Theo chân kiến
luồn qua cụm cỏ
Bóng âm u
Thế giới chập chùng
Quãng im lặng
nghe mùi đất thở.
Tuệ Sỹ
The French Translation
me faufilant entre les herbes
je pursuis la fourmi
Ténèbres profondes
Mondes de pénombres
silence entre silences
J'entends la respiration de la terre
Dominique de Miscault
Attempt at English Rendition
I follow the ants
in edging my way through the grass,
dark shadows,
and the world of flickering lights
while listening to the breathing of the earth
in the vast stretch of silence
Wissai 09112009
Friday, September 11, 2009
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Cowards, Cowards, and Cowards
Cowards are everywhere. The more noise they make, the more cowardly they are. I cannot stand cowardly noise makers anymore. I want them to put their self-professed love for Vietnam where it counts, like some concrete action such as putting their damned names in the Declaration against the bullying acts of China. No, a simple act of defiance against China like that is way beyond their capability. Instead of being honest and admitting that they were too cowardly to put their names in any document of protest, they rationalized that declarations were not an effective means to combat Chinese imperialism. They forgot to tell us what the effective means were, after all we, the overseas Vietnamese, possess no army. Our voice is our only weapon. The truth was that they were too yellow and chicken-hearted to fight. They preferred getting on the internet and talked nonsense or pontificated about sex or trafficked in gossip. Now one of them tried to lecture me by urging me to integrate more and denigrate less. I will denounce and denigrate all those cowards till the cows come home. I countered to the hypocritical "lecturer" by posting a quick reply in the forum that he had better practice what he preaches. Not too long ago he preached that he was against declarations and petitions because he deemed them to be "infertile". In addition, he and the Monkey denigrated my efforts and those of like-minded individuals in putting together the Declaration ( he put in all kinds of negative arguments to dissuade others from signing in the Declaration). I sternly reminded him in my reply to him that inconsistency is the hallmark of a scoundrel.
The Monkey is back to his favorite tricks of name-calling and rehashed, nauseating, nonrhymed lines of nonsense. How fucking tiresome! How unimaginative! How fucking repetitive! I already knew the bastard did not have an ounce of creativity in him. Now he confirmed that by posting the same nonsensical lines of "poetry" (sic!) about going up the mountain to be a recluse and about horses and water buffaloes loving to seek animals of the same kindred spirit. Now I truly know the meaning of the word "revolted". I was physically revolted when I saw his rehashed tricks. What a fucking animal! That is what he is. He is only good for fucking and nothing else. Even so, perhaps he is no longer able to fulfill that role anymore because he once posted a "poem" in the forum about his sexual impotence. Yech! All animal and no mind, and not much sex either.
Sandi was too fucking dumb to understand the purpose of my posting the email about the insights of Sam Chauhan. If she could not understand such a simple message, I would not expect her to understand more subtle thoughts and intricate arguments from me. Maybe her English is not good enough to grasp the nuances of my words. It's time for her to take a remedial course in Basic English even though she is a native speaker. Apparently she didn't have the aptitude to comprehend written English yet. However, ironically enough, she had the gall to call my letting off steam repetitive chattering. Here we had a case of a willfully self-delusional creature who got lost in the wilderness for such a long time and who was fortunately rescued by me, now is calling me indulging in chattering. Now she is lecturing me on the nature of reality! How funny and how droll! I just cannot understand some creatures. They are beyond my imagination. Their inane remarks are way off the left field. Like the Monkey, Sandi is another pathetic example of being a stranger to oneself. Individuals like the Monkey and Sandi are simply deficient in self-awareness or maybe moral courage, that is to say, the ability to see one's shortcomings. Instead, they expend their energy in covering up their sense of inadequacy by lashing out at people like me who make them feel uncomfortable of themselves. That's their damned fault for messing with me. They should know that an attack on me will invite a fierce counter-attack. Fuck them! Enough about these animals. I have done enough throwing up for a day.
The Monkey is back to his favorite tricks of name-calling and rehashed, nauseating, nonrhymed lines of nonsense. How fucking tiresome! How unimaginative! How fucking repetitive! I already knew the bastard did not have an ounce of creativity in him. Now he confirmed that by posting the same nonsensical lines of "poetry" (sic!) about going up the mountain to be a recluse and about horses and water buffaloes loving to seek animals of the same kindred spirit. Now I truly know the meaning of the word "revolted". I was physically revolted when I saw his rehashed tricks. What a fucking animal! That is what he is. He is only good for fucking and nothing else. Even so, perhaps he is no longer able to fulfill that role anymore because he once posted a "poem" in the forum about his sexual impotence. Yech! All animal and no mind, and not much sex either.
Sandi was too fucking dumb to understand the purpose of my posting the email about the insights of Sam Chauhan. If she could not understand such a simple message, I would not expect her to understand more subtle thoughts and intricate arguments from me. Maybe her English is not good enough to grasp the nuances of my words. It's time for her to take a remedial course in Basic English even though she is a native speaker. Apparently she didn't have the aptitude to comprehend written English yet. However, ironically enough, she had the gall to call my letting off steam repetitive chattering. Here we had a case of a willfully self-delusional creature who got lost in the wilderness for such a long time and who was fortunately rescued by me, now is calling me indulging in chattering. Now she is lecturing me on the nature of reality! How funny and how droll! I just cannot understand some creatures. They are beyond my imagination. Their inane remarks are way off the left field. Like the Monkey, Sandi is another pathetic example of being a stranger to oneself. Individuals like the Monkey and Sandi are simply deficient in self-awareness or maybe moral courage, that is to say, the ability to see one's shortcomings. Instead, they expend their energy in covering up their sense of inadequacy by lashing out at people like me who make them feel uncomfortable of themselves. That's their damned fault for messing with me. They should know that an attack on me will invite a fierce counter-attack. Fuck them! Enough about these animals. I have done enough throwing up for a day.
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Monkey is yelping again
Monkeys can't stay still for long. They have to make noises. That's in their nature. Compared to true humans, they are not creative. They tend to make the same noises, day in and day out. Since they are sub-human animals, they cannot comprehend humans, but humans can understand them. As I said before, the below can't comprehend the above. Being sub-humans, they look at the world from pure animal standpoints.
Some humans are nothing but monkeys in disguise. These proto-humans look like humans from the outside, but after we true humans interact with them for a while, they reveal themselves as brutish, stupid, ignorant, and noise-hungry. These proto-humans are only useful to true humans when true humans want to cure themselves of constipation or food poisoning. The mere sight of these proto-humans makes true humans run for the bathroom.
Some humans are nothing but monkeys in disguise. These proto-humans look like humans from the outside, but after we true humans interact with them for a while, they reveal themselves as brutish, stupid, ignorant, and noise-hungry. These proto-humans are only useful to true humans when true humans want to cure themselves of constipation or food poisoning. The mere sight of these proto-humans makes true humans run for the bathroom.
Monday, September 7, 2009
Insights learned from Sam Chauhan
Insights from Sam Chauhan
Recently a friend showed me an article about Sam Chauhan, a mindset coach who was credited for helping various individuals overcome their greatest adversaries: themselves. The following observations are taken from the article.
1. Tiger Woods has numerous coaches that work with him on his mindset. Think about that. Here’s the golfer universally regarded as the best in the world, and yet he constantly finds ways to improve his mindset since he knows golf is the game of the mind. You are in the battle with your own mind.
2. About Ego and Pride: To live with dignity, one must have a modicum of ego and pride. However, like everything else in this world, too much of a good thing is bad. One must cultivate the ability to take things in moderate amounts. Remember others have ego and pride, too. Maybe they have more than you do. It does not matter whether the image they have of themselves is justified or not. What matters is your own image of yourself is justified or not.
3. Everyday, prior to leaving the house, you tell yourself that you are going to conduct yourself in the best manner that you know how, that you are a true member of the species homo sapiens, and not some monkey escaping from a zoo.
4. You want people to be attracted to who you are inside, not of what kind of noise you make. The noise you make had better reflect your true self, and not just to make you look good or feel good.
Wissai
September 07, 2009.
Recently a friend showed me an article about Sam Chauhan, a mindset coach who was credited for helping various individuals overcome their greatest adversaries: themselves. The following observations are taken from the article.
1. Tiger Woods has numerous coaches that work with him on his mindset. Think about that. Here’s the golfer universally regarded as the best in the world, and yet he constantly finds ways to improve his mindset since he knows golf is the game of the mind. You are in the battle with your own mind.
2. About Ego and Pride: To live with dignity, one must have a modicum of ego and pride. However, like everything else in this world, too much of a good thing is bad. One must cultivate the ability to take things in moderate amounts. Remember others have ego and pride, too. Maybe they have more than you do. It does not matter whether the image they have of themselves is justified or not. What matters is your own image of yourself is justified or not.
3. Everyday, prior to leaving the house, you tell yourself that you are going to conduct yourself in the best manner that you know how, that you are a true member of the species homo sapiens, and not some monkey escaping from a zoo.
4. You want people to be attracted to who you are inside, not of what kind of noise you make. The noise you make had better reflect your true self, and not just to make you look good or feel good.
Wissai
September 07, 2009.
Sunday, September 6, 2009
Words, Words, and Words
Words, Words, and Words
Words are all I have and all I need are words. I reread what I wrote in Collage and Pastiche. And I must confess that I like what I wrote, some risqué words notwithstanding. The poem Laura is a masterpiece and deserves wider circulation. Thus, I’m rendering it into English, knowing fully well that “traduire, c’est trahir”. The music in the French original is largely missing in this English version.
Laura
Laura, do you remember
It rained without end in Saigon that evening in November?
We were taking shelter in the veranda
Of the library of Centre Culturel Francais
And I was babbling about my hope and plan.
I was talking in English,
A language I would like to master.
On and on I kept talking while the rain continued falling.
You were listening,
Smiling, ravishing with the rain on your face.
I boldly took your wet hand in mine
And you smiled and kissed me lightly on the cheek.
Oh, the kiss that forever made me lose my mind.
When I got back home that evening,
An intoxicating joy exploded in my heart
And my life seemed like a field of flowers.
I was leaving for Paris, three years later.
At the airport, I said:
“Baby, please don’t cry!
I will come back for you.”
This evening in Saigon, it is raining without end
As it did a long time ago.
Rain keeps falling on me and through my heart.
How lonesome I feel
Because you are here no more.
Laura, do you remember
It rained without end that evening
And you put your head
Against mine and you said:
“How beautiful the rain is!
I wish it would rain forever.”
Where are you now
While I’m standing outside the same veranda
In this rain of no tomorrow?
I, who have held you in my arms,
Will continue loving you without end.
I’m going to love you against the rising tide of time,
Against this rain of sorrow, this rain of pain.
Laura
Rappelle-toi, Laura
Il pleuvait sans cesse sur Saigon ce soir-là.
Nous nous abritions sous la veranda
De la bibliothèque de la Mission Francaise
Et je parlais sans cesse de mon espoir,
Mon plan pour l’avenir.
Je parlais en anglais,
Une langue que je voudrais maitriser
Mais que tu as déjà possedée.
Je parlais sans cesse
Comme la pluie en cette nuit-là
Et tu m’écoutais
Souriante, ravissante, ruisselante
Avec la pluie sur ton visage
Et je prenais mon courage
Et saisissais ta main mouillée
Et tu souriais et m’as donné
Un baiser léger sur ma joue.
Oh baiser doux qui m’a rendu fou!
Cette nuite-là, quand je suis revenu chez moi
Une joie intoxicante explosait en mon coeur
Et ma vie semblait immersée dans un champ de fleurs!
Trois ans plus tard, je suis parti pour Paris.
A l’aeroport, je t’ai dit:
‘Ne pleure pas.
Je pars, mais je reviendrai.”
Ce soir à Saigon, il pleut sans cesse
Comme it pleuvait autrefois.
Cette pluie qui tombe sur mon chapeau
Semble penetrer dans mon coeur.
Oh mon dieu, comme je suis triste!
Tu étais ici.
Maintenant tu es partie.
Rappelle-toi Laura, ce soir-là.
Il pleuvait sans cesse
Et tu appuyais la tête
Contre moi et disais:
“Comme la pluie est belle!
Je souhaite qu’elle tombe jusqu’à l’éternité.”
Qu’es-tu devenue maintenant
Sous cette pluie de douleur!
Moi, qui te serrais dans mes bras.
Je vais t’aimer sans cesse.
Je vais t’aimer contre la marée du temps,
Contre cette pluie de douleur, cette pluie de tristesse.
Commentaire: Laura était reelle; la pluie était réelle. Mon amour malheureusemente était reel auusi. Je n’aime plus Laura. La douleur était effrayante. J’aime beaucoup ce poème. Malgré ma limitation de la langue francaise, je n’ai pas eu de difficulté de composer ce “chef-d’oeuvre”. Les mots arrivaient rapidement.
I was numb from the translation effort. It took a lot out of me. I no longer love Laura, but I can’t help talking and writing about her. Maybe I am trying to talk myself from falling in love again. Needless to say, whenever it rains hard and long, I go a bit crazy. I did go completely crazy once and almost took a jump into the abyss. It took me a long time to recover. I wrote the French version back in 1994 when I thought I still loved Laura. The funny thing is that the poem was a testament to my power of imagination. The only thing true about the poem was the rain. It did rain that evening. She and I were taking shelter from the rain in the veranda of the American Library in Saigon. We were getting to know each other then, so none of the dialogue and kissing took place. I especially loved the poem’s last stanza. It was truly beautiful, even in the English translation. The last stanza gave me a belief that I do have artistic sensibilities and the making of a poet. Note the choice of words and the resultant imagery and music. While I am basically an honest person, when it comes to creative writing, I give free rein to my imagination. I inflate and I exaggerate. I lie. I even plagiarize. I feel completely free of social conventions. I use strong words, I confess, and I bleed all over the pages. I use writing as a form of therapy. So, while I wrote that I was going to love Laura till the end of time, the reality was that I completely stopped loving Laura about three years ago. I woke up on a glorious Sunday morning with blue sky, light breezes, and fine temperature and realized that Laura was common as common can be and that she didn’t deserve my love. I don’t even want to see her ever again. Lately, I have started being more withdrawn. I have stayed away from old correspondents. They didn’t really understand me. Some of them thought they were too good for me whereas the reality was the other way around. I’m getting more prideful and difficult. I know I am hurting myself socially and emotionally, but somehow I don’t care. I now concentrate my remaining energy on making money and taking care of my health.
In moments of reflection, I stumble and slouch towards a realization that deep down I don’t care for money, fame, or power. I merely hanker after Love, the one with a capital L, but I am admitting that true love is rare and maybe I will never get it because I don’t work hard enough at it. I am too lazy and prideful. So, I lose myself in books and dreams. Still, I feel there is a certain closure, a certain peace in my conversations with you. I finally talked to you and you sounded as I imagined you to be. I utilize my imagination and dreams to strengthen myself. I’m getting more disciplined and focused and moralistic. I am not generous but I am fair. I detest greed, jealousy, and dishonesty in people.
I am waiting for Death to arrive. Meanwhile I am trying to live a life with honor and dignity, that is to say, I will not beg, steal, or lie to survive. We all die anyway and I am not a common person. I am an artist, a philosopher, and a seeker of knowledge. My current project is learning not to be self-righteous. Peace. Namaste.
I know I have been a fool, but I can’t help myself. I’m too much a dreamer. I dream of peace and of the improbable if not the outright impossibility. I like to swim against the currents of conventions and of time itself. There’s a river flowing between us. I am standing on this side of the river and when the mood is right, I take to singing. I sing off-key, but I sing anyway. It does not really matter if you hear my singing, and if you do, whether you like it. The important thing is that I know you are there, on the other side of the river. The only thing that matters is my belief that you are not a common person. That belief has given me peace, has given me strength. Even if one day you decide not to live on that side of the river anymore and move away, I still treasure the memories associated with you.
Wissai
February 2006
That was what I wrote more than 3 years ago. How time flew! A lot of things happened in three years. I got older and not wiser. I got fatter, too, but I have just managed to get back to my fighting weight, the svelte figure I used to maintain when I was in college: 155 lbs. Since the title of this piece is Words, I might as well indulge in them. From here on, you will see the record of my journey with words.
Tim Page, a music critic, characterized the music of Beach Boys as “vaporous, ethereal, elaborately ornamented musical clockworks, distinguished by a blossoming tenderness and sheer sonic splendor”. Wonderful, don’t you think? Ever since I first learned to speak, sound has fascinated me, but I can’t sing. But I loved to talk although I suffered from a speech impediment: stuttering. The more I wanted to talk, the more I got stuck in producing the sounds I wanted. So I thought of words visually. In my brain, words got lined up and I just spoke as I saw them. As I got older, I stuttered less. Now I only do when I get over-excited. Meanwhile, I discovered that I got some facility with words. I fancy that I think very quickly with words and am extremely efficient with ripostes, retorts and repartees. ________________________________________________________________
Words are all I have and all I need are words. I reread what I wrote in Collage and Pastiche. And I must confess that I like what I wrote, some risqué words notwithstanding. The poem Laura is a masterpiece and deserves wider circulation. Thus, I’m rendering it into English, knowing fully well that “traduire, c’est trahir”. The music in the French original is largely missing in this English version.
Laura
Laura, do you remember
It rained without end in Saigon that evening in November?
We were taking shelter in the veranda
Of the library of Centre Culturel Francais
And I was babbling about my hope and plan.
I was talking in English,
A language I would like to master.
On and on I kept talking while the rain continued falling.
You were listening,
Smiling, ravishing with the rain on your face.
I boldly took your wet hand in mine
And you smiled and kissed me lightly on the cheek.
Oh, the kiss that forever made me lose my mind.
When I got back home that evening,
An intoxicating joy exploded in my heart
And my life seemed like a field of flowers.
I was leaving for Paris, three years later.
At the airport, I said:
“Baby, please don’t cry!
I will come back for you.”
This evening in Saigon, it is raining without end
As it did a long time ago.
Rain keeps falling on me and through my heart.
How lonesome I feel
Because you are here no more.
Laura, do you remember
It rained without end that evening
And you put your head
Against mine and you said:
“How beautiful the rain is!
I wish it would rain forever.”
Where are you now
While I’m standing outside the same veranda
In this rain of no tomorrow?
I, who have held you in my arms,
Will continue loving you without end.
I’m going to love you against the rising tide of time,
Against this rain of sorrow, this rain of pain.
Laura
Rappelle-toi, Laura
Il pleuvait sans cesse sur Saigon ce soir-là.
Nous nous abritions sous la veranda
De la bibliothèque de la Mission Francaise
Et je parlais sans cesse de mon espoir,
Mon plan pour l’avenir.
Je parlais en anglais,
Une langue que je voudrais maitriser
Mais que tu as déjà possedée.
Je parlais sans cesse
Comme la pluie en cette nuit-là
Et tu m’écoutais
Souriante, ravissante, ruisselante
Avec la pluie sur ton visage
Et je prenais mon courage
Et saisissais ta main mouillée
Et tu souriais et m’as donné
Un baiser léger sur ma joue.
Oh baiser doux qui m’a rendu fou!
Cette nuite-là, quand je suis revenu chez moi
Une joie intoxicante explosait en mon coeur
Et ma vie semblait immersée dans un champ de fleurs!
Trois ans plus tard, je suis parti pour Paris.
A l’aeroport, je t’ai dit:
‘Ne pleure pas.
Je pars, mais je reviendrai.”
Ce soir à Saigon, il pleut sans cesse
Comme it pleuvait autrefois.
Cette pluie qui tombe sur mon chapeau
Semble penetrer dans mon coeur.
Oh mon dieu, comme je suis triste!
Tu étais ici.
Maintenant tu es partie.
Rappelle-toi Laura, ce soir-là.
Il pleuvait sans cesse
Et tu appuyais la tête
Contre moi et disais:
“Comme la pluie est belle!
Je souhaite qu’elle tombe jusqu’à l’éternité.”
Qu’es-tu devenue maintenant
Sous cette pluie de douleur!
Moi, qui te serrais dans mes bras.
Je vais t’aimer sans cesse.
Je vais t’aimer contre la marée du temps,
Contre cette pluie de douleur, cette pluie de tristesse.
Commentaire: Laura était reelle; la pluie était réelle. Mon amour malheureusemente était reel auusi. Je n’aime plus Laura. La douleur était effrayante. J’aime beaucoup ce poème. Malgré ma limitation de la langue francaise, je n’ai pas eu de difficulté de composer ce “chef-d’oeuvre”. Les mots arrivaient rapidement.
I was numb from the translation effort. It took a lot out of me. I no longer love Laura, but I can’t help talking and writing about her. Maybe I am trying to talk myself from falling in love again. Needless to say, whenever it rains hard and long, I go a bit crazy. I did go completely crazy once and almost took a jump into the abyss. It took me a long time to recover. I wrote the French version back in 1994 when I thought I still loved Laura. The funny thing is that the poem was a testament to my power of imagination. The only thing true about the poem was the rain. It did rain that evening. She and I were taking shelter from the rain in the veranda of the American Library in Saigon. We were getting to know each other then, so none of the dialogue and kissing took place. I especially loved the poem’s last stanza. It was truly beautiful, even in the English translation. The last stanza gave me a belief that I do have artistic sensibilities and the making of a poet. Note the choice of words and the resultant imagery and music. While I am basically an honest person, when it comes to creative writing, I give free rein to my imagination. I inflate and I exaggerate. I lie. I even plagiarize. I feel completely free of social conventions. I use strong words, I confess, and I bleed all over the pages. I use writing as a form of therapy. So, while I wrote that I was going to love Laura till the end of time, the reality was that I completely stopped loving Laura about three years ago. I woke up on a glorious Sunday morning with blue sky, light breezes, and fine temperature and realized that Laura was common as common can be and that she didn’t deserve my love. I don’t even want to see her ever again. Lately, I have started being more withdrawn. I have stayed away from old correspondents. They didn’t really understand me. Some of them thought they were too good for me whereas the reality was the other way around. I’m getting more prideful and difficult. I know I am hurting myself socially and emotionally, but somehow I don’t care. I now concentrate my remaining energy on making money and taking care of my health.
In moments of reflection, I stumble and slouch towards a realization that deep down I don’t care for money, fame, or power. I merely hanker after Love, the one with a capital L, but I am admitting that true love is rare and maybe I will never get it because I don’t work hard enough at it. I am too lazy and prideful. So, I lose myself in books and dreams. Still, I feel there is a certain closure, a certain peace in my conversations with you. I finally talked to you and you sounded as I imagined you to be. I utilize my imagination and dreams to strengthen myself. I’m getting more disciplined and focused and moralistic. I am not generous but I am fair. I detest greed, jealousy, and dishonesty in people.
I am waiting for Death to arrive. Meanwhile I am trying to live a life with honor and dignity, that is to say, I will not beg, steal, or lie to survive. We all die anyway and I am not a common person. I am an artist, a philosopher, and a seeker of knowledge. My current project is learning not to be self-righteous. Peace. Namaste.
I know I have been a fool, but I can’t help myself. I’m too much a dreamer. I dream of peace and of the improbable if not the outright impossibility. I like to swim against the currents of conventions and of time itself. There’s a river flowing between us. I am standing on this side of the river and when the mood is right, I take to singing. I sing off-key, but I sing anyway. It does not really matter if you hear my singing, and if you do, whether you like it. The important thing is that I know you are there, on the other side of the river. The only thing that matters is my belief that you are not a common person. That belief has given me peace, has given me strength. Even if one day you decide not to live on that side of the river anymore and move away, I still treasure the memories associated with you.
Wissai
February 2006
That was what I wrote more than 3 years ago. How time flew! A lot of things happened in three years. I got older and not wiser. I got fatter, too, but I have just managed to get back to my fighting weight, the svelte figure I used to maintain when I was in college: 155 lbs. Since the title of this piece is Words, I might as well indulge in them. From here on, you will see the record of my journey with words.
Tim Page, a music critic, characterized the music of Beach Boys as “vaporous, ethereal, elaborately ornamented musical clockworks, distinguished by a blossoming tenderness and sheer sonic splendor”. Wonderful, don’t you think? Ever since I first learned to speak, sound has fascinated me, but I can’t sing. But I loved to talk although I suffered from a speech impediment: stuttering. The more I wanted to talk, the more I got stuck in producing the sounds I wanted. So I thought of words visually. In my brain, words got lined up and I just spoke as I saw them. As I got older, I stuttered less. Now I only do when I get over-excited. Meanwhile, I discovered that I got some facility with words. I fancy that I think very quickly with words and am extremely efficient with ripostes, retorts and repartees. ________________________________________________________________
Saturday, September 5, 2009
L'amour, C'est Pour Rien. Love is For Naught
Comme une salamandre,
L'amour est merveilleux
Like a salamander,
love is marvelous
Et renait de ses cendres
comme l'oiseau de feu,
And reborn from the ashes
like the bird of fire,
Nul ne peut le contraindre
Nothing can compel it
Pour lui donner la vie.
To give up its life.
Et rien ne peut l'eteindre
And nothing can put it out
Sinon l'eau de l'oubli.
But the water of neglect.
L'amour, c'est pour rien
Love is for naught
Tu ne peux pas le vendre
Thou can’t sell it.
L'amour, c'est pour rien
Love is for naught
Tu ne peux l'acheter.
Thou can’t buy it.
Quand ton corps se reveille,
When thy body heats up,
Tu te mets a trembler.
It makes thee tremble.
Mais si ton coeur s'eveille,
But if thy heart awakens,
Tu te mets a rêver.
Thou start dreaming.
Tu rêves d'un echange avec un autre aveu,
Thou dream of an exchange with another a confession,
Car ces frissons estranges
For the strange quiverings
Ne vivent que par deux
Only live by two.
L'amour, c'est pour rien
Love is for naught
Tu ne peux pas le vendre
Thou can’t sell it.
L'amour, c'est pour rien
Love is for naught
Tu ne peux l'acheter.
Thou can’t buy it.
L'amour, c'est l'esperance,
Love is hope
Sans raison et sans loi.
Without reason and without rule.
L'amour comme la chance
Love is like luck
Ne se mérite pas.
Which is undeserving.
Il y a sur terre un être
There is somebody on this Earth
Qui t'aime a la folie,
Who loves thee to distraction,
Sans même te connaitre
Without even knowing thee
Prêt a donner sa vie.
Willing to give thee his life.
L'amour, c'est pour rien
Love is for naught.
Tu ne peux pas le prendre
Thou can’t take it.
L'amour, c'est pour rien
Love is for naught
Mais tu peux le donner.
But thou can give it.
L'amour, c'est pour rien
Love is for naught
L'amour, C'est pour rien.
Love is for naught.
artist: enrico macias
translated by wissai 9/5/09
L'amour est merveilleux
Like a salamander,
love is marvelous
Et renait de ses cendres
comme l'oiseau de feu,
And reborn from the ashes
like the bird of fire,
Nul ne peut le contraindre
Nothing can compel it
Pour lui donner la vie.
To give up its life.
Et rien ne peut l'eteindre
And nothing can put it out
Sinon l'eau de l'oubli.
But the water of neglect.
L'amour, c'est pour rien
Love is for naught
Tu ne peux pas le vendre
Thou can’t sell it.
L'amour, c'est pour rien
Love is for naught
Tu ne peux l'acheter.
Thou can’t buy it.
Quand ton corps se reveille,
When thy body heats up,
Tu te mets a trembler.
It makes thee tremble.
Mais si ton coeur s'eveille,
But if thy heart awakens,
Tu te mets a rêver.
Thou start dreaming.
Tu rêves d'un echange avec un autre aveu,
Thou dream of an exchange with another a confession,
Car ces frissons estranges
For the strange quiverings
Ne vivent que par deux
Only live by two.
L'amour, c'est pour rien
Love is for naught
Tu ne peux pas le vendre
Thou can’t sell it.
L'amour, c'est pour rien
Love is for naught
Tu ne peux l'acheter.
Thou can’t buy it.
L'amour, c'est l'esperance,
Love is hope
Sans raison et sans loi.
Without reason and without rule.
L'amour comme la chance
Love is like luck
Ne se mérite pas.
Which is undeserving.
Il y a sur terre un être
There is somebody on this Earth
Qui t'aime a la folie,
Who loves thee to distraction,
Sans même te connaitre
Without even knowing thee
Prêt a donner sa vie.
Willing to give thee his life.
L'amour, c'est pour rien
Love is for naught.
Tu ne peux pas le prendre
Thou can’t take it.
L'amour, c'est pour rien
Love is for naught
Mais tu peux le donner.
But thou can give it.
L'amour, c'est pour rien
Love is for naught
L'amour, C'est pour rien.
Love is for naught.
artist: enrico macias
translated by wissai 9/5/09
Letter to Mr. Cha Sang-Geun
September 04, 2009
International Maritime Organization
4, Albert Embankment
London
SE1 7SR
United Kingdon
Email: info@imo.org
Attn: Mr. Cha Sang-Geun
Re: Mr. Cha’s act of bravery
Dear Mr. Cha:
We are the organizing members of the Committee to Save Vietnam from China Campaign. It has come to our attention that early this year in January, you and your crew braved a fierce storm in the East Sea in answer to the distress call of the fifteen Vietnamese fishermen whose boat was capsized. It was our understanding that there were patrolling Chinese vessels in the vicinity, but they didn’t bother to rush to the rescue. Instead, you and your crew risked your lives to combat the elements and to elude those patrolling Chinese vessels before you could reach our fellow Vietnamese.
We were very gratified to learn that for your humanitarian deed and act of bravery, the International Maritime Organization is to confer to you the Award for Exceptional Bravery at Sea. The ceremony is going to be in London, England this September of 2009.
We would like to salute your bravery and to register our gratitude on behalf of the Vietnamese people.
Sincerely,
Le Quang Long in Auckland, New Zealand
Nguyen Hung in Sydney, Australia
Ngo Khoa Ba in Houston, Texas, the United States
The Committee email address: savevietnam09@gmail.com
International Maritime Organization
4, Albert Embankment
London
SE1 7SR
United Kingdon
Email: info@imo.org
Attn: Mr. Cha Sang-Geun
Re: Mr. Cha’s act of bravery
Dear Mr. Cha:
We are the organizing members of the Committee to Save Vietnam from China Campaign. It has come to our attention that early this year in January, you and your crew braved a fierce storm in the East Sea in answer to the distress call of the fifteen Vietnamese fishermen whose boat was capsized. It was our understanding that there were patrolling Chinese vessels in the vicinity, but they didn’t bother to rush to the rescue. Instead, you and your crew risked your lives to combat the elements and to elude those patrolling Chinese vessels before you could reach our fellow Vietnamese.
We were very gratified to learn that for your humanitarian deed and act of bravery, the International Maritime Organization is to confer to you the Award for Exceptional Bravery at Sea. The ceremony is going to be in London, England this September of 2009.
We would like to salute your bravery and to register our gratitude on behalf of the Vietnamese people.
Sincerely,
Le Quang Long in Auckland, New Zealand
Nguyen Hung in Sydney, Australia
Ngo Khoa Ba in Houston, Texas, the United States
The Committee email address: savevietnam09@gmail.com
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