Quê Hương in Hải Phòng, photography by Nguyễn Thị Phương Trâm
By Georg Trakl Translation into Vietnamese by Lê Vĩnh Tài
bao giờ bạn trở lại, u sầu lẻ bóng, hỡi linh hồn lẻ loi một ngày vàng rực rỡ và đã kết thúc người bệnh yếu ớt đầu hàng cơn đau âm vang giai điệu du dương và êm ái điên cuồng hãy nhìn kia, hoàng hôn đêm trở lại lần nữa và một người than khóc một người khác đau khổ chịu đựng trong sự cảm thông cứ rùng mình dưới những ngôi sao mùa thu năm tháng cúi đầu sâu hơn nữa…
Always you return, melancholy, Oh meekness of the lonely soul. To the end a golden day glows With humility the patient one bows before pain Resounding with melodies and tender madness. See! It is already dusk. Again night comes in and a mortal lament And with it another suffers. Trembling beneath autumn stars Yearly the head bows deeper.
Georg Trakl [1887 – 1914] was an Austrian poet and the brother of the pianist Grete Trakl. He is considered one of the most important Austrian Expressionists. He is perhaps best known for his poem “Grodek”, which he wrote shortly before he died of a cocaine overdose.
Lê Vĩnh Tài, the poet and translator born in 1966 in Buon Ma Thuot, Daklak, Vietnam. The retired doctor is still a resident of the Western Highlands and a businessman in Buon Ma Thuot.
The third batch of Green Turtle eggs hatched during our stay in Con Dao
The pitter-patter of tiny feet leaving behind barely any visible trails, heads for the gentle waves. Beyond the small waves was an ocean invisible to the half-blind turtle hatchlings upon the dawning golden light. The swells of tears blinded my myopic vision.
The Green Sea turtles are likely to become more extinct compared to other species listed in The Red Book(1). Turtles are placed at the top of the list of endangered species in Vietnam. One in a thousand may survive in nature to adulthood (35-50 years), old enough to return and lay eggs at the place of their birth. The Green Sea turtles chances of survival are depleted further by poachers and the illicit steep price of their eggs.
Free range chickens in house on Six Senses Con Dao
Working closely with Con Dao National Park, Six Senses Con Dao over the last three years have been the proud caretaker of 132 nests, releasing over ten thousand critically endangered newly hatched Green Sea Turtles into the ocean(2).
My husband and I had the chance of a lifetime. We were there to witness more than a few nests of Green Sea Turtle hatchlings released over the few days we spent at Six Senses Con Dao at the end of July.
Organic farming on Six Senses Con Dao
My tears were mere drops in the ocean, pointless. The tears which saw an impossible future for those tiny tiny paddling feet in crystal clear water of Con Dao. The crystal clear water came at a huge cost, the cost of day and night labour to clear the beaches of garbage and human waste washed up the beach. The few years paid off with the return of The Green Sea Turtles. They return to bless us with their eggs, their future or is it actually ours?
Recently introduced mushroom farm at Six Sense Con Dao
The Green Sea Turtles are endangered because of my carbon footprint. Mine first. And it had taken me so long to finally admit my part in the problem. We forget so easily, as we live, we don’t like to walk, we like to drive down the road, we prefer to catch the bus, we like our plastic bags. We take mother nature for granted.
The privilege of taking care of the Green Sea Turtle nests goes beyond the unique experience at Six Senses Con Dao, the resort establishment aims to improve the environment around the resort with the hope of a cascading effect, involving those living on the island and the surrounding areas. Sustainability is obtained from the ground up. Education is the key to attaining a brighter future for the next generation. In the next generation we can instil the hope of a cleaner and sustainable environment on Con Dao and beyond.
It starts with free English classes, children of all ages may apply, children of all ages have the chance to learn, children of all ages have the chance to hold the key to their future. The future is not possible without our children. A bright future for The Green Sea Turtles is not possible without the education of our children. Yes, our children.
Seeing those small feet wading in the waves, pausing now and then to stick their heads above the water, take in a gulp of clean air, before they continue to paddle vigorously towards an unimaginable boundless body of water, it is dark, it is deep, it is fraught with danger, by a strand of intangible hope.
A strand of hope. A strand of hope was more than what I could hoped for in a lifetime.
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 Lê Vĩnh Tài Translator: Nguyễn Thị Phương Trâm Photography: Nguyễn Thị Phương Trâm
Nguyễn Thị Phương Trâm
sadness awakened at 2 am then 4 pm 5 thirty in the afternoon and 6 forty-five in the morning
after the alarm went off ringing sadness you dab the corners of your eyes with concealer cover up the crow’s feet my sadness hiding behind a joke
a smile, a cry my sadness afraid of my happiness worried that I’m no longer sad
sadness ceasing in front of me pulling me back into darkness or did it push me into the light as though nothing is going on
when people ask “R U OK?” I would say “I’m fine” or “I’m really good at writing poetry”
so that my sadness is not exposed to anyone
my sadness unexposed as though sadness it had collapsed on the veranda or is still fast asleep at 12 noon waiting for someone to join it for a drink
my sadness is the poem I’m writing along with the tears as the door closes sadness pooled in the showerhead not that I’m a grub and I’m lazy it’s because of it’s short fuse teary temperament
my sadness unlike sadness don’t know how to walk away from sadness don’t know how to talk about sadness but don’t think it’s not sadness it’s the sadness from the beginning of time
no you won’t be able to see my sadness it’s not someone with a broken leg on crutches how could you possibly understand my sadness is like a cancer how could you possibly comprehend
not until you strip me bare squeeze and poke at the tumour beneath my skin you’ll see that the air in my lungs is full of smoke and left behind in my heart is a drop of blood
coursing through my veins like the arrow pinned on my chest
until I’m as light as a feather drifting in a breeze then you’ll see that might be me
or it might be you(em) your discard joy out of an open window I’m not here or there, darkness = joy until the moment the doors are shut and locked joy have not the fingers to turn the key in holy matrimony
follows sadness is the joy spilling through the doorway points out an escape route from sadness
I will hold onto its arms tighter than the time you held onto me — Christmas Eve, 2023 —
NHỮNG THỨ CÒN SÓT LẠI ẨM ƯỚT VÀ VỠ VỤN TRONG BÓNG TỐI
nỗi buồn thức dậy lúc 2 giờ sáng sau đó 4 giờ chiều 5 giờ 30 phút đêm và 6 giờ 45 phút sáng
sau khi chuông báo thức reo lên nỗi buồn bạn thoa kem che nếp nhăn đuôi mắt nỗi buồn của tôi ẩn nấp đằng sau câu nói đùa
một nụ cười, một tiếng khóc nỗi buồn của tôi sợ tôi hạnh phúc sẽ không còn buồn
nỗi buồn ngừng lại trước mặt tôi kéo tôi trở lại bóng tối hay xô tôi ra ánh sáng ra vẻ như không có chuyện gì
khi mọi người hỏi “bạn có khỏe không?” tôi trả lời “tôi khỏe” hay “tôi làm thơ rất hay”
làm mọi người không nhìn thấy nỗi buồn của tôi
nỗi buồn của tôi không lộ ra như nỗi buồn nó không gục đầu trên hành lang hay ngủ vùi đến 12 giờ và chờ người rủ nhậu
nỗi buồn của tôi bài thơ tôi viết qua dòng nước mắt khi cánh cửa đóng lại nỗi buồn của tôi đọng lại dưới vòi sen không phải do tôi ở dơ hay lười tắm mà vì nó dễ nổi nóng và khóc quá nhiều
nỗi buồn của tôi không giống nỗi buồn không biết bước đi nỗi buồn không biết nói chuyện nỗi buồn nhưng đừng tưởng nó không phải nỗi buồn nó là nỗi buồn muôn thuở
không bạn không thể nhìn thấy nỗi buồn của tôi nó không phải như một người bị gãy chân và chống nạng bạn cũng không biết rằng nỗi buồn của tôi giống như căn bệnh ung thư bạn không biết
cho đến khi bạn lột trần tôi nắn bóp khối u phía dưới thịt da bạn thấy rằng tôi đã thở một bầu không khí như khói đã nghẹt hai phổi, và trái tim còn giọt máu
chảy trong huyết quản như một mũi tên ghim trên ngực
cho đến khi tôi nhẹ như một chiếc lông bay trong gió có thể đó là tôi
có thể đó là em, đã gạt hạnh phúc ra khỏi cửa không có tôi ở đây hay ở đó, bóng tối = hạnh phúc đến khi cánh cửa đóng chặt, hạnh phúc không có tay để mở để còn làm mấy cái chuyện tân hôn
tiếp theo nỗi buồn hạnh phúc tràn qua cửa chỉ ra lối thoát cho nỗi buồn
tôi sẽ nắm lấy cánh tay của nó và giữ chặt hơn lần em đã ôm tôi
Lê Vĩnh Tài, the poet and translator born in 1966 in Buon Ma Thuot, Daklak, Vietnam. The retired doctor is still a resident of the Western Highlands and a businessman in Buon Ma Thuot.
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 