A Vietnamese Poem: The Cherished Daughter

There's a suggestion of a story here in a poetic form.  It took me several readings to pick up several hints.  Part of my problem is my ignorance of Vietnamese culture, so I'm still not certain that I have correctly or fully grasped it. 


The Cherished Daughter

Mother, I am eighteen this year
and still without a husband.
What, Mother, is your plan?
The magpie brought two matchmakers
and you threw them the challenge:
not less than five full quan,
five thousand areca nuts,
five fat pigs,
and five suits of clothes.

Mother, I am twenty-three this year
and still without a husband.
What, Mother, dear, is your plan?
The magpie brought two matchmakers
and you threw them the challenge:
not less than three full quan,
three thousand areca nuts,
three fat pigs,
and three suits of clothes.

Mother, I am thirty-two this year
and still without a husband.
What, Mother, darling, is your plan?
The magpie brought two matchmakers
and you threw them the challenge:
not less than one full quan,
one thousand areca nuts,
one fat dog this time,
and one suit of clothes.

Mother, I am forty-three this year.
Still without a husband.
Mother, look, Mother,
will you please just give me away?

-- Anonymous  (c. 1700 AD)--
trans.  Nguyen Ngoc Bich
from World Poetry:  An Anthology of Verse from Antiquity to Our Time

I had to smile the first reading at the exasperation in the daughter's voice at the end.  On the second reading, I began detect perhaps a hint of desperation at the end, or perhaps more than a hint?   It wasn't until this point that I seriously considered the title.  Did the mother, perhaps, cherish the daughter a bit too much?

Short ones, but. . .

Must be in a strange mood this morning as I read these short poems and found that they brought a smile, not a laugh, but just a gentle smile. I hope they do the same for you.


Caged Birds

The young finch asked the old one why he wept:
"There's comfort in this cage where we are kept."
"You who were born here may well think that's so
But I knew freedom once, and weep to know."

-- Ignacy Krasicki --
from World Poetry,  trans. Jerszy Peterkiewicz and
Burns Singer




Rival  Beauties

Slanting their parasols against the blaze,
They smiled politely, went their separate ways. . .

-- Rskuten --
from A Chime of Windbells, Harold Stewart, ed.







Hunger for Beauty

Beside the road a pink hibicus flowered,
Which my discriminating horse devoured!

-- Basho --
from A Chime of Windbells, Harold Stewart, ed.




The Master and the Dog

Because of thieves, a dog barked all night through.
The master, sleepless, beat him black and blue.
On the next night the dog slept; and thieves came.
The silent dog was beaten all the same.

-- Ignacy Krasicki --
from World Poetry,  trans. Jerszy Peterkiewicz and
Burns Singer







I hope the above bring a smile this Monday morn.

The Scholar and the Cat, a poem

The Scholar and the Cat

                                       Each of us pursues his trade,
                                       I and Pangur my comrade,
                                      His whole fancy on the hunt,
                                      And mine for learning ardent.
                                    
                                      More than fame I love to be
                                      Among my books and study,                   
                                      Pangur does not grudge me it,
                                      Content with his own merit.

                                      When--a heavenly time!-we are
                                      In our small room together
                                      Each of us has his own sport
                                      And asks no greater comfort.

                                     While he sets his round sharp eye
                                     On the walls of my study
                                      I turn mine, though lost its edge
                                     On the great wall of knowledge.

                                     Now a mouse drops in his net
                                     after some mighty onset
                                    While into my bag I cram
                                    Some difficult darksome problem.

                                    When a mouse comes to the kill
                                     Pangur exults, a marvel!
                                     I have when some secret's won
                                    My hour of exultation.

                                     Though we worked for days and years
                                     Neither the other hinders;         
                                     Each is competent and hence
                                     Enjoys his skill in silence.

                                     Master of the death of mice,
                                     He keeps in daily practice
                                     I too, making dark things clear,
                                    Am of my trade a master. 

-- Anonymous --
Irish/Gaelic,  circa 850 AD
translated by Frank O'Conner
from World Poetry: An Anthology of Verse from Antiquity to Our Time
Editors:  Katherine Washburn and John R. Major


I too have a cat, but it doesn't work exactly as it does with this scholar and Pangur.  While I'm reading or on the computer, Dusky is not out there seeking prey.  Instead, she is usually curled up on the bed, sofa, chair, window sill,  etc. catching up on her beauty sleep.  Of course, what goes on in her dreams, I have no idea.

Early Vietnamese Poetry

These are short poems, perhaps reflecting Japanese influence in Korea around a thousand years ago. They are reminiscent of Japanese haiku and other short Japanese forms, and many of the themes are also commonly found in Japanese poetry.


The body of man

The body of man is like a flicker of lightning
existing only to return to Nothingness.
Like the spring growth that shrivels in autumn.
Waste no thought on the process for it has no purpose,
coming and going like the dew.

-- Van Hanh --
(d. 1018)
trans. Nguyen Ngoc Bich with W. S. Merwin

We are just part of the natural process of life on this planet. Our existence has no more meaning then dew or lightning. I don't think he would understand those who believe the universe was created solely for humans, a testing ground for eternal happiness or pain and suffering.

-----


Rebirth

Spring goes, and the hundred flowers.
Spring comes, and the hundred flowers.
My eyes watch things passing,
my head fills with years.
But when spring has gone not all the flowers follow.
Last night a plum branch blossomed by my door.

-- Man Giac --
(1051-1096)
trans. Nguyen Ngoc Bich with W. S. Merwin


Something still remains, even if most have gone on before--perhaps to remind us that the flowers and spring will come back again.


-----

Spring view

The willows trail such glory that the birds are struck dumb.
Evening clouds balance above the eave-shaded hall.
A friend comes, not for conversation,
But to lean on the balustrade and watch the turquoise sky.

-- Tran Nhan-tong --
trans. Nguyen Ngoc Bich

One can always talk, but a night of beauty such as this comes rarely and shouldn't be missed.


-----

A plough and a spade

A plough and a spade, that's all,
A row of chrysanthemums, and orchids,
A place to plant beans: that's all I need
Friends come, birds sing and flowers wave: welcome!
The moon walks with me when I fetch water for tea.
Old Po Yi stayed pure and stayed happy,
Yen-tzu stayed poor and liked it;
Let the world buzz,
I need no praise, I am deaf to laughter.

-- Nguyen Trai --
(1380-1442)
trans. Nguyen Ngoc Bich



A bamboo hut

A bamboo hut and a plum tree bower--
That's where I spend my days, far from the world's talk.
For meals, only some pickled cabbage,
But I've never cared for the life of damask and silk.
There's a pool of water for watching the moon,
And land to plough into flower beds.
Sometimes I feel inspired on snowy nights--
That's when I write my best poems, and sing.

--Nguyen Trai --
trans. Nguyen Ngoc Bich


What? No Ipad, no Blackberry, no computer, no forty-five inch TV, no Twitter or Facebook?

-----

The stone dog

With a heavy paw he guards the frontier,
Squatting alone in the middle of the pass,
Paying no heed to the snow or frost,
Never asking for good food or payment.
Staring straight at the visitors' faces,
He is above listening to their gossiping tongues.
With one mind he serves his lord.
A thousand-weight strong, he cannot be swayed.

-- Emperor Le Thanh-tong
(1142-1497)
trans. Nguyen Ngoc Bich


And, no doubt he guarded that pass long after the emperor who had him created had gone, even perhaps long after the empire had disintegrated--perhaps an Asian Ozymandias?



All poems are taken from World Poetry: An Anthology of Verse from Antiquity to Our Time, and edited by Katherine Washburn and John S. Major.