No name #3

About vietnam...still 3rd draft

Vietnam, have I betrayed you
when I sip on overpriced coffee
order KFC instead of pho?

do I go astray
when I bomb myself with B52s glasses
in Hanoi tourist alleys?

do I puncture your eardrums
with cacophonous karaoke solos
napalm verdant riceland
with my vodka-revolving vision?

do I reduce you
to the size of my luggage of nothing
but clothes clothes clothes
when I should pack 4000 years of hystory

do I plague your arteries
with my motorcycle carbon pollution
your wheezing breath buried
under rumbles of thousand commuters
your last sign of life:
dust
the disintegration of marrows
sandpapering my face in this angry heat

do I expect too little?
do I expect too much?

condemnations
for my english-tabooed tongue

dystopic visions
like
environmental pollution
communist corruption
red flag on every corner
big brother

i expect silhouettes of real culture
or at least some closure

not Jayz blasting on MTV
not Kpop rocking in sweatshops

not midnight motorcycle cruising youngsters
banging pots and pans in Saigon streets
hands waving seas of red flag on every street corner
after soccer victories

not skyscrapers
not breakdancers head spinning
under the statue of Lenin
not resort fences censoring view of the ocean
not another damn Vegas over fisherman’s ancestral land

Vietnam, must I still stand on post-apocalyptic battleground
the middle of two homelands
fighting another war
fighting myself
my barrel out of ammo
no more bullets of blame
I surrender
I surrender
I surrender
but I can never go home

Alone in Chiang Mai

Today I parted with my EAP buddies in Chiang Mai. It was a rush, last minute parting so I didn't even have time to give everyone a hug. We're been doing the study abroad program for 4 months in Hanoi together and this feels like a goodbye. They are heading home, to Saigon, Taipei, the States, and I am here waiting for my morning bus to Huay Xei, northern Laos. This is the first time in my life where I actually travel by myself. In Hanoi, I remembered night cruising alone but this is completely different. I want to do this forever. I am so excited to see Laos tomorrow, despite the 5 hours bus ride.

My (very rough) map of the trip:



Saigon > Phnom Penh > Siem Reap > Bangkok > Chiang Mai > Huay Xai > Luang Prabang > Plain of Jars > Vietnamese border > Hung Yen > Ninh Binh > Da Lai > Saigon.

LEt's hope i can squeeze more places in...

Phnom Penh, Siem Reap, and Bangkok...so far

the trip from saigon to phnhom penh costs about 12 bucks, the bus was really nice. i visited all the temples and museums. then in two days, i headed for siem reap. such a charming little town, i absolutely love it. angkor wat...so amazing at sunset. right now im in Lub*d (sleep well in Thai) in Bangkok. So far, bangkok is amazing. at every corner there's a 7/11 and pink taxis. the night bazaar is so hip and trendy. there's literally hundreds of cute boutiques of clothes right next to each other. it will take days to see everything! this is got to be the best xmas yet! i am so excited for today! where's that muay tai boxing match? i will write more later, gtg now.

Adrift: my collection of translated poems

I will only post 3 out of the 6 poems from my collection.


First Translated Poem - a revision of...

shrapnel shards on blue water
"to my sister lê thi diem trinh"

everyday i beat a path to run to you
beaten into the melting snow/the telephone polls
which separate us like so many signals of slipping time
and signposts marked in another language
my path winds and unwinds, hurls itself toward you
until it unfurls before you
all my stories at your feet
rocking against each other like marbles
down a dirt incline
listen

ma took the train every morning
sunrise
from phan thiet to saigon
she arrived
carrying food to sell at the markets
past sunset
late every evening she carried her empty baskets
home
on the train which runs in the opposite direction
away from the capital
toward the still waters of the south china sea

once ba bought an inflatable raft
yellow and black
he pushed it out onto a restricted part of water
in southern california
after midnight
to catch fish in the dark
it crashed against the rocks
he dragged it back to the van
small and wet
he drove us home
our backs turned in shame
from the pacific ocean

our lives have been marked by the tide
everyday it surges forward
hits the rocks
strokes the sand
turns back into itself again
a fisted hand

know this about us
we have lived our lives
on the edge of oceans
in anticipation of
sailing into the sunrise

i tell you all this
to tear apart the silence
of our days and nights here

i tell you all this
to fill the void of absence
in our history here

we are fragmented shards
blown here by a war no one wants to remember
in a foreign land
with an achingly familiar wound
our survival is dependent upon
never forgetting that vietnam is not
a word
a world
a love
a family
a fear
to bury

let people know
VIETNAM IS NOT A WAR

let people know
VIETNAM IS NOT A WAR

let people know
VIETNAM IS NOT A WAR
but a piece
of
us,
sister
and
we are
so much
more


le thi diem thuy


mảnh vỏ trong biển xanh
tặng em tôi lê thị điễm trinh

mỗi ngày chị đập con đường để chạy tới em
đập trong tuyến tan/bên cột dây điện thoại
nó chia chúng ta như tiếng hiệu tan trong thời gian
như biển chỉ đường ghi bằng ngữ ngoại
đường chị quanh co uốn khúc, phóng tới em

khi nó mở ra trước em
tất cả chuyện của chị trên bàn chân em
rung chuyển nhau như những hòn bi
rơi xuống một đường đất dốc
nghe đi em

mẹ lên tầu mỗi sáng
trong bình minh
từ phan thiết tới sài gòn
mẹ tới
vác theo đồ ăn để bán trong chợ
hoàng hôn xuống
mỗi đêm khuya mẹ xách rổ không
về nhà
bằng xe lửa chạy ngược
hướng thủ đô
đến nước yên bình của biển đông

một lần ba mua phao thổi phồng
mầu vàng và đen
ba đẩy phao ra khu biễn cấm
ở nam cali
sau nửa đêm
để đánh cá trong mù tối

phao đâm vào đá
ba kéo nó vào xe
tong teo và ẩm ướt
ba đưa chúng mình về nhà
xoay lưng rời mối nhục
quay xa biển thái bình dương

cuộc sống chúng mình thủy triều đã vạch
hàng ngày sóng cồn than
đâm đá thạch
vuốt bãi cát
sóng vòng quay quay vòng sóng
một quả đấm

hãy biết điều này về chúng mình
chúng mình đã sống cả đời
giữa biên giới của biển
trong hy vọng được
kéo buồm vào ánh bình minh

chị nói những điều này
để xé nát ra sự lãng quên
cũa những ngày và đêm ở đây

chị nói những điều này
để lắp đầy sự lơ đãng
của lịch sử ở đây


chúng ta là mảnh vỏ
thổi đến đây bằng cuộc chiến tranh không ai muốn nhớ
ở một đất nước xa lạ
ôm vết thương đau quen thuộc
tồn tại dựa vào
không bao giờ quên việt nam chẳng là
một lời
một thế giới
một tình yêu
một gia dình
một sợ hãi
để chôn

Cho mọi người biết
VIỆT NAM CHẲNG LÀ CHIẾN TRANH

Cho mọi người biết
VIỆT NAM CHẲNG LÀ CHIẾN TRANH

Cho mọi người biết
VIỆT NAM CHẲNG LÀ CHIẾN TRANH
nhưng là một mảnh thịt
của
chúng mình,
em gái
và
chúng mình là
rất nhiều
hơn tấ cả

lê thị diễm thúy

Second poem:

MAIN STREET REVISITED
Our parents and grandparents, directors of the stage
They play their trumpets and drums a bit poorly
That’s to say it kindly
Before we can learn the four directions and how to count
They carry us on their backs south of the seventeenth parallel
Raise us up on sun-soaked boulevards
Under the shadows of ramrod-straight flaming trees
They, the directors of the stage
Of half of what no one could seriously call a country
They left behind the coins in their pockets
Boarded the helicopters that landed on the roofs
Steered their boats to the high sea
Now occasionally we return
Sing karaoke with girls half our age
Songs that our parents and grandparents, directors of the stage,
Worthless left behind

by Do Kh.

Thăm Lại Đường Xưa

Bố mẹ và ông bà chúng ta, đạo diễn của sân khấu
Chơi kèn và trống hơi tệ
Nói vậy là quá ân cần
Trước khi chúng ta biết về bốn phương trời và biết đếm
Họ cõng mình sau lưng, vược nam của vĩ tuyến mười bẩy
Nuôi dưỡng mình trên nẻo đường ngâm tràn nắng
Dưới bóng râm của cây rực cháy cao nghiêm
Ông bà là đạo diễn cũa sân khấu
Của một nửa đất nước không ai gọi là một
Ông bà bỏ lại những đồng xu trong túi
Trèo lên trược thăng trên trần sân

Nay chúng mình trở về
Để karaoke với mấy cô bằng nửa tuổi mình
Những bài hát ông bà, đạo diễn của sân khấu
Vô giá để lại

by Do Kh.

Last poem:

untitled #1
bài tặng ba, for all the things i cannot say


his frantic fingers strum symphonies
listen
here comes the bombing of operation rolling thunder
under those fingers

a cacaphony of strangled sorrows
under those calloused
cigarrette-tarred fingers
wishing to reverse the hands of time

what is he thinking
i can only wonder
even wrote an entire mental novel
the history of my father's fingers
part fictional
first chapter soap and cigarettes
last chapter blood and coffee
frozen rising action
resolution
resolution
resolution...
we rarely interact
just morning and dinner time
but some things I do know

his best friend is some guy named bud
some guy named heineken
he fathered more than one hundred and five children
i only know four since they are my siblings
humans
the rest lives in the backyard
chirping in cages visible unlike mine
a closet

his morning neccesity
one cup of vietnamese coffee
một ly càfê sữa đá
his after-dinner dessert
beer and a berlin-wall silence

his hobby
building cages all day under dim garage light
out of free wood scraps and barbeque sticks
i wonder why
he builds his own cages
his four walls are this strange land
even after fourteen years

some days I catch a glimse of his silhouette
through the autumn-lit windows
a Thái Sơn mountain in motion
a Thái Sơn load of secrets
crushing his small stature
but his footsteps whisper
and gentle hands
strumming another stanza

once by chance i stumble over his sketches
of American helicopters and battles of war
he draws nothing else

ba the would-be artist if the war didn't happen
but what will he draw about

ba the deliveryman in eastside oakland
manually dragging fridges on the eighth floor
free of charge

ba the sisyphus of stairways

ba who covers boxes of salonpas on his back
to ease the pain


ba who slammed my ps2 to metal scraps because i watched harry potter
oh i forbid that blasphemy
why why why
because the church said so


ba who unknowingly converted me to agnosticism


ba the black sheep of our family
because he skips sunday mass grandma said

ba the drunken man with blood-blue face
hugging his bottle to sleep when I just want to give him a hug
even if it is just an
awkward-turtle
hug

ba the caged bird who cannot sing
ba the caged bird who cannot sing

by hoàng kim anh

translated poem: shrapnel in blue water

i love this poem by lê thị điễm thúy, so im going to translate it in vietnamese

original version:

shrapnel shards on blue water
to my sister lê thi diem trinh

everyday i beat a path to run to you
beaten into the melting snow/the telephone polls
which separate us like so many signals of slipping time
and signposts marked in another language
my path winds and unwinds, hurls itself toward you
until it unfurls before you
all my stories at your feet
rocking against each other like marbles
down a dirt incline
listen

ma took the train every morning
sunrise
from phan thiet to saigon
she arrived
carrying food to sell at the markets
past sunset
late every evening she carried her empty baskets
home
on the train which runs in the opposite direction
away from the capital
toward the still waters of the south china sea

once ba bought an inflatable raft
yellow and black
he pushed it out onto a restricted part of water
in southern california
after midnight
to catch fish in the dark
it crashed against the rocks
he dragged it back to the van
small and wet
he drove us home
our backs turned in shame
from the pacific ocean

our lives have been marked by the tide
everyday it surges forward
hits the rocks
strokes the sand
turns back into itself again
a fisted hand

know this about us
we have lived our lives
on the edge of oceans
in anticipation of
sailing into the sunrise

i tell you all this
to tear apart the silence
of our days and nights here

i tell you all this
to fill the void of absence
in our history here

we are fragmented shards
blown here by a war no one wants to remember
in a foreign land
with an achingly familiar wound
our survival is dependent upon
never forgetting that vietnam is not
a word
a world
a love
a family
a fear
to bury

let people know
VIETNAM IS NOT A WAR

let people know
VIETNAM IS NOT A WAR

let people know
VIETNAM IS NOT A WAR
but a piece
of
us,
sister
and
we are
so much
more

my rough translation:

mảnh vỏ trong biễn sanh
bài tặng cho em tôi, lê thị điễm trinh

mỗi ngày chị đập con đường đễ chạy tới em
đập trong tuyến tan/trong cột đây điện thoại
nó chia chúng ta như tiếng hiệu tan trong thời dan
như biễn chỉ đường ghi trong văn ngữ ngoại
đường chị quanh co uốn thúc, nó phóng tới em

khi nó mỡ ra trước em
tất cả câu chuyện chị trên chân em
rung chuyễn nhau như những hòn bi
rơi xuống một đường đất dốc
hãy lắng nghe

Mẹ lên xe tầu mỗi sáng
trong bình minh
từ phan thiết tới sài gòn
mẹ tới
vác theo đồ ăn để bán trong chợ
hoàng hôn suống
mỗi đêm khuya mẹ chống rỗ không
về nhà
bằng xe lữa nhược chạy
hướng thủ đô
đến nước yên bình cũa biễn đông

một lần ba mua phao thổi phồng
mầu vàng và đen
ba đẫy phao ra khu biễn cấm
ở nam cali
sau nữa đêm
đễ đánh cá trong mù tối

phao đâm (sầm) vào đá
ba kéo nó vào xe lớn
teo tủi và ẫm ước
ba lái chúng mình về nhà
lưng (quy ly?) đến mối nhục
quay xa biễn thái bình dương

cuộc sống chúng mình thủy triều đã vạch
hàng ngày sóng cồn than
đâm đá thạch
vuốt bãi cát
sông vòng quay quay vòng sông
một quả đấm tay

hãy biết điều này về chúng mình
chúng mình đã sống cả đời
giữa biên giới của biễn
trong hy vọng được
kéo buồm vào bình minh

chị nói những điều này
đễ xé nát ra sự lãng quên
cũa những ngày và đêm ở đây

chị nói những điều này
đễ lắp đầy sự lơ đãng
cũa lịch sữ ở đây

chúng ta là mảnh vỏ
thổi đến đây bằng một chiến chanh không ai muốn nhớ
ở một đất ngoại
ôm vết thương đau đớn quen thuộc
sự tồn tại dựa vào
không bao giời quên việt nam chẳng là
một lời
một thế giới
một tình yêu
một gia dình
một sợ hãi
đễ chôn

Cho mọi người biết
VIỆT NAM CHẲNG LÀ CHIẾN CHANH

Cho mọi người biết
VIỆT NAM CHẲNG LÀ CHIẾN CHANH

Cho mọi người biết
VIỆT NAM CHẲNG LÀ CHIẾN CHANH
nhưng là một mảnh thịt
của
chúng ta,
em gái
và
chúng ta là
gấp hơn
nhiều

Journal Entries Part 3: SAPA, Revised Goals

Journal Entries Part 2: Da Nang, Hue, random sketches

Straight from my journal. Is this gutsy or just plain stupid? I'll figure out that later...

Journal Entries (Part 1: Quy Nhon, Kon Tum, Da Nang)

These entries are straight from my journal. I was a bit hesitant to post them up since they are a bit personal, not to mention a grammatical war zone. But someone, ahem ahem, complained about the lack of reflections among the UCHANU students, especially after the central trip. So I hope if y'all keep a written journal, whip it out and scan it at local print shops around our school. Not everybody like blogging. I think blogging is a bit impersonal and inorganic, not to mention inconvenient. What if the ah-ha moment is not while I'm writing this line, but one the train or after a hike? Ok ok, I'll stop blabbing if the damn internet connection moves with the speed of development. Here it is.

Tâm Sự with Bắc Nam, the fruit vendor in Hapro alley

I often purchase my fruits from Bác Nam and he's very chatty so I've decided to interview him. Bác Nam is in his fifties and he lives with his wife, son, and daughter in a compact housing unit nearby on Hapro alley allocated to him by the government. He mentioned casually that his old house was demolished in order to widen the road. I was surprised because there was no bitterness or blame in his tone.

I asked: “How do you feel about being relocated? Where you compensated fairly? How do you find the new place? Did the governement or any other group help you?” (Not all at once of course).

Bác Nam:“Chính phủ làm như vậy thì cũng đúng. Đường hồi trước rất chật. Còn tắt đường hơn hôm nay nữa!” I can't even imagine the roads being more chaotic then the bumper-to-bumper congestion of motorbikes and cars within my sight. JBác Nam seems satisfied with his relocation and compensation and he even mentioned the place he resides right now is organized by the government. Overall, he feels included in the spatial redevelopment.

“Bác ơi, bác có kiếm dủ tiền để sống không?” (Do you make enough to live?)

Bác Nam: Cũng làm cỡ 1,500,000 Đồng một tháng. Cộng trung với lương của vợ thì cũng giư một chút. Con trai bắc thì khỏi nói. Nó còn trẻm, làm đâu thì tiêu đó. Thanh niên mà cháu.

He seems more interested in my life in the US. He asked how's life and work there? I told him there's no such thing as ngủtrưa-ing. Most jobs are 9-to-5 with only a one hour lunch break and small 15 minutes break in between. He said he rather stay here because he is happy with his life. He just wishes to save enough money for his son and daughter. “I'm waiting for my son to get marry, so I can have a grandchild to play with.”

Overall, he doesn't feel excluded from society and he seems happy with his current condition. I think Vietnamese people don't look at development in individualistic terms of “what can I get out of it” or in “win/lose” situation in which one side benefits from the loss of another. Their hollistic viewpoint serves as a reminder that they live in network in which a temporary 'loss' (like bắc Nam's housing situation) is a permanent gain to the whole society. At the same time, the cynical side of me can't help but wonder if this collectivistic perspective also serve as a tool of the financially included in this society to maintain the social harmony, another euphemism for exclusion. Overall, bắc Nam is so happyhappyhappy and optimistic about the future, I don't think he feels excluded at all. I can't even translate 'exclusion' in Vietnamese.

My Two Months Anniversary

You know how couples have those cute-but-not-really one week or two months anniversary? Well, guess what this one will be about? Half of my days in Vietnam is gone so I'm a bit reflective about my goals and experiences now. Idk, i feel like my life did a 360 after i'm here. i thought my purpose was to teach english, but then i've been spending most of my time doing this LGBT documentary project and just eating. Just eating and going out all the time! I dont know what I try to find here anymore. before, it was just inspirations to start drawing and writing again, but i barely touch my sketchbook. okay, maybe once or twice. i can only write, draw, strum my guitar, or sing when i'm down. there's always things to do, people to meet, food to eat so it is impossible to have time to reflect. while typing this, i am cutting back on sleep. quiet space + depression + creativity = good shizzzz. everything is moving so fast that i feel like 4 months is too short to really enjoy and understand this country. someday, i just wish i have all the time in the world and hop on a motorbike, tour the countrysides, talk to people, and write a story about all my (mis)adventures. but i am here, in hanoi, in this room, in this constant state of "huh"ness as events pass by me like a milkyway shower of shoot stars. my relationship with my roommates is not going well. me and my short temper... someday i just dont want to deal with it. i can't really contact my ex because my phone was stolen in the night market. my reaction is close to aloofness. i feel kind of glad that my parents or my relatives cant call, but i want to visit my grandparent's village. somedays i feel like im on top of the world, then just on a wimp, or because of a sad song, or a word that reminds me of that certain person, I feel entrapped in the collapsing labyrinth of my own confusion and if i dont seek the exit soon, it will consume me. and idk if im making any sense anymore. half of the time, my sporatic stream of consciousness sounds like the very stuff i write--no endings, no logical direction, just solitary strands of . somedays it scared the shit out of me because it begins to sound like my own future. someday, the lethargic cement and eardrum-beating noises of vietnam feels like the reoccuring post-apocalyptic wasteland inside my head. someday, after all the city-exploring is done, i just want to sit inside my own little wasteland world, having a conversation with Ms. Kieu on my left and Ms. Hồ Xuân Hương on my right. and all we will talk about is feminism. crazy shit. someday, i try to find vietnam in between my history book, in the back-alleys coffee shops, in the converstations of the locals. i haven't found it yet. maybe im looking too hard. i walked close to it with an elderly man on his daily walk in a rice-farming village. his footsteps drop invisible bread crumbs but i dont have enough time to collect and follow. i almost feel it as i slashed though the rice stalks, expecting each golden rice grain to reconnect me to my ancestoral roots. but it's always this feeling of almost, but not really.

Rice Harvesting Time!

Yesterday (October 10th)we took a 1hr bus ride from Hanoi to a small village. The majority of the villagers own small plots of land to cultivate (mainly rice). Each family owns at least one suất (about 360 acres) of farmland, some own 2-3, depending on their household size. One family allow us to help them harvest two suất of rice land. We suck. Basically three of us equals one of the lady. She was slashing her sickle with a sense of urgency and efficiency--like one of sonic the hedgehog's maddening moves. Two hours of pure sweat and hard work never felt so good. While I was holding the sickle, I cannot help but think, this what my own grandparents did just fifty or sixty years ago. I'll never look at another bowl of rice the same. When my parents said don't waste even a single grain of rice, I didn't really understand. Now it makes so much sense and I have such an appreciation for it. I remember in high school, I got so sick of rice and I told my parand not the Rients "why can't we eat something else besides rice?" I was only defining rice in terms of taste. Rice is more than carbohydrates, it creates the identity of the Vietnamese culture. Hmnnn, maybe I should write a song on "Oh white complex sugar, I love you so."

After harvesting and spending lunch with the owner, I wander around the village and here comes this elderly man with his black umbrella and three grandchildren tagging behind him. But what I notice first is his glowing smile. He seems like the happiest man alive. I tag along with him on his daily walk (apparently, that's all there is to do in the village)and we chat about the village life. His son is in the city Hanoi, working, while the rest of the family farms. Apparently, all the villagers hire people to harvest the rice (the wage is about 30,000 or 40,000 Đồng, which is about $1.5 - 2 dollars per the morning of harvesting). The rice field provides enough to each family for a year so they actually eat what the harvest. Almost all the villagers diversify their industry besides farming, just to earn more money to live. I walked around and most men fix motorbikes and the womyn does some tailoring work. There's a pond for the locals to fish, if they pay the fishing price. The elderly man (Mr. Trân as in Mr. Leg)said one of his son is a barber. It is interesting to notice, most of the rice harvesters are womyns. Ông Trân jokingly said, "If you are a man, you gotta find yourself a girlfriend or a wife quick. Who else will do you see doing the farm work around here?" First thing in my mind: That's so sexist. Damn this patriarchal world. Most of the economic opportunities are reserved for men, since they are the ones who can go into the big city like Hanoi and earn some income for their family back home. I understand that but I'm beginning to feel tired of the "that's just the Vietnamese culture" excuse. I can't really blame the elder for working in this system, that's just how it was long time ago. Argggh, fuck patriarchy.

I walked with this elderly man until he reaches his son's barbershop/house. After his chat, I begin to get a better picture of this village in the last 10 years. He said, when he was growing up, only rich foreigners are allow to have two-story cement houses while the locals live in straw huts. And now if you did a 360 view of the village, all within site are newly constructed cement houses--all are built within the last 5-10 years. Where do they get this money from? Selling bananas, pigs, or extra vegetable aren't enough. He talked about being in three wars in his lifetime. First the Japanese when he was a kid, then the French, then the Americans. I wanted to ask him about the land reforms...but he kind of felt confused. He asked me which one. I think he didn't want to talk about it. I still want to know how can he be so content and at peace with just simple daily walks around the village? Holy crap, that's all there is to do around there. As he continued his walk, I can see the trail of unanswered questions behind his footsteps, questions that I won't have the chance ask.

A clip of the EAP crew harvesting some rice...


Ông Trân and his grandchildren

Vietnam Central Trip - Video Journal

Here are some videos of our trip to central Vietnam.

Enjoying some rambutans (chôm chôm) in Qui Nhơn, Central Vietnam.



Taking the ferry to reach the village across the river from Hội An.


Some videos on the biking trail in a village near Hội An.




Crossing the bridge with my bike.


Arrival at the village.


Our very own mperial runway show at the Huế museum...






Imperial dinner in Huế.