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PHOTOGRAPHY SHORT STORIES/TRUYỆN NGẮN

Trần Băng Khuê | The Nets (10)

Trần Băng Khuê, born in 1982, lived for a period in Auckland, New Zealand, currently resides in Huế. A talented writer and an aspiring artist.

Nguyễn Thị Phương Trâm, the poet and translator, born 1971 in Phu Nhuan, Saigon, Vietnam. The pharmacist currently lives and works in Western Sydney, Australia.

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SHORT STORIES/TRUYỆN NGẮN

Trần Băng Khuê | Animal Sacrifice (9)

Trần Băng Khuê

Born in 1982, lived for a period in Auckland, New Zealand, currently resides in Huế. A talented writer and an aspiring artist.

Categories
ART

Trần Băng Khuê | Nguyễn Thị Phương Trâm

by Trần Băng Khuê, young writer and aspiring artist

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ART

Trần Băng Khuê | Nguyễn Thị Phương Trâm

by Trần Băng Khuê, young writer and aspiring artist

Categories
SHORT STORIES/TRUYỆN NGẮN

Trần Băng Khuê | The Hues of My Youth (8)

It all began with a top. That’s right, my youth was an idyllic entanglement? No, more perhaps glimpses of the back of a blue top departing a train station draped in a misty downpour that had swept across Saigon years ago.

Categories
POETRY/THƠ

Hoàng Xuân Sơn | The Old mAn NgUYen liKes to KiCk tHe bAll aRounD (17)

Hoàng Xuân Sơn is a Canadian-Vietnamese poet, currently resides in Quebec, Canada.

[ after being imbued with martial law and fundamental rights ]

Categories
ART POETRY/THƠ

Hoàng Xuân Sơn | t h E s c E n t Of c O L o U r s (16)

The smell of sleep
hints of footprints long gone
the poem stuck in a draw
still a brand-new river of white brilliance

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ART

Nguyễn Thị Phương Trâm | Trần Băng Khuê

Sketch

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SHORT STORIES/TRUYỆN NGẮN

Trần Băng Khuê | Reconciliation (7)

It has been an incredible journey translating this master piece by Trần Băng Khuê. It has been my privilege.

“Những vệt máu đã khô trên mấy ngón tay. Chúng tan hoà vào nhau thành một thứ hình thù kì dị mang tên tội lỗi.”

“The blood had dried on my fingers. They merged together oddly into an appellation of blasphemy.”

Categories
SHORT STORIES/TRUYỆN NGẮN

Trần Băng Khuê | The Vows (6)

The moon was bright red. My fingers in the dirt. The lumps of soft earth broke away, revealing a tongue that has disintegrated, turned black. My useless tongue. The tongue that could not keep its word. Then suddenly there it was, I discovered another tongue by it. It was tarried by the soil, but it was still clear that it was still fresh, its flesh damp with blood. I was very confused, for sure I had never buried such a tongue. Who’s tongue is this? Where did it come from? Why would anyone want to cut their tongue off and bury it as I did?

Categories
ART

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.

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SHORT STORIES/TRUYỆN NGẮN

Trần Băng Khuê | The Caterpillars contained in jars (5)

The summer was pouring liquid fire. Again a redundant observation, clearly every summer there’s a fire, especially here. There has never been a cool summer. I’ve seen the white clouds in the blue sky each morning. They’re deceiving, delivering such a soothing fresh day. But, immediately, within moments, the sky may turn grey yet noon. The grey horizons usually paired with annoying dark clouds.

Categories
SHORT STORIES/TRUYỆN NGẮN

Trần Băng Khuê | a dark neighbourhood – khu phố tối (3)

By Trần Băng Khuê, translation by Nguyễn Thị Phương Trâm