Poet Phan Hoang was born on 10.10.1967 in Phu Yen, the South Central coastal region of Vietnam. He is a visiting journalist, journalism and literature lecturer at several universities.
Poet Phan Hoang is one of the important authors of modern Vietnamese poetry. He used to be Vice President of Ho Chi Minh City Writers Association, Chairman of Poetry Council VII (2015-2020), Member of the Executive Committee of Vietnam Writers Association X (2020-2025), Director – Editor of Vanvn.vn.
Phan Hoang is the author of more than 15 books, including 4 books of poetry. His poetry has been translated into more than 10 foreign languages and awarded a number of domestic and international poetry awards such as: Ho Chi Minh City Writers Association Award, Vietnam Writers Association Award, Hungarian Danube Art Award.
Mother carrying dreams
(Celebrating my mom’s 80th birthday)
Mother carried things, mother run everywhere
The bombs exploded here and there
Some felt behind
But some felt in front
My childhood on the evacuation basket
Mother carried the dream, run through the chaotic season
The sound of baby cried
Stronger
The sound of cannon roared
The streets were mottled with black holes
Floated rivers and streams, covered with red blood
The sea screamed, layers of waves broke away from motherly love
Mother’s step against the hot wind
Passed through the rocks on the mountain slope
Detoxed the forest contaminated by Agent Orange
Comforted the fields overgrown with weeds
Saw the blood on that dried bare feet
The wind blew the basket, out of breath
Mother hid me under the burnt-out bomb crater
Looked back at the ruined village and grandparents’ graves
Took off the hat full of bomb smell
Mother’s shadow covered the bullets’ range
Cuddled a crying baby
Mother babbled, the baby smiled
The baby laughing
Stronger
The sound of cannon roared
A smile that planted in the mother’s heart the seed of hope
A peaceful village reaped the following seasons…
The sun in the familiar home
1.
The house was filled with the sound of the wind all year round
Crispy and sweet liked a mermaid’s lips
Bitter liked a flood
Sometimes it looked like the sun
Grew
In the Western
Sometimes
Thought
In the North
Couldn’t sleep because of the sound of waves tonight
The wind comforted and caressed
The sky was blinking with changing stars
The sound of roosters in the fishing village crowed was better than before
The sound of baby crying
I knew the sun was rising in my familiar home
2.
Constantly fighting with hurricanes
Greedy giant pirates
Sometimes the habit of falling asleep made us forget
From thousands of generations
When mother worked in the fields, father took me home to take care of the sea
The sun still rose in the house filled with the sound of waves
Filled with wind sound
The sun was brighter every day
From the source of my Mom’s milk, from her lullaby of loving all around persons
The trembled voice of grandmother when she told the fairy tale “The golden star fruit tree”
The legend of a man used bamboo to fight the enemies, the late nights of the sea
The sun was brighter every day
From the mighty echo of a warship, kept the wrap of rice and guarded the island
The pain of survival in a house that carried the gene of Giao Chỉ*
3.
Not from the West
Not from the North
Through rivers filled with tears
The burned forest had nothing left
The sun was still rising
In my familiar home of thought
The house was filled with the sound of the waves and the wind all year round
The secret of transmitting the strange light
Photosynthesized the power of the dragon and fairy
Inheritance of mountain bravery
Gathered the heart of the sea
Generously regenerating the energy
For me
For my child
And
For h… me
August, 31st 2007
_______________________
* Giao Chỉ was originally the name of one of the 15 counties of the ancient Van Lang country. The county of Giao Chỉ in the Hung Kings period was equivalent to nowadays Hanoi and the right bank of the Red River
Goodbye to the scent of the wind
Freeway
Built
Concrete wall
Empty field
The local wind made an affair and lost all the green season
The land was separated from the land
People was separated from their homeland
The wind was separated from the scent of itself
I separated from myself
People with scratches
I took the wound
The frivolity wind blew
The heart filled with sadness
In the afternoon, the smell of baked sweet potatoes covered the street
The howling wind reminded me of the old homeland
May, 15th 2005
Memory of the rose
(To a Russian girl)
You sang for me a million red roses (*)
You read for me history and human destiny (**)
Roses still bloomed even though the weather and life change
No one was higher than anyone when you still cried in the cradle
And history had brought change to each destiny
Change the sky inspiration
Change the mind of every mountain and river
But there was one thing I wanted to tell you:
Does history and time change
Love memories in every rose?
________
(*) Russian song
(**) Evtushenco Poem – translated by Bang Viet
Drinking the shadow
I sat down and drank the shadow
The night chased away the thought of making a poor living
Each bone sounded crunchy of the fire forest
I sat down and drank the shadow
Listened to the rain at night, choked sobbing
The thunder sound seemed angrily
I sat down and drank the shadow
Turned each page of the ancient bibliography at night
Too cold sword cut for the hidden wound
How many dynasties have gone
The lying cold soul of word
The graves faded away
The benevolent grass could save us?
October, 10th 2002
The word market
Tried to throw letters horizontal vertical
Bird stock hunting
Sold weed shares
Limited liability person shared
Auction poetry came to life
Who invested in a close relationship shares
Volunteered literature with soulmate joint venture
The word market ebb and flow
Word market
Hot
Word market
Cold
Word market
Bland
Many nights rested my head on piles of books
Listened to the empty heart
Confused
February, 2nd 2002
Whisper
In the midst of steam and cold clouds
I heard whispers
The sound between pleasure and fertilization
In the midst of thunder and rain
I heard whispers
The sound between labor and birth
In the midst of low pressure and storm
I heard whispers
The sound between moribund and deaths
Whispered endless symphony
The circulation through the oceans of the human’s life wandered around
Sailed my sails floating in the sad ocean
Felt so hurt for the horizon with the crippled thought
Poem anchored in tears
October, 10th 2004
New character storm
Wandered around like an invisible wind
In the virtual world
A lot of empty characters
Panicked houses
Characters lost the thought of fate
I suddenly swayed
Flew
Flew
Up
From all the underground waves
Sunk in an unexpected storm
The storm took me into the upper atmosphere
Drunken of the swan dance
The forest leaves turned to dust, flew back to be green leaves, new branches and buds
The secret stone gradually opened up the volcanic characters
The clock on the sea’s chest reversed the time
Freckles disappeared from the darkness
The storm was getting stronger
New character world opened
Each deep breath was full of signals
Wished you have a sweet dream in the middle of the chrysanthemum season
The sound of glass from the storm connected the intense characters
December 9th 2010
Unfinished text
(To NQ)
1.
When I felt at the bottom of pain, I could see myself
Felt so innocent in mother’s peaceful ocean
Rode the silent flood
Removed wrinkles, old thought
Deep in the pitted face of the earth
Those wrinkled created creative prodigy
When I flew at the top of sublimation
I could see myself
A generous guy monopolized the primeval forest
Girly fragrance
Threw away the lust skill, rotten costume
Flickered flames of pleasure
Each wave of mysterious signals overflowed
Nine-dimensional collision of memories
Awaken the forgotten gold dust
2.
All civilizations seemed to have evolved from unconscious light dream pleasure against conscious darkness skill habits
Skills in the name of progress ate every natural moment of life
3.
Overcame pain and sublimation
I was in my dream
The morning rain quietly rang the bell to call the soul of the end of the world
Those words looked like warriors who translated poetic text that forever unfinished
Wordless text
Quintessential text
Magical text
Pleasure signal epicenter
4.
Immersed myself in the dream of pleasure
Immersed in unfinished text
I discovered me
Gradually different
Faded away
Intensive farming field, the buffalo’s emotion
Blue smoke and gray clouds surrounded mother’s kitchen
The neoclassical lip-syncing choirs gave each other theirs love and clothes
The flood of pleasure quietly rose up
The skill of lust with rotten fine word cover was sink
Wave after wave of golden dust signal overflowing memories
5.
Amidst the waves of signals
I found my floating face
It was me
Hurt me
Sublimate me
In unfinished texts
Wordless text
Unframed text
Text not text
6.
Life was only a span of time
Why did we have to tie ourselves up in long chains that worth like gravestones?
How to flare up many floods
Climax signal wave
Swept away the late-sleeping dreams corpus
Old childish corpus
Fictitious corpus
A terror of free flow of words
Assassination the desire green bud ideas
Threatened the primeval forest that full of young girl fragrance overflowing with future vital text
July, 2nd 2011
Flowers of stone
From ancient folk intelligent stone sprouts
Grew up
Grew up
The tree of love bloomed with kindness
Painful glamor sky, artist soul
When the pure curve of the stone gave off fragrance
When the wild curve of the rock sublimed
Humanity was in a hurry to find the truth
The beauty born of silent movement
Truth came from an unexpected paradox
October, 10th 2011
PHAN HOÀNG
(Excerpt from poet Phan Hoang’s poetry collection “Questioning the habits”)
