Poetry Face: Tran Chan Uy | Gia Lai Electronic Newspaper

(GLO)- Poet Tran Chan Uy is residing in Nha Trang. He was formerly a literature teacher at the Pedagogical College, then transferred to work at Khanh Hoa Radio and Television Station. But above all, he is a poet, a poet passionate about poetry, considering poetry as breath, as a source of life.

His Facebook is full of poems, each poem is accompanied by a photo of the author. The photos are neat, elegant, and full of reason, but the poems are lyrical, full of nostalgia from the homeland, mother to the fleeting beauties. This is the homeland: "The guava season has come, the xuyến chi flowers are pure white/The grass is wild, the brick walls are covered with green moss/The guava scent wafts a clean fragrance/I am alone, my mother's garden is cold with the afternoon dew". And this is my mother: "My mother is a white cloud at the end of the sky/My homeland is a vast and distant mist". And you: "In the digital age, there are too many strange viruses/The computer has deleted the files of memories and love/I come back to search in my heart for a time of mistakes/I see your image still anchored in my heart".

He is the Chairman of the Vietnam Writers Association in Khanh Hoa province.

Poet Van Cong Hung selected and introduced.

Lotus

Illustration: TN

Early summer lotus fire

The rose buds are glimmering

Late summer flowers have wilted

A hint of strong fragrance.

I've been waiting for you since late summer.

I come back with the autumn

Golden Virgin Shirt with Leaf Eyes

What else do you give me?

LISTEN TO THE CHICKEN CHEEKING AT NOON, I MISS MOM

Illustration: Huyen Trang

Long time heard the sound of chickens at noon

Startled, I thought I was not far from home.

Thought I was still in my father's hometown

Peaceful afternoon nap, straw house.

My mother lit the fire to cook rice.

The wind shakes the bamboo banks, the smoke smells of the fields.

The stork carries the cold across the river

My mother lit the stove and sat waiting for me to come home.

Afternoon nap with lingering hometown spirit

My mother is looming on the dike at the end of the village.

A startled afternoon nap

Startled, thought the ferry was crossing the river in the afternoon.

Mother comes back from loneliness

The wind rustles the fields, the sunset is desolate.

We are far from the shore and the sandbank

Half a life of ups and downs, foolish and wise in a foreign land.

My mother is the white cloud at the end of the sky

The misty homeland is far away.

NIGHT IN THE VILLAGE

Illustration: HT

The feet of the day have just reached the shore

The night hand has closed an embrace

Sleep has not yet come

Outside the window the evening star twinkles.

The heron tiptoes in the cold dew at night

The fish bites the young moon and falls from the duckweed pond.

The timid bird suddenly flaps its wings at night

The crane suddenly startled and looked over.

Far from the rice fields, the rice is still full of milk.

Promise of golden rice fields

Deserted beach, will-o'-the-wisp just lit a fire

The crab took off its shell and flirted with the moon.

Waves breathe, river flows, boat sleeps

The wind blows wildly, the gong sounds to keep watch

Who brings nostalgia to the old neighborhood

The scent of grapefruit blossoming at night lingers.

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