A poem in Vietnamese by Nguyễn Bính Translator: Nguyễn Thị Phương Trâm
My poetry by Đinh Trường Chinh
The afternoon was for drinking and poetry Midday was for burning piles of dry leaves in the hill The dry leaves were the property of heaven The poetry written for her were all mine The dry leaves yellowed and lined My boundless poetry green so divine My poetry have been sent back to the capital While I’m here alone burning piles of dry leaves.
_____
JANUARY 2022
Thơ tôi
Buổi chiều uống rượu làm thơ Buổi trưa đi đốt lá khô trên đồi Lá khô là lá của trời Thơ tôi là để riêng tôi tặng nàng Lá khô sòng sọc màu vàng Thơ tôi bát ngát chỉ toàn màu xanh Thơ tôi gửi lại kinh thành Ở đây tôi đốt một mình lá khô.
Nguyễn Bính (1918-1966) the poet born Nguyễn Trọng Bính, in Thien Vinh village, Vu Bang District, Nam Dinh province, Vietnam. He lost his mother at a young age, learned to read and write at home, and started to write poetry from the age of 13, won the Poetry Consolation Prize from Tự lực văn group in 1937 with the collection of poems called My heart and soul. A committed supporter of the August Revolution, he moved to the resistance base in Đồng Tháp Mười leading a literature and art unit. Later he was editor of the semi-independent poetry magazine Trăm Hoa, Hundred Flowers.
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.
A poem in Vietnamese by Nguyễn Bính Translator: Nguyễn Thị Phương Trâm Photography: Nguyễn Thị Phương Trâm
Rain in the Old Quarter Hanoi
I’m the girl by the loom, next to my ageing mother Weaving silk from one day to another My homely novice heart in white silk, while mother’s far away, A merchant at the market in the middle of the day.
Spring was drifting in the wind that day, Flew in layers of neem blossoms, the display. The Dang village dance coupe passed by, Mother said: there’ll be a show in Đoài village tonight.
In my heart was the silky thread of a crush. My tiny fingers paused midweave. Cheeks pink, blushing, Me thinking of you.
All around the neighbourhood the lights were on, I reached out from beneath the veranda My hand grew colder in each raindrop, Thought maybe you might drop in.
I quickly asked mother, Mother: go, tell me everything after. I was not at all wet in the light rain Đoài village was only a dike away.
In Đoài village the singing went on into the night, I heard not a word, looking for you. The streets will definitely be cold tonight, Fingers numb through the sleeplessness.
Waiting forever for you to turn up, What was the reason for all the singing in the village. You being so adamant on us meeting, An entire spring in humiliation.
Alone, I was lost on the way home, Who said the dike was a short walk! The flimsy clothes to protect me under the heavy rain, Cold, feeling sorry for myself late into the night.
I was upset with you till morning, Mother asked me about the songs they sang. “ Mother they sang…” Then there it was The hot tears, and I turned away. * The still spring rain was unmoving that day, Beneath the soles of my shoes were battered neem blossoms. The Dang village dance coupe passed by, Mother said dried up are the spring days.
Dearest! Dried up are the spring days! When will I see you again? When will the Dang village dance coupe again pass by, So mother can tell me there’ll be a show tonight? _____ JANUARY 2022
Em là con gái trong khung cửi Dệt lụa quanh năm với mẹ già Lòng trẻ còn như cây lụa trắng Mẹ già chưa bán chợ làng xa.
Bữa ấy mưa xuân phơi phới bay Hoa xoan lớp lớp rụng vơi đầy Hội chèo làng Đặng đi ngang ngõ Mẹ bảo: “Thôn Đoài hát tối nay”.
Lòng thấy giăng tơ một mối tình Em ngừng thoi lại giữa tay xinh Hình như hai má em bừng đỏ Có lẽ là em nghĩ đến anh.
Bốn bên hàng xóm đã lên đèn Em ngửa bàn tay trước mái hiên Mưa chấm bàn tay từng chấm lạnh Thế nào anh ấy chả sang xem!
Em xin phép mẹ, vội vàng đi Mẹ bảo xem về kể mẹ nghe. Mưa bụi nên em không ướt áo Thôn Đoài cách có một thôi đê.
Thôn Đoài vào đám hát thâu đêm Em mải tìm anh chả thiết xem Chắc hẳn đêm nay dường cửi lạnh Thoi ngà nằm nhớ ngón tay em.
Chờ mãi anh sang, anh chẳng sang Thế mà hôm nọ hát bên làng Năm tao bảy tuyết anh hò hẹn Để cả mùa xuân cũng nhỡ nhàng!
Mình em lầm lũi trên đường về Có ngắn gì đâu một dải đê! Áo mỏng che đầu, mưa nặng hạt Lạnh lùng thêm tủi với canh khuya
Em giận hờn anh cho đến sáng Hôm sau mẹ hỏi hát trò gì Thưa u, họ hát… rồi em thấy Nước mắt trào ra, em ngoảnh đi.
Bữa ấy mưa xuân đã ngại bay Hoa xoan đã nát dưới chân giày Hội chèo làng Đặng về ngang ngõ Mẹ bảo: “Mùa xuân đã cạn ngày”.
Anh ạ! Mùa xuân đã cạn ngày Bao giờ em mới gặp anh đây? Bao giờ hội Đặng đi ngang ngõ Để mẹ em rằng: hát tối nay?
1936
Nguyễn Bính (1918-1966) the poet born Nguyễn Trọng Bính, in Thien Vinh village, Vu Bang District, Nam Dinh province, Vietnam. He lost his mother at a young age, learned to read and write at home, and started to write poetry from the age of 13, won the Poetry Consolation Prize from Tự lực văn group in 1937 with the collection of poems called My heart and soul. A committed supporter of the August Revolution, he moved to the resistance base in Đồng Tháp Mười leading a literature and art unit. Later he was editor of the semi-independent poetry magazine Trăm Hoa, Hundred Flowers.
source: wikipedia, thivien
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.
A poem in Vietnamese by Nguyễn Bính Translator: Nguyễn Thị Phương Trâm
September rain in the Old Quarter Hanoi. Photography: Nguyễn Thị Phương Trâm
The warm afternoon scent carried away by the breeze I’m the scattered dusty rain The intertwined mandarin and orange branches Leaves and petals ready to scoop up the rain.
Could anyone see clearly the spring rain The newly spun white spider web The dry fluttering butterflies wing The hatless people at a festival.
The cool path from the foot of the rice stalks Green on both sides the thriving wildflowers The unmoving bloated ox at the top of a mound Gobs wide open listened to the festival’s drums.
The rising mountain in a fresh hue The train headed south in a rush A flock of stork flew across the paddock Formed a line of white letters
The fateful beach strewn with silky green leaves The village side damp in fading bells The nostalgic afternoon couldn’t let go In the breeze the hovering misty rain. _____ JANUARY 2022
Nào ai nhìn thấy rõ mưa xuân Tơ nhện vừa giăng sợi trắng ngần Bươm bướm cứ bay không ướt cánh Người đi trẩy hội tóc phơi trần.
Đường mát da chân lúa mát mình Đôi bờ cỏ dại nở hoa xanh Gò cao đứng sững trâu kềnh bụng Nghếch mõm nghe vang trống hội đình.
Núi lên gọn nét đá tươi màu Xe lửa về Nam chạy chạy mau Một toán cò bay là mặt ruộng Thành hàng chữ nhất trắng phau phau.
Bãi lạch bờ dâu sẫm lá tơ Làng bên ẩm ướt giọng chuông mờ Chiều xuân lưu luyến không đành hết Lơ lửng mù sương phảng phất mưa. – 1958 Nguồn: 1. Quang Huy, Tuyển tập thơ chọn lọc – Thơ Nguyễn Bính, NXB Văn hoá Thông tin, 1996
2. Tuyển tập Nguyễn Bính, NXB Văn học, 1986 (có chụp bản viết tay của tác giả)
Nguyễn Bính (1918-1966) the poet born Nguyễn Trọng Bính, in Thien Vinh village, Vu Bang District, Nam Dinh province, Vietnam. He lost his mother at a young age, learned to read and write at home, and started to write poetry from the age of 13, won the Poetry Consolation Prize from Tự lực văn group in 1937 with the collection of poems called My heart and soul. A committed supporter of the August Revolution, he moved to the resistance base in Đồng Tháp Mười leading a literature and art unit. Later he was editor of the semi-independent poetry magazine Trăm Hoa, Hundred Flowers.
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.
Nguyễn Bính (1918-1966) the poet born Nguyễn Trọng Bính, in Thien Vinh village, Vu Bang District, Nam Dinh province, Vietnam. He lost his mother at a young age, learned to read and write at home, and started to write poetry from the age of 13, won the Poetry Consolation Prize from Tự lực văn group in 1937 with the collection of poems called My heart and soul. A committed supporter of the August Revolution, he moved to the resistance base in Đồng Tháp Mười leading a literature and art unit. Later he was editor of the semi-independent poetry magazine Trăm Hoa, Hundred Flowers.
source: wikipedia, thivien
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.
Nguyễn Thị Phương Trâm 