Mai Van Phan (Vietnam)

Rhythms Compose the Way

One’s memory stirs 

Where shades have deeply buried shades

Rottenness thirsts for the calamity of fire

Stars sleepwalk

Falling into thin dew

Bitter leaves crawl over scalding coals

In their breath pine leaves shroud pine cones

Someone is putting away his traveling case

Shadows that hide in antique objects

Still tremble in fear when their names are called

Tears blur the epochs

In an irrational movement 

The ground lies on its belly to support the levee

A stream of white smoke rises up

A fall pours down from layers of dying leaves

Deep tombs open in one’s chest

Revealing the arterial paths

Corrupted by many inverted rooftops

With stains on the lime-washed web-ridden walls

Inside which the dull tapping sounds

Urge a run towards the door.

(Trans. by Nhat-Lang Le. Edited by Susan Blanshard)

BITTER POTION 

(For Ngọc Trâm)

As fever is burning you on its pyre

I become ash too

The bitter potion cannot wait any more

Holding your hand

      I pour

My grief into the empty bowl…

O’ daughter! As the mist falls 

My hardship arches across the cold night

For frail flowers 

To give off scent needs bitter roots.

Sweat becomes callused hands

Spring pours into the medicine bowl

My old age weeps with mute tears

While truth bursts out for no reason.

I wonder what you eat in your dreams

I put the bowl on the window

When you grow up to my age now

At the bottom of the bowl

There may still be a storm.

(Trans. by Nhat-Lang Le. Edited by Susan Blanshard)

Where the Sky Is Spacious

You blow in the warmly ardent season 

Trees wither for lack of water not far from the river swollen in splendor

The fish grinds up the hook and upsets the order of time

I shrink up to fly into infinity

The tower raises multi-directional sensory organ

Your braided hair is glorious like a beaded open-air crown 

and your skin resplendent as the back of the moon

sweet fruit and golden paddy resplendent as the back of the moon

the timely seeds stand up proudly

the thunder, lightning and tornado are self-confident, 

but when my grandparents’ silhouettes are seen

through the perfumed vapour of cooked rice, I burst into tears

Overwhelming absorption and sudden revelation

are woven into horizon of clouds in every circular breath of hope

to trigger the drops of drizzle in the chest 

and the leftover food preserved in memory

Truth makes the letters jump out and they cannot be withdrawn

we are all more self-confident when we wake up and see the symbol engulfed in the mouth of fire.

(Translated by Nguyễn Tiến Văn. Edited by Susan Blanshard)

Accompanying the Guest Out of the Alley

After brewing tea

When I returned

The guest was gone

Speaking on the phone

His family said he had been dead seven years

A misunderstanding

At home

All in turmoil

No memory of when the portrait was taken down

Where was the winding clock?

To whom was the fake ancient teapot given?            

Dropping in on the neighbour           

To check several food items

Some with higher prices

Some remained unchanged         

In the house

The tea still hot

Pushing a cup towards the guest’s vacant place

A deadly vapour six meters high suddenly rose up

Bowing down in front once in a while.

(Translated by Nguyễn Tiến Văn. Edited by Susan Blanshard)

Mothergate ^(*)  

I

Mother nature caressing child as the moonlight

Sound passing from bough to bough, the howling

Skin and flesh of the woman I loved, 

Our love child spreading deep into the dark

Entering into the dark night,

Skin and flesh erect lift the layered clouds for us

To make a watershed of rain over the sources of rivers

A bough quivers on the water’s surface

Where a bird suddenly perches

Only I can see that small bird so far away from the road

Far away from the garden, from the other flocks of birds

I quietly pass through the corona at the bottom of the water

And look up at the sky with open wings

Rising to the top of the tree where the bird’s beak

Bends down to feed into the mouths of its fledglings

Each sip of wind

Sound of chipped grain in the chest

The bare ground and green fruit

The dense-leaved canopy of the forest

Newborn child on the ground

Swim across the river the tadpole’s tail severing

Learning to flaps its wings, fanning the wind into the nest’s warm bowel

Sprouts the cotyledon leaves, flies away freely

Steam rises by the river-wharf

Space condenses the confusion of time

Smoke steams up high

I realize I am swimming in a sea mist

Not mist but rain

The tall tower glittering

Breathing, muscles firm, the leaf singing…

The dead return, suddenly, in the blossoming flower

I shudder at a shoreline

The water surface choking where there are no breaking waves

A sip of cool water drifting slowly…

Suddenly remembers the high tide season submerging the cricket’s cave

Burble sound of bubbles gushing up by stages

So that I realize where the cave mouth is…

II

Place child on the ground

The riverbed has enough pain to tear off the body of night

Nature glossy wet

The trunk of trees disintegration turns into splinters

Water swift flowing

Flowing faster

I burst into tears to sweep away the spider web

Sound of the heron’s hoarseness

The ashes flashing up

Moon trembling

Pick up a pebble to draw on the ground

A field

The young calf bewildered

A clear outline as the calf bent down to graze

Another direction draws an extra eye

The eye of wild animals or eye of human

Write the words on the remaining empty boxes.

III

The voice very close

Under the light of dawn you must transform yourself!

Fruits

Firelights

Yin Yang bowl of water

While crawling over bowl of twilight

Pull the body gradually out of the shell

I sip the dewdrops

The ghastly shell heaped up high

Was out of reach

Groups of people helping each other towards incapacity

End of dawn.

IV

The shade of trees bursting out underfoot

Images on the map are torn off?

Or the half-bat half-mouse corpse?

I was so frightened, weaving the grating

Set booby-traps around myself

Sharpening the knife

Preparing a matchbox

As close to the horizon

The drifting darkness was terrible

Faster than emotion

I keep accumulating anxiety, the resentment

Until the blackness of night was completely

Erased off.

V

I chased small prey

Threw myself upon the wave’s crest, then lost direction

The low tide

In the dream near morning

My bones painful

The tail and dorsal fin frostbitten

There is a hand threading the strings

Dragging me slowly on the ground

They stopped to shelter from the rain

Suddenly release me

Near the foot of waves

I was grateful the rain

The loud thunder and cool wind.

VI

Father recently tried to get up after being bedridden, staggering out the door, he fell into a square block of light

He tried to point his finger, then said: “That green beetle on a leaf canopy, father sees it for the first time”.

I tell these unintentional stories about the time father was in a coma. A story of the large cloud that flew slowly through our home. The deep wells rising steam up to the window. One story about the song of the crypsirina temia bird, makes everyone look at the bowl of drugs.

The body of father is like shallow rivers, dry wood, and the empty paddy grain

The raceme of weighty fruits, swaying in the strong wind

Father suddenly whispering: Please help father go to rest

Sound of dried leaves sliding off the roof makes father and I shed tears together.

VII

The universe lays the black coat over me

Only eyes open to pray

Mumbling I still thought

… white hand black blood white tongue black tears white back black helix curl of white hair black sweat

The black spilt on everything will end us

Let’s pray to save the people of this world

Lighthouse…

Kitchen bright…

Look in any direction

Like learning to focus on the blackboard

Learning to separate the colors

To spell the letters

This crossroad of white

The earth’s surface, the seas surface white

Great old man, a chair, the woman in white

The inspector, the farmer in white…

The mouth reads aloud, the mind still holds sundry thoughts

…white tongue black tears white back black helix curl of white hair…

VIII

Curled up I sleep in cold wind

Dream to be a fetus

The navel-string connects to the solar

Fly above canopy of the trees

The eyes with a look, make the sound of sobbing… blue

Every tiny bud of limbs

Springing lightly in the body of Him

I wake up

That place starts on the road

The colt unsteady standing up

The flock of insects crawling out of the trunk

The tiny shrimp blasting off the throat of water.

IX

drum gong and eight ornaments

opens the festival of imperial court

sing and dance to heaven

the great merit of four palaces

opens the mind of a disciple

tolerant eyes look

the quiet weather

the special envoy giving out grace

sincerity respectfully kowtow

four gods flanking the lady god

garb and turban of sorceress are brocade and flower embroidery.

come and go refreshed

moving between heaven and earth

powdery cheeks and ruby lips

rhythm of bamboo beating and rhythm of castanets

string of coins

sacred dragon hovering

five great mandarins’

the hand swaying

high talent deep virtue

the flame glittering

fondle protecting

loving mason bee

silkworm spits out the silk cord

garb and scarf flapping

alluvial cuddling

wind coming back to the riverbed

cassaba melon pyriform melon

fragrance of lotus and areca pervading

boys and girls entering the region

prepare the sedge mat, prepare the blanket

as flower, as butterfly

faces glowing with pleasure

as the ground is to the sky

grass and trees in good verdant

raining fast and violently

…

Translated from Vietnamese by Trần Nghi Hoàng

Edited by Frederick Turner

 ^(*) Mothergate – Mother in this poem does not mean “mother” as normal. It carries the meaning of “the Way”, the “philosophy of belief.”. As: “The Way that can be told of is not an unvarying way; The names that can be named are not unvarying names. It was from the Nameless that Heaven and Earth sprang; The named is but the mother that rears the ten thousand creatures, each after its kind” (Lao-tzu)

The Opening Ground

Gushing 

between the screams of ephemeral belts of land

the riverbed writhes in waning light

dusk holds day tight in its mouth

fire convulses

fiercely ascending the tree tops

scorching the buds

A flight of birds spreads across the sky

so thoughts can reign on earth

where the wind’s face meets a bowed hill top

a deep cavern exhales myths to morning dew

ponds and puddles find a heavenly direction

the river gives birth while flowing

An open embrace of waves

playing in childish ebullience

the water surface turns to ruins

You set up an already broken sun

Drifting… 

An unknown silence is drifting by

the lamp wick shortens

as kerosene soot says its last words

I vaguely hear the boiling batch of herb saying its apology

Erupting…

A flower opens vast expanses of land.

(Translated by Nhat Lang-le. Edited by Susan Blanshard)

Closed Eyes

With closed eyes the world appears unpolluted. The surrounding pure spaces are spreading and latticed. We see ourselves in childhood holding a bright candle in the church. The candlelight is filling eye-sockets, filling the hollow immobile gaps amidst secret verdant foliage. With closed eyes the forest resembles a garden. The rattan stems, the ferns and wild grasses take the shape of huge ancient trees. The needle leaves form a large canopy. The earth bee, the porcupine, the squirrel, and the bull are similar shapes… And I stayed motionless for a long time with my eyes closed. Even though my premonition had warned me, they were looking for a clue, fanning the wind, taking fright… With closed eyes we can see people and all things in justice and in a clear light. Pens and books, beds and drawers, knives and chopping boards, and the old bike were of the same size. Each human organ opens up with multiple strange eyes, while the venoms absorbed are permanently sealed up with no way of escape. With closed eyes you are not so busy as when I am with open eyes. But your silence makes queer resounding sounds, telling me that your love has penetrated the trees, the streets and houses, the gardens, the fields, and the rivers and springs… From now on we need not doubt anything until we close our eyes forever

(Translated by Nguyễn Tiến Văn. Edited by Susan Blanshard)

Photos, Fruit and Dreams

Under-exposed photos, speed-ripened fruit and dreams that lose their wings before the rain, flow slowly against the current of memories.

A wind blows open morning fields, rushes into rooms full of blended dust and light, wipes sweat off freshly bathed dreams.

The origins are within the span of a hand, when you come back you have gone through your entire life, or you wait to reincarnate into the next life.

Those souls that have yet to reincarnate, visit worshipping places, fly aimlessly, then shelter in fixed idolatry.

Someone runs across the dreams, the fruit and photos, to recover what he lost, to feel each tear choke back and see the amalgam of each shadow.

Origins have renewed space, and a generation of young grass is spreading over old ground.

Souls stand at new angles opening to different lights, and in the moan of fresh dew, they pause and knock on each vowel.

Everywhere new streams are beginning to pour into memories, taking the photos, the fruit, the dreams, to turn everything into a voice last night.

(Translated by Nhat Lang-le. Edited by Susan Blanshard)

Variations of the Crow

The smell of death draws the wick to the zenith 

The crow shines brightly.

*

Birth

After the crow’s croaking

Irresistible departure

The pouch has been opened 

Unconcealed deterioration

The herb doctor burned his books at the end of the garden

New medicines in stock had expired 

The witches suffered punishment

Their mouths closed by iron hooks

Birth 

When the bell suddenly dropped 

Covering the old temple warden’s head

The fish committed suicide by jumping into a cloud

Ten thousand fishing hooks, hanging in the sky

Birth

Ink was splattered under feet and blood 

Congealed in throat and lung arteries 

With a stroke on the first page

Thousands of pages were permeated.

*

Fallen from the summit

With two sharp wings

Centering on the corpse

Slashing the atmosphere

Hurried winds had no time for bandages.

*

Clawing from the eye sockets

The viewpoints

With posthumous pictures as evidence

Cut out the tongue

Stretch to dry off in the sun 

the slogan’s lesson

Slice off flesh piece by piece 

Dismember limbs

Show the innards

The skull all set up

Was completely covered with mold

This epitaph could not be written.

*

The crow dreamed

All deaths were arranged

After the crow’s croaking

Who volunteers to lie down.

*

The crow flew into the room

A finger raised slightly

Implying:

This is the gun muzzle 

The scythe

Even the spade

Even the very hard finger

Rather it was frozen

Then defrosted

Then melted down.

*

Do not approach the shade

It was the crow

Spreading its wings at sunset, sunrise

With its claws clinging to the winds 

To grind dry leaves

To prune outreaching branches

The poet took refuge in the shade

Each letter hollowed out of an eye.

*

To look at

Things

Glaringly

Because in the wink of the eye

The shadow of the crow

Stormed in.

One’s own shadow

Did not raise its voice

For fear of turning into a chick.

*

A number of people emerged from the crowd, clad in black, wearing black masks. While running, they slapped their arms on their flanks. They tried to raise their heads by stretching their necks. The black shadow hovered close to the ground.

*

Perched on a tree fork after overeating and napping, the crow dreamed that every mouthful of food squeezed into its stomach would turn into an egg. The crow chicks crept in groups from the five organs and immediately lowered themselves to hunt with the instinct of a bird of prey.

*

The utmost sufferings looked back on a life almost dead. The cloak gave a muffled shout when passing desk and drawers. The telephone slept silently. The staple opened its mouth to hide its claws. The broomstick gripped the laborer’s arm, and pulled her to the garbage dump. The hat brim on the head cried out in panic, then bent down to devour the entire face of the guard. Nobody opened the gate. Yet many people managed to find an entrance.

*

The disembodied souls looked for a way back to fight the evil crows. After the volley of non-lethal bullets, smoke from incense joss-sticks spread onto a board, with the first word written for the new lesson.

* 

This is the last line in a testament: 

“Start the celestial burial at the appearance of the crow’s shadow”.

*

The night shadow crept into the crow’s belly.

And ours too. With gnawing pain together on the hungry river. The drops of troubled water found a way to pass through cotton fibres. The huge surface of water, its vibrations, wishing to keep hold of human shadows. Strike a match and remember that the wick is very distant. Throw up both arms, raise your voice alone in the darkness.

The crow out of sorts through the might 

Craws in fright

For the first time the sound goes out without an echo.

(Translated by Nguyễn Tiến Văn. Edited by Susan Blanshard)

Biography of Mai Văn Phấn

Vietnamese poet Mai Văn Phấn was born 1955. He has published 19 poetry books and 1 book “Critiques – Essays” in Vietnam. 34 poetry books and translations of his are published and released in foreign countries and on Amazon’s book distribution network. Poems of Mai Văn Phấn are translated into more than 40 languages. He has won a number of Vietnamese and international literary awards, including: The Vietnam Writers’ Association Award in 2010; The Cikada Literary Prize of Sweden in 2017; etc.