it, I meant you
so very
afraid, an institution
a flame
you, learning the etiquette
(Em ra …cùng, với anh?
ứừ ư… rên nhẹ)
quá tuyệt vời ! Em yêu
(anh của em, chết mất)
Day after day, life continues at a rapid pace, always in a rush, where people leave to seemingly never return. There are the lonely nights, the mead in disarray due to some bloody war, the thrashing of endless living, the heartbreaking screams, the gratifying splattered blood and flesh across the horizon. In the end, as the sun rises, all is back in its place as it were, any evidence erased by the wind. Where we now live, is the residence of the night, of the conspiracy to harm, of the lurking agreements and handshakes in the dark. Hence, now and then the wind howls in bitterness, now and then, the clouds weave such laden pitiful images, and the flowers, the wild daisies silently carry their pain upon a patch of meadow bleached white in snow.
By RUDYARD KIPLING, a part translation into Vietnamese by Nguyễn Thị Phương Trâm
ai để ý
đến cú pháp của vật sự
sẽ không bao giờ hoàn toàn hôn em;
hoàn toàn là một kẻ ngu ngốc
khi mùa xuân ngập tràn thế giới
My gift is laced with poison
They will despise you
My protectors my masters
why
bullshit
that the poem
and you are
always
one?
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Bạch Điệp | The evening rain (1)
We’re like baby caterpillars
Thought we could leave imprints of our tiny feet on the sand
The holes and moats, the sand castles
But only the sea knows
There’s no such possible aspiration
To the very end
ta thấy em như
mưa,
(lông của cánh đồng thẹn thùng
với tất cả những gì hơn tơ-của-mơ. đem
nhẹ và nhạt nhòa hơn gió
By Nguyễn Thị Phương Trâm I climbed down the side of the rock, the grey hair man followed me ten paces behind rapidly shortening our distance. Why would he not leave me be? The salty rock surface mixed in with pools of wet coral makes for a cocktail of impending clumsy falls, gingerly I […]
I dream of an eloquent expression of the suggestiveness of the vulva
The suggestiveness of life from our elders
The children from their mother’s womb
The vastness…
ta mang trái tim người với ta(ta mang nó
trong tim ta)ta không bao giờ thiếu nó(đâu đó
ta đi người đi,thân mến ạ;và bất cứ điều gì thực hiện
ta làm là vì người,yêu dấu ơi)
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Nguyễn Thị Phương Trâm | Lệ Thu
Vietnamese acclaimed singer, artist.
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Sấu Mã | MOVEMENT – CHUYỂN ĐỘNG (7)
Thơ của Sấu Mã đến với tôi không phải là một cái duyên mà là “inevitable” một sự xác xuất. Những lời thơ của SM đối với tôi vừa nhắc nhở, và vừa an ủi, ai mà chẳng phải đối với con ma của thời gian.
Reading SM’s poetry to me isn’t fate but more of an inevitable probability. His poetry to me is a reminder, and consoling, no one can avoid the need to eventually face the ghost of time.
In the darkness she sat up, left the bed. The mosquito and he too was drawn towards her. Even with his eyes closed, he could still see the older man and her together, when not once did her footsteps make a sound. He accepts one must be responsible for one’s action, but why does the older man need to scrutinise everything for three-generations, so much heartache.
“I don’t want everyone to end up like this, how can anyone survive?” she spoke up in the end, in shortness of breath.
Like smoke would dissipate in the air.
As though it has never existed.
resonating deep echoes of a gong far gone
a gloomy day a baby turned in its mother’s womb
who gets to choose the door entering the world
the land hot bloodied in human sweat
recollections forgetful as clouds are as springs
child, are you sure it’s not too much…
This coldest winter’s eve
I carried thee in my heart
Thee a broken shattered shell
Soul shining in moonlight
the poem
you’ve coveted
hung up
caressed and admired
taken to bed
now
your only cause
of pain
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Nguyễn Thị Phương Trâm | Trần Băng Khuê
Trần Băng Khuê, author of a selection of published short stories. You will find a couple of her translated short stories here on SONGNGUTAITRAM and Litviet.
Tomorrow upon the sparse pavement the lonely footsteps.
My returning memories within the bitterness of those eyes lips.
Dreams of whom in my hands upon the sunset
The caress of a spring tardy upon rosy lips.
