SOME VIETNAM’S WAR POEMS FOR THOSE

WHO SUPPORT BUSH’S WAR WITH IRAQ 

Collected by Trần Chung Ngọc  

                    CONDEMNATION

  By Thích Nhất Hạnh, Chairman of the Buddhist

   Peace Delegation to the Paris Peace Accords                                                                                                            

 

            Listen to this:

            yesterday six Vietcongs came through my village,

            and because of this, the village was bombed.

            Every soul was killed.

            When I returned to the village the next day,

            there was nothing but clouds of dust –

            the pagoda without roof or altar,

            only the foundation of the houses, the bamboo thickets burned away. 

 

            Here is the presence of the undisturbed stars,

            in the invisible presence of all people still alive on earth,

            let me raise my voice to denounce this dreadful war,

            this murder of brothers by brothers! 

 

            Whoever is listening, be my witness:

            I cannot accept this war.

            I never could, I never will.

            I must say this a thousand times before I am killed.

            I am like the bird who dies for the sake of its mate,

            dripping blood from its broken beak and crying out,

            “Beware! Turn around and face your real enemies –

            ambition, violence, hatred, and greed.” 

 

            Human are not our enemies – even those called “Vietcong.”

            If we kill our brothers and sisters, what will we have left?

            With whom then shall we live?

 

                        THE NEW LULLABY

                                    By

                              Trần Dạ Từ

 

            Sleep well, my child – a shadow, not mama,

            will tuck you sug in bed and help you sleep.

            A tomstone is your pillow – let the sky

            spread over you a blanket, keep you warm.

            To shield you as a curtain, there’s the rain.

            A tree will be your fan, its leaves your roof.

            The stars will twinkle as your mother’s eyes.

            The battlefield will be your romping ground.

            Sleep well and smile, with blood upon your lips.

            Bullets and bombs will sing your lullaby.

 

                        UNTITLED

                               By

                       Ngô Vĩnh Long 

 

            On this land

               Where each blade of grass is human hair

            Each foot of soil is human flesh

               Where it rains blood

            Hails bones

               Life must flower

 

               DRIVING THROUGH MINNESOTA

               DURING THE HANOI BOMBINGS

                                       By

                              Robert Bly

 

             We drive between lakes just turning green;

            Late June.  The white turkeys have been moved

            A second time to new grass.

            How long the seconds are in great pain!

            Terror just before death,

            Shoulders torn, shot

            From helicopters.  “I saw the boy

            being tortured with a telephone generator,”

            The sergeant said.

            “I felt sorry for him

            And blew his head of with a shotgun.”

            These instants become crystals,

            Particles

            The grass cannot dissolve.  Our own gaiety

            Will end up

            In Asia, and you will look down in your cup

            And see

            Black Starfighters.

            Our own cities were the ones we wanted to bomb!

            Therefore we will have to

            Go far away

            To atone

            For the suffering of the stringy-chested

            And the short rice-fed ones, quivering

            In the helicopter like wild animals,

            Shot in the chest, taken back to be questioned.

  Về lại trang NC & ĐT tháng 4-2003

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