Poet Hoang Vu Thuat: Thach Quy - Poetry is higher than all knowledge about poetry

Poet Thach Quy. Photo: Hai Vuong

I knew Thach Quy in the early 80s, then I often went to Vinh to visit him, and slept at his house. One time, the writers' association was meeting, I walked in, he did not hesitate to introduce me and suggested reading poetry. He said, please stop for a moment to listen to HVT, to understand a new poetic voice. I read and confided:“Nothing compares to the poetry of poet Thach Quy and the brothers and sisters here - reading is just to inspire each other. A simple Quang Nam person, writing in the splendid Nghe An land”…

He was like that, he was very enthusiastic when he understood someone, and he didn’t play with anyone who didn’t understand. He took me to poet Nguyen Thi Phuoc, writer Dam Quynh Ngoc, especially poet Ho Phi Phuc, and even to the hometown of poet Nguyen Trong Tao when his wife passed away… In my eyes and the eyes of the people of Central Vietnam, Thach Quy was very respected. When talking about Nghe An, we mention him. Once I expressed my opinion to my literary friends, he was a rare and precious phenomenon. Perhaps his straightforward, honest and heroic personality made him even more lonely:

I am alone

Staggering in the garden

Staggering between heaven and hell

(Night in the garden)

Thach Quy dedicated to me the Poetry Collection recorded in “Vinh, January 2018”, only later did I get it in my hands? Flipping through it, it turned out to be according to the Publishing Decision of October 3, 2018. That is the lovely absent-mindedness of a noble soul, indifferent to matters related to time.

In addition to the introduction “The character of the Central people through Thach Quy’s poetry” by writer Mai Van Hoan, “Poet Thach Quy talks about poetry and life” interviewed by journalist Pham Thuy Vinh (Nghe An Newspaper), “Marginal notes” (probably by the author) and the end of the collection “Poetry - A means of assimilating people with life” (Thach Quy); the rest are Poetry through each period and children’s poetry. I know Thach Quy wrote much more than that, but the Collection is only modest at 415 pages.

Poetry Collection of Thach Quy.

He wrote:“Poetry is higher than all knowledge of poetry.”Perhaps that is why, after more than 200 years, readers and critics have not yet discovered all the goodness, beauty, and quintessence of the Tale of Kieu. He wrote again, “A great writer is both visible and invisible. They differ in their aesthetic sense, in their encyclopedia of living details, in their sensitivity to the magical levels of language.” It is very reasonable, because from that concept, Thach Quy’s works create a philosophical picture, a very unique sense of life for himself. He advised his children from very practical, close things, not far-fetched and illusory:

My child, the earth is round.

The bright moon is as round as a honey disk.

All of that is true.

But the round rice paper, that's more real!

(With children)

While people were intoxicated with praise for the beauty of the surface, rushing into current affairs, presenting many general things, Thach Quy had the courage to go into the essence of things and phenomena. That was his spirit - a person with eyes and ears in heaven and earth. The poem at that time was dissected and criticized in the media and even in the provincial literary forum. Thach Quy kept silent because he thought of "things outside literature". When people use literature to do something, jealousy and envy often occur. No one understands Thach Quy like he understands himself:

I am full, I am tense, I am strong

I am higher than all the rocks and soil

I am not a blueprint

I am higher than robots, gods

(I)

Many times listening to him read the poem “The Deaf Old Man”, I understood very well but had to keep silent. Oh my homeland, my country is no different from a train running back and forth, the same station, the same people. And“Train ticket seller, just sell”… let the people who get on the train just get on. Where will this vicious circle go, where will it end? So many questions swirl around me, until tears come to my eyes. In the past, poet Cu Huy Can wrote:“A big question never answered/ Until now the face is still frowning”.

I cannot express all my feelings when I held his Anthology in my hands, even though it had passed through many hands, after nearly 10 months.

Understanding a poet is not easy. Each poet carries within him the mark of his homeland. That mark is his personality, his ego and his individual soul, unlike anyone else. A Thach Quy is trustworthy and courageous in the midst of a turbulent, turbulent life:

Amidst the forest of deceitful and fake books

Hard to find a leaf

Of truth

More than three billion people read the Bible and nearly one billion people read Buddhist scriptures.

Earth

Maybe so

But not exploded yet?

My room is messy and cluttered.

Red book, green book, yellow book, white book

Termites gnaw inside

Spider web outside

Maybe the mice have also come back to nest.

In the pile of books there is a not small part

Lying there as if waiting for the fire

Of Qin Shi Huang to reincarnate tomorrow...

(Book)

The philosophy in his poems depicts him, whether he is on earth or has entered the white clouds. My daughter - writer Hoang Thuy Anh called me early in the morning, Uncle Thach Quy has passed away, Dad. I sat there in a daze for a while.

Not long ago, I learned about his serious illness through poet Luong Khac Thanh. Calling him while he was still in the hospital, his calm and clear voice made me feel less sad. “I’m fine, I’ll be home soon.” He really did come home, still with that same trusting and loving voice. Occasionally I called to check on him. I thought, maybe the hospital’s diagnosis was vague.

But creation quickly took away the things I still doubted. Was he really gone?“Oh baby! I'm tired/ Tired, I can't be more tired!”(The song of fatigue). The human body must eventually stop. But Thach Quy's spirit and strength are still there, strong and determined to move forward with poetry.

Thach Quy left behind a rich legacy of poetry, but remembering him, I remember three typical poems:

WITH CHILDREN

My child, waking up in the middle of a normal day

Listen to the birds singing, don't listen too absorbedly.

Across the dirt road to the gravel road

Dad, I'm afraid you're late for class.

My child, Snow White in my dream

Can not love children instead of mother

So, if your button breaks

Then tell me so I can sew it for you.

And my child, up there is the Milky Way

Maybe I will get there.

But tonight I need to study.

Four addition and subtraction operations or read a page of poetry

My child, if the teacher teaches you

There is a seven-colored light in the light

Then my child, please stir up the light.

Turn up the wick of the lamp.

My child, the earth is round.

The bright moon is as round as a honey disk.

It's all true

But the round rice paper, that is more real.

Mother sings the song of the rice plant to lull her child to sleep

Father plows the land to make rice grains

The soldier sitting on the artillery tray

The worker with the hammer and fan

So the father's advice

It's not necessarily the right thing.

Dad hopes you grow up honest

Love everyone as I have loved you.

(1979)

DEAF OLD MAN

The train stopped at the last station.

The old man did not get off the train.

Back at the first station, the train stopped.

The old man did not get off the train.

The train driver asked the old man where he was going?

The old man asked where the ship was going?

Terminal, terminal

Terminal

The old man was talking nonsense.

Train ticket seller, just sell?

Running to the last station, the train turned back.

Run back to the first station, back to the train

The train driver asked no more questions.

That the old man was deaf

Where to go?

And

Where to?...

BOOK

I read "One Hundred Years of Solitude" by Marx

I see he is very elegant and experienced.

Marx reads and talks about the Bible:

- If the Bible has an author

Then the author is on par with the creator!

Amidst the forest of deceitful and fake books

Hard to find a leaf

Of truth

More than three billion people read the Bible and nearly one billion people read Buddhist scriptures.

Earth

Maybe so

But not exploded yet?

My room is messy and cluttered.

Red book, green book, yellow book, white book

Termites gnaw inside

Spider web outside

Maybe the mice have also come back to nest.

In the pile of books there is a not small part

Lying there as if waiting for the fire

Of Qin Shi Huang to reincarnate tomorrow...

Dong Hoi, December 10, 2022