Farewell, Brother Nguyen Thuy Kha!

I was fortunate enough to have known him for quite a long time, back in around 1985-1986, when he came to Pleiku and I was the one who went to the airport to pick him up. And, to be fair, it was thanks to picking him up that I first learned about this airport, even though I had heard of it before.

Of course, I was cautious around him.

He asked me what I did for a living, and I said, "I'm... an official." He asked if I wrote poetry. "Yes," I replied, "read one for me." I stammered as I read, and he leaned in to listen. Then he said, "Keep it up, young man."

Then he described how the AN-24 plane rotated before landing, how strong the wind in Pleiku was, and what the nausea felt like. Back then, the AN-24 was a Soviet plane, I think, and the seats were arranged along the length of the plane like... a motorbike taxi. And he talked about his time as a communications soldier, about where he had laid wires.

Then in the afternoon, he came up to my room again (he was staying at the Department of Culture's guesthouse, my office was right next door) and said, "Listen to my song, I just finished writing it." And he sang, his neck veins bulging, the song "Flights of Peace." I greatly admired him for the idea, the theme of the poem, that for a long time, Cu Hanh airport was a war airport, serving only bomb-carrying flights, but now it doesn't carry bombs, it carries passengers, it carries poets, flights of peace: "Flights to the Central Highlands, flights of peace / Flights to Pleiku, flights without bombs"...

Later, I became close to him. His group consisted of three people: him, the poet and musician Nguyen Trong Tao, and the poet Nguyen Hoa.

Once, I was sitting with all three of them at Mr. Nguyen Trong Tao's house, on the 6th floor, the highest floor of the Phuong Mai apartment complex, I think. Afterward, I exclaimed: "I don't understand how Mr. Nguyen Hoa is so close to Mr. Kha and Mr. Tao." The other two drank like madmen, talked like storms, recited poetry, and sang like waterfalls, but Mr. Nguyen Hoa didn't drink, didn't talk, didn't even recite poetry; he just sat and listened. And even if the other two pressured him to recite poetry, Mr. Nguyen Hoa would only read very short poems, short but enough to silence the whole table. Like the time I heard the poet Nguyen Hoa recite: "You are the salt / preserving the pain / keeping it fresh forever." Both Mr. Kha and Mr. Tao exclaimed: "That's wonderful!"

There are many anecdotes about the friendship between these talented men, especially Kha and Tạo, the funniest and most humorous of which is: "Brother Hai said to Brother Ba / Literature and art would be sad without Tạo and Kha." Actually, when reading, you can replace Brother Hai's name depending on the specific context.

In Nghe An province, besides being very close to the poet and musician Nguyen Trong Tao, Kha was also very close to the poet Hoang Tran Cuong. I remember once Kha called me to brag about setting Cuong's epic poem "Sediment" to music. I honestly said I really liked and admired Hoang Tran Cuong's epic poem, but I didn't really believe he could set it to music as a song, a symphony, a choral piece, or anything else. So Kha sang it, and I was even more disappointed because, firstly, he didn't sing well, but at least... he got the music right. Secondly, he sang a cappella, over the phone, back when landline phones had tangled wires and you could clearly hear the rustling of the wind. But later, somehow, Kha sent me a CD of his choral recording, produced by the Vietnam Radio Orchestra.

I absolutely love it, it's fantastic. And my desktop computer at work automatically plays that song every time I start it up. It's the song "Central Vietnam." The most enchanting verses by Hoang Tran Cuong in the "Central Vietnam" section were all retained by the composer, yet they remain soft and smooth.

The last time I saw Mr. Kha was around April 2024 in Ho Chi Minh City at a conference. I remember him messaging me: "Quit the party you invited me to, come with me." It turns out this guy is just as familiar with Saigon as he is with Hanoi. In Hanoi, Nguyen Thuy Kha has his own "cafe corners."

Also at the beginning of last year, after attending the Nghe An Newspaper's collaborators' conference in Vinh, I went to Hanoi to fly back to Pleiku. Late at night, the phone rang. The screen showed Nguyen Thuy Kha's name. I answered, and he said: "Knowing you just arrived in Hanoi, I took a taxi over here to have a few drinks with you, and then I'll give you a brand new book." To be honest, I was very tired, but I still had to take a taxi there. He was sitting there, at the bar with the Nguyen Thuy Kha drinking umbrella. After you finish, leave it there, and come back for another drink the next day...

If you had to name a dozen people in Vietnam who are truly effective in journalism, literature, and even music, Nguyen Thuy Kha would definitely be on the list. He writes entirely by hand, and whenever you meet him, he always seems... tipsy, but then he writes. And not only does he write, he publishes orally as well, a remarkable feat. Despite his age, his memory is still excellent; he remembers every event and every person perfectly, even the most difficult details like dates and related events...

He also cared for his younger colleagues. A while ago, knowing I was in Hanoi, he called and said, "Come to 1B Chan Cam for lunch today, it's the right season for sea worms." I went, of course with Nguyen Trong Tao and a few others, and I, truly, had never eaten such a delicious sea worm meal before. Occasionally, some of his younger colleagues would appear, order a few dishes, pay, and leave first. Mr. Tao, Mr. Kha, and I sat there until the afternoon.

Journalist and poet Tran Nhat Minh, head of VOV6, one of his juniors, along with poet Thai Chi Thanh, also a junior of his, who always indulged him in every way, messaged me more than a month ago: "Mr. Kha is very tired, try to visit him, if he's feeling better, have a few drinks with him."

But before I could leave, Mr. Nguyen Thuy Kha passed away.

Many people mourn and regret his passing; even at 77, he's no longer young, but it's still a great loss.

As a poet, Nguyen Thuy Kha's poems have been set to music by many composers, among which I particularly like his poem "Evening Without You," set to music by composer Phu Quang. As a composer, he has also set many other people's poems to music. He is also an author of books on music, both research and criticism, such as: Van Cao - The Man Who Walked Along the Sea, Half a Century of Vietnamese Modern Music, Faces of Music of the Century, Nguyen Thien Dao - The Musician Who Was Cursed by Fate, Huy Du - Life and Music…

An afternoon without you - a poem by Nguyen Thuy Kha.

He also wrote short stories, but perhaps his other works are more well-known, so fewer people are aware of them.

But above all, he was a... player. Vietnam has several writers and poets who are known as... players, like Hoang Phu Ngoc Tuong, Nguyen Trong Tao, and Nguyen Thuy Kha. They played to the fullest, but also worked to the fullest. Just look at the number of their works and projects to know that.

This afternoon, I was having coffee with some friends, and one of them spontaneously recited: "Taking my lover to my ex's house / In the midday rain / I feel my soul split in two / One half wet now, the other wet from the past..."

Farewell, Mr. Kha, musician and poet Nguyen Thuy Kha. Down there, poet and musician Nguyen Trong Tao, your very close friend, has prepared a feast waiting for you, I guess.

Van Cong Hung