{"id":214,"date":"2014-09-12T23:16:29","date_gmt":"2014-09-13T03:16:29","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/people.clas.ufl.edu\/apham\/?page_id=214"},"modified":"2026-03-19T08:24:31","modified_gmt":"2026-03-19T12:24:31","slug":"poetry-2","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/people.clas.ufl.edu\/apham\/poetry-2\/","title":{"rendered":"Poetry"},"content":{"rendered":"\r\n
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Poetry<\/h1>\n\n\n\n

Vietnamese versions are the original ones.<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n
\"rose\"<\/td>\n\n

Vietnamese version (<\/strong><\/a>Tie\u0302\u0301ng Me\u0323<\/a>)<\/strong><\/p>

Mother, there was a poem
\nI often told myself to write
\nBut year by year, it was delayed
\nAnd remained there in me, deep inside<\/em><\/p>

Suddenly, at the end of one hurried day
\nas the wind was chasing the sun away
\nI listened carefully and heard a pink rose blossom*
\nI was stunned to realize
\nThat I no longer needed to look anywhere else
\nFor those beautiful words or new ideas:
\n\u201cMother\u201d is already a poem.<\/em><\/p>

From the bilingual poetry collection “H\u00e3y nh\u1ea3y c\u00f9ng em – Dance with me”, 2018<\/p>

*A Buddhist tradition: in the mid-July full moon, those whose mothers are still alive will be given a pink rose to put on their blouses; those whose mothers passed away will receive a white rose. The rose in the photo is from my garden. Soon after this poem was written, I had to wear a white one.<\/p><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<\/tbody>\n<\/table>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n
\"tango<\/td>\nDance With Me\u00a0To the End of Pain <\/strong><\/span>Vietnamese version (pdf) <\/a>

You call me \u2018Tango\u2019 because<\/em><\/p>

I dance to the joy, I dance to the sorrow<\/em><\/p>

I dance for inexpressible loneliness<\/em><\/p>

I dance for the happiness of summer crickets<\/em><\/p>

Let\u2019s praise the pure beauty<\/em><\/p>

of new-born babies\u2019 hands<\/em><\/p>

praise the joy that nothing can hold back<\/em><\/p>

praise something thought to be lost, suddenly found<\/em><\/p>

the love we thought only a dream, suddenly real:<\/em><\/p>

Dance with me to the desperate hand<\/em><\/p>

waving from the river.<\/em><\/p>

Dance with me to a heart broken<\/em><\/p>

by loss of trust, by betrayal<\/em><\/p>

by a mistake that can’t be fixed<\/em><\/p>

And dance with me<\/em><\/p>

to the tender silence<\/em><\/p>

of the cross\u2019 carrier<\/em><\/p>

Dance with me to the end of pain.<\/em><\/p>

– after \u201cDance with me to the end of love\u201d by Leonard Cohen<\/p><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<\/tbody>\n<\/table>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n
\"\"<\/td>\nThe Last Evening in Paris<\/span><\/em><\/span>

Vietnamese version (pdf)
\n<\/span><\/strong><\/a><\/span><\/span><\/p>

Our last evening, the Paris sky was gray <\/em><\/p>

holding rain, as in Saigon.<\/em><\/p>

Charles De Gaulle was dim<\/em><\/p>

I sat at the bar alone with my cabernet.<\/em><\/p>

Something is lost between us<\/em><\/p>

Is gone is dying. We have used up our talk<\/em><\/p>

and now we are quiet you and I.<\/em><\/p>

We are as different as fire and water<\/em><\/p>

as stars and the moon as red and brown.<\/em><\/p>

As a shy small bird greeting the dawn<\/em><\/p>

or an eager goat who wants the change the world.<\/em><\/p>


\n<\/em><\/span>On the sea of things we haven’t understood, haven’t said, cannot be said<\/em><\/p>

floats the appreciation of what we’ve had, what we’ve shared.<\/em><\/p>

We came to Paris as lovers<\/em><\/p>

and leave as friends.<\/em><\/p>

Our last night I woke, slept, tossed, had good dreams, odd dreams<\/em><\/p>

Twelve days are too short to grow beyond oneself<\/em><\/p>

but too long to spend with a stranger.<\/em><\/p>

Our ignorance of each other is vast as that sea.<\/em><\/p>

Waking our last morning,<\/em><\/p>

good intentions and sweet memories gentled my kiss<\/em><\/p>

But faster than the kiss you slid away<\/em><\/p>

Starting over is a shooting star.<\/em><\/p>

Differences make the world beautiful<\/em><\/p>

people interesting<\/em><\/p>

scientists learning<\/em><\/p>

Make me say goodbye.<\/em><\/p>

\u00a0<\/em><\/span><\/p><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<\/tbody>\n<\/table>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n
\"\"<\/td>\nThe Kiss<\/strong><\/span>

Vietnamese version (pdf)<\/span><\/a><\/strong><\/span><\/p>

A kiss is not tears<\/em><\/p>

however <\/em>my eyes brim,<\/em><\/p>

is not a breeze though<\/em><\/p>

it shivers silken threads.<\/em><\/p>

How long does it take<\/em><\/p>

for a deep kiss to<\/em><\/p>

turn to indifference,<\/em><\/p>

Warm lips turned to stone,<\/em><\/p>

a wave that unbalances?<\/em><\/p>

No one takes the measure<\/em><\/p>

of distance. Good and bad<\/em><\/p>

repeat themselves. Kisses<\/em><\/p>

pass like seasons:<\/em><\/p>

winter, spring.<\/em><\/p>

I swear I will not hope<\/em><\/p>

this time.\u00a0 But the last<\/em><\/p>

season lies ripening<\/em><\/p>

on the windowsill.<\/em><\/p>

Soon the next will come.<\/em><\/p><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<\/tbody>\n<\/table>\n\n\n\n\n\n\n
\"tango<\/a><\/td>\nThe First Tango <\/strong><\/span>

Vietnamese version (pdf)<\/span><\/a><\/strong><\/span><\/p>

Our legs entwined<\/em><\/p>

We flutter to deep music<\/em><\/p>

Like swirling butterflies<\/em><\/p>

floating above a vast green field.<\/em><\/p>

Fast, fast back steps<\/em><\/p>

The road stretches behind<\/em><\/p>

Those long ago days<\/em><\/p>

Come back to one by one.<\/em><\/p>

Like fresh grass<\/em><\/p>

The melody floats;<\/em><\/p>

In their dance<\/em><\/p>

Every move is poetic.<\/em><\/p>

A great love is not always<\/em><\/p>

the first love. The one who loves me<\/em><\/p>

most may the the nearest one.<\/em><\/p>

As the song slows<\/em><\/p>

I pour my soul into every step.<\/em><\/p>

As it speeds, my legs fly feverishly<\/em><\/p>

Across the floor and I am lost<\/em><\/p>

In the heart of tango.<\/em><\/p><\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<\/tbody>\n<\/table>\n\n\n\r\n\t\t\t<\/div>\r\n\t\t<\/div>\r\n\t<\/div>\r\n<\/section>\r\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"","protected":false},"author":459,"featured_media":0,"parent":0,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"featured_post":"","footnotes":"","_links_to":"","_links_to_target":""},"class_list":["post-214","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"acf":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/people.clas.ufl.edu\/apham\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/214","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/people.clas.ufl.edu\/apham\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/people.clas.ufl.edu\/apham\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/people.clas.ufl.edu\/apham\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/459"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/people.clas.ufl.edu\/apham\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=214"}],"version-history":[{"count":10,"href":"https:\/\/people.clas.ufl.edu\/apham\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/214\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":580,"href":"https:\/\/people.clas.ufl.edu\/apham\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/pages\/214\/revisions\/580"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/people.clas.ufl.edu\/apham\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=214"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}