Nguyen Anh Nong


I have heard many kinds of birds singing in many strange places
This early morning I hear the sound of birds singing in our garden
Hey, look at a bush of bamboo, a branch of mulberry, paper-flowers, cycads, cloves, lemons, pomeloes, plums, pergularias
Hey, the river of the countryside is calm and silent
And the clouds from other places are flying into our garden!
Is there any sound as clear, pure, fragrant and passionate as this one?!
This is the first time I look up, swallow every single melodious sound like a child swallows every single drop of milk
This is the first time I'm cheerful, I'm happy as if I were young again
There are all kinds of things in our garden
If someone wants to exchange his fortune for our garden – in this early morning
I consider him – a mad man, a crazy man
Because I never… never accept it
When your breath is still hot like that
Here, a bed, a television, a motorcycle, a tea-pot, a thermos bottle… are they all ears?
(You stand in front of a new mirror, combing your hair – you're so tender – so tender)
There, a little bird is jumping innocently on a branch of green-striped yellow bamboo
Every string of clear sound has been rolling without being tired
There, mugworts, corianders, palms, lemons, chillies, alpinias, aglaonemas are dancing, quivering
There, the pictures on the walls, the tables, the chairs, the verandah, the sun, the moon, an ink-pot, a page og the book, a pen, a kitchen fan… all are in hubbub.
The sound of birds is passionate, sweet, and clear
Honey, it seems our voice turns into dregs
So I have to keep silent, silent, silent
Our garden is infatuated with the sound of birds.

Hung Dung, 03/ 05/ 2004

Dịch ngày: 10/3/2008