UPLIFTING POEMS by THE PHONG.

                          I. Where Have My Mates Gone ?                                        
                                              poems by THE PHONG
                                         translated by ĐÀM XUÂN CẬN

WHAT is left, my dear
the city is old an familiar
      but my eyes are new
      and I am amazed

I'm still a stranger to other people in our city
The sky looks gloomy,
      the rain is  sadly murmuring
      in a void free from human voices
I ' m walking behind you in silence
These  days are sad  as the somber sky
       what is left, my dear
I'm walking away,
        saying goodbye to all that
This part of the world
        does not accept a freedom loving soul like mine.

I've not seen my mates anywhere since yesterday
They've left the side walks to fade away in darkness
Who are they ?
        Yes, a friend
        A girl sweethheart
        A hand's  touch
         A kiss into the unfathomable past
The color od love-green-turns  into the color
                                        of despair-brown
Who cares about fine weather when there is no friend
                                                                   to talk to
I'm standing,
        mute as the straight standing trees
Which spear could pierce the sky
       which sheds blood over the pine trees
Those who are still around  are not real humans
They're wearing raincoats with revolvers inside
I'm so sad I cannot utter a word...

This Sunday afternoon
        I come into the familiar café
It is almost empty,
        the mini-skirted girl is always behind the cash register
It is still like the old days :
        we two great each other with the eyes
And the waiter an rightly guess what a regular guest will order
Chamber music sounds are wounding my heart
Looking around,
      I sadly realize my mates have all gone.

Autumn rain is falling over mist filled valleys
I've been so long as an object
All of  a sudden
       I laugh to wake up myself
There are just few words
       I want to say
       I miss you

Nothing  is left,
     nothing reamins
          my dear !
  []
Saigon, Oct. 28, 1963.

                 2.  Revolution is a Good Thing !

To blame is surely bad
      to be possessed by greet or lust or anger...
But I merely want to put down
      this as a matter of record.

Till yesterday they slept a lot
        drank a lot,
        fucked a lot ,
        drank a lot, ate a lot,
        did an awful a lot of bad things...

One day later..
       they are begging for mercy.
[]
Saigon, Nov.1st,  1963. 

THEPHONG.

( from  ASIAN MORNING WESTERN MUSIC  
  poems by  THE PHONG
  translated by ĐÀM XUÂN CẬN
 First published  by  DAI NAM VAN HIEN BOOKS,
   Saigon 1974.
This Edition : Janv. 2012 - Ho Chi Minh City ).