who did not have a chance to say goodbye
to those they loved before they disappeared into a gulp of terror.
Nerissa did not say how unfair the world was,
but I tasted it in my mouth an hour later
when I ate the Vietnamese-style fish
that she had cooked with chilies and lemongrass;
the dish that I had guided her to make when I first came to this
land,
innocent of her countrymen and their courage.
My chopsticks pick up a piece of spicy fish
and I want to cry out, in Filipino, to God,
and I begin to see the world bleed out its tears.
Philippines, December 7, 2012
FEARS
As I embrace my children,
listening to the chatter
burst onto their lips,
in Kenya, a mother
and her two daughters
hug the floor, pretending to be dead—
terrorists are sweeping through
the Westgate Shopping Mall where they are,
cutting down lives with bullets.
As I embrace my children,
my singing sending them into sleep,
in Pakistan, a mother digs
for her child’s leg,
buried under the anger
of a 7.7-magnitude earthquake.
As I feel the perfume of my children’s hair
throb against my skin,
in India, a mother clings to nothingness,
weeping for her daughter
who has been gang-raped.
As I watch my children
ease into their sleep,
in the US,
a mother clutches the empty air,
wailing for her two-year-old son,
whose life was stolen away by a maniac,
at a school shooting.
As I watch dreams
blossom onto my children’s faces,
I realize what a fool I am,
for forgetting to tell my children
how much I love them
before sleep drifts them away
from my arms.
FROM THE DEEP EARTH
The day you arrived, the world knew how to breathe,
earthworms suddenly knew how to sing,
and the earth’s surface trembled with life.
My mother had kept my embryo inside for days and months
where I wriggled, the world too small.
I howl inside my own hoarse voice.
Wind blows me into your hands, so I feel the pain pierce my
fingers and toes.
Your gaze opens the sky.
The sun rises and forgets to set.
You place me on your lips and on your chest.
Our hands join to make a universe for the moon, the sun, the
mountains
and the vast singing sea.
Into your heart love gives birth to me,
and your voice breathes
streams of joyful thoughts
into my blood.
You will be soil and I will be soil,
dissolved into each other, quietly one day,
conceiving earthworms who know how to sing
the eternal song of emerald grass.
THE MUSIC OF FIRE
Moonlight gleamed
to flood the soaked grassland.
From the garden of legends came dewy breath
swelling the forbidden fruit.
Light extinguished.
Your voice lit up a fire in search of me.
Millions of fingers wove,
lifting me up.
Our music found voice on a piano.
My hair became the black and white keys
for your hands to call me, call me.
Shooting stars appeared
where fires burned rivers into my breasts.
FREEING MYSELF
One day the wind lifts me high,
so I look down and see an ant imprisoned in an e-mail inbox,
in a mobile phone, ringing from time to time.
One day the wind lifts me high,
so I look down and see a bird imprisoned in the praises of his
flock,
in the limits of a sense of beauty, prearranged.
One day the wind lifts me high;
the wind hands me a pair of wings
and tells me to free myself from wings and
fly above my thoughts.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The author would like to express her gratitude to the editors of the following Vietnamese newspapers and magazines in which some of these poems (in their Vietnamese versions) first appeared:
The Army’s Arts and Literature Magazine: “Himalaya,” “The Desire of Clouds,” “The White Time” and “Separated Worlds”;
Dan Viet Newspaper: “Fish Sauce and Flowers”;
Hanoi Moi Weekend Newspaper: “Thousand Years”;
Police Arts and Literature Newspaper: “The Desire of Clouds,” and “Ceramic Rhythm”;
Tien Phong Newspaper: “The Gardener in the Royal Citadel,” “Two Truths” and “The Music of Fire”;
Tuoi Tre New Year Special Edition: “The Gardener in the Royal Citadel”;
Tuoi Tre Weekend Newspaper: “Freeing Myself,” “Speaking with My Children,” “Two Truths,” “The Poem I Can’t Yet Name,” and “Babylift”;
Vietnam’s Literature Newspaper: “Speaking with My Children,” “April,” “Hà Nội,” “Stars in the Shape of Carrying Poles,” “Quảng Trị,” “Separated Worlds,” “My Father’s Home Village,” and “Crying for Mindanao”;
Vietnam’s Poetry Review: “My Father,” “My Mother,” “Vân Anh,” “The Poem I Can’t Yet Name,” “Earth Home,” and “Mekong Delta”;
Women’s Magazine: “Himalaya.”
The author and translator would like to express their grateful acknowledgment to these American and international publications where many of these poems (in their English versions) first appeared:
American Poetry Review: “My Father’s Home Village.”
Consequence: “April,” and “Separated Worlds”;
Fourth River: “Stars in the Shape of Carrying Poles,” “Two Truths,” “The Gardener in the Royal Citadel,” “Journey of the Human Train,” “Ceramic Rhythm,” “The White Sky,” “The Sea,” “Night’s Whispers,” and “Grass”;
Great River Review: “Babylift,” “Vietnam Veterans Memorial,” “Song of Garbage,” and “Grass.”
Hong Kong Baptist University’s International Writers Workshop 2012 Publication: “Freeing Myself,” “Babylift,” “Stars in the Shape of Carrying Poles,” and “The Poem I Can’t Yet Name”;
“Ku•lit: Asian Literature for the Language Classroom Volume 2,” a supplementary textbook, National Arts Council (Singapore) and Pearson Education South Asia: “From the Deep Earth”;
Poetry Ireland Review: “The Poem I Can’t Yet Name”;
Prairie Schooner: “Eating Phở with My Grandpa,” and “The Secret of Hoa Sen”;
Red Wheel Barrow: “Freeing Myself,” “Stars in the Shape of Carrying Poles,” and “The Poem I Can’t Yet Name”;
Words without Borders: “Freeing Myself,” and “From the Deep Earth.”
Special thanks to Peter Conners and the staff at BOA Editions for believing in this book, and to the Lannan Foundation for their generous support.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR AND TRANSLATOR
Born in a small village in the North of Vietnam in 1973, Nguyen Phan Que Mai embraces the full range of Vietnamese traditions in her creative works. She is the author of three poetry collections and translator of six poetry books. Nguyen’s literary awards include the Poetry of the Year Award from the Hanoi Writers’ Association, for her collection Freeing Myself (2010); First Prize of the “Poetry about Hanoi 2008–2010” competition from the Vietnam’s Literature Newspaper and the Hanoi Radio & Television (a competition that
attracted over 20,000 entries from inside and outside Vietnam); the Capital’s Literature & Arts Award of 2010 from the Hanoi Union of Literature & Arts Associations; and an Award from the Vietnam Writers’ Association for Outstanding Contribution to the Advancement of Vietnamese Literature Overseas. Her poems have been translated and published in English, Spanish, Bahasa Indonesian, Chinese, Uzbek, and Bengali. Nguyen is the Honorary Fellow in Writing of Hong Kong Baptist University and was a visiting writer of Hong Kong Baptist University’s International Writers Workshop in 2012. She was also the Distinguished Asian Writer and Guest Panelist of the Silliman University’s 51st National Writers Workshop, Philippines (2012). Her poems have been featured at major international poetry festivals including the First Asia-Pacific Poetry Festival, the Qinghai International Poetry Festival, as well as the International Poetry Festival of Medellin, Colombia.
Bruce Weigl was born on January 27, 1949, in Lorain, Ohio. Weigl’s first full-length collection of poems, A Romance, was published in 1979. He is now the author of thirteen poetry collections, and the best-selling memoir The Circle of Hanh. Weigl is past President of the Associated Writing Programs, and has been Chairperson of the judging panel in Poetry for the National Book Award. Weigl has received many literary awards, including the Poet’s Prize from the Academy of American Poets, the Paterson Poetry Prize, fellow-ships from the National Endowment for the Arts and the Yaddo Foundation, and two Pushcart Prizes. In 2006, he was the single recipient in poetry for the Lannan Literary Award for outstanding contributions to literature, and in 2011 he won the Robert Creeley Award. Having fought in the American War in Vietnam (Quang Tri, 1967–1968), Bruce Weigl has been working to promote mutual understanding and reconciliation between Vietnam and the US via literature and cultural exchanges for over twenty years. He is the co-translator of four Vietnamese-English poetry collections and has received a Medal for Significant Contributions from the Vietnam Union of Literature and Arts Associations and the Vietnam Writers’ Association, who acknowledge his efforts and success in the promotion of Vietnamese literature to the world. Weigl’s most recent poetry collection is The Abundance of Nothing, which was a finalist for the Pulitzer Prize in poetry for 2013.
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The Secret of Hoa Sen Page 5