HOW TO KILL TIME OF AN AFTERNOON? | Nguyễn Viện

Sông Hương, Huế, Việt Nam Winter 2025. Photography Nguyễn Thị Phương Trâm

A poem in Vietnamese by Nguyễn Viện
Translator: Nguyễn Thị Phương Trâm

morning sickness each afternoon
madness each afternoon
chilling death each afternoon

me tying a rope around my legs pulling myself off the ground and I’m upside down
swinging in the sky
me climbing a tree to be free fly with the birds towards coming dark clouds
so that when I fall I will fall like water
and at the top of a waterfall
I will fall into a pit of darkness to salvage my soul

the game I play each afternoon
the death I want each afternoon

LÀM THẾ NÀO CHO HẾT MỘT BUỔI CHIỀU?

Mỗi buổi chiều là một cơn ốm nghén
Mỗi buổi chiều là một cơn điên
Mỗi buổi chiều là một cái chết buốt
 
Tôi buộc sợi dây thừng vào hai chân và kéo dốc ngược mình lên khỏi mặt đất
Đu đưa với bầu trời
Tôi leo lên một ngọn cây và bay cùng với lũ chim về phía đám mây đen đang kéo đến
Để khi rơi xuống tôi sẽ là những giọt nước
Và trên một đỉnh thác
Tôi sẽ lao xuống vực thẳm vớt lấy linh hồn mình
 
Mỗi một buổi chiều tôi có một trò chơi
Mỗi một buổi chiều tôi đều muốn chết.

2011


Nguyễn Viện, born Nguyễn Văn Viện, on February 1, 1949 in Dong Xa, Hai Duong, is a journalist and writer, self-published author, on noteworthy subjects like sex and politics, listed by RFA as Resistance Literature. Currently living and writing in Saigon, Vietnam.

Nguyễn Thị Phương Trâm, the blogger, poet, and translator, was born in 1971 in Phu Nhuan, Saigon, Vietnam. The pharmacist currently lives and works in Western Sydney, Australia.

not dead yet | Mai Thảo

A poem in Vietnamese by Mai Thảo
Translator: Nguyễn Thị Phương Trâm

alone I will step through the opening of a new year
the world dead silent in the wordless rain
startled by the crowing of another generation
from the underworld more urgent is my calling

trừ tịch

Bước một mình qua ngưỡng cửa năm
Nhân gian tịch mịch tiếng mưa thầm
Chợt đầu vẳng tiếng gà lai kiếp
Báo vẫn đêm đầy ở cõi âm


Mai Thảo [1927-1998] real name is Nguyen Dang Quy, another pen name: Nguyen Dang, he was born on June 8, 1927 in Con market, Quan Phuong Ha commune, Hai Hau district, Nam Dinh province (originally from Tho Khoi village, Gia Lam district, Bac Ninh province, the same hometown and related to the painter Le Thi Luu), his father was a merchant and wealthy landowner. Mai Thao absorbed his mother’s love of literature from Bac Ninh. As a child, he studied at a village school, went to Nam Dinh high school and then Hanoi (studied at Do Huu Vi school, later Chu Van An). In 1945, he followed the school to Hung Yen. When the war broke out in 1946, the family evacuated from Hanoi to Con market, in the “House of the Salt Water Region”, from then on Mai Thao left home to Thanh Hoa to join the resistance, wrote for newspapers, participated in art troupes traveling everywhere from Lien Khu Ba, Lien Khu Tu to the Viet Bac resistance zone. This period left a deep mark on his literature. In 1951, Mai Thao abandoned the resistance and went into the city to do business. In 1954, he migrated to the South. He wrote short stories for the newspapers Dan Chu, Lua Viet, and Nguoi Viet. He was the editor-in-chief of the newspapers Sang Tao (1956), Nghe Thuat (1965), and from 1974, he oversaw the Van newspaper. He participated in the literature and art programs of radio stations in Saigon from 1960 to 1975. On December 4, 1977, Mai Thao crossed the sea. After 7 days and nights at sea, the boat arrived at Pulau Besar, Malaysia. In early 1978, he was sponsored by his brother to go to the United States. Shortly after, he collaborated with Thanh Nam’s Dat Moi newspaper and several other overseas newspapers. In July 1982, he republished the Van magazine, and was editor-in-chief until 1996, when due to health problems, he handed it over to Nguyen Xuan Hoang; Two years later he died in Santa Ana, California on January 10, 1998.

Nguyễn Thị Phương Trâm, the blogger, poet, and translator, was born in 1971 in Phu Nhuan, Saigon, Vietnam. The pharmacist currently lives and works in Western Sydney, Australia.

WHERE YOU ARE HOME | Nguyễn Viện

Sông Hương, Huế, Việt Nam Winter 2025. Photography Nguyễn Thị Phương Trâm

A poem in Vietnamese by Nguyễn Viện
Translator: Nguyễn Thị Phương Trâm

the sand is hot
thorns popping out of the ground
all around
your feet
your head buried
in the wind ignored
the demons digging around inside your blood vessels
as the swarm of flies pull you down
an emptiness

precarious by the day
your footing on the sand
hot with a bloodless heart
try to stop yourself from disappearing
between the urges of the soul and blind obsession

where I could never be
your fingers falling apart each time you try to hold onto what is sweet
your heels slipping on the same old thing
where I will never know
where all hope is lost

and then you would ask for help with just
the one question: “How are you?”

NƠI EM VỀ

Cát nóng và gai nhọn mọc quanh bàn chân
Em úp mặt vào gió và mặc cho bọn quỉ bươi móc trong huyết quản
Trong lúc lũ ruồi kéo em xuống
Một khoảng trống
 
Càng lúc càng mong manh
Nhưng làm thế nào để em đứng vững giữa cát nóng với một trái tim khô
Làm thế nào để em đừng tan ra giữa sự thôi thúc của linh hồn và sự ám ảnh mù mịt
 
Nơi anh không thể tới
Những ngón tay em đứt rời khi bám vào sự ngọt ngào
Những ngón chân em trơn trượt trên những cái cũ mèm không thể gỡ bỏ
Nơi anh không biết
Đã mất hút niềm hy vọng
 
Và rồi em cầu cứu
Chỉ với một câu hỏi: “Anh khoẻ không?”
 
5.4.2009


Nguyễn Viện, born Nguyễn Văn Viện, on February 1, 1949 in Dong Xa, Hai Duong, is a journalist and writer, self-published author, on noteworthy subjects like sex and politics, listed by RFA as Resistance Literature. Currently living and writing in Saigon, Vietnam.

Nguyễn Thị Phương Trâm, the blogger, poet, and translator, was born in 1971 in Phu Nhuan, Saigon, Vietnam. The pharmacist currently lives and works in Western Sydney, Australia.

waiting a thousand year | Mai Thảo

A poem in Vietnamese by Mai Thảo
Translator: Nguyễn Thị Phương Trâm

waiting a thousand year at the precipice
home to the delusions of the same name
living a shitty life in the gutter
because they have not came

one shitty face is like any other shitty face
when it’s time for the bats to wake up
across the sky is the spreading stench
from here to the end of the horizon

owls and crows in a crowd
tearing to shreds the leaves in the trees
the stench of dirt from the few souls lost
the stench of sewage and rising rot

worthless influencers ruling the world
cheap tactics scaremongering the old
opportunists and users, you’re not dead yet
and these demons are already laughing

with my head down I can leave this land of the living
like a tired star that wants to resign from its position
like a boat far from shore heading for the seas
heading for the elephant graveyard for the final rest

make our ancestors wade through the swamps
such swampy paths could never take our shoes
the shoes are dirty so let them be
on the way home through the West Gate

chờ đợi nghìn năm

Ta đợi ngàn năm tới trước thềm
Đó về huyễn ảo đã cùng tên
Song loan chưa tới trong chờ đợi
Đành với hoàng hôn sống nhá nhem

Tối sáng không phân nhọ mặt người
Là giờ xuất hiện của bầy dơi
Rợp trời những cánh bay hôi hám
Trên lối ta đi tới cuối trời

Quạ cú ào theo kín một bầy
Cáo chồn mai phục mỗi hàng cây
Dăm con ma xó tanh mùi đất
Cống rãnh chui lùn cũng bủa vây

Bàn độc chen chân chó nhảy ngồi
Mồ chiều xanh lạnh lửa ma trơi
Giậu chưa đổ đã bìm chen lấn
Huyệt chửa đào xong đã quỷ cười

Ta cúi đầu đi khỏi bãi đời
Như vì sao mỏi muốn lìa ngôi
Như thuyền xa bến vào muôn biển
Tới đáy rừng chôn giấc ngủ voi

Làm người xưa bước qua lầy lội
Đường lội làm sao giữ được giầy
Giầy đã lấm rồi thôi để mặc
Trên lối đi về hướng Cửa Tây


Mai Thảo [1927-1998] real name is Nguyen Dang Quy, another pen name: Nguyen Dang, he was born on June 8, 1927 in Con market, Quan Phuong Ha commune, Hai Hau district, Nam Dinh province (originally from Tho Khoi village, Gia Lam district, Bac Ninh province, the same hometown and related to the painter Le Thi Luu), his father was a merchant and wealthy landowner. Mai Thao absorbed his mother’s love of literature from Bac Ninh. As a child, he studied at a village school, went to Nam Dinh high school and then Hanoi (studied at Do Huu Vi school, later Chu Van An). In 1945, he followed the school to Hung Yen. When the war broke out in 1946, the family evacuated from Hanoi to Con market, in the “House of the Salt Water Region”, from then on Mai Thao left home to Thanh Hoa to join the resistance, wrote for newspapers, participated in art troupes traveling everywhere from Lien Khu Ba, Lien Khu Tu to the Viet Bac resistance zone. This period left a deep mark on his literature. In 1951, Mai Thao abandoned the resistance and went into the city to do business. In 1954, he migrated to the South. He wrote short stories for the newspapers Dan Chu, Lua Viet, and Nguoi Viet. He was the editor-in-chief of the newspapers Sang Tao (1956), Nghe Thuat (1965), and from 1974, he oversaw the Van newspaper. He participated in the literature and art programs of radio stations in Saigon from 1960 to 1975. On December 4, 1977, Mai Thao crossed the sea. After 7 days and nights at sea, the boat arrived at Pulau Besar, Malaysia. In early 1978, he was sponsored by his brother to go to the United States. Shortly after, he collaborated with Thanh Nam’s Dat Moi newspaper and several other overseas newspapers. In July 1982, he republished the Van magazine, and was editor-in-chief until 1996, when due to health problems, he handed it over to Nguyen Xuan Hoang; Two years later he died in Santa Ana, California on January 10, 1998.

Nguyễn Thị Phương Trâm, the blogger, poet, and translator, was born in 1971 in Phu Nhuan, Saigon, Vietnam. The pharmacist currently lives and works in Western Sydney, Australia.

to never wake up | Du Tử Lê

"và con mèo mun của nàng vừa trở về sau một cơn mưa". minh quạ cực ngắn 🙂 năm mèo.12.3.2023.đtc. Art: Đinh Trường Chinh

A poem in Vietnamese by Du Tử Lê
Translator: Nguyễn Thị Phương Trâm

she sleeps in the trees
in the heat of summer
green and soft breaths. not
the return of the heron

she sleeps in the fall
tired branches bent limps
the load of my dying love
soon with this imprisoned heart
at the height of the moonrise
she I will miss

she sleeps in winter
my weeping meadow
as she cross the river
miss maybe our pillow
the depths of my regret
the chill of my future

she sleeps in the spring
the flowers mumbling
my feet stumbling
upon loneliness fall
have you not a word for me ?
….

you sleep in my heart
to never wake up
a lifetime is not much
abandoned is my seat
by your side .

chẳng bao giờ dậy nữa


em ngủ trong rừng cây
giữa mùa hè rực rỡ
bày hạc không về đây
lá xanh. mềm hơi thở

em ngủ trong mùa thu
những hàng cây lưng gù
gánh tình tôi héo rụng
ngày sau trong tâm tù
nhớ em trăng rất muộn

em ngủ trong mùa đông
cánh đồng tôi nước ròng
em đi qua bến sông
nhớ gì chăn gối cũ
linh hồn tôi ăn năn
về giữa ngày giá buốt

em ngủ trong mùa xuân
mùa xuân đã âm thầm
bàn chân khua góc phố
tôi rơi cùng cô đơn
em còn không tiếng nói?

em ngủ trong lòng tôi
chẳng bao giờ dậy nữa
một đời rồi cũng thôi
chỗ ngồi kia đã bỏ.


Du Tử Lê, born 1942, Kim Bang, Ha Nam, Vietnam. The poet was the author of more than 70 publications. He graduated from Saigon University of Literature, and he was an intern at a newspaper in Indianapolis, Indiana (1969). The poet died in 2019, in Garden Grove, California, United States.

Nguyễn Thị Phương Trâm, the blogger, poet, and translator, was born in 1971 in Phu Nhuan, Saigon, Vietnam. The pharmacist currently lives and works in Western Sydney, Australia.

awareness | Mai Thảo

Mai Thảo by Đinh Trường Chinh

A poem in Vietnamese by Mai Thảo
Translator: Nguyễn Thị Phương Trâm

A busy busy bee day and night
A celestial body constantly circling the earth
Over the moon and then the sun with the sudden truth
Sudden awareness of the majestic face
Of night terror in the dark

ý thức

Sáng sáng chiều chiều óng ánh siêng năng
Như đoá vệ tinh nghìn ngày trái đất
Bay hết mặt trăng bay hết mặt trời
Đêm hoang đường nghiêng
Sáng loà sự thật
Cơn mộng dữ còn uy nghi khuôn mặt


Mai Thảo [1927-1998] real name is Nguyen Dang Quy, another pen name: Nguyen Dang, he was born on June 8, 1927 in Con market, Quan Phuong Ha commune, Hai Hau district, Nam Dinh province (originally from Tho Khoi village, Gia Lam district, Bac Ninh province, the same hometown and related to the painter Le Thi Luu), his father was a merchant and wealthy landowner. Mai Thao absorbed his mother’s love of literature from Bac Ninh. As a child, he studied at a village school, went to Nam Dinh high school and then Hanoi (studied at Do Huu Vi school, later Chu Van An). In 1945, he followed the school to Hung Yen. When the war broke out in 1946, the family evacuated from Hanoi to Con market, in the “House of the Salt Water Region”, from then on Mai Thao left home to Thanh Hoa to join the resistance, wrote for newspapers, participated in art troupes traveling everywhere from Lien Khu Ba, Lien Khu Tu to the Viet Bac resistance zone. This period left a deep mark on his literature. In 1951, Mai Thao abandoned the resistance and went into the city to do business. In 1954, he migrated to the South. He wrote short stories for the newspapers Dan Chu, Lua Viet, and Nguoi Viet. He was the editor-in-chief of the newspapers Sang Tao (1956), Nghe Thuat (1965), and from 1974, he oversaw the Van newspaper. He participated in the literature and art programs of radio stations in Saigon from 1960 to 1975. On December 4, 1977, Mai Thao crossed the sea. After 7 days and nights at sea, the boat arrived at Pulau Besar, Malaysia. In early 1978, he was sponsored by his brother to go to the United States. Shortly after, he collaborated with Thanh Nam’s Dat Moi newspaper and several other overseas newspapers. In July 1982, he republished the Van magazine, and was editor-in-chief until 1996, when due to health problems, he handed it over to Nguyen Xuan Hoang; Two years later he died in Santa Ana, California on January 10, 1998.

Nguyễn Thị Phương Trâm, the blogger, poet, and translator, was born in 1971 in Phu Nhuan, Saigon, Vietnam. The pharmacist currently lives and works in Western Sydney, Australia.

Thương Tín Chánh Tín both dead | Đinh Trường Chinh

Đinh Trường Chinh in NYC

In Vietnamese by Đinh Trường Chinh
Translator: Nguyễn Thị Phương Trâm

Thương Tín is dead
Chánh Tín is also dead
my Saigon inspite of all those
hungry days
starved of words
starved of poetry
starved of music
starved of cinematography
refusing death.

the gamelle of the past
packed for the U. S. A.
long since rusted
along with the empty Guigoz can
stuffed with my dreams rolling around somewhere in
a drawer of my memory
(dreams
like
me chewing on imperial gum
with my girlfriend
watching rats deep inside the movie theater scurried under our feet)

the afternoon
I am meandering the crowds in New York
forgetting I had to bury still
that old city from
30 years ago
forgetting
that there was once a day
Thương Tín rode his Honda 67
right into cafe Hoàng Hôn
lighted a cigarette
THE Saigon gangster
forgetting Bích Liên’s wet breasts
in the shower
(I would wait to watch that part of the movie
before going home
before the movie theater lost power)
forgetting
a case about a stray bullet
in my formative years years.

Thương Tín
Chánh Tín
both dead
everything will pass soon
a pair of Tổ Ong slip on crossing oceans
and yet here I am this afternoon
walking through the street lights the colour of Christmas
Saigon and its subsidies old business
still gasping for air
dying
alive for a few seconds
of sorrow (not of war)
waiting for me to finish tapping out this garbage
somewhat of a poem
at a cafe right on
the corner of 46th Street and Broadway. 🙂

thương tín chết
chánh tín cũng đã chết
vậy mà Sài Gòn của tôi
những ngày đói meo
đói chữ
đói thơ
đói nhạc
đói phim
vẫn chưa chịu chết.

cái gà mên đựng quá khứ
mang theo qua Mỹ
rỉ sét từ lâu
cả cái lon ghi-gô
tôi đã từng nhét giấc mơ mình vào đó
lăn lóc trong một ngăn kéo nào của ký ức
(những giấc mơ
đại loại như
được ăn chewing gum có mùi thơm đế quốc
với người yêu
sâu trong một rạp chiếu phim, và nhìn những con chuột chạy dưới chân mình)

buổi chiều
tôi bước qua đám đông ở New York
quên mất mình vẫn chưa làm mai táng
cho cái thành phố cũ ấy
từ 30 năm trước
quên mất
đã từng có một ngày
thương tín chạy chiếc mô-tô 67
xộc vào quán cà phê hoàng hôn
châm điếu thuốc lá
rất giang hồ sài gòn
quên mất bích liên
ngực trần tắm dưới vòi sen
(tôi mãi ráng chờ coi đến đoạn ấy
để ra về
trước khi rạp chiếu phim bị cúp điện)
quên
vụ án một viên đạn
lạc vào ngày mới lớn.

thương tín
chánh tín
đã chết
mọi thứ rồi qua đi
đôi dép tổ ong cũng đã vượt qua bao đại dương
vậy mà chiều nay
đi giữa phố đèn màu giáng sinh
Sài Gòn bao-cấp xưa
vẫn còn ngáp ngáp
ngắc ngoải
sống một vài giây
với nỗi buồn (không chiến tranh)
đợi tôi gõ cho xong
bài thơ rác này
ở tiệm cà phê
ngay góc đường 46 và Broadway. 🙂

13:28.12.12.2025.


Đinh Trường Chinh, the poet, and artist was born in 1970 in South Vietnam. The poet currently works in IT in Virginia, U. S. A.

Viet Pham, translator and poet, passed away today, September 2025.  The world will miss his compassion and sense of humour..

THE SACRED LEVEL OF THE SMELL OF A BARREN WOMB | Nguyễn Viện

Nguyễn Viện (source: BBC News Tiếng Việt)

A poem in Vietnamese by Nguyễn Viện
Translator: Nguyễn Thị Phương Trâm

Published on Tạp Chí Thế Kỷ Mới

January or October
your smell is an illusion
in a gust of wind

sudden rain
cruel fading light
the thought there or
not at all
someone’s fading footstep
unhindered by I

mountain and sea
to the end of this life the cold shoulder
beyond the absent desire
my infinite affection for you

my resting place
my death. and resurrection. like the smell of your barren womb

what I have is not a word
be it joy or a smile for a dying soul
nor do I for this tired body
your forgotten embrace
what I have is not I just now is the past?

if I can’t be defined by the embodiment of you then how can there ever be salvation for such a dream?

MÙI TUYỆT TỰ TRÊN TẦNG THÁNH VỊNH

Tháng mười hay tháng giêng
Cũng chỉ là một ảo tượng của cơn gió
Mang theo mùi hương em

Những cơn mưa bất chợt
Những ngọn nắng tàn phai
Nhớ và quên
Bước chân người đã lặng
Tôi không níu giữ

Như núi và biển
Lạnh nhạt suốt đời này
Tôi không thương nhớ
Nhưng tôi vẫn yêu em muôn thuở

Nằm xuống ngày vọng mộ
Tôi chết. Và phục sinh. Như mùi em tuyệt tự

Tôi đã còn không tiếng reo
Của hân hoan nụ cười cho một linh hồn rã mục
Tôi đã còn không vòng tay ôm của em thuở trước cho một thân xác mỏi mòn
Tôi đã còn không một tôi vừa quá vãng?

Nếu tôi không được định nghĩa bằng em thì cơn mê này làm sao cứu rỗi?

NGUYỄN VIỆN
9/10/2025


Nguyễn Viện, born Nguyễn Văn Viện, on February 1, 1949 in Dong Xa, Hai Duong, is a journalist and writer, self-published author, on noteworthy subjects like sex and politics, listed by RFA as Resistance Literature. Currently living and writing in Saigon, Vietnam.

Nguyễn Thị Phương Trâm, the blogger, poet, and translator, was born in 1971 in Phu Nhuan, Saigon, Vietnam. The pharmacist currently lives and works in Western Sydney, Australia.