Y PHUONGReal name is Hua Vinh Suoc, Tay ethnic group, born in 1947 in Trung Khanh, Cao Bang.
Was enlisted in 1968, during the Resistance war he was a soldier of an elite special army. After leaving the army, in 1981, he moved to work at Cao Bang Department of Culture and Information. He graduated from Nguyen Du Cours of Literature. Since 1993, he has been Chairman of Cao Bang Literature and Arts Association, Member of Executive Board of Vietnam Writers Association, Session VI. His poetry expresses a true, strong and pure soul, a way of thinking full of the image of highlanders.
Talk to child
Your right leg comes to your dad
Your left leg comes to your mom
Voices appears after an step
Smile appears after two steps
A sympathy for our countrymen
Sadness for persons living too far from hometown
The persons going to farway places nurture a great ambition
Regardless of everything, I still want
When you live on stone, (do not blame its roughness)
When you live in small valley (do not blame its poverty)
We seem like river and stream
Wandering up hill and down dale without complaints on tiredness
Our fellow countrymen are so rough with skin and flesh
Few persons are small
Our fellow countrymen self-chisel the rock to raise hometown’s
Hometown exists, customs will be followed
My dear, despite we are rough with skin and flesh
But when you go head
Never be too weak
My dear
Village name
You are my son
You are a man in Hieu Le Village
You come back from battlefield at the age of thirty
Get married in a hurry
Until the age of thirty, do you start to build house
Hedging a garden to plant vegetables
What first nice happiness
Like the sun rising from mountain
You are my son
You are a man in Hieu Le Village
Having a highland fever
Suffering from a wound in the body
Luckily, the plants in homeland
Healing your wound
You are my son
You are a man in Hieu Le Village
Wherr you cried at the age of three
Where the river and mountain firstly call ancestor
Where the fire is firstly made on the water surface
Where the porcelain is first cracked
Where the thinking first grows up
When the thinking grows up, sadness is felt
Your feet ever fighted like sharp rock
Now you come back with first babblings
Yes, the village where you was born
There is a house built with freestone
There are roads where black and yellow cows and buffaloes go in
crowd.
There is happiness when the rice ripes
There is love melting into waterfall sound
Making sounds to the high sky
Resounding down to the earth
That is your Hieu Le village.
Source: Vietnam Writers and works
VNQD