Prisoner's Songs

Poet Nguyễn Chí Thiện

In the early years of the 1980s there was no big change in my creative direction. From 1977 until that time, I had written my refugee's songs, in which, besides the tragedies of our life in exile, the motherland was the most frequently mentioned subject. The mood in which it was mentioned, however, had more to do with delirium than love. Those songs could also be termed illusions of the motherland.

As we were immersed in the homeland theme, suddenly everybody - including myself - were startled by the words of a prisoner from home. A collection of poems with several titles: Chúc Thư Của Một Người Việt Nam (A Vietnamese's Testament), Tiếng Vọng Từ Ðáy Vực (Echoes From The Abyss), Hoa Ðịa Ngục (Flower Of Hell) from a hitherto unknown poet, came to the Vietnamese refugee community in dramatic circumstances. This man, who had spent most of his life in jail for his dissent against the regime, took advantage of a short period of freedom to throw into the UK embassy in Hanoi a collection of handwritten poems. The poet Nguyễn Chí Thiện and his Flowers of Hell immediately became the hottest talking point of the Vietnamese exiles since more than a million of them left their country.

Still living in the delirium of a man who had just lost his country, with hatred filling my soul, I quickly took these poems and put 20 pieces to music. I called these Prisoner's Songs and referred to the poet as ngục sĩ (the prison don).

These songs were:
1.- Từ Vượn Lên Người, Từ Người Xuống Vượn (Ape To Man, Man To Ape)
2.- Ðảng Ðầy Tôi (The Party Punished Me)
3.- Ngày 19 Tháng 5 (May 19th)
4.- Xưa Lý Bạch (Once, Li Po)
5.- Những Thiếu Nhi Ðiển Hình Chế Ðộ (Typical Youngsters Of The Regime)
6.- Tôi Có Thể, or Vô Ðịch (I Can Be, I Am A Champion)
7.- Chuyện Vĩ Ðại Bi Ai (Great Tragedy)
8.- Thấy Ngay Thủ Phạm (He's The Culprit)
9.- Nước Ðổng Trác Ðiêu Thuyền (Country Of Ðổng Trác and Ðiêu Thuyền)
10.- Sẽ Có Một Ngày (The Day Will Come)
11.- Cái Lầm To Thế Kỷ (This Century's Monumental Mistake)
12.- Ðôi Mắt Trương Chi (Trương Chi 's Eyes)
13.- Vì Ấu Trĩ (Because Of Our Naivety)
14.- Tia Chớp Này Vĩ Ðại (This Great Flash Of Lightning)
15.- Ôi Mảnh Ðất Hình Hài Chữ S (O Land Shaped Like An S)
16.- Ðất Nước Tôi (My Land)
17.- Xin Hãy Giữ Mầu Trong Trắng (Please Keep This Purity)
18.- Biết Ðến Bao Giờ Lời Thơ Của Tôi ? (When Will My Verses...)
19.- Trong Bóng Ðêm (In The Night)
20.- Thời Ðại Hồ Chí Minh (The Ho Chi Minh Era)

I tried to give the prisoner's songs different characteristics. Some were bitter, like Những Thiếu Nhi Ðiển Hình Chế Ðộ, Chuyện Vĩ Ðại Bi Ai , some were proud and unbending, like Ðảng Ðầy Tôi, Xưa Lý Bạch... , some were derisive, like Từ Vượn Lên Người, Từ Người Xuống Vượn, Nước Ðổng Trác Ðiêu Thuyền... , some were fiery, like Trong Bóng Ðêm... . Some sounded like folk rhymes Thấy Ngay Thủ Phạm... , some were serene and romantic (Sẽ Có Một Ngày... I performed The Prisoner's Songs in most Vietnamese communities around the world.

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Committed to laugh and cry with the changing fortunes of my nation, and with my inspiration nearly dried up in the life of exile, after singing about my country's misfortunes through the fiery verses of Nguyễn Chí Thiện, I started looking for poems about the motherland that were more gentle, less vengeful, so that I could draw closer to this land which I might never see again.

Another collection of poems - also handwritten - came to me, from an old friend who used to perform with me in 1946-47, during the anti-French Resistance. The author was one of the NHÂN VĂN GIAI PHẨM (Humanist Selection) group, who fought peacefully for human rights in North Vietnam in the late sixties. It was the collection ÐƯỜNG VỀ KINH BẮC (The Road To Kinh Bắc) by Hoàng Cầm, written clandestinely after he and his comrades Nguyễn Hữu Ðang, Trần Dần, Lê Ðạt, Văn Cao, Tử Phác, etc. were banned from writing or performing because of their dissent.

These poems helped me to write melodies that are full of sweetness as well as bitterness, which I called HOÀNG CẦM CA (Songs Of Hoàng Cầm).

Songs Of Hoàng Cầm

Hoàng Cầm, in his youth

First of all, I - and artist Tạ Tỵ - sat down and tried to remember Hoàng Cầm's love poems, written when he was 17 or 18. From memory I wrote down a short untitled poem, which I fleshed out with some new words. This became HOÀNG CẦM CA No.1, titled TÌNH CẦM (which can mean either ''Hoàng Cầm's Love'' or ''The Musician's Love'').
TÌNH CẦM
HOÀNG CẦM'S LOVE
If I was as young as then
I would take you home to live with me.
On golden evenings
We'd make music to stay forever young.

When a silver cloud brings longings
When a golden moon lights a dream
I will tune my lute
Waiting for you to sing an old song of spring.

But your boat is still moored on the river of bitterness
So I will not come back to music
The lute lies alone under the moon
A dream forlorn waits by the river.

If one day you turn back your steps
And come back to the autumn shore
We won't be young anymore
But the silver cloud and the golden moon will still be there

The poems in the ÐƯỜNG VỀ KINH BẮC collection were metaphorical, filled with the beautiful imagery and colors of the motherland, but who could understand what Hoàng Cầm wanted to say ? In a moment of shimmering creativity, I suddenly saw the concealed meaning in these verses.

LÁ DIÊU BÔNG (Diêu Bông Leaf) was about looking for a leaf from Ðình Ba?ng (Bắc Ninh province), which had the power of restoring beauty to an older woman:

LÁ DIÊU BÔNG
DIÊU BÔNG LEAF
Kids! Whoever can find me a diêu bông leaf
I'll call him my husband
I'll call him my husband
Whoever can find me a diêu bông leaf

A few days later I found a leaf
But she frowned: That's not diêu bông !
Next winter I found a leaf
But she shook her head and looked at the dying sunshine.

Kids! Whoever can find me a diêu bông leaf
I'll call him my husband
I'll call him my husband
Whoever can find me a diêu bông leaf

On her wedding day I found a leaf
She smiled as she threaded a needle.
When she'd had three children I found a leaf
She covered her face and refused to look.

Kids! Whoever can find me a diêu bông leaf
I'll call him my husband
I'll call him my husband
Whoever can find me a diêu bông leaf
. . . . . .
Since those days I have wandered the world
A leaf in my hand
The wind from home whispers
Die^u bo^ng, o die^u bo^ng
I have crossed a thousand rivers
But never found a leaf of diêu bông

QUA VƯỜN ỔI (Passing the Guava Orchard) paints the image of the small people, weak and powerless, who cannot reach even very plain foods such as green guava on the branches.
QUA VƯỜN ỔI
PASSING THE GUAVA GARDEN
Three steps lead to the guava garden
She sits on the branch, I look up
Big sister! Can I have a green guava?
Kid, that guava is still too green too eat
That guava is still too green too eat

Three steps lead to the guava garden
She sits on the branch, I look up
Big sister, can I have a half-ripe guava?
Kid, the birds have made a hole in half-ripe guava
The birds have made a hole in half-ripe guava

Big sister, can I have a ripe guava ?
Kid, the ripe guavas are on top of the tree
They're out of reach
. . . . . . . . . . . .
Three steps lead to the guava garden
She sits on the branch, I look up . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . .
I drag my feet on the path to the future
Picking a few fallen fruit in the rain...

CỖ BÀI TAM CÚC (The Game Of Tam Cúc - a traditional card game) symbolises the people's happiness of old, now lost... and hope that it will one day be regained.
CỖ BÀI TAM CÚC
THE TAM CÚC GAME
We line the floor with stolen straw
Get out a bent pack of card
She calls for some areca nut and betel
Red carriages carry her to my village

I look at the cards to find the warmth of your hair
I will not grow up, please don't go away
King, minister, red and black, open and close
The straw carries the fragrance of adolescence.

We line the floor with stolen straw
Get out a bent pack of card
One of us get the upper hand
The other has to stand outside
One of us get the upper hand
The other has to stand outside
. . . . . . . .
We line the floor with stolen straw
Get out a bent pack of card
Secretly I play my Red King and Red Minister
Swapping for a Red Carriage to take you to my village
Gun and Horse come bringing strife
The Officer in red-lined black coat
Drives the red Pawns over the black
And lets out the golden Elephant to carry you away
I stand and I look
And I call out: a Pair!

ÐẠP LÙI TINH TÚ (Pushing Back The Stars) paints the image of a sad homeland in deep sleep, where only a mayfly stays awake, stirring, dissolving the reflection of the moon and the stars on the pond:
ÐẠP LÙI TINH TÚ
PUSHING BACK THE STARS
I am a golden calf lost in the blue evening
Looking for a rose myrtle, they're still green
I climb up the hill to lie down by Hai Cô shrine
Anc chew grass in the drizzle.
In the misty field walk a few shadows
This afternoon mother is not coming back to the stable.

I am a dove cooing on the bamboo
Calling for the newborn sunshine to come to the yard
Looking for good news from distant horizons
Waiting for rainclouds to gather above the thatch roofs.

I am a thirsty bulbul
Coming back to the old garden where longan seeds are sprouting
I, a spindly guava tree
Am struggling against ambushing winter
I, a spindly guava tree
Am struggling against ambushing winter

I am a mayfly on the pond
Perching on a windblown duckweed
Plunging into the water to find a star
Collecting a teardrop from the homesick zosterop
Which has disturbed the mirror smooth water.
I look at my image in the dark night of the pond
And see my legs pushing back the stars.
A pair of fish are sleeping soundly.

As the 1990s bring some changes in the socialist countries, Hoàng Cầm and his comrades were reinstated. He was allowed to write again and his poems now bear more spirituality than ever before. I met him again through correspondence, exchanging poems and music. I put to music another exquisite poem of his:
TRĂM NĂM NHƯ MỘTCHIỀU
A HUNDRED YEARS, AN EVENING
Where am I standing?
Where am I standing?
Your smile's a thin leaf
Closing the door to dreams
Where am I standing?
Where am I standing?
Where am I standing?
Where am I standing?
Your voice like the wind choking
Evening like the cloud of Thị Mầu
Your look a white rain
A hundred years floating past
I stand here - it's you
It's you I stand here
. . . . . .
Since when have you stood here?
Since when have you stood here?
Standing in the garden of promise
You crack open the gate to tomorrow
Long have you stood here
Long have you stood here
Long have you stood here
Long have you stood here
I come to the date
This afternoon like those days
Look at you in the sun
A hundred years, an evening
I stand here - it's you
It's me you stand here...

Last Refugees' Songs
By 1983, after the refugees' songs, prisoner's songs and songs of Hoàng Cầm , spanning nearly a decade of crisis, I began to regain my balance. I had become an American citizen, and can now end my refugee's existence. I wrote a simple song to put the past behind me.
RỒI ÐÂY ANH SẼ ÐƯA EM VỀ NHÀ
I'LL TAKE YOU BACK ONE DAY
(Midway City, CALIFORNIA-1983)
I'll take you back one day
To our sweet little home
In the suburb with ith a green vegetable garden
Dreaming in the rain or in the sun
Outside, an old tamarind tree
Flowers in the night
Spreading its fragrance
I'll take you back one day
To the peaceful park
We'll sit on the stone bench of old
Under the pine trees in the gentle breeze
Where that bird used to sing
Where that butterfly used to flutter
We''l come back to everyday loves.

Let's come back where we used to walk
Lightly stepping along familiar streets
When the rain fell it's to cool your mind
Come back and visit the old pagoda
Where the old bell rings and old loves echo,
And the ferry girl still waits on the river.

One day we'll take each other home
To the old village with the fragrant rice
A pond dozing in the sun
A hill covered with young grass and wildflowers
A little river
A voice singing
The eastern sea singing its lullaby
CODA
The eastern sea singing its eternal lullaby!

The 90s came and with it the autumn of my life. I wrote TÌNH THU (Love In Autumn), a gift to myself more than to the listeners:
TÌNH THU
LOVE IN AUTUMN
(Midway City, California-1983)
REFRAIN
Autumn has come my love
We have got older in our journey of love
We have listened to the melancholic rhythm of life
We have come close to the music of the underworld

I have lived a shimmering life
Where the sun came out then died under the clouds
Where flowers bloomed and died the same day
Then autumn comes to bring loneliness
I have lived a life replete with longings
With a pair of hands, with tears, with lips
I have sung when the world is silent
Paths diverge and loves will fade
REFRAIN
Autumn has come my love
We have got older in our journey of love
We have listened to the melancholic rhythm of life
We have come close to the music of the underworld

I have lived clinging to faint hopes
Short lived joys and lifetimes of pain
A fawn caught in the net of the evening
An evening that descends on dying time
I have lived a life full of vitality
Soaring and sinking with love
I have always known that love will die when autumn comes
Lives diverge and people soon forget.
LAST REFRAIN
Like an autumn leaf love has faded
But I am still going round and round in the world
Raising my voice to sing a sad song
An autumn sound that becomes eternity.

In the early 90s, a tide of democracy rsoe all over the world. South Africa changed its apartheid system, the single party dictatorships of Eastern Europe crumbled, the Berlin Wall fell. Tienanmen pointed towards the inevitable fall of Asian dictatorships. To celebrate these events, I wrote a song to democracy: BÀI CA DÂN CHỦ
(Món Quà Tự Do)
THE SONG OF DEMOCRATY AND HUMAN RIGHT
Only those who are truly mad
Will cling on to brute force and dictatorship
Will not hear the song of democracy
Will not hear the song of human rights
In the summer of Beijing.

All my life I have seen
People separated by walls
Now I sing the song of democracy
The song of people who brought down the Berlin wall.
The senile Chinese missed the train
Blood flowed in Tien An Mien square.
The East European people are enjoying
The Christmas gift of Freedom.
I feel the wonder of life's rebitrth
As spring comes back to Eastern Europe
On the snow the flower of democracy blooms
An immortal flower
Has come to Prague.
So long has Eastern Europe suffered
Surrounded in barbed wire
But the sweet heart of democracy
Has brought down the prisons
And the barbed wires have been broken.
Into the abyss a stupid dictator have fallen
Blood has flowed in Tien An Men
He has forgotten Poland
And death was his Christmas gift.

Racism will not last
Class discrimination is a scourge
A democratic Africa rises
No distinction between black and white.
How sweet it is to live
In the new millenium of peace
Unlucky people still oppressed
Listen to the new song of the people,
The song of the future
CODA
Listen to the Song of Democracy
Listen to the Song of Human Rights
In the summer of Beijing
On the crumbling Berlin wall
In the Prague spring
Evermore
Evermore

In my mind, the problem of Vietnam will come to a satisfactory solution, if not in this century, then certainly in the next. Now, after more than half a lifetime of writing ''people's music'', I decide to say goodbye to my sentimental and social personas and let my spiritual persona have all the freedom to write nature's music.

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