A collection of poems by Dang Phi Khanh
Poet Tùng Bách selected and introduced
Poet Dang Phi Khanh, born in 1954 (Year of the Horse), hails from Hung Nguyen commune. He is a member of the Vietnam Writers Association and the Poetry Committee of the Nghe An Union of Literature and Arts. He has published six poetry collections: "Hạt phù sa" (Seeds of Alluvium), "Lòng mẹ" (Mother's Heart), "Liền thương nhớ" (Region of Fond Memories), "Giọt hiên" (Drops on the Veranda), "Khoảng lặng" (Silence), and "U mầm ngon nhớ" (Nurturing Delicious Memories). Dang Phi Khanh's poetry is deeply imbued with the love for his homeland and the soul of Nghe An province. While some aspects of Dang Phi Khanh's poetry may seem "new," they are not entirely "unique." He believes that poetry is an expression of feelings, a voice of the heart, and therefore requires sharing and empathy.
The way Dang Phi Khanh chooses themes, formulates ideas, and expresses himself through words and sentences in his poetry is always simple, relatable, and easy to understand, just like his personality in real life.
New colors
Strings of bright golden beads
Capturing the entire sky filled with sunlight.
Dragonflies frolic on the surface of the waves.
The machine beeps... The fish thrash about in the pond.
The cluster of swallow-winged ivory blossoms undulates
A commotion arose in the twilight shadows of the mountains.
I am happy in the new harvest season.
Like Cinderella at the village festival.
The boat clattered rhythmically as it crossed the river.
Carrying a profound and complex life story.
In the distance, a slope of white clouds
My dear, the scent of ripening fruit is returning…
Thin Autumn
Autumn is thin in your blue eyes.
Like leaves swaying precariously on a branch, falling in the wind.
Butterflies and bees shyly participate in the game.
The cuckoo bird praised the dreamy flute melody in the evening.
Dragonflies guide the way through childhood.
The sun blazes down the color of her hair, the riverbanks murmur with the sound of the wind.
The scent of young rice grains lingers in the air.
The pomelos from my hometown are stained with the color of poverty and cling to the tree.
Sails bent like bamboo by the clouds
Waves surge upon waves, filled with the thirst of youth.
The slender figure of Thu is bathed in the clear moonlight.
Their lips, rosy with the colors of autumn, are meant for each other…
From the island side
I only wish the sea wasn't salty anymore.
Where you are, the fresh water is not distributed equally.
Scoop up the entire ocean and pour it over the crest of the waves.
Sending love from our beloved island to the mainland.
Birds know that the nesting season is coming when the weather warms up.
The sea almond trees have closed in on the horizon.
The island soldier's uniform was tinged with white.
The sea is calm. The sea is so beautiful, my dear!
Just one trip out to sea.
I embrace the sea, wrapping it in the heart of the island.
Awaken your lips, add more color to your dress.
We stand together, and the world remains stable.
Whichever direction the island faces, it stands tall and proud...
Expect
Bitter coffee, a heart filled with anticipation.
Where are impermanence and non-self now?
The white blossoms of the crape myrtle tree adorn my hair.
How can one understand the impermanence of thoughts and words?
We long for humility in each other.
As vast as the sea, yet still clinging to the shore…
Tired of hearing
I'll go home and pick some fragrant jasmine buds.
With a mother gone, the haystack is empty this season!
The fragrant aroma wafts through the air.
The sleeves billowed as if chasing away shadows!
Okay, five makes ten.
It's rare to find such fresh buds.
Savoring sweet and sour flavors, thin and thick slices.
I feel like I'm lost in the days of my childhood.
Seafaring
My father went to sea.
The child went to the beach.
The whole family works in the fishing industry.
Waves crash, waves surge, waves pull people's feet.
A thin garment that gathers both rain and sunshine.
The struggle for food and clothing keeps one's body thin and frail!
Father is gone.
eye strain in innocent children
The old briefcase
waiting for my father's boat to dock.
The shortcomings at the school my child attends
The waves out there
When is Dad coming home?
A poor fishing village, white sand at the foot of the dike.
Footprints rise and fall
wind tunnel shape
For generations, the sea has been our home.
In a dream
The prospect of escaping poverty…
Vortex
I pity the wind that blows across the silver land.
Then I wandered around looking for that thin figure.
Why not ask which sprouts have grown?
To lull the innocent eyes of a child into a dream?
The river flows relentlessly, its silt sinking towards the sea.
The flood swept people and villages down into the river.
The broken crescent moon also turned into a murky haze.
The birds of the sky are tragically devastated!
In the rice plant's eyes, there is the image of a mother's eyes.
The forests are devastated and floods keep piling up.
The rice plants are drooping, begging a thousand times to stop the watering.
Who among the people bears the pain and suffering?
And so, the rice plants returned to their old fields.
Fragrant rice grains offered in reverence to the souls
Surely that place is also filled with sorrow and grief.
In the whirlwind of life, what is foolishness and what is wisdom?
