prose and poetry

EM ĐỪNG HỎI

em đừng hỏi độ cao làn gió
đừng hỏi sao trời vắng ngẩn ngơ
dù hỏi lại lời không gặp gỡ
tựa môi em nụ khép như thơ 
 
em đừng hỏi một mai buồn nhớ
đừng hỏi bao giờ nắng vẩn mơ
bởi dáng vàng thu tuyền lá nhỏ
đổ rừng cao rực ánh bâng quơ
 
em đừng hỏi mỗi khi hoa nở
đừng hỏi thêm ngày tháng hững hờ
vì vĩnh cửu thời gian tột độ 
cũng vừa là giờ phút đơn sơ
 
em đừng hỏi tận cùng duyên nợ
một thoáng qua tình nghĩa sợi tơ
lòng chớm đẹp đêm huyền thấm sợ
cánh thời gian phủ kín thành mơ
 
em thầm hỏi tâm hồn dang mở
một kiếp thôi khẽ ngấm vận thơ
 
LND

PLEASE DON'T ASK

please don't ask how high the wind is blowing 
why the sky is lost and empty 
for you won't get a reply
same as your lips won't yield lines of poetry 

please don't ask if I will ever miss you
and if sunshine and dreams ever mixed up
for every fall golden-colored leaves 
sparkle tall in the woods

please don't ask when flowers blossom 
nor inquire after the passing of time 
for eternity is time 
and yet time is also ephemerality 

please don't ask if our love will ever last
or if our brief, intoxicating moments together 
in the middle of the night would suffice
while we are covered with reverie under the wings of time

still, you softly ask if your unfolding heart
could withstand a lifetime of cursed poetry

Rough draft translation by Wissai, 2011

11. NE DEMANDE PAS
 

ne demande pas la hauteur du vent
ni pourquoi le ciel semble si désolé
 la question n'aura pas de réponse
dormant à tes lèvres un poème à jamais
 
ne demande pas si déjà la tristesse s'en va
ni quand le soleil se pâmera de rêve
car l'automne aura ses feuilles d'or en myriades 
quittant les vỏtes hantées des forêts d'aurore     
 
ne demande pas quand viendra la saison des fleurs 
ni comment les jours et les mois nous quitteront
car l'éternité dans son parcours divers    
aura le même espace de l'instant éphémère
 
ne demande pas l'apogée de nos séjours karmiques
car un reflet seul suffit à éclairer notre joie unique
qui au sein des nuits enivrantes d'angoisse
nous couvre secrètement de rêves sous les ailes du temps
 
ne demande pas non plus en ton âme fervente    
pourquoi une vie humaine est si chargée d'amour  
 
Traduit par LND.

So I have demonstrated that I am equally at home with prose and poetry, and in a borrowed tongue no less. My words are out there for anybody who is bothered to get to know me. My words are the answer to the stupid and coarse Monkey who fancies that he has poetic sensibilities. To me, he is a stupid asshole cum ignorant Philistine who is not worthy of a lowly duty of wiping my ass after I take a dump in the morning. Assholes like him are dime a dozen in this crowded world.

Today the weather is gorgeous. The air is fresh; the temperature is hovering in the 50's. And I am being truculently horny and lonely. And that despite having sex just about everyday. Not only I am horny and lonely, I am also angry. Anger has been my nemesis. It has been quite a miracle that I am still alive or not incarcerated. I am going through a breathing exercise, supposedly designed to dissipate the anger, causing to disappear into thin air. The exercise is not working. I can tell you that. So I am resorting to what I usually do when I am angry: I write and I plagiarize. And my sentences are going to be like gleaming but dull axes which hurt and bruise, but won't cut you to pieces. You are going to survive, but you won't stay the same.

Nowadays when I engage in my daily geriatric orgiastic pleasures, I can't help but think of her and all other women who have gone through my life. And I am struggling with a tentative but haunting conclusion that I was truly naive and stupidly romantic. If you read in the paper someday that I have committed an act of homicide, you would or should know that I just simply and finally acted on with my repressed feelings of vengeance and impotence.

Once I bragged : "Of all the people that you personally know, how many can wield the pen as I do? When I am truly inspired, I  can invoke magic and instill awe. I can also be annoyingly unforgettable.  Words are my friend and my lover. Words are all I have. I value them almost as much as money. Money helps me stay alive. Words assist me in feeling good about myself." Of course, these immoderate words were uttered when I was down in the the dumps. I was trying to revive my flagging spirit.

Perhaps sensing that my spirit needed boosting, a reader sent me the following:

" I love your words when they are not daggers that are drawn to strike or an iron fist that wallops the reader with hideous and unforeseen terminology. Your gentle stirring words are the ones that beckon. The words that come from deep within your soul are the ones that softly whisper: 'here I am, come find me, if you dare and care.'
 
My heart and soul have felt and been aware of your anger and disquietness since we first met and they are something I have always tried to help smother or at least diminish."

(to be continued)