These poems are from a beautiful book called Ca Dao Vietnam, edited and translated by John Balaban (Unicorn Press). Ca dao, Balaban explains, are “short lyric poems, passed down by word of mouth and sung without instrumental accompaniment by ordinary individuals.” They resonate with all the power and poignancy of a thousand-year-old culture, unknown to most Americans except as a place where we fought, and lost, a war.
The longer poem is by Alan Brilliant, the founder of Unicorn Press. The first time I read it, I liked it but was confused; I asked Alan if he was the author or whether the poem had been written by a Vietnamese girl. He wrote back, “Messages is a new kind of poem, sort of poem as short story or, rather, short story in form of poetry. I call these poem/stories ‘story poems.’
“Messages tells us as much about Giang as a 12-page short story would, don’t you think? In any case, it is fictional. There is no ‘real’ Giang Luong Brown; thank you for thinking there was!”
— Ed.
Vietnamese Folk Poetry
The Colonial Troops Transport The troop ship whistles once; I still waver. Whistles twice, and I step down into the boat. Three times, and the transport pushes north. I grip the iron rail as tears stream forth, and ask the helmsman for a rag for my tears. Now the husband is North; the wife, South. Tao Sad, I blame Mister Sky. When sad, I laugh. Happy, I cry. Not a man, in my next life I’ll become a rustling pine on a cliff in the sky. Fly with the pines, cool and lonely. Testing The Confucian Deal She: King. Father. Mother. Husband. Wife. Sat down in one boat; met a storm and sank. Dearest, I want to know whom you would save? He: Standing before Heaven, I cannot lie. I would carry my King on my head, father and mother on my shoulders. And say to you, dear wife, “Swim here; I will carry you on my back and with my hands save the boat.” The Homesick Bride The wind sighs through the Flame tree. So far from my parents, I sometimes can’t eat: My hunger dulled by private grief. I take up my bowl, and I put it back down. The King Star The King Star trails nine lesser stars. I loved you since your mother gave you birth. The King Star trails nine opposing stars. I loved you since your mother carried you. The King Star trails nine stars side by side. I loved you since your mother met your father. © Copyright 1974, 1978, 1980 by John Balaban Published by Unicorn Press, Inc. P.O. Box 3307, Greensboro, N.C. 27402
Story Poem
Messages by Giang Luong Brown I am an orphan, a Vietnamese refugee, one of many newcomers to your shore. I still live in the South Land, but in another continent, with another family. They treat me well. I am 16. Here are my “message” poems. 1. Look at my footprints in the snow, they lead in and out of the house. I went to the telephone, to the radio, to the garden past the bird-feeder, out to the road to my upstairs window looking for you 2. Until recently I thought: Americans like things complicated. How much easier it would have been, I kept thinking like a child, to give back my mother and father my sister and brothers and take away the long trip new friends a new way of dressing the many operations new ideas, new thoughts 3. When they first came, I was a child. By the time they left, I was very old. 4. Mother, I hate you! You said we could go home then stopped four times to greet one more friend. 5. Last night I dreamed I was home! But when I awoke I was here 6. The professor from the university says at dinner this evening that, by the time they are ten, children of Vietnam know 1,000 ca dao. By the time I was ten I know many things I know so much my head is bursting. But I do not know any of the folk songs our distinguished guest is talking about. 7. Americans are so funny! To know hunger, you talk about it. To experience poverty, you read a book. Love — films. Food — eat out. Even the Shrine is a machine in the living room. 8. They say, “Giang Luong, what do you want to do when you get older?” I only shake my head and giggle nervously: hiding my face so they don’t look into my eyes — Alan Brilliant
