The Soldier's Will
You can take all his weapon
But you can't take from him the spirit of a champion
You can take his fellow brethren
But you can't take away from him his divine amen
You can take away his food
But you can't take away from him the knowledge of his hood
You can take away his health
But you can't take away from him the beauty of his eternal wealth
You can take away his frivolities
But you can't take away from him the fullness of his priorities
You can take from him the presence of wars
But you can't take away from him the ' 'eternality' of the cause
You can take away from him his meal
But you can't take away from him the Soldier's Will
My New Face of personality
My face is burnt;
Should I hurt my thought?
Fire tries to end my facial physicality;
Should I affect my reality?
I had no idea my face with experience such;
Should I negatively talk about it much?
I realized beauty comes from within;
My facial look is just kidding;
When the need for character steps in
I realized my current facial condition is to make me reach a decision;
Separate the grains from the chaffs of my situation;
Appreciate a true friend and frown at a false companion.
Now...
It has motivated to smile in the face of life's hurdles
It has inspired to surmount life struggles
It has courageously positioned me to always stand tall
It has amazingly strengthened me to see direction, despite a standing wall
It has helped me define character in a proper perspective
It has shown me why focus should be my prerogative.
Though my face was burnt, causing facial deformity but...
My facial deformity is not up for mockery;
It is a situation that makes a good story
My facial deformity is not up for ridicule;
It is a situation that makes a good life riddle
My facial deformity is not up for caricature
It is a situation that makes the building-up of an amazing creature
A Psalm for your body
i tongue this hill your body o woman
this pure ground of worship is a journey to horeb
a goddess I must appease
I must wet with petals of songs
here is my voice take it:
the mower plying your sacred lawn
from your scriptures
I eat the torah of longing &
fill the desert of my bones with chapters of your dew
o woman you are genesis you are fire & rain & clouds
you are leviticus you are the storm that cannot be
you are revelation gathered in the mouth of a brook
everything beautiful and broken teeth of a knife eating the
poisonous bud of history
even God knows: when hunger
tickles a woman's heart when the molars in her song
becomes the gasp of a dying bird
silence becomes a name screeching in the dark
these hands your hands are alabsters of memories
every touch every song they make prays me into
an altar of fresh wine all shades of sweet-darkeness & honey
o sweet honey sweet shepherd of my soul
come ferry this heart to a house filled with colours
Mr. Love
By
Yusuf Salisu Muhammad
Your love calls my name
which is always in a red
in my heart is a white,white man
it shines like a star
oh ! he is a gold
ah!, love you are a bété de scéne
that no one angry at
oh ! Mr. love recall
when I chatted you
You confided in me
you will never betray
& never bite me
so if you dare do
I will retaliate.
Yusuf Salisu Muhammad writes from Katsina state.He is Currently studying at Umaru Musa Yar'adua University,Katsina state of Nigeria.
3/7, 7:10 am
choose your week, name your month
can’t stick a label on time
my breath won’t bring anything closer
the floor tries to influence my direction
doesn’t trust stillness
if the light could switch itself off
the faucet would rather chant than sing
i almost forgot the stove, the subtle differences
of the flames’ shapes and colors
a dozen or so sparkling vibrations
orbiting my skull’s bald plain
thin fog no match for the sun
the sun never sleeps
always a car moving somewhere nearby
as my walls expand incrementally, unsure what to do
with the space tween interior and ex-
like the surprise of a line of jam
tween two volumes of cake
as long as i cover my hands, feet and head
if my mouth skips a breath
something else will catch it up
whether my heart is bass or drums
my eyes violins or flutes
take the time to make space
my internal compass searching for its sun
sky so vacant the stars can’t sleep
What If Sun and Earth Are Ovens
A hole in my working pond as if something screamed in
resolving spin, momentum, heat and appetite
as the stillest pond continues breathing
with the sun’s warmth exhaling before midnight, mindnight
when the dough immediately springs back when pressed it’s time
to keep it from fermenting any further:
bread with sausage,
bread with fermented cod, a loin of pork rolled in rock salt
to clear a path through the snow of hunger, this internal mountain pass
so steep you can only carry water and a cloak with many empty pockets
since I’m next to a bakery I like I’m hungry and must go in
used to be a warehouse, indoor soccer, testing grounds for
paper airplanes hurled by the lifters in the basement gym
powering the ovens with their cardio
where do they hide all the pumps that hold up the tallest buildings,
keep Miami above water, why does no one say our major earthquake
will be caused by all the new weight on the land of this
former delta of two large rivers negotiating a mutual surrender
after a billion years of yeast, tectonic dough folding toward the seethe
with permanent icing and seasonal convection above, our subductions
beginning to overheat and who knows what mutant crystal lattices
what heavy meatal muscles, inert and anonymous gases
releasing their eons of choreography as the dance floor
unzips everything’s jeans we have no idea what amazon will be selling
or what we’ll pay to stay here, the imaginary numbers of address,
the lack of durable seismic surfing gear, the temperature
when I’m hungriest, the shopping lists in solar flares
When Time Could Dance and Stutter
hollow as the breeze
take the skin off my arm
and see a busy neighborhood
storefronts to live above
how many years of path
window reflecting what’s several blocks away
who gets to scent this late morning
two dogs walking each other
because chocolate melts, cause oats
won’t leave the bowl voluntarily
last day of May, and June was stopped at customs
sent back to wherever the future is
like an underground spring not caring
which way’s downstream, the cat
who’s a different species each night
drilling at dawn’s door
clothes demand to be worn
clocks don’t need to think about moving
news breath, traffic breath
my lenses fog despite the temperature
I pour a little coffee into my milk
all the chairs are full, no one’s home
waiting for the rain to set the agenda for a dry week
striking my finger against the sidewalk
as if a match
becoming a mini-sun
a transformative flashlight
on the tightrope of noon
no one is ready to roar
with more days unseasonable than seasonable
what do we call this time
as if ‘June’ means anything out of context
out of habit, out of frustration
Unscription
suddenly sepia, watching myself
the air is frictionless, thin, breathable as normal
or have my lungs acclimated
so many feet in this crowd—which are mine
in the event of the inevitable
camera catching car, everyone gets out
and the car keeps going
I’m not in the road but on a the porch of a plantation
now a care facility, or a banquet hall
where is this
walking into empty places
clearcut 20 years ago and nothing’s changed
the doorknob comes off the door stays closed
window shutting like an eye
a chimney three miniature people are escaping from
the chimney of my neck:
is my head smoke or a stork’s nest
I’m running on the inside, trying to inflate,
the sunlight’s picky about which windows
to shine through, one window nudging another
the street too dry to reflect, mind wiped
by weeks of rain, not racing the earth’s rotation
but never wanting the day to be dry enough
to go out in, driving without windshield wipers
the air smells like gasoline, I doubt the existence of stars
rising from my fetal curl cause this is my stop
either the stairs up or the stairs down
like a parking garage with more birds in it than cars
staircases remind me of bow strings, of bass strings
notes the ears can’t hear but from chest to groin can
after dinner all the lights and walls go away
an on-shore breeze, a deep orange full moon
just clearing the ocean’s border
not sweat but salty rain from inside me
Retrospeculative
if rain fell as one thin sheet every couple minutes
would wind cooperate.
drive for a slice, cut for tomorrow
lean out the wall where a window should be
how do i shift gears in this living room
a 27 inch rear view
dialing 911 gets me helicopters
outside two o’clock is riddled with potholes
a million clocks step backwards at once—
no one wants to be now, ready but not willing,
clinging to the recent past coz it’s still edible
so many garden hoses migrating toward the ocean
i only wear shoes so i don’t root
if i was naked i might photosynthesize
and what would that do for the economy
i’m feeling retrospeculative
is the future north or east
would it take a billion staying up all night
for the sun to hesitate, whether out of curiosity
or self-doubt
like china, every continent should be a single time zone
no more of getting there before you left
a day no one remembered to experience
even the calendar goes right from 22 to 24
it’s usually Wednesday who complains
people used to be able to assemble clocks
but time could never be fixed
space is constant but room keeps shrinking
as do lots and apartments
not a walk-in closet but a studio
soon be a world where those over 5’ 10”
will either stay outside or develop back problems
i was once able to see the future
but my vision got corrected
i can’t decide which of the labels in my pantry
is my name, how to know which can wants to open
what i think is outside is a warehouse
i can’t see the other end of
one path is red, the other is slippery
there’ll either be a place to lie down
or a place to swim, the mice and fish
are slow enough to read but their
evaporating language, how a couple of my muscles
want to break off and fend for themselves
when i get this far inside
when the right direction’s not the answer
if i can get a majority of my parts
to believe they’re someone else
we just might reassemble
Climate sensitivity is a term used by the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC) to describe to what extent rising levels of greenhouse gases affect the Earth’s temperature. Specifically, it describes how much warmer the planet will get if the amount of greenhouse gases in the atmosphere doubles.
In this issue, contributors grapple with the effects of our actions on our climates: ecological, political, social, and personal.
Note: If you’d like to make a difference for the Earth by planting trees, you may visit One Tree Planted for information on how to replenish natural forests around the world. One dollar plants one tree! Also, if you’re an artist who creates work inspired by ecology and nature, you can include your work as part of Earth Day’s campaign to showcase Artists for the Earth.
Several writers from the B Street Writing Group in Hayward, CA address ecological climate change in a collection of pieces which they will perform at the Sun Gallery at Hayward’s first annual Lit Hop, Saturday April 30th.
Leticia Garcia Bradford wonders whether her individual actions are making enough of a difference for the environment. Linda Hibbard speaks on climate through the POV of a melting snowman. Gloria Lopez and Tess Tyler outline the effects of environmental change on humans as well as the rest of the ecosystem.
Patricia Doyne’s work crashes into our consciousness, illustrating storms as an effect of our changing planet. Lisbeth Garcia-Lopez brings a poignant tale of flowers destroyed by pollution. Al Murdach depicts a green statue of Jesus and its potential significance, including stewardship for creation.
Finally, with his trademark humor, Hayward’s poet laureate Bruce Roberts encourages us to pack our bikinis for Arctic sunbathing.
Other writers take a more personal and psychological approach to writing about landscapes of various kinds.
Loretta Siegel celebrates nature in a piece inviting someone to join her out “where the rabbits run,” while Michael Hough describes a walk out at night with his dog and the screech of owls in the air. Gabriel T. Saah’s speaker contemplates his deep love for his partner while walking along the beach at sunset. He draws on nature within himself, his own body, as well as outdoor scenery for imagery.
Sarika Jaswani highlights the solitude that gives her the space for creative thought, which she finds in rural, urban, and literary landscapes. Jelvin Gibson evokes the rich beauty of nature while mourning a lost love, and Mahbub waxes poetic on the delicate embrace of birdsong, sprouting grass, and pastureland.
Mamadee Kanneh probes the inner landscape of his moods, often as complex and out of his control as the weather. The sun, and its mythological connotations, illustrate Isabella Hansen’s speaker’s grief over the loss of her brother. Hazel Fry stares into the ocean and muses on evolution, ecology, fluidity, and femininity.
Geoff Sawers paints European urban landscapes with language evoking their complex, rich, and sometimes dark pasts. Do Toan Dien draws on the spiritual, natural, and architectural heritage of Vietnam in his bilingual poetry. Federico Wardal covers a talk from archaeologist Dr. Zahi Hawass on how researchers located Cleopatra’s tomb in a piece that celebrates ancient Egyptian culture.
Nadja Moore depicts various miscommunications: a humorous disconnect over dinner and a more poignant tale of a child ghost trying to get her family’s attention. Doug Hawley’s flash fiction explores through humor the dangers we face in the wild: age, declining health, animal and human predators.
Stephen House looks in on others with compassion – a man with mental challenges, animals bred and destined for slaughter – and also speculates on how we might bring different perspectives to the same circumstances.
Sheila Murphy probes human nature with a mix of short pieces and character sketches that explore both our fragility and our resilience. John Grey writes of the imperfect human experience: bumbling dancers, drinkers with bad breath, marital disillusionment after a flood. J.J. Campbell conveys the awkwardness, hope, and cynicism of love at midlife, while Emmanuel G.G. Yamba vows not to let death take him without a fight.
Ivan S. Fiske’s speaker draws upon various religious images to describe his profound connection with the person he loves. Michael Robinson presents calm odes to the spiritual nourishment found through instances of beauty in urban environments.
Christopher Bernard contributes a poetic piece on history and memory and speculates that becoming a poet might be a calling as much as a professional identity.
Still other writers play with mixed media and language.
Jerome Berglund pairs nighttime urban shots through a car window with haikus, while Heller Levinson fragments concepts, definitions and ultimately words into thought pieces. Mark Young’s first piece harks back to Ezra Pound’s style while his other poems reflect on political communication.
Other writers address the global sociopolitical climate.
Patricia Doyne mourns the invasion of Ukraine in a piece from the point of view of a little boy who loses his mother. Steven Croft addresses war in Ukraine as well as Iraq from a more panoramic perspective, while commenting on Bolivia’s economic growth.
Chimezie Ihekuna urges humanity to abandon war as a means to solve differences. Christopher Bernard depicts the Ukrainian tragedy through the trauma of a young refugee boy, while David Dephy’s work honors the beauty of Ukraine and issues strident calls for chaos to depart. Ike Boat shares his service as the master of ceremonies during a Christian university’s graduation in Ghana.
We hope that this issue adds a bit of inspiration to your day while challenging your heart and mind and imagination.
As a reminder, we encourage the readers and writers who enjoy our publication to write letters of support to be included in care packages to be delivered to refugees around the world by the nonprofit New Beginnings. Click here to write a letter online (anonymously if you wish) that will support and encourage a refugee family in their new home.
Also, PEN America campaigns on behalf of writers facing persecution for their nonviolent work. Click here to read and sign online petitions for different writers at risk. Also, the organization Free Women Writers is looking for volunteer editors for pieces they are collecting and publishing from women and girls in Afghanistan.
Thánh địa Mỹ Sơn
Em treo mình ngàn năm trên vách tháp
Hằn dấu thời gian vũ điệu apsara
Chân đạp đất, tay chống trời khỏi sập
Đế chế suy tàn bất lực trước thời gian.
Bao tháp cổ dưới chân trời sụp đổ
Mảnh thời gian cào xước mặt tượng thần
Suối rả rích ngàn năm giàn giụa
Chế Bồng Nga từ đổ nát hiện về.
Ta trò chuyện cùng ông trong hoang lạnh
Ông xót thương ngàn vạn kiếp ma Hời
Mang hồn cốt dựng tháp chàm, Cổ lũy
Nay hoang tàn đổ nát bóng ngàn thu
Bao du khách muôn nơi về hội tụ
Mặc niệm một vương triều đang tàn tạ hoang vu.
* Kỷ niệm chuyến đi thực tế sáng tác tại Quảng Nam, Đà Nẵng ngày 11/7/2015.
Đỗ Toàn Diện
196 - Quang Trung - Krong Păc - Dak Lak .
ĐT : 0915743650
Sanctuary of My Son
You hang yourself on the tower wall for thousand years
Apsara dance stamped on the time
Feet on the ground, hands against the sky to keep from collapse
The powerless fallen empire with time.
Ancient towers under the horizon collapsed
Piece of time scratched the face of statue
The stream flowing for thousands of years
Cei Bunga* appeared from the ruins.
I talked to you in the cold wilderness
You sympathized with thousands of thousands of ghosts
Brought the soul to build the indigo tower, the ancient citadel
Now, the wilderness ruined with thousands of autumns
Many tourists from all over the world gathered
To recall the desolated dynasty.
*The general who ruled Champa from 1360–1390 CE. He was also known as The Red King in Vietnamese stories
Hành khất
Tuổi già cõng đói nghèo, ngửa tay xin thơm thảo
Chủ khách dửng dưng
Hạch sách
Nhìn…
Chó nhà giàu sủa vào chiều cô độc!
Có bàn tay vét lủng ngày, loay hoay bạc lẻ
Chút tình người, gửi rách nón mê
Vọng sau lưng những giọt tái tê
Dòng xuôi ngược trong bộn bề vô cảm
Đất trời như nêm
Chen chúc những linh hồn dị dạng
…
Chợt hoang mang cõi người .
Đỗ Toàn Diện .
A beggar
The old age carrying poverty, raising hands to ask for kindness
Owners are indifferent
Retorted
Looked…
A dog of the rich barked in the lonely afternoon!
A hand that tried full of day, struggled with pence
A little bit of human love, sent to the torn hat
Echoing behind the bitter drops
The up and down flowing in the emotionless mess
Heaven and earth are likely a wedge
Crowd of deformed souls
…
Suddenly bewildered of the human being.
Bàn tay thợ gốm
Chạm vào đất
Đất thở trong ngực tượng
Hoa nở trên tay anh
Lay động…
Phép nhiệm màu
Linh thiêng hồn đất
Quan Công dũng khí đà đao
Tôn Ngộ Không bay ra từ núi Phật…
Đất trong tay anh
Bừng thức
Hơi thở cuộc đời
Hơi thở đất…
Đỗ Toàn Diện .
Hands of the ceramist
Touching the clay
The clay breathed in chests of the statues
Flowers bloomed in his hands
Shaking…
Magic
The sacred spirit of the clay
Brave Mandarin with swords
The Monkey King flew out from Buddha mountain...
Land in his hands
Waken up
Breath of the life
Breath of the clay...
Hóa đá
Xin em đừng hóa đá
Để anh tìm
Lạc bước trăm năm.
Xin em đừng hóa đá
Để anh nhìn
Mỏi mắt trần gian
Anh lần tìm
Rêu đã phủ xanh
Thời gian buồn hóa thạch
Găm nỗi niềm
Mọc rễ dọc thời gian .
Đỗ Toàn Diện .
Turning to stone
Please, don't turn to stone
Let me find out
Lost a hundred years.
Please, don't turn to stone
Let me see
Tired eyes in the world
I'm looking for
Moss covered with green
Sad times fossilized
Grieved the feeling
Rooted along the time.
Viết trước tượng đài nghĩa trang
Chiến tranh đã vắt kiệt những giọt nước, mẹ chẳng thể khóc trước những nấm mồ thanh xuân, sợi sợi thời gian cháy tàn tro tóc mẹ, lá xanh rụng trước lá vàng.
Chiến tranh đã lùi vào dĩ vãng, để lại những nghĩa trang như ngàn ngàn vết sẹo trên hình hài tổ quốc, khắc vào thời gian những mất mát đau buồn.
Rải rác những linh hồn còn lang thang nơi biên ải, lang thang trên đất khách chưa về. Tiếng súng đã lặng im bốn mươi năm, truyền hình vẫn còn mục nhắn tìm đồng đội. Thăm thẳm biển khơi sông ngòi, khe suối, đâu đâu cũng bãi chiến trường.
Đất nước dày đặc đau thương, ta không thể lật tung từng ngõ ngách, những con đường hay dải đồng bằng châu thổ. Ta không thể san phẳng dãy Trường sơn để tìm nấm mộ… chiến tranh tự đào hố chôn người. “Bên nào thắng, nhân dân đều là người tổn hại”, gọt gọt sợi buồn tích lệ chảy ngàn năm.
Đỗ Toàn Diện .
Writing in front of the cemetery monument
The war had drained every drop of tear, mother can't cry over the youth graves, the threads of time burned to the ashes of mother's hair, green leaves fallen before yellow leaves.
The war had receded into the past, leaving cemeteries as thousands of scars on the body of the country, engraved in time with painful losses.
The scattered souls are still wandering in the border areas, wandering on foreign lands that have not yet returned. The gunfire has been silent for forty years, the television still shows messages to find soldier-mates. The deep sea, rivers, streams, battlefields were everywhere.
The country is dense with pain, we cannot turn every corner, road or delta strip. We cannot level the Truong Son mountain range to find graves… the war dug its own graves. "Which side wins, the people are the ones who suffer", peeling the sad tears that have flowed for thousands of years.
Mất tuổi
Tuổi tôi bị cháy mất rồi
Ngày sinh cha khắc đầu hồi chái hiên
Đạn bom cháy mất tuổi tên
Cha quên, rồi mẹ cũng quên tuổi mình
Thế là tôi giữa cộng sinh
Cái tên lạc tuổi triết minh với đời
Tự do hít thở khí trời
Vô tư nắng gió hát lời vô tư
Thế là thành kiếp lãng du
Làm đời không tuổi xanh như đại ngàn
Hiện sinh cùng những cung đàn
Hát lên điệp khúc Đam San giữa trời.
Đỗ Toàn Diện .
Lost age
My age is on fire
The birthday, father carved on the gable
Bombs fired and lost the sign
Father forgot, then mother forgot the age
Therefore, I'm in amid of symbiosis
The name is out of age, wisdom and life
Freely breathing the air
Carefree sunshine and wind to sing carefree lyrics
Therefore becoming a wandering life
As the life without age as green giant forest
Existence with the rhythms
Singing the chorus of Dam San* in the sky.
*The Great Epic of Sir Dam San is a famous seven-chapter epic of the E de people of Vietnam's Central Highlands. It is about the heroic E De chieftain Dam San
Chiếc gùi
Em cõng bốn mùa lên rẫy
Thả nắng gió lên nương
Gùi sự sống về buôn
Dáng em nghiêng hình đất nước
Gùi cùng em một thời oanh liệt
Qua nắng mưa, lửa đạn chiến trường
Gùi với em thành đôi bạn thân thương
Muối, gạo, thuốc men, dãi dầu sương gió
Đạp lên bão đạn mưa bom…
Gùi thức cùng em qua những đêm trường
Chiếc gùi Đam San bao đời truyền lại
Cõng ước mơ đi dọc cuộc đời.
Đỗ Toàn Diện .
The basket
You carry the four seasons to the mountain fields
Releasing the sun and wind on the mountain fields
Sending the living back to the village
Your shape leaning to the country form
The basket together with you a glorious time
Through the sun and rain, the fire of the battlefield
The basket together with you becoming dear friends
Salt, rice, medicine, mist and wind
Stepping on the storm of bullets and rain bombs...
The basket wakes up with you through battle nights
The basket of Dam San has been passed down from generation to generation
Carrying dreams along the life.
Gỗ tạp
Dưới chân núi
Có loài cây cứ xanh lốp bời bời
Phởn phơ nắng trời cao vút
Người đời gọi là gỗ tạp
Trên đỉnh đại ngàn
Những cây Kiêng, cây Nghiến
Uống sương tuyết, nắng trời
Lòng gang dạ thép
Những bộ mặt búa rìu
Nhẫn tâm đốn hạ…
Gỗ tạp chân núi kia
Hả hê, cắm rễ sâu vào đất hút mỡ màu
Mơn mởn sum suê
Thả ngạo nghễ xuống đời!
Đỗ Toàn Diện .
The junk timber
At the foot of mountain
There are trees that are always green
Excited under the high sun
People call it as the junk timber
On the top of the giant forest
The trees of iron-timber, the trees of plants
Drinking the mist, the sun
Heart of steel
Faces of ax and hammer
Brutally cut them down…
Junk wood at the foot of that mountain
Happily, deeply rooted in fertile soil
Lush and luxuriant
Shadowing down to the life!
Tiếng trẻ vòi đêm
Đêm sài đẹn
Đứa trẻ nhành nhạch
Vòi đêm.
Người mẹ trẻ
Dỗ dành
Ngái ngủ
Tiếng ru đêm
Chòng chành
Kim cổ
Nhợt nhạt màu đêm
Trôi…
Dạt về rạng sáng
Khi tiếng khóc ngủ yên
Đêm mệt lả
Người mẹ trẻ rời giường
Cời bếp.
Thắp lên chạng vạng
Xua đi bóng tối
Xanh xao trên gương mặt ngày ngái ngủ.
Đỗ Toàn Diện .
A child annoys at night
A night of child-disease
An annoying child
Night harassment
A young mother
Appeasing
Sleepy
Night lullaby
wobbly
Old words
Pale color of the night
Drifting…
To the dawn
When the crying stopped
Tired night
The young mother getting out of bed
Firing at kitchen.
Lighting up the twilight
Driving away the darkness
Pale on her sleepy face.
Mơ
Đêm. Giấc mơ huyễn hoặc
Bí hiểm nụ cười Lê Ô Na Đơ Vanh Xi
Mỉa mai chua chát
Bao trùm thánh thiện bao dung
Đôi mắt màu đêm qua miền hư ảo
Em gõ vào tiềm thức tôi một kẻ khờ nông nổi
Một chút vu vơ… Hạnh phúc giận hờn
Em trốn vào đêm tôi không sao tìm nổi
Xòe tay chỉ toàn bóng tối
Giấc mơ trôi. Chát mặn. Ngọt ngào!
Đỗ Toàn Diện
196 - Quang Trung - Krông - Păc - Dăk Lăk
A dream
Night. An illusion dream
The secret of the smile of Leonardo da Vinci
Irony
Covering the holiness and tolerance
Colored eyes in the night through the illusion area
You tap into my subconscious of a frivolity fool
A bit aimless… Happy angry
You hide in the night I can't find
Outstretched hands only the darkness
The floating dream. Salty. Sweet!
LÝ LỊCH TRÍCH NGANG
ĐỖ TOÀN DIỆN
Quê quán : Cẩm Sơn – Cẩm Thủy – Thanh Hóa .
Thường trú : 196 – Quang Trung – Thị Trấn Phước An – Krông Păc – Dăk Lăk .
Điện thoại : 0915743650 .
Hội viên Hội nhà văn Việt Nam .
Hội viên Hội văn học nghệ thuật Dăk Lăk .
ĐÃ ĐƯỢC TẶNG CÁC GIẢI THƯỞNG :
• Được tặng thưởng của Hội văn học nghệ thuật Dăk Lăk năm 2012 .
• Giải thưởng Chư Yang Sin ( Năm 5 một lần ) 2008 – 20013 .
• Giải thưởng văn học nghệ thuật Dak Lak năm 2016 – Giải B .
• Giải thưởng văn học nghệ thuật Dak Lak năm 2017 .
• Giải thưởng “ Học tập và làm theo tấm gương đạo đức Hồ Chí Minh của Tỉnh Dak Lak năm 2018 .
• Giải thưởng Chư Yang Sin lần thư 3 ( Giai đoạn 2015 – 2020 )
• Được tặng thưởng văn học nghệ thuật Dak Lak năm 2020 .
• Đoạt giải B cuộc vận đông sáng tác văn học nghệ thuật Kon Tum năm 2020 .
• Được tặng Kỷ niệm chương của Ủy Ban Toàn Quốc “ Vì sự nghiêp văn thơ Việt Nam “ năm 2010 .
• Bằng khen của Ủy Ban Toàn Quốc Liên Hiệp Các Hội Văn Học Nghệ Thuật Việt Nam năm 2018 .
• Bằng khen 10 năm hoạt động văn học tỉnh Dak Lak . năm 2019 .
• Bằng khen của Ủy Ban Nhân Dân Tỉnh Dak Lak tặng vì có thành tích xuất sắc xây dưng Hội văn học nghệ thuật Dak Lak năm 1990 – 1995 .
• Bằng khen của Ủy Ban Nhân Dân Tỉnh Dak Lak năm 2020 vì đã có thành tích xuất sắc trong lĩnh vực hoạt động văn học nghệ thuật nhiệm kỳ ( 2015 – 2020 ) .
NHỮNG TÁC PHẨM THƠ ĐÃ XUẤT BẢN :
• Hoa trong cỏ XB năm 1992 .
• Lời yêu XB năm 1994 .
• Lời ru Cao Nguyên XB năm 1998 .
• Ngụ ngôn trào phúng XB năm 2000 .
• Những điều trông thấy XB năm 2005
• Những điều trông thấy chọn lọc XB năm 2009 .
• Thời yêu dấu XB năm 2005 .
• Những điều trông thấy XB năm 2008 .
• Ước mơ nhà rông XB năm 2010 .
• Những điều trông thấy XB năm 2014 .
• Dấu chân thời gian XB năm 2016 .
• Khúc đồng ca mùa hạ ( Thơ thiếu nhi ) XB năm 2019 .
• Đám mây màu cổ tích ( Thơ thiếu nhi ) XB năm 2020 .
• Tuổi chuồn chuồn ( Thơ tiếu nhi ) XB năm 2021 .
Biography
Fullname: DO TOAN DIEN
Hometown: Cam Son - Cam Thuy - Thanh Hoa.
Address: 196 - Quang Trung - Phuoc An town - Krong Pac - Dak Lak.
Phone: 0915743650.
Member of Vietnam Writers’ Association.
Member of Dak Lak Literary and Art Association.
AWARDS:
• Awarded by Dak Lak Literary and Art Association in 2012.
• Chu Yang Sin Award (Once every 5 years) 2008 – 2013.
• Dak Lak Literary and Art Award in 2016 – Prize B.
• Dak Lak Literary and Art Award in 2017.
• Award "Study and follow Ho Chi Minh's moral example of Dak Lak Province in 2018".
• The 3rd Chu Yang Sin Award (The period 2015 - 2020)
• Awarded by Dak Lak literature and art in 2020.
• B prize in the Kon Tum literary art competition in 2020.
• Awarded the Medal of the National Committee "For the career of Vietnamese literature and poetry" in 2010.
• Certificate of Merit from the National Committee of the Union of Vietnamese Literature and Arts Associations in 2018.
• Certificate of Merit for 10 years of literary activities in Dak Lak province in 2019.
• Certificate of Merit from the People's Committee of Dak Lak Province for outstanding achievements in forming the Dak Lak Literary and Art Association in 1990-1995.
• Certificate of Merit from the People's Committee of Dak Lak Province in 2020 for outstanding achievements in literary and artistic activities for the term (2015 - 2020).
POETS PUBLISHED:
• Flowers in grass published in 1992.
• Words of love in 1994.
• Lullaby of the Central Highlands in 1998.
• Satirical parable in 2000.
• Things to see in 2005
• Things to see selectively in 2009.
• Lovely time in 2005.
• Things to see in the 2008
• Dream of a communal house in 2010.
• Things to see in 2014
• Time footprint in 2016.
• Summer children's poetry in 2019.
Fairy color cloud (children’s poetry in 2020.
Age of Dragon Fly (Children’s poetry) in 2021.
