Farewell to poet Lam Thi My Da: 'Please share so that your feet may rest in peace'

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 possible opportunity to meet our idols, even though at that time the concept of idols was not like it is now.

Our idols still dressed casually, went to work, went to the market, and also hustled around during that subsidy period.

At that time, she was famous for “The Sky of Bomb Craters”. 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 left.

Later, I learned that she dropped out of the exam here to go to Nguyen Du University to study writing. At that time, they recruited only 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, talked with her and her husband Hoang Phu Ngoc Tuong, when I returned to Hue, 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 before 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 onions. 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 onions 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 a small bowl for each person, and 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, 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 was extremely enjoyable, because it contained 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 brush so many teeth." That day, he talked about exile, 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 longing for their homeland, the Palestinians and the people of... Hue!

Then Mr. Tuong had a stroke. Ms. Da has been taking care of him for 25 years now. Not just the usual care. She also took notes for him. Unable to write, he dictated for her to take notes. Many of his works were written by her.

Then she got Alzheimer's.

I remember one year, I went to Hanoi to attend the year-end meeting of the Writers' Association. I met Ms. Da, and I was so happy that I rushed over to greet her and hug her. But strangely, she was still absent-minded. At that time, I just knew 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 hardly remembered 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 used to refer to things that are beyond normal). There are many anecdotes about her, but this one is most true of her: Going with a tour group abroad, especially to China, into shops, listening to the staff's introductions, everyone turned away, but she stayed behind to buy things for them. Although many people told her not to buy, she said, it would be a pity for them to waste their time introducing them and not buying. When she returned, her goods were the most numerous even though she was not 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 the goods. 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 his death. And the Facebook pages of writers and poets also reported it. As I said, he was so kind that no one could resist. He was kind to the point of being naive, to the point of being clumsy, kind to people who were... not kind.

Her poems anchor us, the readers, with 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 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 my friend can walk lightly...”.

Writing like that, but meeting you, always feel your gentleness and kindness, always see your 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 back to her:Please share with your friends to help them have a better trip"...

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 suffering from Alzheimer's disease.

The poet's funeral begins at 3:00 p.m. on July 6; the farewell ceremony takes 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..