Tran Thi Thang
Vietnam Writer's Association)
If you want
a passionate kiss of love
Kiss my red lips alone.
If you do it with cold indifference,
Kiss a stone.
If you kiss with calculation in mind,
Do it with a computer.
It can help you a lot.
As a girl who knows nothing but love
If I do silly things,
It is not my fault.
Translated by Kim Hoa & Joseph Duemer
Rainstorm-wind and you
Without cooling the earth
Unlike the soft swirling mist that soaks gently
And brings the green slowly into leaves.
Wind suddenly passes and perishes
Without changing the trees along the street
After the wind has gone
The heart returns.
Like a thunderstorm
You come and are already gone
Leaving how many wounds in the soul
Shape the character of nature.
The misty rain like a tired man
Whispering wind slipping past
You whisper to yourself that you have not gone
You whisper to yourself...
many missed dates, you finally come
missed dates, you finally come.
Autumn, regrettably, has just passed.
On the table, the purple chrysanthemum
Four withered petals, and three about to fall.
After many missed dates, you finally come
Like the bird's wings in the eye of the horizon.
I grow tired of vague and false words.
Even if our lives were once painful, we must sing.
After much hesitation, you finally say
That doves by nature never die young.
Afraid for so long, I remember now
You are a windstorm from a distant shore.
My heart is a small house
That your wind may enter and, if unsatisfied, leave.
After so many missed dates, you finally stand here,
But the autumn chrysanthemum has taken me away...
Translated by Nguyen Ba Chung,
Nguyen Quang Thieu and Bruce Weigl
I like the scent of the orange's skin,
Still green, on my hand after peeling,
The perfume lingers.
Oh! Yellow flesh is sweet,
And the skin is not in a hurry,
Bitterness breaks in the nose
Like a wave of perfume.
In my youth, out of duty,
I returned from far away
Like Autumn nearing,
Crazy with first love.
My hand is eager,
Across thousands of miles of missing love.
For the excitement of peeling
An orange in green skin.
I would return to the place called "Eighteen hamlets of
gardens, so many summers -
her face toward the night.
she longed for the sky to darken early; twenty years,
meals gone cold.
The New Year
should not come again and
should congratulate her
on one more
year of life.
My sister is
no longer young, but out of love and respect,
villagers call her miss;
out of love
the villagers won't show their children off
years. When my sister climbs on a boat loaded
being drowned while still in her beautiful years. She is
known for her faithfulness;
he is still
the lamp to keep it from going out.
years, she wears a heavy brocade dress at night, full of
life and waiting, though my brother is unaware.
She is not
like the snake who sheds old skin under
him, she is always the odd relative at
In the midst
of the family's laughter , she is lonely.
In the cold
her one hand
warms the other .
gun fire from the distant militia post.
At meals she
where she sits, the scene appears out of balance. She
hides her youth beneath her dimpled cheeks.
him, longs for him;
she is sad
as the flamboyant flower torn in two.
He is with
those who will never return; he has heard, and
and grass have heard,
leaves love him. They volunteer to camouflage him,
will never make him as cool as she,
will never make him as warm as she,
As alive and
light as this day, as grass in the dry season, her
breath winds its way all through his life.
of a time of tears.
One day it
will wave in front of the verande, a flag of happiness
flying in the wind,
she is sad,
loose around her withered finger
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