video poem presentation English translation: The poem 'Mùa Khổ - Ngư�i �àn bà Phú Yên' invites readers, especially Vietnamese readers, to a narrative poem on the death of a mother in Phu Yen province, Vietnam. The mother, due to poverty of her family and poor health service in her region, had asked her husband to cut open her womb with a kitchen knife to save her baby child in a difficult birth. Unlike her baby, she did not survive. Her death was in the news announced by the SBS Radio (Australia) in its special 1996 Mothers' Day Program. A rough translation of the poem Mua Kho from Vietnamese to English is given below. Vietnam – A Season Of passions People are suffering In time of dormant rhymes and rhythms A mother in Phu Yen Her body : her homeland Bearing deep knife cuts her skin torn and sewn up by corroded needle poor disordered flimsy cotton threads and knots Bruised flesh Red blood Paddy fields awaiting her and her husband's labor Hospital is as far away as the Milky Way Crying, is she? -- No Shouting? -- No Screaming at end of a bearing season? -- No Murmuring, yes! Her murmurs, only her murmurs … '..Patient...my child...patient...let's wait for the salvation of the knife!' The long kitchen knife pierced through her skin It cut her flesh Sharp, deep and long pain sneaks in its heart through the grinding teeth Corroded sewing needle and flimsy cotton threads in unskilled hands They break and disintegrate In silence: she dies Her baby cries The harvest, swiftly, passes away Its body hangs across the sky Joy of rhythms and rhymes Joy of a new harvest of post-modernist time Joy of an abysmal season of renovation Thoughts cranks out its laughter through aching bleeding decayed teeth On the dancing old wobbly bamboo bed The baby cries, cries and cries... Death is still around The old rags sing out Their existence Soaked in blood of a loveless ism Neck of intelligence Tightened by the biblical cord The cold knife continued its work Razing down all the summits, the disgusting summits of intelligence Milk flows freely, in abundance Flow of violent red milk in unsated thirst for live things Day passes out pensively Night's filled with sorrowful moonshines Out of the milkful breast of the moon shadow Some greyish white milk drops of her motherland Oh The baby wants milk Smooching air through closed lips So loud smooching sounds The moon smiles Letting its shadow join the baby in a play A white nix milkflow is tossed into the baby's mouth Passing by innocent pale lips The mother passes away The father sings a lullaby 'Au O...my child! 'Stretch your arm out to take the moon lantern! 'Go and fetch your mother for she is waiting in the dark porch ... Light just grins in total darkness The deformed moon is hanging at top of the tall old tree Days are passed with deep sleep and smiling dreams Soul flaps its wings Wildly and primitively The universe starts bearing milky grains with wild sun ripened color Deep in this season of passions Crowds of people so lonely So lonely their mouths fly up in the sky Their ears are listening to the call of her poor imprisoning homeland And they sang sad lullabies Through the whole dark nights Hearts escape lightnings Flowers, birds and the sun wake up by wonders in the dark of night Rhymes and rhythms flap their wings Gazing at life full of hi-tech color Feather of victory in mouth Life's flowers are blooming on the belly and demanding right to life Dađy returns to the pađy field He stops singing sad lullabies Strings attached to the past start breaking up Baby cry brings joy to his life He sings strange new lullabies 'Au O! 'Au O! do you see the sun is wearing a mask 'Au O! this spoon of crushed salted ginger juice 'Drink up my child for your lips so pale 'And stay with me always! 'Your mother is alone in distant places 'You alone at home cuddling the setting moon ' Sleep tight...my child...' 'Au O your heart's still beating at dawn 'Au O the crop has crossed the river... Climbing to the top to start a journey to nothingness Jasmine white milky teeth: your weapons for survival Protruding little teeth chewing kisses from corn and rice Spitting out fire at the direct flight to the milk white moon Heart: beating; night: ending; day: agonizing Season: full of passions; people: languishing; rhymes and rhythms: wearing the full moon illusive colour Spring passes out The Mother of Phu Yen shakes life dust off her dress and returns it to this world Flying and flying! Her dress takes a dreamy flight over the wind swept country road The child survives Ugly survival? Beautiful? Clean? Dirty? Untidy? – Who cares! Embracing the poor life whole-heartedly with a smile and uncountable laughters, My child! Taste the milky sweetness of the green young rice grains Sense the rice perfume of the new harvest for this export season And long for your mother’s milk from heaven, my child! For life will turn its cycle and you learn much from the old wisdom Wisdom of many lesser people of this world ‘Au O! Sleep well my hungry young child! ‘Au O! The wind has lifted your mother’s shadow up high ‘The four seasons have seen her off with unspeakable sadness Strings of passions vibrate in this cyclonic season The paddy fields are roaming Subconsciously mind resonates in the eternal sound of this season of passions The golden cows have lost their way The child sleeps well today ‘Au O! Sleep tight my starving young child! The angels tell each another Awakening will arouse earthly desires? Wsh! The unfrequented front door welcomes a broken winged angel Who lulls her child to a deep sleep over this season of thirst for milk..milk…and milk ‘Au O! The angel starts singing new graceful songs, songs for plentiful sleep and songs of prophecy ‘Au O the season of happiness ‘Au O the season of grace ‘Au O the season of Nirvana In that red paradise Promises have grown on soil ‘showing off their green attractive leaves and flowers ‘Butterflies and bees have come dragging out the honey sweetness of white promises ‘The dirty black parrots start singing a warning song “It will rain, and rain, and rain everywhere on this filthy life in of your homeland “It'll rain on this infected life “and you will see flies die with feet in the honey sweet lies “and flies will die in that standing position just like statues of the idolized ‘Spring! The colorful spring comes with a fine misty white fog ‘Fog of legacy descends from many ancestors ‘Legacy that soon be evaporated in the red dawn ‘The sun is reddened with its strange piercing weakening rays ‘Au O! Sleep my child! Sleep tight my hungry poor child! ‘Cyclones will come tomorrow morning and sweep away the red sun ‘And you'll regain your strength ‘Sleep tight my child! Sleep will end this season of passions ‘Sleep will eradicate the passions on you ‘Sleep, my child! Sleep in the bush, by the river, Au O! Sleep tight my bony hungry child of stagnant water! Sleep in ponds and lakes! Sleep like exhausted horses! Sleep like dying red horses at judgement time! Like the long lost fat milky cows returning home! ‘Sleep in the buzzzz of mosquitoes, in the crows of the doves, the waves of the Pacific ocean; slêp in the immense motherly love that are wiping out echos from the Truong Son mountain range of the noisy resolutions for this dry season, the dry season of passions ‘Au o sleep tight! My skinny hungry child! ‘Sleep will give you peace and bring you to salvation ‘Sleep will take away the dark self-unwareness ‘Sleep will give you ordinary dreams ‘Sleep will help forget this flimsy life ‘Au O! Sleep tight! My child! Sleep tight! My child! ‘Sleep! Sleep! Sleep! My child! ‘Au o! The wind is weeping on the spinach and the ginger plants ‘Hot ginger, sweet spinach, you promise you never leave me ‘Awakening will cut through veins of life ‘Awareness will pierce through your skin and flesh with sharp spears ‘Au O! Sleep well, my bony hungry child in this imprisoning homeland! ‘Au O sleep tight! My flimsy hungry child! ‘Sleep through this season of sufferings! ‘Sleep so that the provincial chief can forget irremediable problems invading this society ‘Sleep so that all the five year plans can forget this season of sins ‘Au O! Sleep! Sleep well my poor little hungry child! ‘Your rights to life and rights to be in this life have been glorified and protected in your deep sleep ‘Self-awakening will let go Au O societal orders: Sleep well! My poor little hungry child! ‘ Self-awakening will let go Au O economic development: Sleep tight! My poor little hungry child! ‘Sleep! My child! Sleep! My child! The harvest is over and I will lull you to sleep! ‘I will hold the moon shadow lantern high ‘guarding you while you sleep tonight ‘guarding you while you sleep tomorrow night ‘and forever every night ‘so that sickles of poverty ghosts and hunger demons will not wake you up in the mid of night ‘Au O! Sleep tight! My poor little hungry child! ‘Au O! Dream up! My poor little hungry child! Dream the ocean! Prawns and fish of your homeland would return! Dream the four seasons! Flowers, apples, oranges, pears and all the fruits of this season of globalization would come around! Dream the Trans-Viet train! All your rice containers would be filled! Dream a life of freedom ! Snakes, centipedes, tigers, and wild cats surround you! Oh No! Can you see the moon neck is slit and its bood is shedding The cold knife goes through its heart Knife is as cold as the winter of North America, of Paris, of Canberra, and of the jungles in North Vietnam Cold like a winter on the pinnacle of the Fan Si Pan A winter with a fullest moon on top of the mountain ranges The moon that starts cracking up breaking up and hangs loosely in the middle of the Au O unsettled sky The Ca Mau tip has elongated and extended its pointed arms Trying to catch the frothy broken moon shadow that dives into the ocean ‘Au O! Sleep tight! My poor little child! Sleep in your thirst for milk and in your hunger for food!... ‘Slêep in the margin of life ‘Your lips can always taste the moon’s milk drops ‘Salty drops, salty like your people’s tears ‘Why not break the dry fruit stones to search for the seed of these passions! ‘And fold up the old mouldy rags to make perfume Season of passions Life of sufferings The moon survives The child survives My child! You must ‘live’? Rhymes are singing, and rhythms have their mouths full of newly harvested rice The mother of Phu Yen died Yes, she died! She died a quiet death without any nuance! In this season of passions.

 Please support PoetryVisualized.com. Any amount helps | $1 | $5 | $10 | or more |
Thank You!