A bilingual blog containing the perspective of Ng.Uyên (Wyndi) Nicole NN Duong (Nhu-Nguyen)
vung troi tu tuong cua Duong Nhu-Nguyen dien ta bang song ngu Anh-Viet
“Mommy, help me,” 9-year-old Shalom Guifarro begged as she lay dying in her family’s Brooklyn apartment, after enduring hours of abuse — allegedly at the hands of the same person the child wished would save her.
The heartbreaking details of the little girl’s final hours were detailed by prosecutors at her mother Shemene Cato’s arraignment in Brooklyn Criminal Court Tuesday, where she was ordered held without bail.
Cato, 48, is charged with murder, manslaughter, assault and other crimes in her youngest daughter’s death over a missing tablet Sunday morning.
Little Shalom was hiding from her infuriated mother, who spent two hours walloping her and her 13-year-old sister with an extension cord and bashing them with a broom inside their Lincoln Place apartment, prosecutors said.
But the spot Shalom sought as a safe haven from her maniacal mother turned out to be the opposite.
“The defendant lifted up the bed, attempting to pull the child out from underneath,” said Assistant District Attorney David Ingle in court. “The bed dropped on Shalom... The bed fell onto her head.”
After Cato dropped the bed on her daughter, the child was still, prosecutors said.
“Shalom could not stand up, was non-responsive and kept saying, ‘Mommy, help me,’” said Ingle.
Finally, around 1 p.m. Shalom’s older sister called police.
Shalom suffered multiple blunt force injuries to her head and body, and bled to death internally, the city Medical Examiners Office said.
Cato shuffled into court Tuesday in pajama bottoms and pink flip flops and remained silent, fidgeting with her hands cuffed behind her back. The accused monster mom showed little emotion other than hanging her head low throughout the proceedings.
The killing shocked members of the Crown Heights community, who regularly saw Cato and her two daughters out and about.
Rev. Pedro Torres, who runs No Longer Bound Ministries just around the corner from the apartment, said he saw them almost every day and never noticed anything out of the ordinary.
“She [Cato] was regular. She would have a conversation, we would talk,” Torres said, recalling that she asked him how she could improve her credit.
“Everybody says she was always verbally abusive with the child. I never saw that. I always saw her with the child like a mom, taking care of her kids,” Torres said.
He remembers a playful, happy, Shalom running around — a child he once gifted with a doll on Christmas.
“She really had no worries in the world. Always smiling and funny,” he said. “I remember the time when I gave her the doll. The next day she saw me and she gave me a hug. She was very appreciative,” he said.
Lan dau tien post bai tho "VE" tren FB: 2017. Bai tho toi lam nhan ngay sinh nhat toi, nam 2013. Xin khang dinh lai: day khong phai la bai tho "ho.a" tho Chu To Thuy Yen, ma la bai tho cung chung mot chu? de "VE" trong do toi co trich dan vai cau tho cua chu TThY trong ngoac kep de vinh danh "Tribute" con duong tien phong cua chu trong chu de "VE." Co the noi la "cam tac."
Bai tho sau day (lay cam hung tu To Thuy Yen) da duoc post o Que Huong Ngay Mai, muc Co^'c Tho, theo loi yeu cau cua doc gia, voi su ho^~ tro. cua co^ Nhu-Thuong:
VỀ...[CÙNG VỚI DÒNG THƠ TÔ THÙY YÊN]
Dương Như Nguyện
Copyright 2013
Lời chú thích: Tôi cho rằng bài thơ TA VỀ của Tô Thùy Yên giống như một bài trường ca không phân đọan và là một trong những bài thơ ngậm ngùi nhất của thi ca VN hậu bán thế kỷ 20, giai đọan sầu khổ của lịch sử VN cận đại và hiện đại. Toi cho rang Tô Thùy Yên làm bai thơ nay với tư tưởng của một người trí thức mang số kiếp của tù nhân và nạn nhân, sau một cuộc đổi đời, trong gông cùm lịch sử và xiềng xích của chính thân phận con người.
Để tặng chính mình - cho ngày sinh nhật, tôi làm bài thơ dưới đây, khởi đầu bằng ý thơ của TA VỀ, "người về với sợi tơ trời … mười năm…", rồi đem vào vài câu của ông (trong ngoặc kép, chữ nghiêng italics) cũng như vài hình ảnh trong thơ ông, để diễn tả một số hình ảnh, tình cảm và âm điệu khác đến từ tâm khảm của riêng tôi. Nói là "họa" thì không hẳn đúng. Nói là "khai triển,” "chuyển tiếp” hay thay đổi cung điệu (giống như nhạc sĩ đổi cung đàn (modulation) thì đúng hơn. Tôi xin cám ơn thi sĩ Tô Thùy Yên và xin lỗi đã không nói trước với ông, vì toi làm thơ hòan tòan tùy thuộc vào cảm hứng. Chắc ông, trong tâm trạng của người trí thức ngậm ngùi, sẽ không trách mà cũng không hòan tòan thất vọng … Mà trái lại, mong ông sẽ vui trong sự thông cảm của nguồn sáng tạo...
Toi theo duo^?i L'Art Brut, tuc la chong pha khuon thuoc, nhung trong tho, nhat la tho VN, va^`n die^.u doi voi toi rat quan trong, phai rat tu nhien nhu note nhac tuon ra tu tam kham, khong phai go` bo'. Va sau do la tu tuong va hinh a?nh. Du`ng di vao sa'o ngu~. Day la mot bai tho dai, co 3 doan. Neu va^`n die^.u khong chi?nh thi doc rat met va rat chuo'ng tai. Xin quy vi doc ba`i tho nay trong ngon ngu van dieu cua tieng Viet...Nhac ti'nh trong tho phai giu~ vi tieng Viet la "tonal." Neu van dieu khong chua^?n la toi xe' bo? khong lam nua, va hinh anh ngon ngu khong dep, kho^ng co sang ta.o la toi de.p luon...Toi kho' khan voi chi'nh minh chi? vi` ton trong ngon ngu VN va doi song nghe nghiep cua cha me toi, la nhung giao su van chuong va ngon ngu hoc. Khi ong ba nam xuong, chung ta co con lai duoc khong nhung cai gi da mat???("Van hoa la cai gi con lai cua cai gi da mat" [mot nha van Tay Phuong da noi)...)
Here are the Barnes Nobles reviews of my little-read historical novel featuring Vietnamese women, first published by Ravensyard LTD. indie in 2005, making me the first Vietnam-born published writer who wrote bilingually in both languages (not translation, but original writing):
(The last review was done professionally for the Vietnamese American community back then, in 2005, by my writer-distant cousin nguyen khoa Thai Anh (the Nguyen Khoa family and my maternal family from Hue are related by marriage (at the generation level of my maternal grandfather). (I did not know the reviewer was my distant cousin until a year later...)
Uyen Nicole Duong’s Daughters of the River Huong takes listeners
on a century-long journey into the extraordinary history of Vietnam, all seen
through the eyes of Simone, a precocious and passionate teenager who reveals
the lives of her Vietnamese ancestors. Beginning with Huyen Phi, the Mystique
Concubine from the extinct Kingdom of Champa, to her daughters, Madame Cinnamon
and Ginseng, and finally to Simone’s own mother, Duong gives listeners a
compelling, historic, and sometimes voyeuristic view into a world few have
experienced. From the monarchy to French colonialism, from American
intervention to the fall of Saigon and Communist rule, the lives of these women
are profoundly changed by history…and perhaps history is changed by them. The
writing is poetic, the stories gripping, and whether you are a lover of
romance, history, or the human condition, this novel delivers.
Meet the Author
Vietnam-born
Uyen Nicole Duong arrived in the United States at the age of sixteen, a
political refugee from a country torn apart by war. She received a Bachelor of
Science in Communication and Journalism from Southern Illinois University, a
law degree from the University of Houston, and the advanced LLM degree from
Harvard. She was also trained at the American Academy of Dramatic Arts in
Pasadena. She has been a journalist, public education administrator, attorney,
law professor, and a self-taught painter whose work focuses on l’Art Brut. The
author resides in Houston, Texas.
I could not put this book down once I started reading it. The book was intriguing and wonderfully written. In between the rich history of Hue and her people, the author masterfully told a love story that was beautiful, mistical and tragic. I hope to find more beautiful novels about Vietnam such as The Daughters of the River Huong. Realistically, I just can't imagine there is another novel better that this one.
underread, understated beauty
3720 days ago
Guest
this novel appears under-read, under-rated due to its obscure publisher...it is a rare beauty, full of nostalgic romanticism. One does not find work like that in this day and age any more. Too bad the publisher and its copy editing/proofreading staff did not do justice to this luminiscent beauty.
Delightful and Illuminating: Daughters of the River Huong
3766 days ago
Guest
Daughters of the River Huong, I believe, offers an archetypal remedy for an incompleteness and a longing deep in the American collective consciousness. Two weeks ago I took a boatride on the River Huong, serenaded by musicians playing traditional music from Hue. It was the fulfillment of a desire I¿ve had for many years¿much enriched by the images and feelings described in Uyen Nicole Duong¿s exquisite book. At one point, the musicians sang a well-known and enchanting song about the ten virtues of the Vietnamese woman. Under the full moon, in that boat gently rocking on the River Huong, I was overwhelmed by the sentiments of that song sung by those seven women singers. I was reminded of a comment made by historians Will and Ariel Durant, who wrote that if the sins and good works of the Middle Ages were measured on a scale, the balance would be tipped in favor of goodness¿tipped by the weight of the noble works done by the women of that period. I was also reminded of a comment by a Vietnamese friend and social observer, who recently told me that he gives all credit for the preservation of van hoa Viet Nam (Vietnamese culture), from time immemorial, to ¿the Ladies of Viet Nam.¿ I think that most readers of Daughters of the River Huong will be inspired by the remarkable grace and strength of Vietnamese women and by the beauty and profundity of Vietnamese culture. Readers, too, will be left with a better understanding of why, transcendental to issues of politics and economics, we Americans remain fascinated by Viet Nam to the present day.
River Huong: A novel or Woman's Study?
3983 days ago
Guest
DAUGHTERS OF THE RIVER HUONG: A Vietnamese royal concubine and her descendants by Uyen Nicole Duong ISBN 1-928928-16-I, U.S.:RavensYard Publishing, Ltd, Trade paperback, 271 pp. SRP $17.95 Uyen Nicole Duong¿s Daughters of the River Huong: A Vietnamese royal concubine and her descendants (1) is a new historical work that is about to join the rank of great contemporary epic novels. If it weren¿t for the fictionalized aspect of this true-to-life love story, it could well be an interestingly humanist, thoroughly researched woman study that delves into a century of Viet-Nam tumultuous history: from French colonial time to revolutionary struggle for independence to today¿s socialist cum capitalist society. Hers is a memorable authentic, and genuinely refreshing female voice of the new century adding to our understanding of Viet-Nam¿s soul and conflict. One can¿t recall a few novelists in this genre without crossing into another era such as Margaret Mitchell¿s Gone with the Wind, Boris Pasternak¿s Dr. Zhivago, Graham Greene¿s The Quiet American, Marguerite Duras¿s l¿Amant (The Lover), or not of a so distant time, Anthony Grey¿s Saigon: A Novel or Amy Tan¿s The Joy Luck Club. While great writers transcend their geographical origins with the universality of the human condition, their literary style depends greatly on the skillful hand of translators. Duong¿s original English work faces no such barrier, her poetic, evocative and natural literary style stands on its own. In fact in order to do justice to Duong¿s poetic and musical prose, one may need to properly match her writing with the sensuous verses of Beaudelaire¿s Les Fleurs du Mal and classical opus and arias that she uses as backdrop throughout her work. Yet few of the current Vietnamese-American writers (2) have lived through the period that they have written about, nor have the breadth of their novels reached the historical scope or touched the height of human¿s emotion as Uyen Nicole Duong¿s Daughters of the River Huong. Of all these above-mentioned novels, perhaps Uyen Nicole Duong¿s come closest to the romanticism and poignancy in Duras¿ autobiography, The Lover and a trace of sorrow and nostagia in Michael Ondaatje¿s The English Patient. What separates Uyen Nicole Duong¿s book from her earlier contemporary such as Bao Ninh¿s The Sorrow of War and Duong thu Huong¿s Paradise of the Blind is her novel¿s mass appeal. What readers have here is the making of a movie of epic scale that spans four generations and three continents, from present-day Manhattan to ancient Hue to romantic Paris, to Texas and back to Saigon (Ho chi Minh City). The story progresses from the French empire in Viet-Nam -- with Hue forbidden-city¿s inner sanctum: emperor Thuan Thanh¿s (his character is loosely based on the composite figures of two Vietnamese emperors, Thanh Thai and Duy Tan) royal concubine Huyen Phi, her transformation from humble beginning as a paddle girl on the river Huong to become a matriarch of her bloodline -- to the dying days of colonialism, when her exotic descendants began to take roots in the mystical Violet City of Hue to the American involvement and its untimely debacle. The novel¿s early plot reminds us The Year of Living Dangerously and The Killing Fields, where brave and endearing American and European reporters stay back to witness the fall of the city and the people they love change hands. In this case, Christopher Sanders, an American journalist of a major news network from New York, was the primary hero who saved the beautiful and virginal Vietnamese Lolita from an uncertain fate and brought her to America. It is a poignant tale of survival told from several women¿s point of views, all inexorably connected to the esoteric uncrowned empress Huyen Phi and her extinct kingdom of Champa.
Upon the silent sea-swept land The dreams of night fall soft and gray, The waves fade on the jeweled sand Like some lost hope of yesterday.
The dreams of night fall soft and gray Upon the summer-colored seas, Like some lost hope of yesterday, The sea-mew’s song is on the breeze.
Upon the summer-colored seas Sails gleam and glimmer ghostly white, The sea-mew’s song is on the breeze Lost in the monotone of night.
Sails gleam and glimmer ghostly white, They come and slowly drift away, Lost in the monotone of night, Like visions of a summer-day.
They shift and slowly drift away Like lovers’ lays that wax and wane, The visions of a summer-day Whose dreams we ne’er will dream again.
Like lovers’ lays wax and wane The star dawn shifts from sail to sail, Like dreams we ne’er will dream again; The sea-mews follow on their trail.
The star dawn shifts from sail to sail, As they drift to the dim unknown, The sea-mews follow on their trail In quest of some dreamland zone.
In quest of some far dreamland zone, Of some far silent sea-swept land, They are lost in the dim unknown, Where waves fade on jeweled sand And dreams of night fall soft and gray, Like some lost hope of yesterday.
The Listener, Forest of Memory, and Wall of Oppression enamels on grained paper and digitual infusion (c) UND 2010
ABOUT LE DA XANH, “CRYING GREEN JADE”: A tribute to Thanh Tam Tuyen, South Vietnamese poet and novelist (1936-2006) (c) dnn May 10 2022
***~~~***
BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE ON THANH TAM TUYEN: Thanh Tam Tuyen (acronymed “TTT”) was a refugee from North Vietnam in 1954, right after the Geneva Convention divided Vietnam into two zones: communist North versus non-communist South.
TTT (meaning “Pure Ebony of the Art”) is the pen name of Dzu Van Tam, co-founder of the literary and cultural magazine Sang Tao (“Creativity”) in South Vietnam. (The word “Tuyen” can also mean “a stream,” so the pen name TTT can also mean “Stream from the Pure Heart”).
With this magazine as his “literary child,” TTT started the “free verse” movement in South Vietnam in the 1960s, thereby transforming Vietnamese poetry for the later half of the 20th Century, at least in the South. He also wrote novels and essays, conveying refreshing philosophical themes and a new literary style, which I consider to be ground-breaking for his generation in South Vietnam, during his time as well as thereafter. An eloquent teacher, TTT was well admired by, not only readers of his work and poetry but also generations of his students.
Following the fall of Saigon in 1975, he was sent to a "reeducation camp" by the winners of the Vietnam War. After years of hard labor and imprisonment, TTT immigrated to the U.S. as part of the Reagan-Bush Administration’s “HO” program, and settled in Minnesota, where he lived a quiet, secluded life until his death in 2006.
Among TTT’s most famous “free verse” poems is Le Da Xanh, which I subjectively translated as “Crying Green Jade” (see Appendix 1). Le Da Xanh was set to music by two of South Vietnam’s best known songwriters, Cung Tien and Pham Dinh Chuong (i.e., two separate songs). Both musicians were South Vietnamese refugees who settled in the U.S. after 1975.
In my opinion, the version composed by Cung Tien (“CT”) (see Appendix 2), in particular, bears certain characteristics of, and influence from, the impressionistic and melancholic nature of the early 20th Century’s Romantic (or post-Romantic) composers of the West such as Debussy and Satie, although the tonal nature of Cung Tien’s composition remains intact (contrasting against what was pioneered as atonal trends in the West, but not yet introduced to, pre-1975 South Vietnam).
The following personal essay is based on what Le Da Xanh, the poem and the song, means to me -- that which inspires me to write.
___________________
ABOUT LE DA XANH: MY CRYING GREEN JADE
Both Uta Hagen and Lee Strasberg will agree, and so will Maria Callas who thinks of herself as the servant of music: performing artists, whether in the vocal art or drama, must reach deep down in their soul and find something at the core of their existence to rely on, in order to express. That's the private sphere of the artist's soul, to be given to that which he/she expresses...
Everybody whom I knew from the imperial city of Hue knew that my maternal grandmother was among Hue's most beautiful women.
Grandma wore a jade bracelet all her life. It became greener and greener as she aged.
Memory of childhood in Vietnam often got me back to those nights in Hue, when Grandma held me in her arms, and I felt asleep. Nighttime in Hue could be cold and rainy, but she kept me warm.
In the middle of the night, often I woke up and felt something cold: It was a pleasant cold, smooth and pure, from a dainty object, like a slender, polished cut of stone on which I could lean and rest my cheek.
It was her jade bracelet, of course, pressed against one side of my face. I felt asleep again, her breath over the top of my head filtered down and warmed up her jade bracelet, I was sure. But the cold lingered on, on my cheek, like a cold thread of silk, piercing through the warmth of her breath.
I felt safe in that pleasant cold, my pleasant cold, isolated in all that warmth to anchor me.
*** But then I felt something else.
A wet tear must have smeared onto her jade bracelet. I felt it.
Was the jade crying, or was it Grandma?
Childhood's deep sleep took over always, those nights in Hue.
My little self was not burdened by the weight of thoughts, so I never knew for sure where the tear came from.
́́́***
Her jade bracelet was passed on to me. I wore it on the night I stepped on the C130 cargo plane at Tan Son Nhat airport.
Onto America. Without Grandma. I was forced to forget.
Yet the jade bracelet became a perpetual piece of jewelry. It spoke of who I am and where I came from.
At times I forgot that it was on my wrist.
One day at the University's Recreation Center, I went swimming and was doing the backstroke. The goal was: if I learned music and chose a writing career, I had to learn physical education to achieve balance.
In that one swim, like destiny, I felt so distinctively that my wrist had hit the wall of the swimming pool, as my arm reached over my head to push myself ahead, darting on in all that Clorox-smelling water.
I couldn't hear any sound of breakage in all that water, but I knew something had happened. Instinctively I turned myself into a somersault, dived down without preparation, and looked deep in that water. I saw the bracelet, broken in half. The two halves were falling down, separately like two entities. The two pieces would never find each other again.
And then in all that Clorox-smelling water, I felt Grandma around me. I felt the coldness of the dainty cut of stone pressing onto my cheek. I was safe against that pleasant coldness, upon which I relied. Upon that cut of smooth stone I leaned.
I felt, too, the one tear that wetted my cheek as though it were parting the water to become its own space.
The jade was tearing, or Grandma was tearing.
The jade bracelet that defined me was gone, broken into two halves, falling down and down and down, separated from me forever, into that bottomless Clorox-smelling mass of engulfing water...
America.
***
The swimming instructor said that day I almost drowned.
But somehow before she could jump in to help, I had gotten myself back up. I emerged from that water by myself, and got off the swimming pool.
I can't remember what happened next.
Part of me blamed America for the loss of the bracelet. Part of me blamed myself.
*** In my own American womanhood, I finally learned that Grandma's Vietnamese life (1910-1979) had enough events hidden in her heart to cause her tears. Events of her family. Events of her Hue, and events of the whole country. That which made the jade greener and greener as she aged. That which caused the one tear I felt on that jade circling her wrist, in my dormant Vietnamese childhood.
I came to learn the silence of that one tear. The silence of green jade. The silence of Grandma's heart.
The silence of my loss in America.
***
And that was what the performing artist in me would rely on, in delivering Cung Tiens' Le Da Xanh. To myself.
All I need was the coldness of the cut of stone resting against my cheek, upon which I relied, one night in Hue.
So I don't need the orchestra. Please dismiss it and make my stage simple. Please give me that one tear in the sound of your lonely guitar that speaks to me the silence of Grandma's green jade.
The solitude of the green jade that cried.
The solitude of Grandma's heart that cried.
The solitude of her Hue night that cried.
The solitude of that one tear I felt in the tenderness of Grandma's arms.
The solitude of my stage.
The one tear on stage this night speaks of my loss, and of Grandma's sufferings and all the secrets she bore. What was buried in her heart.
Her Vietnam.
That one tear, unspoken, yet spoken, like the delicate notes -- half tones and whole tones -- to circle into the words they become. Worn upon a Vietnamese woman's wrist, pressed against her forehead, her cheekbone, and then her heart.
Note from Interpreter: “Crying Rocks” are literary motifs and images found in American contemporary literature based on American Indian folklores and heritage.
In contrast, concepts of an age-old rock that holds memory of tales through thousands of years as witness of life events and history were part of the foundation for ancient China’s epic novel/metafiction, Hong Lau Mong (Dream of the Red Chamber).
In Vietnam’s classical heritage, the personification of rocks and waters became literary symbol of the culture. For example: “Da van tro gan cung tue nguyet, nuoc con cau mat voi tang thuong” (Rocks sustained their internals against wear-and-tear from the test of time; water frowned at life’s upheavals that transformed seas into berry fields), quoting Ba Huyen Thanh Quan, Vietnamese poetess, 19th Century.
TTT transposed these ancient concepts into modernity, as birth (or rebirth) of a new (or rejuvenated) literary motif. Unique to his free verses, Le Da Xanh reflects the silenced psychic pain of his generation in absorbing loss, despair, and disillusion.
I chose the phrase “Crying Green Jade” to interpret the title, because it was the only phrase I could think of, which denotes and combines two different semantic possibilities drawn from TTT’s original language:
1) Tears themselves become green jade, i.e. the poet cries and his tears turn into green jade; or
2) Tears are held in the poet’s heart, so the heart cries but tears are withheld within, meaning the palpitating heart is crystalized or solidified into green jade.
Both concepts are metamorphosis that only poeticism can project.
I have also added English words that denote silenced or suppressed pain -- the poet’s tender heart becomes the reservoir of tears, symbolizing the inner strength of endurance.
In contrast to Red as the color of blood, a “heat” symbol standing for Life, TTT spoke of Blue as either sapphire blue or emerald green, a “cool” tone in the visual art, signifying coolness or coldness, denoting solitude or lonely efforts at rejuvenation following losses, sufferings, or bloodshed – the hope of Art.
I chose “jade” as my interpretation because of its cultural meaning -- ornament associated with the Vietnamese female motif and image of femininity.
However, to interpret TTT’s poem as relating only to a couple’s love is to belittle the poet’s philosophical temperament and message about Vietnam’s pre-destined sufferings, found in his written works. Le Da Xanh also reflects the largesse of his soul and thoughts – he spoke of sufferings as fatalism, which I construe to mean the image of a Vietnamese Sisyphus. There, TTT spoke clearly of the larger scope: Le Da Xanh…oi nhung nguoi khoc le loi mot minh -- Tears from those who cry alone… (In his later poems composed during his “re-education camp” imprisonment, TTT described the silent heroism of political prisoners in drawing their strength from a glimpse at springtime outside their cells, during forced labor. This serves as comparison to, and contrast against, Beethoven’s heroism and musical reverberation in deafness -- testament of the human spirit against adversity).
I have also added English words to TTT’s reference to Christianity as the European addition to Vietnamese collective epistemology: concept of the testing, seductive Apple displayed to suffering humankind by a creator-God. This point is significant to me because it shows the poet’s humanity, as well as his enduring belief in free will and love as part of such humanity – the poet is not an atheist like his indoctrinated North Vietnamese Marxist counterpart.
Le Da Xanh is a short and seemingly simple poem, yet packed with images, philosophical ideas, and overwhelming emotions, cast into the best form of Vietnamese abstractionism. This is also my goal, as I use my instinct to put forth the English interpretation in the simplest form of the English language.
I chose this poem because I think it speaks of the cultural and artistic life of South Vietnam as part of early nation-building, for which TTT was a symbol as well as an important witness of history. The musical form has made the poem last, as it is being sung in Vietnam today (see Appendix 2).
I must dedicate this essay and interpretation to my late father, who introduced TTT’s work to me when I was just a child in Vietnam. I believe my father authored the only published literary critique of TTTs famous novel, Dọc Đường (On the Road). Ref. Dương Đức Nhự, “Đọc Dọc Đường cuả̉ Thanh Tâm Tuyển” (“Upon Reading ‘On the Road’ by Thanh Tam Tuyen”) ̣ (1960's). Published in literary journals of South Vietnam, my father’s critique was not archived, and hence, can no longer be located after 1975.
APPENDIX 2: Amateur performance of the song, in Vietnam, 2022
Below in this youtube link is what I consider to be the best performance of the song Le Da Xanh written by Cung Tien, coming out of today’s Vietnam:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VmbM78PwUEU
Cung Tien’s Le Da Xanh, based on TTT’s poem, performed in Qui Nhon, Vietnam, 2022, by Dam Ha and Dieu Nhan.
See comment by Giang Huong Goodwin as a member of the “internet audience.”
Fair use exception to copyright
______
The versions appearing in the comments section by Anonymous show the flexibility and richness of the Vietnamese language, as TTT's original poem was altered. These versions should NEVER be circulated independently or claimed authorship as such, without TTT's original text, because such independent circulation can be challenged as "plagiarism," an ethical concern. The intent, character, and integrity of those who made such alternations are directly at issue.
Pham Dinh Chuong's version created in 1970-ish Saigon, on the other hand, was his own creation, based on the idea and symbolism expressed in TTT's original text, a form of idea/symbol inspirational transgression (in Vietnamese: "lay y tho"). Such adaptation "lay y tho" had the approval of the original author and was circulated in South Vietnam and abroad as such.
~~~***~~~
FIRST VERSION: Thanh Tam Tuyen's original, Music by Cung Tien 1957 (English translation/interpretation and personal essay 60+ years later, 2022, by Duong Nhu Nguyen; musical performance by Dieu Nhan and Dam Nha, in Vietnam 2022)
SECOND VERSION: inspirational: Nua Hon Thuong Dau, music and lyrics by Pham Dinh Chuong, 1970s
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