A collection of poems by Vo Van Vinh

Mom

My mother has been away from me for nine years.
To live eternally with the plants and the land.
The child by the door, returning home in the evening, remembers...
The mother's shadow hurried away, like the slender shadow of a bamboo tree.
A mother's life is like that of a stork, toiling tirelessly.
The worries about the dry and wet seasons in the rice paddies.
August brings persistent rain, March brings strong winds.
My kitchen is dimly lit by smoke.
Oh, harvest season, I long for the harvest season so much!
Mother went to visit the fields, and she loved the green rice even more.
The gravel paths scratched our feet.
Lo Market, Gay Market… market names reflecting the hardships of my mother's life.
My mother toiled silently from dawn till dusk.
A carrying pole made of nine-grained bamboo, worn on both shoulders.
She recounted the old days of turmoil between Japan and the West.
My mother carried me in her arms, and my aunt rushed from Laos back to her maternal hometown.
I remember the day my younger brother went to fight in the war.
My mother's eyes, filled with tears, turned the night sky a deep blue.
All the joys and sorrows have passed with the years.
The upheavals, both individual and collective, cannot be concealed.
A mother's heart still holds a burning belief.
You raised us, provided for our education, and helped us become good people.
Time cannot erase it.
My mother's voice reciting the Tale of Kieu sounded so mournful to me.
On the anniversary of a death, grandchildren gather around, surrounded by the dim light of incense smoke.
The mother reminisced about someone far away.
A mother's life is like a dewdrop.
It's not easy to dry up amidst so many seasons of strong winds.
The garden is calm this afternoon.
My heart is startled by the sound of falling leaves…

My guitar

Now you can relax, my dear guitar.
After plowing the fields, they sat quietly together.
Deep, muddy soil
The grassy slopes were desolate under the midday sun.
The guitar strings are made of two coarse ropes.
My hands nimbly plowed the furrows.
I followed the skinny cow.
Days and months passed by with that same guitar.
How strange that lime plow!
From the time of Lac Viet to the present day
The misty countryside is poetic.
Loyalty and devotion, my dear, whether near or far...

My child is going to university.

My child got into university this morning.
Golden autumn sunshine, new sunlight, green trees, clear sky.
The countryside is now filled with fragrant rice fields.
Silently by the grass, the father sits remembering his son.
Bidding farewell to mud, soil, straw, and hay.
I moved to a different neighborhood than my hometown.
The rain drenches my mood.
Long days of scarcity, the kitchen hearth in the evening
I came from a poor thatched house.
Silently, the flame burns in the mountain pass, through sun and rain.
Father became a fairy tale from the old days.
Whether the fields are deep or shallow, the heart dreams of a golden harvest...

by the river

Someone was gathering firewood by the river.
The sun was blazing, the river was deserted.
A vast expanse of white sand
What joys and sorrows does a head of gray hair hold?
The river is dry, so we can't cross it.
It seems that person was sad because of the song.
The days of electric stoves and gas stoves.
There are still people who are reluctant to waste firewood and charcoal.
It's because of my unfortunate fate.
Or perhaps someone is reminiscing about the distant days of poverty.
It's not easy to forget love.
Many hardships lead to loyalty.
Or the Winter Gatherer
Bring back the old-fashioned glowing hearth.
Or the person who gathers poetic ideas
From a faraway land, a fire has just been lit…

Working at night

The wind blows through the hollow stubble.
Clouds drift gently across the fields.
The plowshare cracked by the sun.
The scorching, terrifying sun of May
Plowing at night, without stars or moon.
The undulating waves of land sting my eyes.
The buffalo's shadow blended with the human's shadow.
The sound of crickets is mournful under the misty rain.
The countryside is in the planting season.
The village is restless, enduring the sun and rain in the fields.
The cold mist penetrates deep into the heart.
But why is my shirt soaked with sweat?
Oh, the green rice fields are blooming!
Tomorrow, the bright sun will rise…

The golden leaf falls lightly.

The golden leaf falls lightly.
And so the last rays of sunlight have gone.
What remains of the apricot tree?
Let my heart whisper as the leaves fall.
He is no longer here.
Then the time of green leaves remains intact.
There was a time when leaves lived life to the fullest.
Silent, green like leaves, the love for the land.
There was a time when I longed for the rain to fall.
The sun shines brightly, accompanied by the gentle breeze.
There was a time when the tree seemed completely bare.
But why do the leaves still look so young and tender?
The green leaves echo with the sound of birds.
Green brings green to the world, giving trees and fruits a greener future.

Silently, the yellow leaf falls.
And so the last rays of sunlight faded away…