The White Butterfly, A translation.

I translated this gentle, but coolly romantic poem per the request of a friend whose daughter's friend recently had a family tragedy. Soon after the tragedy, the bereaved young mother dreamed of a white butterfly. According to my friend, the translation (the suffering woman can't read Vietnamese) brought some solace to the grieving young woman. I am glad the poem was of some use.

On a related note, once an asshole challenged me to translate Viet poetry into English. I didn't want to take up his challenge as I knew it would be very difficult. I have seen some, including the asshole, trying their hands at it, and I was not impressed. And I was afraid my efforts would have the same result.

All literary endeavors, even translations, should be the labor of love. We must first possess the feelings. Over time the feelings will find their way into words.

I can write a book about feelings and words. In some ways, my feelings and the mysterious and exciting ways my feelings have journeyed really captivate me. Many women like my feelings. And what's not to like? I am disarming, vulnerable, respectful, and uncommonly romantic, and I have a way to convey my feelings with words.


Nhà nàng ở cạnh nhà tôi,
Cách nhau cái dậu mùng tơi xanh rờn.
Hai người sống giữa cô đơn,
Nàng như cũng có nỗi buồn giống tôi.
Giá đừng có dậu mùng tơi,
Thế nào tôi cũng sang chơi thăm nàng.
Tôi chiêm bao rất nhẹ nhàng...
Có con bướm trắng thường sang bên này.
Bướm ơi! Bướm hãy vào đây!
Cho tôi hỏi nhỏ câu này chút thôi...
Chả bao giờ thấy nàng cười,
Nàng hong tơ ướt ra ngoài mái hiên.
Mắt nàng đăm đắm trông lên...

Con bươm bướm trắng về bên ấy rồi!
Bỗng dưng tôi thấy bồi hồi,
Tôi buồn tự hỏi: "Hay tôi yêu nàng?"
-- Không, từ ân ái lỡ làng,
Tình tôi than lạnh gio tàn làm sao?
Tơ hong nàng chả cất vào,
Con bươm bướm trắng hôm nào cũng sang.
Mấy hôm nay chẳng thấy nàng,
Giá tôi cũng có tơ vàng mà hong.
Cái gì như thể nhớ mong?
Nhớ nàng? Không! Quyết là không nhớ nàng!
Vâng, từ ân ái nhỡ nhàng,
Lòng tôi riêng nhớ bạn vàng ngày xưa.
Tầm tầm giời cứ đổ mưa,
Hết hôm nay nữa là vừa bốn hôm.
Cô đơn buồn lại thêm buồn,
Tạnh mưa bươm bướm biết còn sang chơi?

Hôm nay mưa đã tạnh rồi!
Tơ không hong nữa, bướm lười không sang.
Bên hiên vẫn vắng bóng nàng,
Rưng rưng... tôi gục xuống bàn rưng rưng...
Nhớ con bướm trắng lạ lùng!
Nhớ tơ vàng nữa, nhưng không nhớ nàng.
Hỡi ơi! Bướm trắng tơ vàng!
Mau về mà chịu tang nàng đi thôi!
Đêm qua nàng đã chết rồi,
Nghẹn ngào tôi khóc... Quả tôi yêu nàng.
Hồn trinh còn ở trần gian?
Nhập vào bướm trắng mà sang bên này!

The White Butterfly

Her house is next to mine,
Separated by a hedge of deep green Malabar nightshade.
Lived in loneliness she and I,
It appeared that her sadness was similar to mine.
I would walk over and say hi
If not for the hedge of Malabar nightshade.

I had a recurring, gentle dream
Where a white butterfly fluttered to this side of the nightshade.
My dear butterfly, please come inside
And allow me to inquire
As to why she never smiled.
She often raised her eyes to the sky
When she dried the raw, wet threads of silk on the roof of the veranda.

The white butterfly flew back to the other side!
Suddenly, I felt fretful and ill at ease,
And I sadly asked myself: "Do I love thee?"
---No, ever since my love flew away,
My heart has been ashen-cold.

She had not moved the threads of silk,
The white butterfly kept coming every day.
For days she was no where in sight,
I wished I had raw, wet threads of silk to dry.
Something like longing hanging in the air?
Did I miss her? No, I definitely would not!
Yes, ever since my love went away,
It was my love that I longed for.

Gently, rain kept falling down,
Today was the fourth day of rain.
Loneliness heaped upon sadness without end.
When the rain stopped, would the butterfly come for a visit? 

Today the rain stopped falling!
No more threads of silks to be dried,
The butterfly was too lazy to fly.
And she still didn't appear by the veranda.

I bent down at the table, sobbing and crying...
I missed the white butterfly.
I missed the golden threads of silk,
But I was not missing her.

Oh, the white butterfly and the golden silk,
Please hurry back home and pay her a last visit!
For she passed away last night.
I am crying now...for I love her
If her virginal soul still hovers close by,
Please enter the white butterfly 
And get to this side.

Translated by NKBa'/Wissai by special request.

April 20, 2011