Poems by Mai Van Phan (Vietnam)

 
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.
 





The Opening Ground
 Mai Van Phan

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.



Rhythms Compose the Way
 Mai Van Phan

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)
Mai Van Phan
 
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
Mai Van Phan
 
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
 Mai Van Phan

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)