Poem: Remembering the hometown rain
Remembering the rain of the homeland
Tonight, I lie down and listen to the rain
Hear the sound of the sky roaring in the distance…
Why do you feel sorry for the heart?
Oh hometown rain
Lullaby my soul when I was a child,
We have soaked our hearts with incipient love.
Hear the sound of rain falling on the banana boat, coconut sheath,
See the sun rise when the rain stops.
I love you so much like when I first knew
I love the rain like I love anything dear
Like bamboo, coconut, like hometown village.
Like human beings – know how much love.
Oh childhood, I soaked in the rain, I took a bath.
I wade around on the surface of the river
I dive down, hear the distant thunder
Hear the rain fall, the sound is warm.
Oh where are the youth games
Coconut banana boats, small huts
The first childhood footprints
The mou areca sheets are boats
The rain is gone.
Rain flows down the river in the countryside
The waves of the country’s water flowed to the sea,
Carrying old memories, sinking in the four directions.
And we have great love and peace
The little rain of the homeland we lived in
Now my heart flutters a hundred rivers,
Oh hometown rain.
Rain is the music of a cool song.
The nights we lie down and listen to the rain sing rain
Listen to the rain beating bamboo branches, listen to the rain fall on the leaves,
Whispering rustling echoes far away…
Sometimes suddenly a violent storm
The rain poured like a waterfall in hundreds of ways.
An old dream of lightning and thunder,
The small history of the school suddenly turned into a storm.
It sounds like the voice of the Father who built the country,
Instruct the descendants to walk high
Sounds like the words of the wind and rain.
Continuing to sing the old indomitable song…
The rain has stopped, like a gentle spring
See the green on the bright green branches
Rain, rain, rain wash the young branches
Bringing fresh sweet fruits to spring.
Oh, I’m so glad I don’t see any birds
But the bamboo bank hears the fresh singing.
Someone’s house beat is bustling,
Make the raindrops on the branches flutter.
The girls across the river wash clothes
Watery hands. Suddenly a little shower
Her arm or the gentle breeze
Trembling bamboo branches fall a little rain…
Oh, I love the coconut trees in front of the alley
Brown coconut roots, smooth silk veins
The road is dry, the soil is bright
Already in love, why do you feel more in love…
Homeland, years away
Tonight we lie down and listen to the rain,
Hear the sound of the sky roaring in the distance…
Why is my heart sad…
I want to go back to my hometown
I want to go back to my childhood
I want to lie on my father’s land
Listening to the rain hitting bamboo branches, listening to the rain falling on the leaves…
Oh the distant thunder, suddenly roaring loudly…
Source: Truong Son – road of aspiration, National Political Publishing House, 2009
Poem: To the North
To the North
My hometown has small thatched roofs
On the banks of the Mekong, far from the Red River
But childhood in the hours of history
According to Quang Trung, I have been to Thang Long.
Remember the afternoons looking to the North
Seeing a flock of white storks flying in the distance
I thought there was a bit of Northern mud on the back of the stork
Even though storks don’t fly out there.
I grew up fighting to divide the country
But guns and swords can’t stop love
Can’t stop the red sun
When my heart turned sunflower.
I listen to my heart beat fast
“This is the Voice of Vietnam radio”
Hear the northeast monsoon blowing out there
I want to give my heart some Hau Giang sunshine
I am happy with each red tile school roof
Each seam of black coal, each ear of golden rice.
I am sad that the US bombed and devastated
All that I cherish, I love
Although Ngang Pass I have never been to
Poetry from Thanh Quan district I have memorized
Are flowers and plants scorched by bombs?
Is that roof under the mountain still there?
Oh the land of four thousand years of history
Buried so many invaders.
Today, defeat the American enemy again
The jet body fell next to the bronze arrow.
I always remember every river name, mountain name
Names of victories, names of heroes.
News of victory from the sworn homeland
Looking forward to the South urges the feet
Both regions have the same red star
With the moonlight illuminating the rifle.
The bomb crater inside is like the bomb crater out there
Both regions share a common enemy.
Every piece of land in the South is revealed
Moving to the North to fix the road
Cam Pha coal has burned with fire
Flashing light in the middle of Truong Son peak
Oh the North where my heart loves
The place where Uncle Ho’s truth flared up
Where a majestic paradise is being built
Here are the remains of the ancients
The place I’ve loved since childhood
In my blood I have my father’s blood
Like a durian on the Southern River
There is the alluvial scent of the Red River water.
Sending all my heart to the North
Looking forward to the day, how much I miss the night
To the North, to the faithful South,
Going up against the US on the front line.
Poem: Back to Homeland
Back to hometown
Oh the homeland of green coconut shade
No wonder we’ll be back today
Our homeland is all still here
Even though loved ones have fallen to the ground
I meet the faces of the people I love so much
I look at me, I watch, I get drunk
Trembling I hold your hands
The love in our hands is hot.
Here is the old road
Where we used to go in our dreams
Jamming someone’s house with the sound of a hammock at noon
Uh oh… i miss you so much
Oh the white flowers, the pink flowers.
Like your heart is pure and faithful
Like your heart is beautiful crimson
The little river I bathed in my childhood
Still here the water doesn’t change the flow
Purple hyacinth flowers on the riverbank.
Silver-haired stooped mother
Shy to tell the story we heard
Eight children died from gas bombs
On the way back from school.
The enemy killed ten people in a hamlet
People carry bodies and load the boats
Transported to Ben Tre to fight the enemy
How many times has our village been bombed?
Falling coconut trees, shriveled bamboo banks,
Mother built a temporary roof to cover the rain and wind.
I wouldn’t have guessed that the roof of my mother’s tent
Underneath that layer of earth the fire is still there
My mother is busy early in the morning
Raise them in the secret cellar
My whole life I sacrificed bravely
Twenty years to keep the land, keep the village
Oh, I’m a Southern mother.
I wouldn’t have guessed it was you
Under that tent I grew up
I’m so beautiful like spring waking up
The gun on my shoulder is as beautiful as you
Hey! Why does my hair smell so good?
Or did you just go through the durian garden
I love your voice with a clear smile
Sweet as Siamese coconut water
Love the way you cross the bamboo bridge
As gentle as fairies
I’m a guerrilla, I’m a courier
You are my hometown
Eleven years have passed, I miss, I love
The first night we slept in the middle of the country
Why do you feel strangely warm?
Even though it’s pouring rain outside
The sound of cannons shaking the leaves
Oh, our country is so beautiful!
Even though there are bomb craters on the way
Even though my shirt is still patched
Only a faithful, iron heart
And the gun in his hand burned with hatred.
This poem was used as additional reading in the 12th Literature Textbook program for the period 1990-2006.
Source: Coconut Flower, Liberation Publishing House, 1969
Poem: Nguyen Van Troi
Nguyen Van Troi
When I called Uncle three times
My heart seems to be closer to Uncle
You have not seen it with your own eyes
But the image of Uncle in my heart is still bright
“I love you so much, Uncle!
The years of resistance since childhood
Mid-Autumn Festival meets Uncle in a dream
Dear you sing: “Uncle Ho Chi Minh”…
Now before the death penalty
I feel like I’m looking at you
Uncle kissed me, Uncle held my hand
I kissed you back three times this morning.”
Viva! Viva! Viva!
Millions of people responded loudly in all directions
The chant meets the mountain, the mountain echoes
Meet the river, the river sing, meet the forest, the forest sing
Uncle Ho when he appeared
Like a slingshot, the waterfall falls from the rapids
Oh, the three voices of Ho Chi Minh!
Has become a weapon, has become a belief
Has become a sacred promise
Fire does not burn, crushed stone does not melt
The neck collar still screams
Handcuffs waving still thousands of arms
Uncle is the country, the sky is cloudy
Vietnam with Uncle Uncle every day is more beautiful
Higher than Thai Son peak
Thousand years of casting the soul of fathers
The hexagonal dance, folk song
Vietnam is Uncle, Uncle is Vietnam
Vietnam, Long live the Fatherland
Where I love my many
Although this is the Chi Hoa shooting range
The land we stand on is still mine
The whole country is behind me
The place where my back rests is Truong Son
Is the edge of the field, the grassy path
Bright red rice flowers, blue berries with thousands of strawberries
It’s Thu Bon’s face in the water
The river of youth whispers and sings
It’s a flower shop
The melons bud, the eggplants bloom
It’s midday mother’s lullaby
The rattle of the mulberry tree
It’s Vietnam! It’s Vietnam!
The East Sea is a blue strip of land
Vietnam is a land of music, a land of poetry
The white-spotted cloud legs of the homeland stork wings
Lotus dress blooms white, blooms
The moonlit night is fragrant with durian lines
Four seasons, one color of heaven and earth
Village, field, forest
The mountains are high with the wind, the river is full of sunshine
Blue mango, yellow orange
The coconut palm is slanted in line with the sunshine
Is there a place that is so beautiful?
Like a river, like a mountain, like a Vietnamese
The sky is over the top of Ha Giang
Ca Mau at the end of the greasy alluvial soil
Truong Son is a great father
Cuu Long mother’s heart is immense and overflowing
The sun shines proudly
The gait also sparkles freely
Four thousand years of building a fortune
Thousands of years from the childhood of mankind
Oh Vietnam! Vietnam!
Vietnam, we call his name earnestly.
Poem: Standing posture in Vietnam
He fell on the Tan Son Nhut runway
But he struggled to stand up and rest his gun on the wreckage of the helicopter
And he died while standing shooting
British blood sprayed with rainbow bullets.
Suddenly seeing him, the enemy panicked and begged for goods
Someone fell to his feet to avoid bullets
Because I’m dead but brave
Still standing dignified, open fire
What’s your name, my dear?
He was still standing as silent as a bronze wall
Like the sandals under British feet stepping on American corpses
But still a simple, bright color
Not a picture, not an address line
I left nothing for myself before I left
Leaving only the pose-standing-Vietnamese carved in the century:
He is a soldier of the Liberation Army.
The name of England has become the name of the country
Oh, you Liberation Army!
From his stance in the middle of Tan Son Nhut runway
The country flies up to the bowl of spring
Source: Poetry Le Anh Xuan, Education Publishing House, 1981
Poem: Marching in the Spring Forest
Marching in the spring forest
The distant forest echoes the sound of hummingbirds
Humming the sound of streams and winds
Dark spring leaves camouflage
The way to the frontline blooms with apricot blossoms
Heavy backpack, handgun
The long way knows how many miles long miss
Mom is at home now
Seems to be following our path
Rainy night, sunny day
The enemy is still there, we have not returned yet
The wild birds chirping by the creek
Looking up at the green on all sides of the spring forest.
I grew up seeing coconuts in front of the alley
Coconut lulls me to my childhood sleep
Every afternoon, listen to the coconut ring in the wind
I asked my grandma: “Do coconuts ever come from?”
Grandma said: “When I was a girl
I have seen the cool shade of coconut in front of the yard
This land used to be a salty and sour swamp
The life of poverty is bitter all year round”
Today I return to my hometown
Twenty years know how sunny and rainy
Grandma is gone and the grass is green
On the coconut body, there are fibrous bullet marks.
Coconut, coconut! How old is the person?
And the leaves are still green until now
I hear the ancient wind calling
The rustling of coconut leaves or the sound of a sword.
Oh is it the poet Do Chieu
Used to recite poetry under this coconut tree
I thought I saw the insurgents chasing the enemy
Recently, the line has been muddy.
I stand under the tall coconut trees
Next to the rows of coconut silk and green leaves
The fortifications still smell like the earth
Next to the trenches against the French in years.
Still like the old coconut garden in the countryside
Why does my heart still love more
Oh coconut body has bled twice
So much pain, so much resentment.
Coconut is still standing tall
The leaves are still very tender green
Coconut roots cling deep into the ground
Like villagers clinging to their homeland.
Injured coconut coconut does not bend down
Still looking up and singing in the sky
If you fall on the coconut, don’t waste it
Coconut stood up again and built the fortress.
Green coconut leaves glistening in the sun
Follow the army into camouflage leaves
If it falls on the coconut, don’t waste it
The coconut burned again in the light of the torch to light the way.
The homeland is bruised with bullet wounds
Having raised coconuts for many years
Oh, is the coconut sucking the bitter bag
To produce sweet fruits for life.
Listen to the coconut garden whispering music
I miss my grandma so much
When I was young, I drank sweet coconut water
I know where the first bitter times.
I look up at the sunny spring
The four sides of the homeland have been liberated
I suddenly saw my grandma getting younger
Like a girl in her twenties
Like the coconut tree in front of my house.
Poem: You are the river that flows in front of my house
You are the river that flows in front of my house
You are the river that flows in front of my house
I can hear the waves crashing day and night
In the morning, the water on the river flows smoothly
I see many purple hyacinths
Afternoon when the sun is golden sweet
I don’t see the rushing water
I’m going to the vast ocean
Where do you go, you paddle backwards?
It’s raining heavily, my shirt is wet
Why don’t you wait for the big country
Well, let’s go, or it won’t be bright
I already have your heart, the water flows downhill
I’m still awake with your oars
I’m still with you even though the night is rainy and windy
Although the enemy hunts for bullets and explodes along the river,
You are still with me. Do you hear me?
The sound of waves crashing – the sound of my heart is deep
Do you know I love you so much
Like a deep and unpredictable river
In the middle of the bomb fire, I can’t bear to look in the mirror
You are still beautiful when you look at the flowing water
You are still beautiful when you look at me.
You are the river that flows in front of my house
I can hear the waves crashing day and night.
Poem: Come back
Go your home
Presenting to the young people in the South who gathered to the North on the occasion of the Front’s call to be ready to return to the South to fight.
Go your home! Oh my dear
Back to the homeland shady with green coconuts
I guess I’m ready
I wait for the day to go like when I wait for you
Do you want to turn into a blue bird?
Crossing Truong Son soars back to his motherland
I thought I saw you crying like a baby
When setting foot on the land of the homeland.
I miss you – miss the beloved North
Remember your figure standing by the willow road
Of West Lake in the soothing afternoon
Remember your eyes are pure and gentle
Like the northern sky in the morning
I carry you for miles and miles
Like carrying the northern star in your heart
Bring faith in the unification of the future
Even though the bombs are burning overhead.
Tell me about your exciting days
Millions of young people follow the call of the Party
Ready to go anywhere
Where are the difficulties young people take the lead.
It’s like I see your shadow
I’m far away, but how close to you
Like the heart in your chest
Like the South in the North day and night.
I visited my old school
Still fluttering green melaleuca trees like jade
Still red canals to the horizon
Still the river is busy to the sea.
But how many sad and happy things do you know?
The blood red line of the killed compatriots
How many times does the green cajuput tree lose its leaves?
And the roof of the school was broken.
But how can they kill?
The whole South became an indomitable field
U Minh forest is still green with melaleuca shade
The bomb is over, the children’s voices are playing again.
Looking at my sister sitting in class
Where I used to sit, it often rained
I remember you know you guys!
Where are you sitting, but where are you?
I wish I could go back to my old school
Being a teacher living among small birds
I’m sure you’ll be happy, you’ll appreciate it, you’ll love it
Children who take books to school
Be brave like a heroic mother and father
Learning each word amidst the sound of bombs and gunfire
Come back at night with my mother
The children are as happy as the caged starling.
I met girls
Just like how gentle you are
Just like I’m twenty years old white
You know those are heroes
How many times have you robbed your hands empty-handed?
Hundreds of times of protest against the enemy
I want you like that. Hey you
Come back here to relive the nights
Red revolutionary fire in resistance villages
Returning to the salty oars of the sea breeze
Back to the pole, to the gun, to the knife
So much hardship but so much happiness.
You were beautiful in Hanoi Ao Dai
Walking in the middle of the fragrant road every spring
You are more beautiful in grandma’s shirt
Dyeing black, the color of mud in the countryside
It’s so beautiful, I go on the green coconut road
My hair is marinated with Dong Thap lotus flavor
It’s so beautiful when you stand in the trenches
Bring the youth to erase the pain.
Are you awake or are you asleep?
Oh Hanoi, the street is fragrant with milk flowers
I heard outside the door, trees
Whispering your echo
I guess I’m ready
A backpack, a soldier’s soul
Are you restless at night?
The marching song is urging in the heart.
Source: Poetry Le Anh Xuan, Modern Vietnamese Literature, Literature Publishing House, Hanoi, 1981
Poem: Through Ap Bac
Through Ham Bac
I walk in the fields of Ap Bac
The soil under the feet is fragrant and fertile
Ap Bac afternoon is clear
Dong Ap Bac is a green color
Oh Ap Bac, an indomitable field
Victory has resounded across the globe
How simple is this land?
Water lily under the pond blooms with fan blades
Rows of gourd brooches, rows of bowls
The green gilts, the yellow sugar cane
And here is the smell of Vietnamese mud
All have become immortal
Every wind has blown into history
I thought this place was ruined
Strangely, the rice is still fresh
Paddy rice surrounded the enemy post
Rice is indomitable like an indomitable person
Alluvium has filled the bomb craters
And the wounds of the soul
Enemy troops still bombarded and dumped bullets day and night
Why is this land still green with life?
I walked away feeling sad
Where are you located? Hey man Don’t
The place where you lie is simple and simple
The four sides whispering and singing
Shadows of bamboo rows shade the cemetery
In the afternoon, bring bright yellow flowers
Let me go! The afternoon is about to end
The road is long, see you tomorrow
I turned to look in the middle of the vast rice fields
Your graves suddenly look strangely similar
Newly built roadside fortifications
The evening star burned in Ap Bac sky.
Source: Coconut Flower, Liberation Publishing House, 1969.