(ISSN: 1527-5467)
the magazine of Literature & Literature-in-translation.


JUL 2002
















(translated by the author)





          As the sharp sword of dull knowledge

         chops the words,

         I chop myself in two: the black, and white.

         With its legs in chains, one is in the Deep

         down below;       

         the other, up in the High above,

         with its hands lifting the sun that sets.



         Run I run through the fields of memory,

                Stepping on every fragment of words¾the A, the B.

         As I amble about my feeling in blue and my thinking

         in red,             

         I find myself in and out of that empty canvas. 



         In the ‘period’ that ended my life long ago as it might  

         there appears the old soul ¾a daisy blooming

                                                           during the day,       

         when seems to be the flaming sword every ‘comma’

         that split my heart into them fingers.



         Mountain stone-dumb much long I have been

         Yet I try this morning to babble the language of insects.

         Fine grass and green silk never had I seen

         Why are now those green silks the grass in velvet?             



         To be the fool in the street I had much to try

         But on the temple perron the Han Lu [1]

                                                  are still full of fight

         Ambling about my feeling in blue and my thinking in red

                I find myself white as the night on that empty canvas.



                                       Translated by the author

                            (Vietnamese version was originally published

                                 in Songvan magazine, Premier Issue, March 1996)



Editorial note:

(1)     One spicies of dog. There is a legend about Han family' s dogs which are the ones (of China’s fastest dogs) could catch the Tung Son mountain rabbits¾ fast and clever. The dogs, however, in confusion tried to catch the reflection of the moon on the temple perron which is mistaken for the rabbit, and they, of course, caught neither moon nor rabbit.




 · THE WRITERS POST (ISSN: 1527-5467),
the magazine of Literature & Literature-in-translation.

      Volume 4, Number 2 July 2002



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