The Struggle for Poetic VoiceThe Struggle for Poetic Voice

Table of ContentsTable of Contents IntroductionIntroduction 3 3

NGUYEN DUC BATNGANNGUYEN DUC BATNGAN 7 7 Mountain and RiverMountain and River 8 8 In Exile In Exile 1010

NGUYEN DUYNGUYEN DUY 1212 The Morning After the WarThe Morning After the War 1313 A Touch of AutumnA Touch of Autumn 1414

LAM THI MY DA LAM THI MY DA 1515 Night HarvestNight Harvest 1616 Skipping StonesSkipping Stones 1717

PHAN HUYEN THUPHAN HUYEN THU 1818 Begging Begging 1919 HueHue 2020

NGUYEN QUOC CHANGNGUYEN QUOC CHANG 2121 Low Pressure System Low Pressure System 2222 Wide Open EyesWide Open Eyes 2525

Vietnamese Poetry: Vietnamese Poetry:

The Struggle for Poetic VoiceThe Struggle for Poetic Voice To appreciate contemporary Vietnamese poetry, we must take a glimpse into the past. The history of the Vietnamese people and the evolution of their language, together with the country’s diverse social and political background, have all contributed to Vietnam’s cultural struggle including the struggle to find its poetic voice. Elements from ancient China, French colonization, and contact with the West as well as development of a vernacular and elements from its old poetry and its new poetry have evolved into the current poetry movement known as New Formalism.

The struggle for Vietnam’s poetic voice begins with its old poetry, otherwise known as its classic poetry. It was strongly influenced by Chinese culture, politics, religion and education (Durand et al. 6, 7). In fact, all writing up until the 18th century had an overwhelmingly Chinese influence, was heavy on literary references, and followed strict rules prescribed by the number of lines and rhyming pattern (Iem 7). It was impersonal and expression of emotion was taboo (Durand et al. 165). Language and imagery were formalized or stereotyped using symbolic phrases (Durand et al. 165). However, this classical poetry was limited to the elite class and not available to the common people who were primarily illiterate.

As Chinese influenced relaxed, Vietnam developed a vernacular. First with nôm, which resulted in a literary movement that counter-balanced the political power found in classical poetry (Iem 4). Later, missionaries developed quoc-ngu which was declared Vietnam’s national language in 1910. Quoc-ngu was easy to learn and combined with the growth of population and the spread of education, literature was no longer exclusively for the elite (Durand et al. 15). It was during this time period, that Vietnam was a French colony, and the French culture strongly influenced the evolution of Vietnamese literature (Durand et al. xii). Before quoc ngu, the common people did not know a written language (Iem 5). They expressed their emotions through singing or reciting oral poems developed over thousands of years and composed by unknown authors (Iem 5). Quoc-ngu, together with contact from the West, brought about a transformation among the population that resulted in a new movement in poetry (Tinh 2).

This new movement in poetry, simply called, “new poetry” or “pre-War poetry,” dates from 1932 and represents a reaction against the classical school (Durand et al 165). It is different from old poetry in both form and content (Tinh 6). Durand explains, “New Poetry – taken to mean complete freedom from limitation on rhyming pattern, line length,

with uninhibited release of emotion.” (166). New poetry broke the old rules and was helped along by the influence of French romanticism (Durand et al. 169). As for content, Durand explains that new poetry, “…had to express all the emotions and hymn all the beauties of nature… [a] poet needed to show his love or hate, his desire or resentment; no longer content to rely on imagery and symbolism (168).

During 1963 to 1975, Vietnam experienced a period of social change and rhetorical usage was no longer suitable to express thoughts and feelings (Iem 7). The New Young Poets strived to create change in poetry, and as explained by Iem, “…poets found ways to express their thoughts and feelings appropriate to the changing circumstances” (7). South Vietnam came under the influence of Western style free verse (Iem 9). In North Vietnam, poetry in general was entirely given over to the glorification of Socialism and the Vietnamese Communist party (Durand et al. 172). Iem explains, “…the communist government in the North forbade all forms of change…so poets once again had to resort to rhetorical techniques” (7). Iem points out that during this period, Vietnamese free verse existed side by side with more structured and metered poetry (7). However, eventually, Vietnamese poetry became stagnant because of government censorship (Iem 8).

The next significant trend in Vietnamese poetry began in 2000 and is known as New Formalism (Iem 5). Poets have returned to traditional metered verses and rhyme-schemes and have introduced normal, everyday language into poetry (Iem 19). Sharing characteristics from classical, pre-war and folk poetry

as well as blank verse from Western poetry, poets created a new form of Vietnamese poetry (Iem 19). Additionally, poets created their own effects such as the Butterfly effect, feedback and iteration (Iem 19). Iem points out, “[New Formalism] is a more democratic art form, as it connects writers and readers (19). Through the use of the vernacular, New Formalism has the ability to relate to everyone regardless of status, power, education or background (Iem 19).

According to Iem, many of the New Formalists live abroad (12). However, the poets in this anthology all reside in Vietnam with the exception of Nguyen Duc Batngan, who lives in exile. They hail from various social, political and educational backgrounds and exhibit a variety of poetic forms. The intent is that they represent the diversity of the new poetry and New Formalism, and the struggle of Vietnam to find its poetic voice.

Nguyen Duc BatnganNguyen Duc Batngan

Nguyen Duc Batngan was born in Thua Thien, Central Vietnam. Nguyen Duc Batngan was born in Thua Thien, Central Vietnam. He has lived in exile since 1979. He a well known modernHe has lived in exile since 1979. He a well known modernVietnamese poet with four published volumes of work. His poemsVietnamese poet with four published volumes of work. His poemsare considered masterpieces because of their “innovated linguisticare considered masterpieces because of their “innovated linguisticcreativity” and a “sorcerer of intonation”. He is currently workingcreativity” and a “sorcerer of intonation”. He is currently workingon his autobiography (Batngan).on his autobiography (Batngan).

Nguyen Duc Batngan Nguyen Duc Batngan Mountain and RiverMountain and River

One gets back and hears the smoke rolling insideShould one sooth by the hands smeared with dirtThe day becomes a light yellow in the storm of late summerWhich is in me the water ripples in the moonlight

You are as sweet as the field and the plainI make the pledge hidden among the moon and the starsOn waking up I put my head on the presentThis mountain and this river are still the mountain and river of yesterday

Love is still bright and adoration may last how many livesAs planets which still shine side by sideStill build up the successive days and months Step forward if you approve

(Batngan)Original title: Nui Song From: "Binh Minh Cam" (Shrouded Dawn) A collection of poetry written in 1975 published in 1985.Translated by Andy Kale

núi sôngnúi sông

người trở lại nghe khói đùn giữa dạ người trở lại nghe khói đùn giữa dạ vỗ về chăng từ bụi lấm tay ngoan vỗ về chăng từ bụi lấm tay ngoan ngày vàng nhạt cơn giông thời cuối hạ ngày vàng nhạt cơn giông thời cuối hạ là trong ta con nước gợn trăng ngàn là trong ta con nước gợn trăng ngàn

em thì ngọt như đầu bờ cuối bãi em thì ngọt như đầu bờ cuối bãi anh thề bồi khuất lặng giữa trăng sao anh thề bồi khuất lặng giữa trăng sao lần trở giấc gối đầu cùng hiện tại lần trở giấc gối đầu cùng hiện tại núi sông này là sông núi hôm nao núi sông này là sông núi hôm nao

tình còn thắm và còn thương mấy kiếp tình còn thắm và còn thương mấy kiếp như tinh cầu còn ánh sáng bên nhau như tinh cầu còn ánh sáng bên nhau còn tạo dựng trên tháng ngày kế tiếp còn tạo dựng trên tháng ngày kế tiếp em đồng tình xin bước tới cho mau em đồng tình xin bước tới cho mau

In ExileIn ExileMother, are misty clouds still hanging over the northern pass? My heart aches, as the after-glow of today's sunlight radiates. Indignation has followed me, ever since I fled the enemy, As if it were yesterday, but now I'm in exile.

Mother, I have only tears left To share with people throughout the war. Nights dash by and days are squeezed short In my heart, as I long for home.

Mother, are you still sitting by the kitchen fire?

As the smoky fumes cover the hair flowing down

your back, A crowd of children, but not one is left, How could you have happy tears, Mother?

I've been sorely hurt during these days of disaster

Alas, what could I expect? The price of freedom is so dear, Now that the wild geese* have disappeared over the horizon, and no news is heard... (Back home, is Mother sleeping yet? I wonder.)

Mother, forgive me for being unfillial, I've run out of words-all seem dead, yet I shall bear the burden of guilt in my head, Since what will be tomorrow, how can one

know.. .

(Batngan)

Original title: Giua Ngay Biet Xu From: "Binh Minh Cam" (Shrouded Dawn) A collection of poetry written in 1975 published in 1985. Translated by Vinh Smtih

giữa ngày biệt xứgiữa ngày biệt xứ mẹ ơi mẹ mây mù ải bắc mẹ ơi mẹ mây mù ải bắc con đau lòng giữa nắng úa hôm naycon đau lòng giữa nắng úa hôm naythù hận đuổi theo lần chạy giặc thù hận đuổi theo lần chạy giặc mới hôm qua chừ đã lưu đày mới hôm qua chừ đã lưu đày

mẹ ơi mẹ con chỉ còn nước mắt mẹ ơi mẹ con chỉ còn nước mắt vui cùng người trọn cuộc can qua vui cùng người trọn cuộc can qua đêm vội vã đâm ngày se thắt đêm vội vã đâm ngày se thắt giữa tim con nuối vọng quê nhà giữa tim con nuối vọng quê nhà

mẹ còn buồn ngồi bên bếp lửa mẹ còn buồn ngồi bên bếp lửa khói phả nồng trên tóc trên lưng khói phả nồng trên tóc trên lưng con cả bầy không còn một đứa con cả bầy không còn một đứa mẹ làm sao có chút lệ mừng mẹ làm sao có chút lệ mừng

con nhức buốt trên ngày loạn tặc con nhức buốt trên ngày loạn tặc ôi tự do - một giá không ngờ ôi tự do - một giá không ngờ mù cánh nhạn chân trời đã bặt mù cánh nhạn chân trời đã bặt nơi quê nhà mẹ ngủ hay chưa nơi quê nhà mẹ ngủ hay chưa

mẹ ơi mẹ xin tha con bất hiếu mẹ ơi mẹ xin tha con bất hiếu biết nói gì sau ngọn cây khô biết nói gì sau ngọn cây khô nghìn tội lỗi trên đầu con gánh chịu nghìn tội lỗi trên đầu con gánh chịu vì, mẹ ơi - mai mốt ai ngờ vì, mẹ ơi - mai mốt ai ngờ nguyen duc batngan nguyen duc batngan

NGUYEN DUY

Nguyen Duy was born in 1948, in Dong Ve village, Thanh Hoaprovince. He has published tencollections of poetry, threecollections of memoirs, and anovel. Among his many awards are the poetry prize of VanNghe in 1973 and the poetry prize ofthe Vietnam Writers' Association in1985. He lives in Ho Chi Minh City. (Curbstone Press Books &

Author Nguyen Duy)

NGUYEN DUY The Morning after the War was Over

So smooth, fragile, so fresh and sweetspecks of moisture, dust, cool on the lip.

The entire universe dissolved in a blanket of mist,I ride and swim the waves of white.

Roads appear, disappear in haze, reality, illusion, a dream.

I wait...in silence...for you,tree shadows blur, kapok flowers flicker and wave.

A bomb driven deep in earth, a white mist hovering imperceptibly over its crater since evening.

Lampposts thin as reeds in the street,spiked shadows like children's magic shows.

You move softly step by step,easily, as if it were nothing at all…. (Curbstone Press Book Excerpts 2)

A Touch of Autumn

A slight shiver, a hint of cold.I go to visit you, to greet the coming autumn.

When you left, you wondered if it was too late already.When autumn comes, can yellow leaves be far behind.

Sadness and joy are everywhere the same.The lonesome canary dreams beneath the bridge.

Golden leaves shimmer on the church spire.Pious birds flit back and forth across the sky.

Autumn has fallen to rest on the pine forest.A golden dust showers the traveler's hair.

The heart deserted in distant lands,a slight breeze and the guest shivers, dreams of home.

Lost in a cup of blind passion,But that emptiness–will it block our way back home?...

(Curbstone Press Book Excerpts 2)

Lam Thi My DaLam Thi My DaLam Thi My Da was born in 1949 in Le Thuy District, Quang BinhProvince, in the central part of Viet Nam in 1949. This was near the scene of the heavy fighting during the Viet Nam-American War. She also served with the youth brigades and the women’s engineering unit.

She graduated from the Writer's College in Viet Nam in 1983 and received a certificatefor advanced studies in literature at Moscow's Gorky University in 1988. She has worked as an editor and reporter in addition to having published three collections of children’s stories and five collections ofpoems.

She currently works and lives in Hue, in central Viet Nam.

(Da “Two” 1)

Lam Thi My DaLam Thi My Da Night HarvestNight Harvest

White circles of conical hats have come outLike the quiet skies of our childhoodLike the wings of storks spread in the nightWhite circles evoking the open sky

The golds of rice and cluster-bombs blend togetherEven delayed-fuse bombs bring no fearOur spirits have known many years of warCome, sisters, let us gather the harvest

Each of us wears her own small moonGlittering on a carpet of gold riceWe are the harvesters of my villageTwelve white hats bright in the long night

We are not frightened by bullets and bombs in the airOnly by dew wetting our lime-scented hair

(Da “Two” 1)(translated by Martha Collins and Thuy Dinh) Copyright © 1997 Lam Thi My Da

Skipping StonesSkipping Stones

Alone with the blue lake I'm skipping stones, playing with waves A blue stone cuts across the skyWhite water rises shining into the air The stone gives supple wings to the waves Or perhaps the waves make the stone fly

Playing my childhood game I meet my vanished youth again As they chase each other under and over The waves laugh, the stones leap in the lake If only I could gather my loneliness Into this stone and make my sorrow joy

(Da “Skipping”)(translated by Martha Collins and Thuy Dinh) Copyright © 1997 Lam Thi My Da

Phan Huyen Thu

Phan Huyen Thu was born in 1972 in Hanoi, where she still lives. A journalist by trade, she has published poems and short stories in many journals in Vietnam, France and the US. She was awarded First Prize in poetry from the prestigious Hue journal, Perfume River, in 1997 (Thu “Literary” 5).

Phan Huyen Thub e g g i n g

My hand can't reach the year 2,000can't touch the nearest man.

My handlatch on to stray cloudswaiting for a rain drop.

My handis used up and redundantnow attached to the bedboardnow worn out and sucked

Do you know, brother,I still stick my hand out

Maybe in the next century there'll be a day

(Thu “begging”) translated from the Vietnameseby Linh Dinh© crossconnect, inc 1995-2003

h u eNight slithers slowly into the Perfume Riveran elongated note breaks under the Trang Tien bridge

A Nam Ai dirge of widowed concubinesfishing for their own corpse from a boat on the river

To be king for a night in the imperial capitalgo now, make a poem for purple Hue

Shattering symmetry voluntarilywith a tilted conical hat

an askew carrying poleeyes looking askance

Hue is like a mute fairycrying silently without speaking.

I want to mumur to Hue and to caress itbut I’m afraid to touch the most sensitive spot on Vietnam’s body.

(Thu “hue”)translated from the Vietnamese by Linh Dinh© crossconnect, inc 1995-2003 |

Nguyen Quoc ChanhNguyen Quoc Chanh Nguyen Quoc Chanh was born in 1958 in Bac Lieu, and now lives in Ho Chi Minh City. First collection of poems, “Night of the Rising Sun” was

published in1990 but met with hostility from critics. In 1997, his second collection,“Inanimte Weather ” was better received. (Literary Review Seven

Untitled Poems

and Dinh 1-5)

(Ho Chi Minh City, Watercolors by John Blackwood http://www.blackwoodart.com/photogallery.htm)

Nguyen Quoc ChanhNguyen Quoc Chanh

Low Pressure SystemLow Pressure System

There is a sound of a dropped glass.Needles piercing the ear.

I see water gushing from hollows in the wall.(The house’s artery is broken).

Water is drowning the word of mouth.A character cannot escape the death of a wet book. Our character is tattooed: Small. Weak. Wicked. Shell.The thumb stops breathing.

Words stepping on each other trying to remove themselves from literariness.

They float on the blue water Individual corpses seek to compete with bricks and shards of glass.

The remaining fingers have headaches and runny noses. Memory stands then sits stringing pieces of intestines around a hole.

I hear cries of a newborn. A fish crawls out from a bloody hollow. The woman closes her thighs and a corpse is covered up.

A laugh crawls in wriggly lines across a cheek. Look into the thumb. Sperm reborn in the flow of sap animating the wild grass and flowers.

After the bee season the flowers and grass are plowed up and shredded and burnt.

The grass regrows and the sperm opens their eyes.(Even if the land is mortgaged joint ventured or sold to another).

The hunt is a thousand years old. A distance only blind eyes can perceive. It’s concentrated flavor cannot be tasted by anyone besides the moss

coveredtongues of turtles

I hear the wild laughs from a circus mixed with the rhythmic prayer for the release of the souls of many female nuns.

(They are performing a circus of another world?)

A low pressure system on the hill seeps into the body. Termites dig up dirt inside bones. Nests grow from the ground to resemble artistic graves.

I carry a cemetery inside my body. A fist missing a finger.

(Dinh “Three” 8)

Wide Open EyesWide Open Eyes A day of dark glasses Detective eyes look into a crevice.

The ocean surface calm, to hear the sunken ships break apart. Rotting bodies inside the memory of wide-open eyes. Centuries of typhoons, the sunken ships become ghostly waves,

become voices of matchsticks. To light a candle for cold fingers.

The candle flame wipes dust off a secret smudge.

Only the wind knows of sea birds sinking and dissolving inside wide-open eyes.

And ships of sounds not rotted with rust. Adventures stored inside children’s dreams. Dreams bulging and overburdened to become sudden accidents.

A beauty only time is violent enough to indict.

And all the judges will be children. And all will be acquitted.

(Dinh “Three” 12-13)

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