Đình Nguyên is an American-Vietnamese poet and a freelance photographer residing in the American Mid-West
—
When the face of humanity is nothing but two holes
sightless, then pointless are eyes
a hole to breathe
a mouth unnecessary
for the dumb
The dusk from long ago
afloat drifting
a flicker from within memory
appeared
a distant red eye
fell to the depth of the closing day
in
my departure
We will never grow old in sight of our mother. The tears of sadness and joy lingers as salt pools in the corner of her eyes in the days of tomorrow.
The clouds up high
quite shy
on the ground babbling.
Love is a glance leaning
upon the cool surface of the lake
through the waves sowing
the vast storms within me.
a red spot like a blood spatter
the first time…
the last performance
the falling cicada
As pure as a water droplet
She is a spectrum of colours
As fragile as a blade of grass
A verdant oasis in our soul.
By Lê Vĩnh Tài, translation by Nguyễn Thị Phương Trâm if the poem isn’t necessary then the poet is even less necessary Then what’s necessary? necessary is the reader each reader their own creator each reader their own source of fantasy each reader their own flight each reader their own (fluffy) cloud each reader their […]
it, I meant you
so very
afraid, an institution
a flame
you, learning the etiquette
Chew not on the painful pieces of memories
How then does such a festering wound heal?
ascend the old two-wheeler
in the gallery of our childhood, we always had each other
along with a time of depression
the spirits drifting
wavering spectres within a stifling dawn
the Sun in dried blood
breathless, hovering above the savagery of mass concrete
Compassion though intangible is an invaluable commodity, the random acts of kindness must be dished out with more care and thought. Because no one wants your pity. The best act of charity is the one you do for yourself.
The women in passing
kept for themselves nothing but tears
“Like star gazing, we can cloud browse!”
Wishful from within the haze a maze of longing
Abandoned dazed on the gravel grating
My memories lied to me, I’m left with just a feeling of bewilderment as my mind regress into senility, into the deep dark earth, into a meal for worms.
By Nguyễn Thị Phương Trâm The sugar in coffee beans “a promise of summer” The honey in wine “notes of spring” On taste buds budding lilacs the fragrance of sweet yearning Fresh soft morning dew In the mist a foggy figure Warm rays of sunshine March 2020
