(GLO)- I have read Tran Hong Giang for a long time, online and in newspapers. Knowing that he is an IT expert, whenever I need something online, I call him, even in the middle of the night. Then I learned that he is very good at English. And it was not until we became close, still online, that I learned about his difficult situation. An illness when he was young that forced him to be confined to a bed and wheelchair.
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His world is a bed and a wheelchair, he sees life through... the internet. His poems, his stories, his Facebook statuses are all filled with optimism and humor.
He had never been to the Central Highlands, but he wrote about the Central Highlands like this: “Here we are, the height of the plateau is intoxicating/Familiar eyes, bright smiles/The universe rotates, objects move and stars change/Ambition forms the figure of my friend”. Lying in bed, he studied computer science, English and communicated with the whole... world. Currently, he works as a web designer and administrator to support himself. He has dozens of books of both poetry and novels. Even ordinary people, surely not everyone can live and work like him.
Tran Hong Giang currently lives in Nam Dinh and is a member of the Vietnam Writers Association.
Poet Van Cong Hung selected and introduced.
SILK SILKWORM LIFE
The silkworm's body writhes all its life
Straining to spin silk
The heart is constantly restless
Never tired!
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Illustration: HT |
Few people understand
About silent offerings
Has anyone ever shared?
The life of a silkworm is difficult for many years.
Just an illusion
Ephemeral in the human world
Heaven is not compassionate
Give silkworms a paradise!
Sometimes silkworms cry
Regret so many foolish offerings
But the silkworm still pulled out its intestines.
Because life is still lacking silk thread!
APRIL MOON
April comes across the village fields
The thin moon streaks across the sky
Who goes through the missed times
Have heard the heart ache so many sour words.
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Illustration: HT |
Cuoi sat sadly leaning against the banyan tree
Try to forget the mistakes of the past
Love is like red silk and peach thread
Hatred of each other, hands spread out.
The moon and time passing
Just me and my friends in silence
Clouds gathered towards the river bank
See the first storms of the season.
Who is who of the past?
Forget the old mark for the moon's abundance
April is a full moon day
The field retains a hundred years of sadness…
MEMORIES OF THE OLD VILLAGE
Will forever be my memories
The old village is a glimpse of a poetic land
January and February festivals, harvest season
The mud dyes the shirt browner…
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Illustration: Huyen Trang |
The village now has no trace of buffalo hooves.
Sparse bamboo rows sway the hammock at noon
The lonely storks fly in the afternoon sky
The distant years make my steps return with a shudder!
The village is now half urban and half rural.
Brown shirt in the past, red and blue dress now
When boys and girls get married, the custom of betel and areca nuts gradually disappears.
Village festival night without singing love songs!
Our village, do you remember?
We were together through the hard times
Warm love of the countryside, nostalgic old village
Mossy memories but not easily faded!
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