VIETNAMESE POETRY
Dr. Đàm Trung Pháp
“Thơ xuân đất khách” Thanh Nam
One of the most cherished literati in pre-1975 Saigon was the writer and poet Thanh Nam (1931-1985), who along with Nguyên Sa was the driving force behind the magazine “Hiện Đại” [1]. This popular author of more than twenty novels was also noted for his exquisite poetry. He was admired by people in every walk of life, including famous singers, and top-rank writers and poets. People loved Thanh Nam because of his intellectual probity – he wrote about life as he had actually lived it. Thus, his prose and his poetry were all about real life. “Thanh Nam’s real soul penetrates his literary works,” noted Bình Nguyên Lộc [2]. “The style is the man himself. This saying fits Thanh Nam perfectly,” declared Mai Thảo [3]. Although his first novel was published in Saigon in 1957, Thanh Nam had started writing with his colleagues Ngọc Giao, Nguyễn Minh Lang, and Thy Thy Tông Ngọc in Hanoi in the early 1950s. In 1952, he moved to Saigon and flourished in the literary circle there until the collapse of South Vietnam in 1975. If we needed just one publication to introduce Thanh Nam, that would be his 1983 poetic collection “Đất khách” (“In exile”); and if we needed to read just one poem typical of him, that would be his “Thơ xuân đất khách” (“Vernal poetry written in exile”). Thanh Nam penned “Thơ xuân đất khách” in Seattle on February 18, 1977, which was also the first day of the Lunar Year of the Snake (Đinh Tỵ). This first day of the lunar year is a most solemn time, during which the Vietnamese honor their ancestors, visit relatives and friends, wear their nicest clothes, and rejoice. The entire poem is translated into English below, along with annotations and references.
Tờ lịch đầu năm rớt hững hờ Mới hay năm tháng đã thay mùa Ra đi từ thuở làm ly khách Sầu xứ hai xuân chẳng đợi chờ Trôi giạt từ Đông sang cõi Bắc Hành trình trơ một gánh ưu tư Quê người nghĩ xót thân lưu lạc Đất lạ đâu ngờ buổi viễn du
The calendar leaf marking the new year coolly dropped Reminding me that seasons had changed Since the day I left as an expatriate Two springs of homesickness had willy-nilly gone by Drifting from the East to the North [4] The trip was a glaring load of sorrows In a foreign land, expatriation gnawed at me In an unfamiliar environment, I wondered about my journey A writer in exile who could not write was like a defeated warrior lying on a battlefield, who heard the imaginary sound of bugles commemorating his past dreams. That was Thanh Nam’s plight, awake or asleep. His sense of humiliation was poignant:
Thức ngủ một mình trong tủi nhục Dặm dài chân mỏi bước bơ vơ Giống như người lính vừa thua trận Nằm giữa sa trường nát gió mưa Khép mắt cố quên đời chiến sĩ Làm thân cây cỏ gục ven bờ Chợt nghe từ đáy hồn thương tích Vẳng tiếng kèn truy điệu mộng xưa
Awake or asleep it was me alone in humiliation The miles were long, my feet tired, my steps forsaken Like a soldier who had just been defeated I lay on the battlefield, shattered by wind and rain Eyes closed I tried to forget about my warrior life To become a vegetable slumped on a riverbank Suddenly from the bottom of my wounded soul I heard bugles commemorating dreams of yesteryear The pain felt by expatriates is acute. A year for others is twelve months, but for Vietnamese refugees it is just April, the fateful month in which South Vietnam was overrun by North Vietnam. The calamity caused broken hearts and tangled minds: Ới hỡi quê hương bè bạn cũ Những ai còn mất giữa sa mù Mất nhau từ buổi tàn xuân đó Không một tin nhà, một cánh thư Biền biệt thời gian mòn mỏi đợi Rối bời tâm sự tuyết đan tơ Một năm người có mười hai tháng Ta trọn năm dài Một Tháng Tư!
Alas, home country and old friends What was your fate amidst this calamity We lost one another that late spring No tidings from home, not even a letter Pining in an endless wait for your news My tangled mind is like snow flurries People have twelve months a year For me, the whole long year is just one April!
Chấp nhận hai đời trong một kiếp Đành cho giông bão phũ phàng đưa Đầu thai lần nữa trên trần thế Kéo nốt trăm năm kiếp sống nhờ Đổi ngược họ tên cha mẹ đặt Tập làm con trẻ nói ngu ngơ Vùi sâu dĩ vãng vào tro bụi Thân phận không bằng đứa mãng phu
Accepting two lives for one birth I am enduring the whims of a brutal tempest Reincarnated in this world I will have to finish off this parasitic life Reversing the order of family and first names Imitating infants that babble puerile speech Burying the past deep into the dust My condition is less than that of a villain What justified all these daunting changes? Freedom, of course! Nevertheless, the poet recalled with bitterness the forced demise of the South:
Canh bạc chưa chơi mà hết vốn Cờ còn nước đánh phải đành thua Muốn rơi nước mắt khi tàn mộng Nghĩ đắt vô cùng giá Tự Do!
The card game has not started, yet my money is lost The chess game still has moves for me, but I must give it up I want to shed tears when dreams fade Fathomlessly high is the price of Freedom! Thanh Nam spoke for all Vietnamese refugees at that time, just two years after the first wave of this historic diaspora, as he ended the poem with a lonesome note:
Bằng hữu qua đây dăm bảy kẻ Đứa nuôi cừu hận, đứa phong ba Đứa nằm yên phận vui êm ấm Đứa nhục nhằn lê kiếp sống thừa Mây nước có phen còn hội ngộ Thâm tình viễn xứ lại như xa Xuân này đón tuổi gần năm chục Đối bóng mình ta say với ta
Among friends who made it to this country Some are nursing grudge, others have not given up Yet some are leading a complacent life Or enduring a humiliating superfluous existence While clouds and water have a chance to meet again Our dear friends in exile are still afar This spring I welcome my approaching fifth decade By getting inebriated all by myself
NOTES AND REFERENCES [1] Thanh Nam was the pen name of Trần Đại Việt, who was born on August 26, 1931 in Nam Định, North Vietnam. He died on June 2, 1985 in Seattle. Among his major works are Hồng Ngọc (1953), “Người nữ danh ca” (1953), Giấc ngủ cô đơn (1963), Buồn ga nhỏ (1963), Còn một đêm nay (1963), Bầy ngựa hoang (1965), Giòng lệ thơ ngây (1965), Những phố không đèn (1965), Mấy mùa thương đau (1968), Đất khách (1983). Nguyên Sa and Thanh Nam’s Hiện Đại magazine was founded in 1960 in Saigon. In 1965 Thanh Nam became managing editor of Tuần Báo Nghệ Thuật. [2] Bình Nguyên Lộc (1966). Một tác giả viết về một tác giả: Thanh Nam dưới mắt Bình Nguyên Lộc. Tuần Báo Nghệ Thuật issue 36 dated June 18, 1966. [3] Thanh Nam dưới mắt trời Tây Bắc. In Mai Thảo (1985), Chân Dung. Westminster, CA: Văn Khoa. [4] Thanh Nam and family were first resettled in New Jersey in October 1975. They later moved to Seattle; thus, they were “drifting from the East to the North.” [5] How political refugees cope with a new life in America has been observed by social scientists. According to them, it is a painful and complex psychological process that consists of four phases: (1) euphoria, the time during which the displaced people feel extremely glad that they have somehow received a new lease on life; (2) culture shock; (3) stability; and (4) acculturation. Euphoria is only short-lived and may not mean much, but culture shock could last a long time and make their new lives miserable. Its duration depends on the individuals: the older they are, the longer their culture shock will last; and perhaps suffering the most during this trying time would be the sentimental artist whose heart bleeds easily.
|
Websites● Tập San Việt-Học -
● Trung-Tâm Việt-Ngữ
Việt-Học
|
|