Mai Văn Phấn

Translated from Vietnamese by Trần Nghi Hoàng

Edited by Frederick Turner

 

 

Page Addie Press of the UK, 2012.




Publishing House of the Vietnam Writer’s Association, 2012.

 

FIRMAMENT WITHOUT ROOF COVER
Vietnamese version: Bầu trời không mái che

 

 

 

Translator - Poet Trần Nghi Hoàng

 

Professor - Poet Frederick Turner

 

 

I – Mothergate

 

 

Mothergate(1)

 

I.

 

Mother caressing child as the moonlight

sound of passing from bough to bough, the howling

Skin and flesh of the love child spreading out deep into the dark night

lift the layered clouds heavy with rain over the sources of rivers

 

A bough quivers on the water surface

where a bird suddenly perches

 

Only I can see that small bird so far away from the road

Far away from the garden, from the other flocks of bird

I quietly pass through the corona at the bottom of the water

And look up at the sky with open wings

 

rising to the top of the tree where the bird’s beak

bends down to feed into the mouths of its fledglings each

sip of wind

 

Sound of chipped grain in the chest

The bare ground and green fruit

the dense-leaved canopy of the forest

 

Newborn child on the ground

Swim across the river the tadpole’s tail severing

Learning to flaps the wings, fanning the wind into the nest’s warm bowel

Sprouts the cotyledon leaves, flies away freely

 

Steam rises by the river-wharf

space condenses the confusion of time

Smoke steams up high

I realize I am swimming in a sea-mist

 

Not mist but rain

The tall tower glittering

 

Breathing, muscles firm, the leaf singing ...

The dead return, suddenly, in the blossoming flower

 

I shudder at a shore-line

The water surface choking where there are not breaking waves

 

A sip of cool water drifting slowly...

 

Suddenly remember the high tide season submerging the cricket’s cave

Clopblopping sound of bubbles gushing up by stages

So that I realize where’s the cave mouth...

 

II.

 

Place child on the ground

The riverbed has painful like to tear off body of the night

 

Nature glossy wet

The trunk of trees disintegration turn into splinters

Water swift-flowing

Flowing faster

 

I burst into tears sweep away the spiderweb

Sound of the heron hoarsely

The ashes flashing up

Moon trembling

 

Pick up a pebble to draw on the ground

A field

The young calf bewildered

 

Improving bold outline the calf bent down to graze

 

Other direction draw an extra eye

The eye of wild animals or eye of human

Write the words on the remaining empty boxes.

 

III.

 

The voice very close

Under the dawn you must transforming yourself!

 

Fruits

Fire lights

Yin Yang bowl of water

 

As crawling over bout of twilight

Pull the body gradually out of the shell

I sip the dew-drops

 

The ghastly shell heap up high

Was out of reach

 

Group people helping each other to go in the incapacity

End of dawn.

 

IV.

 

The shade of trees is burst out under the foot

Image of the map are torn off?

Or the half-bat half-mouse corpse?

 

I was so frightened, weaving the grating

Set the booby-traps around myself

Sharpening the knife

Preparing a matchbox

 

As close to the horizon

The darkness as drifting more terrible

Faster than the emotions

 

I keep accumulating the anxiety, the resentment

On the ground blackness of the night was completely

erasing off.

 

V.

 

I chase the small prey

Throw myself upon the wave crest then lost direction

 

The low tide

In the dream nearly morning

 

My bones painful

The tail and dorsal fin frostbitten

There is a hand threading the strings

Dragging me slowly on the ground

 

They stopped to shelter from the rain

Sudden release me

Near the foot of waves

 

I was grateful the rain

The loud thunder and cool wind.

 

VI.

 

Father recently try to get up after the bedridden illness, he groping out to the door, fall into square block of light

 

He attempting to give out a finger and said: “that green beetle on that leaf canopy father see it the first time”.

 

I tell the unintentional stories during the time father was coma. Story of the large cloud often slowly fly through our home. The deep wells rising the steam up to the window. Story about sound of the crypsirina temia bird make everyone looking at the bowl of drug,

 

The body of father just like shallow rivers, dry wood, the empty paddy grain

The raceme of weighty fruits swaying in the strong wind

 

Father suddenly whispering: Please help father go to rest

Sound of the dried leaf sliding on the roof make father and I also shedding tears.

 

VII.

 

The universe overlaying the black overcoat up on me

Only the eyes open to pray

 

Mumbling I still thought

... white hand black blood white tongue black tears white back black helix curl of white hair black sweat

 

The black spill on everything will end up

Let’s pray to save the people in this world

 

Lighthouse...

Kitchen bright...

 

Look in any direction

Like learning look up to the blackboard

Learning to separating the colours

To spell the letters

This crossroad of white

The earth surface, the sea surface white

Great old man, a chair, the woman white

The inspector, the farmer in white color...

 

The mouth read aloud, the mind still sundry thought

…white tongue black tears white back black helix curl of white hair…

 

VIII.

 

Curled up I sleep in cold wind

Dream to become a fetus

The navel-string connect to the solar

 

Fly above canopy of the trees

The eyes with a look make the sound of sob to be blue

 

Every tiny bud of limbs

Springing lightly in the body of Him

I wake up

 

That place started the road

The colt unsteady standing up

The flock of insects crawling out of the trunk

The tiny shrimp blasting off the throat of water.

 

IX.

 

drum gong and eight ornaments

open the festival of imperial court

sing and dance to heaven

the great merit of four palace

open the mind of disciple

tolerance eyes look

the quiet weather

the special envoy giving out the grace

sincerity respectfully kowtow

four gods flanking the lady god

garb and turban of sorceress made of brocade and flowers embroidery.

come and go in good freshness

smoothly moving between heaven and earth

a powdery cheeks ruby lips

rhythm of bamboo beating and rhythm of castanets by the string of coins

sacred dragon hovering

five great mandarin

the hand swaying

high talent deep virtue

the flame glittering

fondle protecting

loving mason-bee

silkworm spit out the silk cord

garb and scarf flapping

alluvial cuddling

wind coming back in the river-bed

cassaba melon pyriform melon

fragrancy of lotus and areca pervading

boys and girls entering the region

pliable aromatic and considerate

prepare the sedge mat, prepare the blanket

as flower, as butterfly

countenance glowing with pleasure

as the ground as the sky

grass and trees in good verdant

raining fast and violently

…

 

 

 

II - Moon Season

 

 

 

The Rock Inside Stream Bed

 

Be quiet for water flowing

Swift, deep, unending, icy cold over the rock.

 

Is there the Spring?

Festoon climbing the trail

Voice of birds resounding down gurgling

 

Shadows of trees tremble on the rock, shade or sun--

How can the colors of wildflowers could unscathed forever?

The stone closes its eyes in calm to let the water sweep across it.

 

Langurs with ashen thighs⁽²⁾

Cause the tree-shadows again to bob and rise;

Gentle drizzling rain disordered flies

Creeping into the deepest crevices.

 

Clouds stop where the clouds...

The fragrant odor of ripe guava creeps through the forest

A porcupine ruffles up its quills, goes still.

 

Above all in this moment

Let’s stay put at the spot where you are at

 

 

 

Spring Tone

 

On the jagged rock

Your dripping body were in pain.

Wide open. Tenderly drop by drop

 

With passionate warmth

Drops of sunshine flow into you.

In a radiant tide, the season returns.

 

The bee cuts its flight

The wind go straight up

The tall tree rise up to my shadow

 

The dove is fully fledged.

In dewy night the insects awaken.

The straw-mushrooms open their eyes

And cover the young green.

 

 

 

The Bulbul

 

A bulbul with white spots and a red hat

Sings on the towering tree:

Tee-whit…whit…tee-whoo...

 

Quickly I draw a cage of thought

Afraid the bird will fly away.

 

Just when I finished the drawing he took off,

I hugging the sunny frame, the windy frame;

The green bough quickly chased after him.

 

In his disappeared without a trace, I think

Later on the bulbul will be back to peck the worms,

The ripe red fruit.

Every drop of water

Is my purity

 

Tee-whit…whit…tee-whoo...

 

The bird needn’t fly back again--

I hear that birdsong now quite clear.

 

 

 

The Scent of Cốm⁽³⁾

 

Autumn returns in shy

Vague mist upon the green rice.

 

That dress, that scarf, as smooth as silk, the skin, the flesh...

The north-east wind is rising up to heaven.

 

Rhythm of pounding Cốm, bustling season of the sticky rice:

Baskets slowly sieving out the husk. Ruddy

 

Fragrant grapefruit moistens the sunny drought.

Pureness the inflorescences ohmantus fragans

 

Between heaven and earth the lotus tuber after rain

Tormented by a deep longing at each tightening circling roll.

 

The green lotus leaves are giving suck to you and me,

Over-ripening the horizon clouds of summer

 

To nights of making love in lamplit silence,

Persimmons drenched with the fragrance of flawless Cốm.

 

 

 

Oh Buffalo Calf!

 

Steam early in morning garden deep into the night

Rising high to the edge of silky grass

More smooth than the layer of fuzz

Green up windy

 

Buffalo-calf look for his mother

Respire into clouds the sound of rice fields, tree buds

Knocking the hooves on the ground

 

The round ball rushing bouncing up

Mole- cricket, mantis throwing the pair of sturdily built pincer

 

The early sunshine illuminate on body of buffalo-calf

Spreading out the caressing eyes look

 

Interchange of season the vault of green leaves stretch tightly

Hiding underneath of bridge waiting for buffalo-calf

 

I run after my shadow to roll it back

Feet touch the grass bouncing up high.

 

 

 

Autumn Came!

 

That leaves falling

The ground will sunken down

Resounding the bell dispel the dark clouds

 

Sun will hot and dry

The north-east wind trembling small alley

new books aromatic the infantile breath

Sweet of sugarcane overflowing up to the top

 

The worms patience plaiting shiny streak ovum around the base of century-old tree

The young calf touching his soft tongue on the surface of grass

 

That leaf falls

Don’t know anybody be luckily come close to

Moments the fall is back.

 

 

 

Wind Crest

 

I.

 

Crawling on sharp top of the rock

Body of the wind is scratches

 

Blood of the wind is rain

Sunshine dripping down

 

Mountains roll the kiss up high

Gray clouds cast into block

 

Mountains open wide the arms, trampling the feet into ground

Crushing up into fragments

Tear off body of the wind into pieces

The starlight falling

Morning bursting out

 

Up to the top of slope in a flash

Open eye looking down

 

The kisses heaping up higher

The frenzy wind rolls up on another crest.

 

II.

 

Finding your mouth to sowing

Wind tender clinging the limbs of land

Plunge down to the abyss

 

Rotten the bowels of hills and mountains

Chest of wind drifting

Playing on the ground

 

The shell cracked flashing

Spring overflowing the grain mouth

 

Waiting to sprout the cotyledons

Wind carry the ground away.

 

III.

 

Shut tight the door the more wind blew

Thing suddenly remembered also breathlessly, tightness across the chest

 

The eye of wind swept me into your

Rotating quickly round and round

 

Swiftly pass a bridge

My body was bending down by the wind

Drooping down like wet towel across the railing

Dripping down to the swift-flowing river.

 

Remembering the train cutting through body of the wind

Column of smoke overturned and sound of the siren disappeared in an instant

 

My breath is constringent through the trumpet-reed

Glared flashing the pressure of eagle spreading wide

Raising fragile dragonfly wings

Backrest cavalier on the wind crest

 

Outside the vault of leaves disorder

Stirred, tattered, to satisfy the frenzied excitement

The inhibition of lust.

 

 

 

Your Garden

 

After rain the trees has slim figure

Smooth green two-side of the leaf

That hand-leaf always soft

 

Sound of Bách Thanh bird tossing the net

Tighten again me with the pomelo and the root of benjamin fig

Mallow, lavender, geranium ..

The garb of autumn more gently

 

You shut your eyes, the eyes glittering everywhere

 

I stepped up on a piece of sunshine

An early morning boat

You told let wait for you to lock the gate tightly.

 

 

 

Moon Season

 

I.

 

The moon lay back on its other side

Overhanging other kisses;

A curtain of fog, the smell of other grass.

 

It was by a canal:

The silhouette of a small boat against the bridge

The rocky shore lying still to hear the strange sweat

Of midnight moonlight falling drop by drop.

 

Your hands are searching for the moon.

Every finger of the night is a glitter,

A pure roadway

Awaking a breath of fragrance.

 

The string of sounds overflows the day,

Going along with the moon, laughing and speaking moon,

Choking forth its transparent color.

 

II.

 

The leaves re-echo the waves of the tangled grass

In that place hidden from even the mountain heights, the forests themselves;

The water’s skin stretched tight so no waves pass;

The lissome colors of the kookaburra’s back

Transform me to a flap of moon.  

 

I lead you by the hand, the wind flips up your flower dress;

I kiss you, my little finger

Lifts you up to the moon.

 

The good weather rises under my heel,

A heart throbs in the land’s chest,

A stream of moonlight billows around the trunk.

 

Gliding faster, my footprint

Brightens upon the earth, my hand lengthens along it.

 

Slow down now, listen to me:

All the streets, the districts, slopes, estuaries,

All the cornfields, the paddies are learning to laugh, practicing to sing...

 

III.

 

The pigeon was back,

Bringing along even the afternoon

Clasped in its wings:

 

An afternoon dressed in grey plumage,

With a white compartment at its neck and crown,

With very tiny toenails, and it steps up to the moon.

 

The day, dazzling and radiant

Droops on the virgin flower

Tenderly shutting it down:

 

This is the time to make love,

To light up the dark territory;

The ancient season of pollen and birth, the seeds’ combining,

Slumberous passion in the late night moon.

 

Clasping the knees of the old stumps,

Closing their eyes on the windy hill,

The seeds fall in the mud, fermenting, loosed.

 

Tomorrow this earth

And the whole world will change.

 

 

 

III - Figure a Patch of Grass

 

 

Together in silence listening to the white lotuses

emerging bright,

rise up into the Cintamaya-panna⁽⁴⁾

MVP.

 

 

Cadence I

 

*

 

The chamois footstep knocks on the earth

From now on the world can’t sleep

 

Everything’s busy, stirring in the dew of night

grassblades, treeleaves, a brand-new mountaintop

shining in the sun,

birds flying above the crags

The swift river rolling on, the rutting fish flashing in the water.

 

The sun shines on the other side of the wall

Under this vault of leaves, birdnests, the breath of dawn.

 

*

 

In this daybreak only I can see the rose;

the sound of birdsong wakens

thanks to the road that leads me on.

The high clouds overhead,

the falling leaf--

these least things yet the very being of being.

 

The corner of this quiet lane nestles, holding its breath.

The earth has changed its season.

Flowers have grown up before the posts of the handrail, their petals soft and crimson.

The stump of this ancient tree seems transparent.

It’s time for Holy Mass,

to bless the Holy Body, to ring the bell.

 

Tomorrow in the early morning you’ll change into the new clothes,

the tint of the velvety roses reflected in your face

Hypnotized as a gust of wind suddenly blows through.

 

*

 

The bird’s note pierces the crown of my head,

enters my body as I pass on into sukhavati ⁽⁵⁾

 

Quietly dispels from the soul

any way back from the empty mind.

 

The birdcall, shadowy, flickering,

lights up each part of the body,

 

So it seems to me I’m flying with the whole flock of birds

my chest stretched out, choking the sound of singing.

 

Which bird has been hurt?

The whole forest margin beats its wings--

 

Where are you

 

The sound cuts off the rushing wind,

my mouth obeys the shape of the call.

 

*

 

Near dawn I awaken

The bell of night covers the land

 

Fumbling I try to push up.

There’s no place for the huge night to hang on,

I don’t know where it turns into a bell.

Melting,

Slippery

 

your body’s highlights kindle the candle,

you are vaguely throughout my body.

 

Open the eyes, the color of the black-bell

raising the siege of the light

 

You’re far away from the bell

Boong....

 

Boong...

A chrysanthemum in mid-air.

 

*

 

Go towards the end of the road

to where the storm begins

to clean the heart into purity

 

Only the dusty canopy

and the dry ragged leaves can know it

 

Can’t wait for the rain

Can’t yet see the end of the road

 

The wind is already floating

 

- Are those drops of water to baptize me?

- No, it’s the rain in the vault of leaves left stagnant from yesterday.

 

*

 

The cat so sleepy in the sunshine

yawning with half-closed eyes;

Life has inundated all intending.

 

I’m tired at work:

I did try out the predefined plan;

I also didn’t finish it.

 

Should I blame the cat

for drawing my mind into its sunny daydream?

 

Wake up, quick, I’ll plunge into you

and I’ll become that cat with half-closed eyes.

 

*

 

The winds are gently shaking the yellow flowers, the flower color that I like.

Sometimes there’s confusion among the wild sunflowers,

heathbell, musk-mallow, fibrous melon blossom…

 

Hurriedly I sketch some flowers,

the wind’s caress fluttering my hair.

 

I add a pair, boy and girl, each upon a tiny equal half of the peduncle;

integrating the faces, sharing a pair of sandals

It’s not clear which side the wind is pushing them.

 

A giant petal swings above my head

the wind softly makes the two merge into one

the tinier one trembling as in a storm.

 

*

 

The stars rise behind the sun shinine

in the window of the house

The clouds of stormnews coming

Light flashes far away

 

Only to think it or say it also eases the fatigue

 

Just now, peaceful and quiet

I was one minute to annulling the self’s hearing of itself,

looking into life relaxed and blind.

 

On the ethereal sky each flock of fireflies

those closer stars, will draw your eyes

(love each other, often don’t remember the face).

 

The work’s in a muddle again, I’m short of breath.

 

I linger beside the narrow door

looking at the sparkling ripples on the swift-flowing river.

 

 

 

Cadence II

 

*

 

Posted messages

brighten the small doorway

 

The blue sky beyond, rainy, sunny

the worry and calculation cannot see.

 

The moment begins the day

draw a fan-shaped horizon

Every bright streak memorizing some thing

you hiding behind a giant fanning

 

Dry leaves are falling;

by late afternoon the thunderstorm comes rushing in

opening up the bird’s flight path.

 

*

The echo of your voice, as if someone wrapped a light

warm scarf warm scarf around my shoulder

touched me with the old foolish time of youth.

Pick a flower, clamp it between the pages of a book.

Young birds rise up in the mouth of the nest

the leaf canopy tottery hanging in the rain.

 

You laughed and talked, innocent as a small child

The rain sprinkles, I’m haggard with distress.

 

*

 

Quiet, alone I knitting my fingers

don’t allow the light to pass through

don’t allow the wind to go through.

 

Here no sun shines, no wind blows

The more terrible when nestled into quietness

 

I become the pea, the point of a needle,

a lone chopstick.

 

Up there might the sky still be high

a sunny cloud drifting swiftly by,

a scarf tantalizingly floating

by chance from a window of the house

birds fly past flock by flock.

 

Calling your name, I gently call

the smoke going up from a roof

in the midle of the forest, silent and no wind.

 

*

 

The pen’s on the table. Cleaning up I still want to leave it there. Holding the pen I relax, also strange and familiar at once. The penholder smooth, the fingers holding. Sometime I unscrew the pen to see inside (must do it sneakily because this is a bizarre behavior). I undo the cap of the pen as one would burst open a door, pry open the hatch of a dark cellar... Feeling suddenly awake, I suddenly  pened my eyes. I want to remove the pen cap somewhere. Place the pen cap above, the pen to the right or below. Even vice versa.

 

Undoing ...

Screwing back ...

Screwing ... undoing ...

Screwing again ...

The pen well-balanced and unharmed.

 

*

I lean on the railings of the imagine ship

together with you flying very close

your soft waist with the tossed hair throw back

 

Reminded, in the small bag that I carry

there is food and a bottle of drinking water.

 

The ship glides on the waves

I want you to fly higher yet,

 

While very far away as a bird

I calmly peck a small sip of water.

 

The sea wider,

you’re wavering far away

very tiny, making me squint.

The waves roll in under the bows of my ship, one column of

water after another.

 

*

Relaxing, I drink tea

sunny bright, the russet color of the flower in your lapel,

your legs folded and splayed on the square tiled floor.

 

the fragrant tea flavor opens the space

between your arm, the fold of your neck,

your toenails painted that dark tea color

 

Remind me to sip...

Slowly at each gulp

I see a flap of tea land rising up green in the early morning,

the buds of the tea leaves shrinking

every roof, every mountain, lifting up the dew,

white clouds coming up to wrap around the thought.

 

I’ve nearly finished drinking the cup of tea

aimlessly imagining only white clouds,

your face appearing and disappearing,

brilliant, anxious,

happiness and you…

 

This delicious cup of tea make me more lucid,

though I also have to drink the white cloud,

the toenails still, with their tea color, appearing and

disappearing as they fly past.

 

*

You whispered those meaningless words

that I lways understand, hear so clearly

blue sky, feet on the grasses,

 

the richness of the land,

you darkness,

tracking out each of my toes.

 

*

 

My breath warmed up the phone in a jiffy, and you asked me “have breakfast yet?”, “what are you doing?”,” remember to sit up straight” I answered vaguely, putting my hand on the desk. Your voice murmured. The electric-fan at low speed blew wind across the room. The wide desk. The narrow door. If I stretch out my hand I can touch anything. Vases of flowers this morning are fresh back. Your voice echoes from the violet flowers, surrounded by tiny foliage. I listen to you, put away the book.

 

The pen and clock drift by themselves...

 

*

I want to stop on the roadside,

lie down on the grass

the sky high over me; I want to climb up on the tree;

looking down, I regret the sand,

crave to mix into the sand.

 

An irresolute moment: I’m motionless.

 

I ignore the the morning dew that swarms toward

the salty waves and sun, that rushes to

pull me, stretched out, like a chariot to tear my body into pieces

 

Before I put the book down,

It’s like trying to calm down to wait for the command of the butcher

 

The sad water-drop flying up to the cloud

listen to the warm-hot egg rolling over my body,

a pair of brown sparrows hurrying to mate in a wink.

 

 

 

Cadence III

 

*

 

Dawn grows animals, fruit trees, the noise;

fuchsia, impatiens freshness and purity.

 

The dawn color sinks into the ground,

melting in a great wave,

reflecting the green arched leaves.

The silvereye preens ⁽⁵⁾.

 

The chest of chamois opens wide

behind the back of dawn.

 

*

 

Everyday jobs are boring.

The body worn out,

the mind unfounded,

the joints exhausted on a chair.

 

This hand, the left hand to be exact,

wearily opens the gate I left in the early morning;

I gently brandish it when birdshit chances to fall on it.

 

And the remaining hand

rose up an hour ago

when everybody voted,

There is some thing must record in the report.

 

And the legs, don’t remember which was which,

strode along while the sun still slanted;

in front of me just a lot of strangers,

behind my back, the voives of other strangers.

 

I hear just half of a sentence over the phone;

already I know I went astray somewhere.

 

The sound of water from the crest of the quiet cascade

you’re connecting two peaks of the world.

 

*

 

A photograph of forest’s edge

above a coverlet of grass;

 

Clouds in crossed directions,

stormy and sunny at once,

almost rainless, a little cold.

 

Mark each blade of grass

ten years...

thirty years...

ask the grass for reprint a photo.

 

I’m taking the picture now, ok?

The holding hand has waited too long.

 

*

 

I’m embracing your shoulder like a necklace

you told me: don’t ever let go;

suddenly impulsive, you laugh and talk.

 

You’re like a gemstone iridescent to the light,

or a piece of wood carved with the figure of a sacred beast, your own icon.

 

I worry that you must carrying too much:

I run after you

When you tiptoe, or gently indifferent cling with your hand,

your skirt flies up in the early sun,

the pattern faded on your brown leather bag.

 

But anywhere else I’m also embracing your shoulder

a silence necklace waiting for you to sleep;

again disproportion clack to rotating.

 

*

The body consecrates itself

with a sweet and savory fragrance.

 

You are the bulbul bird;

my broached lips empty out,

 

and flapping wings

hold me in your mouth and set to sowing the seeds.

 

*

 

This cup of coffee makes everything duskier;

the voices of birds make harmony,

 

coffee soaking into my skin, my flesh;

Chip chiu

Chip chiu

 

I fold my arms, relax.

Suddenly the birdsong hangs me up

by the bird’s nest

of dry straw stems

in that crack in the tottery stone

under the roof-tiles.

 

Suddenly your voice,

in the still time of imagination

after the chip chiu, a mother bird

- suddenly - is flying out of my body.

 

*

 

On your desk everything is displayed;

briefcase , a newspapers, keychain,

cell phone.

 

Hastily looking at the clock,

eating sweet cakes you lean back,

a glass of water in your hand.

 

Those familiar belongings

are silent like a train pausing in the station

before its shuddering plunge along the rails

 

briefcase, newspapers, the keychain, cell phone..

coupled like train cars

running monotonously

till, urgently, they brake.

 

 

 

Cadence IV

 

*

Often I waken wondering if I’ve come home on leave,

like a pupil in the summer holidays

far away from the worries of yesterday.

 

We slept as deeply as two bottles tightly corked,

two matchsticks jostling in a matchbox.

two pictures in one frame

two bits of memorabilia kept in the dark chest,

two rivets smashed deep into on the wall.

 

I find your hand and gently hold it

Suddenly the crest of the hill, astonished, touchs the new day

an unbudded bough,

a boat loosed from a rope untied.

 

Like nets that have dived deep into the water

each knot drying out now under the dawn.

 

*

 

Today I still haven’t got your message yet. I’m getting lost in the leaves, the laughter, the salty wind... Open the door, I look out. No one clinging to the path drifting in the afternoon. No one holding back the train-whistle that spreads across the land. The whistling only touches me, and does not pass me. Behind me only silence. Everything drifting like it’s still drifting.

 

But when you rise your voice, the whistle starts again, drifting faster, though the train is already too far away.

 

*

 

July is busy

You wake up in a red blaze of dawn

 

Tear off the calendar sheet with its important dates

(except you, are not important)

 

The warble of a bird behind the red wall

flare up like aa streak of oil

 

a streak of sunshine flashing across my message.

Hard at work knitting each mesh,

a small fish passes through my words...

... calm down, don’t boil over with anger...

 

*

 

Lying side by side, we fall asleep

dreaming a field with deep well

our hands continuously drawing up each bucket of water

 

the resonance of the land

tree roots softly stretching,

a flower blooming where we freshly watered it.

 

For a very long time we are watering, through the whole field,

thinking and pulling, faster and tirelessly,

 

the spring’s cascade unblocked, dripping wet

it finds its way throughout the rows of paddy laden with grain.

 

*

 

You also told me about your dream

not just of wells but of a canal full of water

you piling up each bundle of golden rice

pushing me away like a small boat

 

Holding hands asleep

we dream of holding the oar, leaning close against the gunwale.

 

*

 

A small umbrella capsizing in the wind,

reeds flowers lying down to the endless pasture.

thin fabric leaping up and disappearing --

 

the wind’s struggle flaps the umbrella canopy

Who’s this stranger who wants to drag you away?

 

*

 

Like a little ant in your world

I could be crushed beneath a broken rock

under a shoe heel.

pierced by a drill tip, a hoe blade,

scorched by a soldering stick,

dragged by the screech of the iron wheel,

burned in a forest fire,

turn to ash in the center of the thunderstroke.

 

Knowing so ...

 

because of knowing so

whether upon the hilltop

or at the end of the deepest cave,

I’m incarnated into myriad species of ants

proudly swarming over your body.

 

*

 

From above, you’re a fish stabbed through with fish spear, a bird shot by a bullet

the slow-motion rhythmical dance of ablooming flower

 

the warm water that opens the ritual of purification,

rolling me slippery, the necklace falling to pieces

 

arch bosom dropping fruit that almost to falls,

flood swept, collapsing rock, a tumbled hill,

 

A beast that snatches to pieces the rope that binds it,

space crushed into aromatic milk, sweet nutrient,

erect breasts succulent tense,

rearing all the babies of the world.

 

*

 

My fingers paddle in the water;

there’s such space around here, lakes everywhere,

tumultuous palisades, gateways, clouds shading

those hidden houses far away.

 

The water border spreads out into memory.

The words you speak are sometimes far away, sometimes nearby,

my hand swimming across the current.

 

My lips glide softly past

the teal, the ducks on the lake

kissing deep... kissing deep ...

... the circles of ripples, chasing one another forever far away.

 

And the water turning over

in lapping cadence, slosh-slodh, slosh-slosh

 

Together in silence listening to the white lotuses

emerging bright,

rise up into Cintamaya-panna ⁽⁶⁾.

 

 

 

Cadence V

 

*

 

You advise me, though wherever I rest

imagine that I’m lying on a water hammock

 

eyes closed, the waves rushing on,

creeping down from the top of a blurry mountain

the crown of a coconut tree suddenly greener

a flap of sunlight slanting away.

 

Under my back flat ground, hardwood,

sharp thorns, pointed rock.

 

Imagine that by accident you drop your hand

my hammock would break off, I’d be a sinking wreck

leaving on the sky a swirling abyss of clouds.

 

*

 

The dream stretches out on those soft grasses

the arch of my brawny breast,

An ardent breath, the smell of the land.

 

Touching each other, we listen to the land retreating far away

The road, with its trees and leaves peacefully asleep,

wakes and protects,

holding tight to my heel.

 

*

 

The rain glitters on your body

flowers and plants euphoria with the dance

freely shout to the wide high blue sky

their silent imaginings.

 

The boiling water screams, the bear scorches, flames,

secretes bile and honeycomb

every tapering toe

 

crumpled, squeezed dry,

the fragments trickling down.

 

Raining with sweat, our hair sticks together in endless green,

our smooth skin sprouting fur.

 

*

 

Your shoulders are those of an antique sculpture.

I hide the secret in a bookshelf

The haughty hill

lift me up in the gale,

The bridge over the months and days

where the children keep so many enigmas.

The flutter of soft grasses, the tender dream

swaddles me as the warm blanket around a newborn.

 

*

 

I have crept into the dark entrails of the earth,

into that serene underground circuit.

It was hoe, plow, germination, nesting...

I am patient as a cricket burrowing,

A night heron digging into the fog in search for prey;

I am the echoing cry of the water hen looking for its

companion in the summer noon.

 

*

 

Sliding our bodies into each other,

throwing on each new stick of fire-wood,

you and I together light up the dark.

 

Waves of hair, shoulders, arch of breast--

the tongue twists in its final extermination.

 

Molten iron and steel pour into the molds

thrusting down in water, reverberating, exploding.

The tinkling sound plowing on the ground.

 

*

Kiss me and hold my hand!

 

The sound of wind chimes covers everything.

The leaves can’t stop,

the wind blows the thatched roofs inside out, just mounds of rice straw,

snatching my hair, tearing my shirt.

 

I leaning my head on you, cradle you up!

 

Waves push against the slender dam

the target flyies out at once to catch the range of the stray bullet,

the light is choked, seeping around the vent

and gouts of fire plunge upward to the summit in the moment of rebirth.

 

*

 

The dewy lips holding the flap of wet grass

Fly quick to follow the tower wall.

I break you, braided you into a rope,

a tongue I swallowing deep into my chest

to the spine

till it touches my heel.

 

*

 

Breath, space, heat

cuddle the bird wings;

each fragile egg

 

swells out and hatches,

rebelling,

overthrowing.

I hiding in you, groaning, yowling

 

Rummaging, throwing up sharp waves,

flooding deep, crushing the sweet fruit,

sucking and slowly chewing the freezing popsicle;

A large teapot poured into small cups.

An almond chewed delicious in the stumpy teeth.

 

 

 

Cadence VI

 

*

I kissing you as if sucking out all the shadows of the night

freshly cracking the over-ripe fruit;

The dwarf bamboo puts forth more joints

fire stoked up by the poker,

the blue crab who changes his shell before dawn.

 

Inside of you is me

a muntjac fawn newborn on the wet grass

a bowl of water evaporating, the steam curling upward

a world hastening to perfect itself.

 

*

 

Erecting itself

the tree canopy photosynthesizes the sun,

leaf joyfully overlapping with leaf,

springing up, breathing together a stream of sap,

blood from the land running up through its feet.

 

Stretching deep

The treeshade extrudes to the tip of the leaf-vein.

 

*

 

You cling to me, floundering, gaze at me

where the burning pain blooming burst the buds,

raindrops sprinkling the grass,

the young bamboo shoot stretching the soft surface of the earth.

 

Your hips are a half of a newly-cut cake,

a spoon lifting you up from the plate,

the deep lips quivering, the abyss

 

I mouth, teeth clasping,

the eagle seizing with its talon,

the tiger, the panther twisting its awesome flanks, rebounding,

a poisonous snake that sucking delivers the venom,

the great tree uprooted in the flood, tossing against the sandbank.

 

*

 

the light carefully turned off, the dark

immeasurably high, now it’s the vitality of the sail

crossing the giant stormy

the fungus softly unfolding

 

the tongue of fire swiftly and frenziedly burning

ever withstanding the wind, lips wavering and shaking,

 

mouths holding the immense fragrance of night

bearing me away to the infinite shore

to return upside down

the boat shudders, creaking.

 

covered with grassblades,

the sea wind has the strong fragrance of the mother’s womb

navel-string sucking each sweet fibre

strangled, sinking deep, drowning,

the shores quickly grabbing your foot.

I’m a naivety, knowing that I have lived.

 

*

and then clasped you motionless

in my arms you sing

 

... the sunbeam has drifted from the riverbank into the marsh, guiding the grasses and trees, flowing among the glory of the cornhusks, the velvety yellow, the young rice seedlings in their solid green, the pines cheering in the sweet wind...

 

Your finger motionless in my hair

you asked me what I’m remembering, what I’m thinking

 

... the little children in the nursery, the leaves falling very lightly, separating as if it’s the money, the wise obliquely crossing the foolish, going along, the sincere voice making us burst out crying...

 

And you’re kissing me and singing

 

... the tiny buds sprouting in moist soil, the bees returning to make honey, together in a tremulous voice, the pubescent Moon, the cycle of the river rushing into the choppy sea, the dream of wandering aimlessly... Uh oh...

 

*

Diving into the water seeing the birds hustling,

flapping wings and screaming,

 

I hang in a fragrance,

a bird’s rustle,

a feather

 

The sea is in labor,

the squid, a star drifting into another incarnation,

reversing the currents of the sea

flattening the water surface

 

I stood at the cracked sandy edge,

a pair of brown stockings no longer rolled in those shoes,

sunglasses located far away from the hat.

 

I hold my breath because I know the treasure is nearby;

I keep looking, try to turn each water door.

 

 

 

Cadence VII

 

*

 

You Wake me up by the familiar words

It’s days already!

 

Throw aside pillow and blanket for another dawn:

this is the honest meaning of the everyday sentence.

A cup of aromatic tea to dispel the drowsiness;

the puppet newly tied stretching the wire

 

Open the door, take a deep breath;

kick-start the motorcycle

the engine sounds softer today.

 

Are you pulling the strings somewhere to speed up every

motion?

 

Wind chimes vibrating though there’s no wind

ripe fruit self-peeling tidyly on the plate,

the panicky sound of a kingfisher struggling violently in its dream-sleep

 

I alone in the desolate alley,

waving my hand to salute the difference from yesterday

 

It’s day already!

I’m in motion

And you’re dubbing.

 

*

 

The crowd wearing my face

suddenly rushes up to

suddenly stand transfixed

 

in the light that specifies the face,

and the music

 

At the moment when the crater is about to erupt,

the shotgun pumped and ready to pull the trigger,

the quarry escapes, turning intoto the another path.

 

And the midnight moonlight falls swiftly sparkling

into the cups of salvation for the multitude.

 

A mother gibbon giving birth to its baby in the time of childbearing

one hand hanging, and swings on the deep abyss

 

The world is silent

but for the gentle sound of a flute

that comes rom you.

 

*

 

Multi-personalities divide in the dance --

I, I and I...

I see you throw down a hat,

 

... poison grass sprouts up in the holy land

... defying its place of birth and growing up

... interference: an electronic wave, hunch, clairvoyance

 

I, I and I ...

You’re silent innocently judging.

 

... I’m a sharp knife, sneaky, bristling,

... slowly, heavily, flying back to you

... knowing I will get you in the end

 

Also ...

... don’t focus any more light on this

(someone from backstage is picking up the hat).

 

*

 

When alone I thought:

I’m half of a fruit

half of a singing bird

half of a deep cave

a part of the noise

half of a fish

a corner of the hull

half of the silent connection of a plane surface…

 

*

 

... I step on the edge of a ditch full of water a row of trees called riot picking up the seed of northeast wind unceasingly pressing on the white canvas sketching your portrait the colors still not yet dry, paint then erase, the sketch not yet finished, revolving in every direction still feeling the cold wind blowing in slanting me back...

 

*

 

A tumbler on the desk

whenever get tired I look at the water surface

 

Flicking gently on the brim of the tumbler make it rouse;

I suddently remember that I’m moping in a narrow room.

Outside, the hubbub of the early sun,

the wind spreading through a further wasteland

and further away still...

 

Far away...

Like a Russian Matroska

Open to see the smaller

Smaller, and more smaller...

 

In a game

 

you come to open the door of my room

and see a Matroska sitting reading a book.

 

*

 

- Let’s watch through the night!

- ............

- To see what?

- ............

- The skirts of late summer

- ............

- Stirring the stem and bough

- ............

- Your arm balancing the scenery

- ............

- Open the thorny fence

- ............

- You don’t see the star

- ............

- Vaguely trembling

- ............

- You’re incubating that handful of sand on your chest!

- ............

- The crystal light

- ............

- In the giant black shadow of the furnace

- we’re copeting, throwing handful of sand into the dark of night.

 

*

 

Lay your hand on me

a soft root in moist soil,

the face of naive leaf.

 

Teach me how to spell things:

this is a bowl and chopsticks

this is the floor, shoes sandals

the sun

too many sound of water

 

water dripping dripping... surging tide... water swiftly flowing...

 

My body is a country of waterfalls and rapids

the whirling heart clanging away.

 

Soaked in water the sun has cooled down,

bursting out the suds of the phosphorescent waves

floating, drifting, bobbing following the current of the water.

 

 

 

Cadence VIII

 

*

 

Last night I had a dream again: you pulling me as if windsurfing.

the shadow of your feet slender, elongated on the surface of water

 

Waves swerving aside,

I’m clinging tightly your hand,

your face fluttering.

 

You call out in the contrary wind:

- you have already got enough inertia, let’s have you fly by

yourself,

 

I somersault through wind and water

Shrimp, fish, and the sun

Seaweed, moss, and white clouds

memories and fantastic illusions.

 

Tilting to the left

I close my eyes, spin to the right, turn on a roundabout;

I’m a veteran athlete

the number One seed.

 

Applause

Idol of the audience’s heart,

a circus on the water.

 

I calm down and recall

That all the spectators have your face.

 

*

 

I wake up among the blossoms of the Box Fruit tree, still half asleep

the sea outside still sleeping,

the sand shore stretching to the foot of the clouds

 

Your breathing monotonous like the sound of the wave

release the soft mesh that sinks down to the bottom of the dawn.

 

A row of trees buryies its roots down in my daydream,

their shade wandering, overlapping.

 

The clumsy fish wake up early

Swim gently

gently waving their tails

dropping themselves into the net of daybreak.

 

*

 

Strong winds inflamed your throat

the sound on the phone doesn’t come through clearly

it’s just a whispering, whispering...

 

I met that noise by a rock on the shore,

the waves were whispering, whispering too...

 

This hand-shaped cloud wants to grab me.

I don’t know where to escape, there’s the strong wind and the huge sea

 

I cling to the rock.

 

This seascape fade me out;

only the waves know how to speak,

keep whispering, whispering...

 

The vague sound frightens me

 

when with the sea and the dear hand-shaped cloud

you too convey that lost voice in the wrong season.

 

The sea gets back to whispering, whispering.

 

*

 

The lampshade in gray

the lamp stand in brown

you far away from the lamp light, I do not see.

 

Just like a telepath losing his ability

despite being kindled I must add a flame.

 

The hairpin transient the dome-port

throws a coin into the mouth of a deep wishing-well

The bee fills up the pistil,

the fish pulling the float has disappeared.

 

Where are you now? Please light up a lamp so I can see.

 

*

 

At noon I lie face down in the lake

drop floating,

 

let the waves sharpen on my body,

grabbing my back, squeezing and raking my shoulders

 

The scepter hard as iron rises to usurp;

the ground here is moving

mountain and hill, the surface of the water undulating.

 

The land resound, rumbling,

cracks wide open, each seam of ore opencast

a dog howls, in a thick hoarse voice.

 

Still understand each other, although forgotten the voices.

that we loved. Consecrated. Lived.

 

*

 

The new sun, peaceful;

the areca leaf softly falling

the cooling wind

the corn being pollinated

 

Closing eyes, towering temples , lofty mountains;

the sound of a hammer pile-driving on concrete deep down into the ground;

a champagne cork suddently flying up to the ceiling

the fragrant wine spilling on the floor

the glasses so limpidly clear.

 

Crushed into powder in a stone mortar

a chunk of bones yell in the stew pot.

 

Gentle beside you

the tower,

the imposing stone mountain.

 

Breath like the fluttering rain

of yellow powder from the pine trees lightly covering me a warming wind rustles in my mouth.

The rice grain buckles its body.

 

*

 

Beside you I perform the ceremony for the sun

for the waterfall, the great river,

my shadow on the water’s flowing sound.

 

The calf rubs in his mother’s lap

The puppy comes close, then runs zigzag around your legs

 

The glittering sword thrusts down into the ground,

craving the sound of a massive explosion, the nap

of high tension cables broken,

the levee shattered, the flood overflowing the plains.

 

*

 

The worm buckles its body down into the moist soil,

the kestrel somersaults in mid-air.

 

I’m blinded with passion, I can’t distinguish your hand from my legs,

my breath gets lost in your disheveled hair,

I’m thrown up on the foam of a whirlpool,

a giant python swallowing its helpless little prey.

 

My chest swelling up brimful with milk

longing to be caressed, cherished, nursed;

my body slowly cools down,

hair flowing,

the lake of virginal waters opening.

 

*

 

Together we become a trunk

our vitality rolled up into one body.

 

Wood-grain hatched out over so many rings;

I hold tight the creek flowing from its source

stretching far away under the high boughs, under the lowhanging boughs.

 

The tall trees stand transfixed,

open out their buds, sprout on their eyes, their lips

 

in a question “Do you love me or not?”

Suddenly the wind is violently blowing up everywhere,

our bodies swaying, our hair rustling flying.

 

Be quiet for the flock of perched brown sparrow--

but the wind startles them, they suddenly fly up high.

 

 

 

Cadence IX

 

*

 

On the immense surface of the earth, the tongue of the wind presses

its body chaotic—the crown of my head the center of the whirlwind.

The tighter I grasp, the stronger the shaking and jerking, the hoarse

howling and screaming, vacillating, urging, keeping the dried leaf tight in your mouth.

the more we strive, the more we talk nonsense--in the anxious nightmare,

the path of passionate kissing, the more we stretch in this freshness,

leading me by the hand to the mouth of the abyss,

mumbling how we can’t ever part from each other,

because we’re both so afraid of the deep, which leaves us in a cold sweat.

We turn upside down sticking tight together,

the flowers blooming and bearing buds, the leaves hanging down,

protecting the dry branches, dangling, tantalizing,

thunder, lightning for eyes seeing out through the pouring rain.

Calmly I lead you by the hand in breathing, panting in and outsuddently

the bell rings, bringing together every sound

sound of the wind bell.

 

*

Slip away through the stylized fence,

the pointed paling that divides the world into two equal sides.

In front is another dimension.

 

The coiling body in the green light,

slowly dropping down, is a wild-beast symbol

of the passionate flesh

(Lights off. Applause)

 

Running through a bright circle of lights,

those creatures are apprehensive about gestation,

suckling, being fed through mother’s mouth, trying to find the way to cry

(Knocking resounds backstage).

 

I sneak in from the other side of the fence,

A colorless light streak slitting under my feet.

plant a warning sign, plant a milestone.

 

All I have is the image of your

hand, dangling a drop of dew,

your eyes so expressive, the trace of water on the ground.

 

*

 

I want to write verses as natural

as the way you walk on the ground.

 

So look at me

 

Imitating a fashion model, a Miss...

The word “One” ⁽⁷⁾ * falls down too easily --

how about the word “Eight”⁽⁸⁾?

I walk to the words out, they look terrible, you disparage them,

desire being naturally not easy.

 

Don’t think about the footstep, you say.

Just rely on me, and then step.

 

“I’m right here... I’m right here...” you say.

Like a toddler I’m following along with you step by step.

 

*

 

I cover my eyes

on the long kilometers of the road,

till the joy of dewfall and the closing of the door

many ideas swiftly pass by.

 

I still see you

in the narrow space between two houses--

you go faster than I imagined

and the sun’s not yet burning hot.

 

Your hand reaches through the narrow slit of sunset,

hurrying to hand me a very bright gift.

 

I’m so happy to open up,

meet the thought that I already forgot in the past.

 

*

 

I kiss you once, light up one more candle,

put them together.

 

I’m like the wick, the filament at the heart of a candle

a bright flap of hair--

the idea is to make a fire that spreads through

the foundation of the house drifting in the night of garlands and coloured lanterns

 

I’m the one who, luckily, just dropped the wishes by

in the early morning.

 

The sound of children shouting,

competing with each other to drop many more candles into our room.

 

“Please kiss me again!” You said

 

*

I drink all the fragrance --

you’re so tiny in the sharp fang and claw,

calling for help, calling my name

a wild beast hungry and thirsty

 

The open pincer grip tightly

tear off a finger. The mouth-chewing

lips of this dangerous animal compete with its fangs,

counting in rhythmic jerks with frequent jolts

One... Two... Three... Confusing and dulling...

 

And the number Five resounding from endless

a seed breaking off in the moist soil,

a trunk just sawed through.

a sharp ax splitting the wood’s thick body,

calling each other name, like the first time we knew each other.

 

*

 

The chamois stampede down to the plain

throwing up dust behind them, avalanching rocks

flying swift as an arrow

in the instant it naps from the bowstring.

 

Here are grassy skies

a grassy ocean,

softly stirring with the words of rivers and lakes.

 

The arrow flies downwind to reach the target,

the flaps of grass trimmed, flattened, bent,

crushed in these sharp teeth.

 

The broken sky sounds the call to the flock, to the pleasure of the black night

step by step, the chamois

 

The grass sprays ardour everywhere,

the thrill of the time of creating heaven and earth

the new season waiting for the reaping, of the green grass close to the root.

 

Those claws shear up through the grasses’ roots, taut, bouncing,

the tender grass is shaking

with more buds yet to reopen wide those horizons.

 

__________________________

(2) A kind of gibbon (vọoc chà vá chân xám or ‘vọoc Java (?) chân xám’) Scientific name: Pygathrix cinerea.

(3) Cốm: green rice flakes, green rice; grilled rice. A Vietnamese special traditional snack make from young sweet rice. Rice growing farmers are the only ones who truly understand when it is time to gather young grains to make Cốm. Then young rice grains are harvested, roasted and ground down to become Cốm. They are put into a large firing pan under small flames and stirred slowly for a specific period of time. They are then poured into a rice mortar and slightly pounded with a wooden pestle, rhythmic pounding and at quick intervals until the husk is removed. Following this, the young rice is removed from the mortar and winnowed before being poured again into the mortar and the process repeated. This is then repeated exactly seven times so that all the husk is removed from the young sticky grains. If the pounding is done irregularly and in haste, or it is not repeated for the prescribed seven times, the green colour of the grains will disappear and be replaced by an unexpected brown colour. Cốm is regarded as a purely pastoral gift. To enjoy Cốm, it is advisable to chew it slowly so that one can feel the stickiness of the young rice and at the same time enjoy its sweet, fragrant taste. Visitors to Vong village (about five km from Hanoi) during the Cốm making season will have a chance to listen to the special rhythmic pounding of wooden pestles against mortars filled with young rice and see women shifting and winnowing the pounded young rice.

(4) According to the Theravadan Buddhism, there are three modes of attaining moral wisdom:

Attaining moral wisdom from reading, hearing and instruction—Attuning wisdom based on learning.

Cintamaya-panna: Attaining moral wisdom from reflection—Attaining wisdom based on thinking.

Attuning moral wisdom from practice of abstract meditation (attuning wisdom based on mental development).

(5) Sukhavati (Sankrit): The central doctrine of the Pure Land sects is that all who evoke the name of Amitabha with sincerity and faith in the saving grace of his vow will be reborn in his Pure Land of peace and bliss. Thus, the most important practice of contemplation in the Pure Land sects is the constant voicing of the words “Namo Amitabha Buddha” or “I surrender myself to Amitabha Buddha.”

(6) A kind of bird, also call White-eyes or Silvereye (Zosterops lateralis).

(7) According to the Theravadan Buddhism, there are three modes of attaining moral wisdom:

Attaining moral wisdom from reading, hearing and instruction—Attuning wisdom based on learning.

Cintamaya-panna: Attaining moral wisdom from reflection—Attaining wisdom based on thinking.

Attuning moral wisdom from practice of abstract meditation (attuning wisdom based on mental development).

(8) and (9) : “Nhất”: mean number (1) One in Vietnamese, in Chinese: - ;“Bát”: number (8) eight in Vietnamese, in Chinese.

Biography of Trần Nghi Hoàng

 

Writer, poet, translator, literary studies. Trần Nghi Hoàng lived in America for over 30 years, returning to reside provisionally in Hội An from 2008. Author of 17 books and nearly 10 works in completed work yet published... Latest book: Thầy Vua (Lao Động publishing 2010, with co writer Nguyễn Thụy Kha). He translated William Faulkner, Oscar Wilde, Pablo Neruda, Garcia Lorca…

 

 

 

Biography of Frederick Turner

 

Frederick Turner, Founders Professor of Arts and Humanities at the University of Texas at Dallas, was educated at Oxford University. A poet, critic, translator, philosopher, and former editor of The Kenyon Review, he has authored 30 books, including Natural Classicism, The Culture of Hope, Genesis: An Epic Poem, April Wind, Hadean Eclogues, The New World, Shakespeare's Twenty-First Century Economics, Paradise, Natural Religion, and Two Ghost Poems. With his colleague Zsuzsanna Ozsváth he won Hungary’s highest literary honor for their translations of Miklós Radnóti’s poetry. He has been nominated for the Nobel Prize for Literature internationally over 40 times.