Farewell to poet Lam Thi My Da: 'Please share so that you can rest easy'

In Hue, when I was in college, still in Binh Tri Thien, there were two very famous female poets, both from Quang Binh, Le Thi May and Lam Thi My Da.

We, literature students, took advantage of every opportunity to meet our idols, even though at that time the concept of idols was not what it is today.

Our idols still dressed casually, went to work, went to the market, and also had to hustle and bustle during that subsidy period.

At that time, she was famous for “Khoong troi bom”. Anyone who loves poetry and studies Vietnamese literature knows this poem. So how exciting was it to meet the author in person?

One day, before the entrance exam for the part-time university literature class, I passed by my classroom which would be the exam location, and saw a list of candidates posted. I read it, and could not believe my eyes, there was the name Lam Thi My Da. Some of my classmates were chosen to be hallway monitors or security guards for this exam, and I envied their luck.

The next day, I just hung around there to watch my idol compete, but she only competed in the first session and then stopped.

Later, I learned that she dropped out of the exam here to study writing at Nguyen Du University. At that time, the recruitment was for great writers who were already famous. Going to school was an excuse to nurture her emotions and get a degree to serve her job placement.

I officially met her and talked with her and her husband Hoang Phu Ngoc Tuong when I returned to Hue and poet Nguyen Trong Tao invited me: Come to Tuong's house - Let's drink!

During the whole drinking party that day, only Mr. Tuong talked. Mr. Tao dominated the discussion at every meeting, but in front of Mr. Tuong, he also... sat quietly.

Then I saw Ms. Da in another corner, the wife corner.

Neat, gentle, busy, even though there were only a few people in that meeting. She ran up and down, sometimes adding chili, sometimes fish sauce, or some pickled shallots. Hue was poor, the subsidy was even poorer, the writers were even poorer. Sitting together with a bottle of Chuon wine, Hieu wine and some pickled shallots was as happy as Tet. What's more, that day there was a pot of porridge, I don't remember what kind of porridge it was, Ms. Da carefully scooped each person a small bowl, but for mine she scooped a full bowl: Hung, eat, you've come all the way from the Central Highlands, it's not enough, eat, let him talk! After that meeting, she gave me the poetry collection "Breast Bell" by her daughter, at that time Lim was only 5 years old, real name Hoang Da Thi.

It is true that in Hue, every time there is Mr. Tuong, you will hear him talk. When I went to his house and met his mother, I asked where Mr. Tuong went, and she said: He went... to drink! But listening to Mr. Tuong talk is extremely enjoyable, because it contains a lot of knowledge. It can be said that Mr. Tuong's stomach is a treasure trove of knowledge. Surely Ms. Da also received energy and knowledge from Mr. Tuong.

Once at a friend's house, I personally made duck blood pudding. I made 5 thin plates of a duck with crossed wings. Mr. Tuong was very surprised: You are so talented, you can beat so many teeth. That day he talked about living abroad, that in the world there are 2 very strange ethnic groups, who do whatever they want, live wherever they want, but every year they still find a way to visit their homeland, always missing their homeland, they are the Palestinians and the people of... Hue!

Then Mr. Tuong had a stroke. Ms. Da has been taking care of him single-handedly for 25 years now. Not just the usual care. Because she also took notes for him. Unable to write, he dictated for her to take notes. Many of his works were born through her hands like that.

Then she got Alzheimer's.

I remember one year, I went to Hanoi to attend the year-end meeting of the Writers' Association. I was so happy to see Ms. Da that I rushed over to greet her and hug her. But strangely, she was just absent-minded. At that time, I just realized that some female writers in Ho Chi Minh City loved her and took her to the meeting in Hanoi so that she could meet her old friends as a member of the female writers' association. To be able to go, they had to assign tasks to each other very specifically and then promised her daughter that they would take her there and back safely.

Many people who met her were so sad, some cried. I was also very sad, tried to talk to her, reminded her of many things, but she almost didn't remember anything, I felt, in her mind at that time was a vast darkness, like a baby.

If I were to choose 5 most beloved Vietnamese female writers, she would definitely be there. And if I were to choose 2, I would also choose her. She lived a good life to the point of being... scary (Hue dialect for things that go beyond the normal). There are many anecdotes about her, but this one is the most true of her: Going with a tour group abroad, especially to China, into shops, listening to the staff's introduction, everyone turned away, but she stayed behind to buy things for them. Even though many people told her not to buy, she said, it's a pity that people took the trouble to introduce them but didn't buy. When she returned, her goods were the most, even though she wasn't rich, how could the poet couple be rich, even though Mr. Tuong also worked hard to write for newspapers. So the group had to share and help carry things. But this is worth mentioning: Most of the things bought back were unusable.

Mr. Tuong is now very sick. Luckily, he and his wife have a very filial daughter and son-in-law. They take good care of him and his wife. Today, most newspapers reported that she passed away. And the Facebook pages of writers and poets also reported it. As I said, she was so good that no one could resist. She was so good that she was naive, so clumsy, and even good to people who were not good.

Her poetry anchors in us, in the reader, gentleness and sincerity, tenderness and sweetness, sharing and forgiveness: "Women write poems with a hundred sufferings/ Look inside like sand, you can't see anything/ Look inside everything/ Soak it all in until it bursts/ Poetic emotions/ Sobbing like the fate of clouds and silk.../ Women write poems with a hundred sufferings/ Look inside like sand, you can't see anything/ What hidden corner can't the world understand/ Please share it with me so that you can walk lightly...”.

Writing like that, but meeting her, I always feel her gentleness and kindness, always see her warmth and sincerity...

Now she brings all that gentleness, warmth, kindness and sincerity with her. And the poem she wrote for her poet friend Nha Trang seems to come to her:Please share with your friends to help them have a better journey"...

Farewell to the talented poet Lam Thi My Da. I hope you walk gently towards that clear sky.

Poet Lam Thi My Da was born in 1949 in Quang Binh. She passed away in the early morning of July 6 at her home in Ho Chi Minh City after a period of Alzheimer's disease.

The poet's funeral begins at 3:00 p.m. on July 6; the farewell ceremony will take place at 7:30 a.m. on July 9. The coffin will lie in state at Samland apartment building (10th floor, room 5), 178/6 Nguyen Van Thuong, Ward 25, Binh Thanh District, Ho Chi Minh City..