The spirit of bamboo in Vietnam

(Baonghean) - Even now, as an adult—as the locals say, someone who has been away from the village for decades—I truly understand every word of the poet Nguyen Duy's poem. After so many years, hearing it again still stirs a feeling in my heart, as if the image of bamboo, and the rhythm of the poem, have become intertwined like a fortress in my memory and soul. He speaks of bamboo with such tenderness and longing, as if speaking of a very familiar person...

"Green bamboo"

When did it become green?

Once upon a time...

There was already a green bamboo grove..."

Photo: Trong Sach

So familiar, in fact, that sometimes, I suddenly realize how closely bamboo has been connected to the Vietnamese people from the moment they are born until they pass away. On the day my grandmother died, the bamboo pole carried her to the fields. I remember those nights sitting with her on a small bed, under the moonlight in the courtyard, fragrant with the scent of betel nuts. My grandmother told me that on the day she was born, my great-grandfather used a bamboo splint to cut her umbilical cord. Sometimes, in my dreams, I still see that peaceful scene from my childhood: my grandfather, his nimble hands tying soft bamboo strips on the bamboo fence, and my grandmother sifting rice on the porch in the early autumn sun, still with a hint of dew. Oh, even in my dreams, bamboo is so present, so intimately connected! But it's not just me; who among Vietnamese people, burdened with a deep longing for home, doesn't love bamboo, doesn't miss bamboo? Across this country, there are nearly 200 species of bamboo. We are born to encounter bamboo.

Bamboo creaks softly in the midday summer nap. Bamboo gives the boys a fishing rod, the girls a shrimp net, and a set of sticks. Bamboo gives the grandmother a bucket to revive the parched fields, the mother a white hat to shield from the sun and rain, the grandfather a pipe with smoke drifting lazily into the sky, and the strict father a bamboo whip to discipline the playful children... Such talent is found in the poet-songwriter Nguyen Vinh Tien, who used a bamboo whip to write poetry and music, so that the final image, "My father threw the bamboo whip into the sky," makes people want to cry... Bamboo stretches itself to form a rickety bridge over streams and ravines. Bamboo bends its back to make the carrying poles for the hardworking. Bamboo flutters its thin leaves to make the poles to ward off evil spirits. Bamboo leans to support gourd and pumpkin vines climbing to bear flowers and fruit. Bamboo intertwines, swaying and singing, creating shade, ramparts, and fortifications...

I fondly recall my childhood days, when I and the other children in the village would compete to pick bamboo leaves and float them down the pond to make boats. Our tiny green boats gently moved with the current, accompanied by giggles and joyful shouts. At night, we children would often go catching fireflies under the bamboo groves. Strangely, even in the darkness, I could still see the bamboo's vibrant green color, only it was a darker shade. And for us back then, the flickering fireflies, the mysterious murmur of the bamboo stalks in the wind, the dark, silent bamboo groves... became stories of our childhood. My father was a soldier, far from home. Every time my grandmother heard the call of a cuckoo in the bamboo grove in the evening before our house, she would go out and look, "Your father must be coming home soon." And every time I missed my father, I would go to that bamboo grove and secretly hope that the magpie would call out: "Oh, magpie, magpie, where are you in the rustling leaves? Please utter your prophecy that my father is about to return." When I grew up and ventured far from home, the bamboo grove at the edge of the village became the first landmark, the distant signal I saw in the joyful anticipation of his return.

Bamboo is so deeply connected, sharing, and selfless that it's impossible to count all that it has given to humanity. Nor can we fully express the gratitude we feel towards bamboo. We've come to regard it as a symbol of our character and qualities. Many have even suggested choosing the bamboo flower as our national flower. Loyal, diligent, resilient, courageous... but what sets bamboo apart, what makes bamboo groves so special, is that they never stand alone. Bamboo relies on each other, enduring rain and sun: "Those who love each other never stand alone." The unity of bamboo in fighting against natural disasters and invaders is incredibly touching the more you contemplate it. Bamboo has no place for arrogance or individual "I," but rather for cohesion, strength, and unity of purpose.

It's no coincidence that since ancient times, bamboo has been a part of folk songs and ancient tales. No Vietnamese person is unfamiliar with the story of "The Hundred-Jointed Bamboo Tree," about the poor farmer who was given a magic spell by Buddha that made a hundred bamboo joints stick together; the story of the three-year-old boy Saint Gióng who suddenly grew up and used bamboo to fight the An invaders; the story of "Little Sister in the Bamboo Tube," about the tiny girl who fit inside a bamboo tube... Many also know the love songs sung under the shade of bamboo: "The moon's shadow falls on the bamboo's shadow / My love, stop and listen to my vow..." So romantic, so loving, yet sometimes bamboo can stir up hatred: "Sisters, the wind sways the bamboo branches / Let's go to the old bamboo tree to sharpen stakes / The moon rises, illuminating the whole field / At midnight, the villagers sharpen stakes to avenge their grievances." And it is from bamboo that flutes, stringed instruments, and zithers have given rise to the enchanting sounds of the heart.

I am a son of the North, living far from home. I thought I would forever live in nostalgia for a corner of my old village. But then, the refreshing green of the bamboo groves in Nghe An warmed my heart. I suddenly understood that I was truly living far from home in my own homeland, where everywhere I looked, I was Vietnamese, with a Vietnamese spirit. The green of the bamboo made me feel like I was myself again, in the old days, floating leaf boats on the small canals with the other children, chasing fireflies regardless of the mysterious rustling of the bamboo groves in the dark night. I was the child I once was, obediently resting my head on my grandmother's lap under the bamboo grove, enjoying the cool breeze from the bamboo fan—the last memento I remember of my grandfather. I was once again the ambitious person, eager to leave with great ambitions, yearning to burn like fire, to bloom like bamboo flowers, waiting a hundred years to burst into golden bloom just once in my life, regardless of the subsequent decay.

I have come to love the folk songs where the shadow of bamboo, though fleeting, is deeply imbued with the soul of the villages of Nghe An. I love the villages, where the joy of weaving baskets, mats, and incense sticks still resonates, with skilled artisans who have been doing so for hundreds of years. Like many other rural areas in Vietnam, the rattan and bamboo weaving craft has flourished in many villages of Nghe An. With its abundant natural resources, Nghe An has developed large rattan and bamboo weaving villages, supplying products made from rattan and bamboo to provinces and cities nationwide and for export abroad. I also met people from Bao Hau (Quynh Hau, Quynh Luu), who proudly told me about their artisan Nguyen Van Quan, who nearly a hundred years ago not only established a theatrical troupe but also invented a bicycle made of wood and bamboo that astonished the French officials.

Traveling to the Mekong Delta, I encountered vast fields of bamboo, each steeped in legends. The Dan Lai people in Con Cuong told me a sad story of their entire ethnic group, connected to the legend of 100 golden bamboo stalks and a boat with a single oar. The Thai people of Quy Hop told me the tearful love story of Tao and the girl from Na Pe village. The heartbroken young man, grieving the loss of his beloved, planted his bamboo flute in the ground and wept incessantly until his tears formed a puddle of mud, and the bamboo flute sprouted and grew into a clump of bamboo. Because Tao planted the flute, the bamboo clump has nodes growing upside down.

One of the stories that has been passed down also relates to the bamboo that grows upside down in western Nghe An province, connected to Ly Nhat Quang's campaign to suppress the Lao rebels. After defeating the Lao army and restoring peace, Ly Nhat Quang led his troops back. When they reached Khe Che, south of Thanh Nam (formerly Tuong Duong district, now Con Cuong district), the local people came out to welcome them and congratulate them on their victory. Moved by the sincerity and thoughtful welcome of the people, Ly Nhat Quang and his soldiers stopped to chat and celebrate their victory with the locals. During that celebration, he took a long puff from his pipe and then put it down on the ground. Unexpectedly, the pipe was an inverted piece of bamboo. Afterward, a bamboo plant sprouted from the pipe, also with its tip bent downwards, before finally growing straight up towards the sky.

Artisan Luong Van Thoai, from Khun Tinh village, told me about the bamboo-tube rice, a cherished part of the Thai people's lives, originating from their impoverished, nomadic lifestyle in the past. Now, bamboo-tube rice has become a specialty in the city. For the Thai people, bamboo-tube rice is never forgotten for important occasions, such as proposing marriage, wedding ceremonies, religious rituals, funerals, and even major festivals like Xen Ban, Xen Muong, Ky Xa, and Xang Khan... He also recounted his gratitude for the bamboo-tube rice wine vessel in front of his house. His grandfather used his skill in making these vessels to support his father's education, and when he went to university, his father relied on those same vessels to support him through his university years.

I am overjoyed and proud to hear that Vietnam's bamboo house project has won the AR House Awards, a prestigious international architecture award organized by the long-standing British architecture magazine Architectural Review. These bamboo houses are designed in a very modern and beautiful way, while still retaining the rustic, natural look of the materials, which are entirely sourced from nature. The bamboo structures created by Vietnamese architects have earned international admiration not only for their beauty and environmental friendliness but also for their aim to address housing difficulties caused by natural disasters and floods in an era of increasingly harsh climate change. Looking at these spacious and magnificent bamboo houses, featured in many famous international magazines, I can't help but feel emotional thinking about my village, the place where I, like so many other Vietnamese people, originated. Many people turn back to admire the blue sky and the rustling green bamboo groves in the distance. I am still myself, someone who, no matter where I go in the world, will never forget my homeland, my very soul...

Thuy Vinh