Four Vietnamese Poems
Translated by TIEN TRAN
Last updated 1/18/21
Warwick, RI
I haven’t translated much Vietnamese poetry, but here are four of my favorite poems growing up. The first is a classical octave or lüshi that is a staple of schoolbooks; the second two represent early Han Mac Tu, which I loved, but little understood; and the last, a superb lament that is wonderful to recite.
Qua Đèo Ngang
Bước tới đèo Ngang bóng xế tà
Cỏ cây chen lá, đá chen hoa
Lom khom dưới núi tiều vài chú
Lác đác bên sông chợ mấy nhà
Nhớ nước đau lòng con cuốc cuốc
Thương nhà mỏi miệng cái da da
Dừng chân đứng lại trời non nước
Một mảnh tình riêng ta với ta
Crossing Ngang Pass
I got to Ngang Pass when evening shadows fell
Grass and trees jostled with leaves, rocks with flowers
Bent under cliffs, woodcutters were a few
Scattered along the river, several houses
Thinking of country, the waterhen made moan
Feeling for family, the francolin wore out its cries
I paused and stood, amid sky, mountain, water
For a private consultation, my feelings and I
Notes
Evening shadows fell... – Xế tà means “fall into evening.” The first line is simply marvelous. Xế (fall or slant) is sudden and dramatic, and tà (evening) is lengthy and deep, with ominous overtones, as in “ma tà” or “eerie” – but xế tà also juxtaposes a Vietnamese and a Chinese word, respectively, that both mean “to fall” or “to slant.” To me, this juxtaposition goes to the very heart of this poem, which is so prized for its perfect fusion of classical form and demotic language and feelings.
Grass and trees jostle... - This kind of dense, chiastic description is usually reserved for the middle couplets of an octave. There’s something slightly paradoxical about this overabundance of beauty in a small space. The landscape itself is condensed, crowded in, and this adumbrates the poet’s conflicted inner feelings, as we learn in the latter half of the poem.
Waterhen... francolin... – The waterhen and the francolin’s onomatopoeic Vietnamese names correspond to the poet’s twin and apparently conflicting obligations. In effect, the waterhen is crying, “Country! Country!” and the francolin, “Family! Family!” The effect hasn’t survived my translation, unfortunately.
This scene-painting poem is wonderfully intimate and affecting. The affect is that the poet, on her way between two pressing obligations, steals this brief moment to take in the beautiful landscape and touch base with her innermost feelings. That her private consultation remains private heightens the effect. The title tells us that she has already crossed the pass, but in the poem we see her pausing, uncertain whether she has made the right choice.
Mùa Xuân Chín
Trong làn nắng ửng khói mơ tan
Đôi mái nhà tranh lấm tấm vàng
Sột soạt gió trêu tà áo biếc
Trên giàn thiên lý Bóng xuân sang
Sóng cỏ xanh tươi gợn tới trời
Bao cô thôn nữ hát trên đồi
Ngày mai trong đám xuân xanh ấy
Có kẻ theo chồng bỏ cuộc chơi
Tiếng ca vắt vẻo lưng chừng núi
Hổn hển như lời của nước mây
Thầm thỉ với ai ngồi dưới trúc
Nghe ra ý vị và thơ ngây
Khách xa gặp lúc mùa xuân chín
Lòng trí bâng khuâng sực nhớ làng
Chị ấy, năm nay còn gánh thóc
Dọc bờ sông trắng nắng chang chang
Ripened Spring
In rosy light dreamy fog dissipates
A few thatched huts are speckled gold
Rustling wind teases a blue dress
On the wisteria trellis, spring’s shadow passes
Undulating green grass spreads to Heaven
Countless village girls are singing on the hills
Tomorrow, within that spring-green bunch
There’s one who will follow her husband, abandon the pastime
Their singing whips halfway up mountains
Eager as the voices of clouds and waters
Confiding with one who sits under bamboo
Making out interest and innocence
The traveler, coming upon a ripened spring
Feelings and thoughts unreal, suddenly remembers the village
Does she, this year, still carry unhulled rice
On the white riverbank beaming midday sunlight
Notes
Wisteria – “Thiên lý” is a flower similar to the honeysuckle, whose scientific name is telosma cordata; its Vietnamese name means “heaven sense” or “heaven’s reason” – a favorite with poets, needless to say.
She – “Chị” indicates that she’s older than the poet.
A self-consciously bucolic or pastoral poem, until the ending produces a flurry of striking contrasts: a specific woman vs. a chorus of girls; work vs. play; the past vs. the present; there vs. here; and lastly, intense midday sunlight vs. diffuse morning sunlight. “Bâng khuâng” – “dazed” or “unreal” – prepares for this onslaught.
Nụ Cười
Trăng lên nước lặng tre la đà
Rơi bóng im trên đám cỏ hoa
Tiếng động sau cùng lau cỏ mọc
Tiếng ca chen lấn từ trong ra
Tiếng ca ngắt, cành lá runh rinh
Một nường con gái trông xinh xinh
Ống quần vo xắn lên đầu gối
Da thịt, trời ơi! trắng rợn mình
Cô gái ngây thơ nhìn xuống hồ
Nước trong nổi bật dung hình cô
Nụ cười dưới ấy và trên ấy
Không hẹn, đồng nhau nở lẳng lơ
The Smile
The moon rises, waters still, bamboo hovers
Dropping silent shadow onto a patch of weedy flowers
A disturbance behind the reed bank—
A singing voice from within encroaches
A piercing voice, leaves tremble
A girl, pretty to look at
Pants’ legs rolled up to her knees
Her skin, O God! scarily white!
The young woman innocently looks down
The clear water ignites her lovely figure
And a smile below and another one above
Without appointment, in air, bloom together
Notes
Who is the speaker, and what is this young woman doing, out alone at night, in this secluded spot, anyway? As I understand it, “innocently” and “without appointment” in the final stanza clue us in on what’s going on here. After having made an agreement to meet the girl, the speaker waits for her at their appointed spot and watches as she emerges from behind the reeds. His reaction to her singing, then his even more violent reaction to her exposed skin, is deliberately, humorously theatrical. Her smile is no less magical for all that, as she, in turn, pretends that there’s no one there watching.
The classifier or measure word for smile, “nụ,” means bud, so “bloom” in the last line fulfills the promise of the title. Simply a charming poem, with a clear and wonderful tripartite structure.
Nhớ Rừng: Lời Con Hổ ở Vườn Bách Thú
Ngậm một khối căm hờn trong cũi sắt
Ta nằm dài trông ngày tháng dần qua!
Khinh lũ người kia ngạo mạn, ngẩn ngơ,
Giương mắt bé diễu oai linh rừng thẳm
Nay sa cơ, bị nhục nhằn tù hãm
Để làm trò lạ mắt, thứ đồ chơi.
Chịu ngang bầy cùng bọn gấu dở hơi,
Với cặp báo chuồng bên vô tư lự.
Ta sống mãi trong tình thương nỗi nhớ,
Thủa tung hoành, hống hách những ngày xưa.
Nhớ cảnh sơn lâm, bóng cả, cây già,
Với tiếng gió gào ngàn, với giọng nguồn hét núi,
Với khi thét khúc trường ca dữ dội
Ta bước chân lên, dõng dạc, đường hoàng,
Luận tấm thân như sóng cuộn nhịp nhàng,
Vờn bóng âm thầm, lá gai, cỏ sắc.
Trong hang tối, mắt thần khi đã quắc
Là khiến cho mọi vật đều im hơi.
Ta biết ta chúa tể của muôn loài
Giữa chốn thảo hoa, không tên không tuổi.
Nào đâu những đêm vàng bên bờ suối,
Ta say mồi đứng uống ánh trăng tan?
Đâu những ngày mưa chuyển bốn phương ngàn
Ta lặng ngắm giang san ta đổi mới?
Đâu những bình minh cây xanh nắng gội
Tiếng chim ca giấc ngủ ta tưng bừng?
Đâu những chiều lênh láng máu sau rừng
Ta đợi chết mảnh mặt trời gay gắt
Để ta chiếm lấy riêng phần bí mật?
Than ôi! thời oanh liệt nay còn đâu?
Nay ta ôm niềm uất hận ngàn sâu
Ghét những cảnh không đời nào thay đổi,
Những cảnh sửa sang, tầm thường, giả dối:
Hoa chăm, cỏ xén, lối phẳng, cây trồng;
Giải nước đen giả suối, chẳng thông dòng
Len dưới nách những mô gò thấp kém;
Dăm vừng lá hiền lành không bí hiểm
Cũng học đòi bắt chước vẻ hoang vu
Của chốn ngàn năm cao cả, âm u.
Hỡi oai linh, cảnh nước non hùng vĩ!
Là nơi giống hùm thiêng ta ngự trị,
Nơi thênh thang ta vùng vẫy ngày xưa
Nơi ta không còn được thấy bao giờ!
Có biết chăng trong những ngày ngao ngán
Ta đang theo giấc mộng ngàn to lớn
Để hồn ta phảng phất được gần ngươi
Hỡi cảnh rừng ghê gớm của ta ơi!
Jungle Longing: Words of the Tiger in the Zoological Garden
Chomping on bitter resentment in the iron cage
I lie prostrate watching days and months pass slowly by,
Disdain that gawky, daring human tribe
Lifting puny eyes to mock the mighty spirit of the deep jungle
Now fallen into a low estate, suffers humiliating imprisonment
To be a novel sight, an amusing toy,
Endures the same treatment as the stupid bears
And a pair of leopards in the next sty lacking all self-possession.
I live forever in the love of things past, in remembrance
Of another era, roaming free and full of arrogance.
I miss the scene of mountains and forests, great shadows of ancient trees,
With wind scouring the heavens, with cataracts screaming at cliffs,
With the resounding frightful anthem
When I advanced proper on the kingly path,
Working my body like the rhythmic waves of the sea,
In among silent shadows, thorny leaves, sharp grass.
In the dark cave, when supernatural eyes had narrowed,
Then all creatures held their breaths;
I knew that I was lord of creation,
I amid nameless, ageless flora.
Where now are those golden nights beside the stream,
Drunk on prey, I drank in dissolving moonlight?
Where now, days rain mobilized the four directions
As silently I contemplated my realm being changed?
Radiant mornings sunlight bathed fresh growth,
The singing of birds tumultuously celebrating my slumber;
Blood-drenched afternoons behind the forest,
When I waited to die the fierce and unrelenting sun,
That I may seize for my own a portion of the Mystery—
O woe! those powerful days, where are they?
Here I embrace an indelible hatred,
Loathe the scene that never changes,
A well-kept landscape, mediocre, mendacious:
Fertilized flowers, mowed grass, straight paths, cultivated trees.
A stretch of brackish water, un-fluent
Creeps at the foot of low mounds;
Several patches of weeds, tame, without secrets,
Still seeking to imitate the wild abandonment
Of a thousand-year-old gloomy majesty.
O Mighty Spirit! the scene of majestic waters and mountains,
Where the hallowed tiger kind reigned,
In whose empty boundlessness I struggled
That long ago—never will I see you again.
Who knows if, during these dreadful days,
I fall into a dream vast
And my wafting soul comes near to you,
O my terrible, my frightful jungle.
Notes
What a superb lament! Within the eight-syllable line, the rhythm is always changing, shifting, in such a way as to suggest the sense of power being simultaneously expressed and held in reserve, which makes bearable what is otherwise an overwhelmingly tragic situation. The first un-rhymed line, ending in the word “iron,” unleashes a torrent of rhyming couplets, among which some near rhymes are cunningly deployed. The elevated tone and diction, with touches of the archaic, suit the subject and occasion perfectly.
Note that “mighty spirit” refers to the tiger in the first stanza, but to the jungle itself in the last.
Blood-drenched afternoons – I take this is to be the blood of the dying sun itself – late sunlight that appears like blood – as the tiger hasn’t begun to hunt. The next two lines make clear that the sun and the tiger are co-rulers of this violent mythic realm, where one has to die for the other to take its place.
Empty boundlessness – The line denotes a futile or wasted effort. Tragedy has infected the past, robbing it of meaning and imbuing it with a sense of helplessness.
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