. Whether we are rich or poor, powerful or weak, we are all subject to the same forces, and in the end, we must all face the same end.

As the winds howl and the rains pour, the cries of the lost souls fill the air. Their suffering is endless, as they drift aimlessly in the vast ocean of time. And yet, even in the depths of their despair, they hold onto the hope that one day, they will find peace, that their suffering will be ended by the grace of the Buddha.

70. The rich and powerful may have everything they desire in life, but in death, they are no different from the poor and destitute. Their wealth, their power, their prestige—all of it is left behind, as they are swept away by the currents of time. In the end, all that matters is the journey of the soul, and the hope that it will find peace and release from the cycle of suffering.

In life, they may have been kings and queens, but in death, they are all the same. The winds blow, the rains fall, and the souls of the departed drift along, lost in the vastness of the universe.

80. The journey of life is fraught with hardship, with struggle, and with pain. But in the end, it is not the riches or the power that matter. It is the soul's journey, its search for peace, that defines us all. Whether we are kings or beggars, the end is the same, and all must face it with grace and humility.

For those who have passed, there is only the hope that they may find peace in the arms of the Buddha, that their suffering will be ended, and that they will be released from the cycle of life and death.

125. The young ones, those who have not yet tasted the bitterness of life, are also caught in the same web of fate. Their cries echo through the night, as they too are swept away by the currents of time, lost in the vast ocean of existence. They too must face the inevitable, and their journey, like all others, will end in the same place.

The great and the small, the rich and the poor, all must face the same end. Their lives, no matter how grand or humble, are but fleeting moments in the vast tapestry of time. In the end, it is not what we possess or what we achieve that matters, but how we face the journey of life and death.

170. The teachings of the Buddha remind us that all things are impermanent, that the world we live in is but a shadow. In the end, it is the soul's journey that defines us, and it is only through the grace of the Buddha that we can find peace and release from the endless cycle of suffering. May we all find the strength to face the journey with courage and humility, knowing that in the end, we are all one.

This work, often referred to as the "Văn chiêu hồn" or "Văn tế chiêu hồn," has been a significant part of Vietnamese literature, reflecting the struggles and the inevitable fate that binds all beings. It was later included as additional reading in the Vietnamese high school literature curriculum of 1990-2006, shedding light on the inescapable nature of life and death, and the importance of compassion in navigating the trials of existence.

Source: Văn tế cổ và kim, NXB Văn hoá, Hà Nội, 1960

Critical Interpretation

The "Văn chiêu hồn" describes the pain and suffering of all kinds of people from various walks of life, from the powerful to the humble. No one can escape the inevitable death. While "each person has their own fate," the path to the underworld is something all must walk. As Nguyễn Du so poignantly writes, "The more things change, the more they stay the same. The fate of all beings is equally tragic, regardless of station in life."

Long Thanh Cầm Giả Ca

Long Thanh's beauty,
Her name was unknown.
She alone played the zither,
People in the city called her the Zither Maiden.
She performed the "Cung Phung" melody from the old imperial court,
A piece of music so beautiful, it seemed a gift from heaven.
In my youth, I met her once,
By the Giám Lake during a grand banquet.
At that time, she was about twenty-one,
Her pink robe illuminated her face, as beautiful as a flower.
The wine deepened her innocence and charm,
Her fingers glided over the five strings, producing delicate sounds.
The melody was as soft as the wind through a pine forest,
As clear as two cranes calling from afar.
Strong as the thunder cracking the Tiến Phúc stone,
Sorrowful as Trang Tích, who moaned in the middle of illness.
Her audience was captivated, lost in the music,
Not realizing they were listening to the music of the Central Palace.
The officers of the Tây Sơn were drunk and swayed,
Celebrating until dawn, without a care.
They fought for rewards,
Money had no meaning to them.
Her noble charm surpassed even the highest rulers,
Young men in Ngũ Lăng didn't compare.
It seemed as though the thirty-six spring songs,
Had now become a priceless treasure in Tràng An.
Years passed, and I thought of the past,
After Tây Sơn's fall, I journeyed south.
Though Long Thanh was nearby, I never saw her again,
Let alone the dance and song within the city.
Now, the Tuyên Phủ official hosts a gathering for me,
Younger singers perform, but one old woman sits alone at the back.
Her face is pale, her hair thin, and her form small.
Her brow is wrinkled, no makeup or adornment.
Who would have guessed that she was once the greatest singer in the city?
Her old melody brings tears to my eyes,
As I listen, my heart grows heavy.
I remember that night by the Giám Lake, twenty years ago,
When I first saw her.
The city walls have crumbled, and everything has changed,
Now, all that remains of the Tây Sơn is its fleeting legacy.
Time passes, a century seems so brief,
And I return to the south, my hair turned white.
I lament how beauty has faded with age.
Her eyes stare ahead, remembering the past,
But neither of us can recognize the other.

Translation

The beautiful lady of Long Thanh
Her name unknown
She alone could play the zither
The people called her the Zither Maiden
Her melody of “Cung Phung” was passed down from the ancient court,
It was a song so perfect, it seemed to come from heaven.
Once, I met her by the Giám Lake,
She was twenty-one, dressed in a pink robe, her face glowing like a flower.
The wine in her cup made her look innocent, her fingers danced on the strings.
The sound was soft like the wind through the trees,
Clear as a distant cry of cranes.
Strong like thunder breaking stone,
Sorrowful like the moans of a sick woman.
The listeners were enchanted, unaware of the depth of her song.
The officers of Tây Sơn were drunk, not realizing the time.
They fought for rewards,
Money had no value to them.
Her elegance surpassed that of kings,
While young men of Ngũ Lăng were not worthy of comparison.
Time passed, but my memory of her remains.
Even now, I recall her once again.
Her beauty has faded, and the world has moved on.

Commentary:

This is the only poem in which Nguyễn Du mentions the Tây Sơn dynasty. Through the image of “the once-great empire...now only a single elderly singer remains,” the poet expresses his sorrow, tears staining his clothes. Long Thanh Cầm Giả Ca, written by the great poet Nguyễn Du (1765–1820), was composed during his diplomatic mission to the Qing Dynasty (China) in 1813 and completed by 1814. This poem, alongside Truyện Kiều, Điếu La Thành Ca Giả, and Độc Tiểu Thanh Ký, is considered one of Nguyễn Du's works that profoundly express his sympathy for the unfortunate lives of women suffering under feudal society in Vietnam.