A collection of six-line poems by poet Văn Hiền
Selected and introduced by journalist and poet Pham Thuy Vinh.
When mentioning the poet Văn Hiền, people remember him not only as a veteran journalist from Nghệ An province (he was formerly the Deputy Editor-in-Chief of Nghệ An Newspaper), and as the initiator of bringing over 500 martyred journalists from across the country to be enshrined at Da Pagoda, also known as Âu Lạc Pagoda, but also as the author of the famous poem "Please Don't Call Me an Unknown Martyr." The "resonance" of this poem stems not only from the profound emotion it evokes, but also from the fact that, later on, thousands of martyrs' graves were no longer "unknown" but became "martyrs whose names and hometowns have not yet been found."
Van Hien's poetry is as simple and sincere as the man himself. He chose the six-eight syllable verse form, which is also his strength. Besides the themes of soldiers, war, and memories, Van Hien's poetry also encompasses a deeply cherished realm of emotions: homeland, childhood, and human connection.
This collection of lục bát poems, featured in Nghe An Weekend, will take readers back to the most familiar memories in everyone's mind. In particular, the collection includes the latest poem he wrote shortly after leaving his hospital bed, with verses expressing profound gratitude to the medical team who saved his life. It's not just a thank you to a benefactor, but also an appreciation for humanity, for the hands that brought hope in the most fragile moments.
Searching for folk songs
Helping the younger generation recite folk songs.
If the river is long, you have to use a silk bodice to cross it.
Children's rhyme: fluttering palm leaves
The rhythmic drumming of the traditional opera urged the villagers to come into the courtyard.
The straw and rice stalks have toiled for generations.
Nong nia claps the tune of the poor man in vernacular.
The riverbank is round like a banyan tree.
Then there are the twinkling stars on the full moon night.
Barefoot, gathering the memories of the past.
Let the buffaloes graze in the sun, and I'll lie here humming.
Searching for the soul of folk songs
We saw egrets flying gracefully under the high bamboo canopy of the village.
Encountering the sickle and scythe of the radiant sun.
The rich aroma of muddy soil from the planting season fills the air.
Rain falls on the trees.
Rain nourishes the trees - Rain nurtures the blossoms
A longing for the fields in March.
The rain awakens the slumbering alluvial soil.
Tilapia in the stream, in the yard by the pond.
Bareback dragon and snake folk song
Innocently rolling raindrops from ancient times.
Returning to my hometown, I look up and hope for rain.
Encountering a night of startled dreams, wet with the season of dreams.
Bamboo groves stand tall and empty, their green leaves bare.
The cuckoo's song wandered into my dream.
Rain on the trees - Rain of childhood
A murmur of sleep and wakefulness on both sides of May.
Lullaby
Oh, the tree sleeps peacefully.
Forget the days of hard work, gather the clouds to cover yourself.
Forget the scorching sun and the buzzing cicadas.
Forget the reddened eyes, forget the dry, hoarse words.
Forget the river that has reached the bottom and is parched.
Forget about the forest shedding its leaves, or the flood breaking through the dikes.
Forget the birds chirping on the bamboo grove.
Looking forward to the night when they gather to build their nests, and the season when they can reproduce.
We lull the trees to sleep, and the trees lull us to sleep.
The slender stem drains its essence to nourish the verdant shoots.
Who would wish to build ramparts and fortifications?
The tree silently grows green alongside the people.
Send the white shirt
(Dedicated to the medical team of the Department of Cardiovascular and Thoracic Surgery)
Nghe An General Hospital
How many anxious faces
Coming here, hoping to end the long night's pain.
Medicine shared every morning
And that longing became a prolonged absence, confined to the wheelchair.
The voice was clear and melodious.
Nurses become like family members.
Gentle hands on the skin
It was as if the old, wrinkled eyes suddenly brightened again.
Where is there discrimination between rich and poor?
Here, the air is fragrant with love from morning till night!
Oh, the white uniform of my homeland!
Instilling faith to overcome the arduous journey.
