I have previously written about the Vietnamese poet Hồ Xuân Hương, who was truly an outlier in Vietnamese literature. In a culture heavily influenced by Confucianism, during a time when women were to abide by the three obediences and the four virtues, she had the audacity to write poetry that was outlandish and sexually clandestine. Yet her reality did not escape the lot held for the women of her time, however rebellious her voice appeared.
More than a century later, the poet Xuân Quỳnh, who lost her mother at a young age, would write:
“The female body is a rainburst
A droplet falls by the manor, or the mud.
My mother’s old lullaby drifts indignance
In her sleepless unfathomed eyes
By the cold pale lights
Slender hands toiling the nights
By the silk loom for crash cloths
Burning her breath for a fire to live
A droplet of rain by the mud
Weeping eyes trail the other side
And I, the lost child of life
An anguish bird lost its nest.”1
Among the generation of Xuân Quỳnh’s mother was the poet Ngân Giang, whose writing was parabled to “embroidering flowers, weaving silk”. Named Đỗ Thị Quế at birth, she was born into a family of literary tradition in Hà Nội. Though the family’s trades were in embroidery and eastern medicine apothecary, both her grandfathers were famous scholars, one being friend to Nguyễn Du, who wrote the classic epic poem The Tale of Kiều. At 6 years old, she followed her aunt to the train station and exclaimed:
“The train comes and the train goes
The aloof train regards not its depots.”2
At 16 years of age, already married off to her first husband, she published the famous poetry collection, Tears of Spring. She chose the pen name, Ngân Giang, the Milky Way, literally meaning a river of stars. When the marriage was dissolved by her in-laws, she wrote:
“My child is two; I’m twenty
Amidst this bewildering life
The wind’s beating; rain’s downpouring
Who will walk me for a wife?”3
Swept into the current of history, drowning in endless wars and political turmoils, she would live a life of abject poverty. Three unsuccessful marriages later, she worked nights, doing embroidery to feed her ten children. She wrote:
“Day by day, sadness upon sadness
The children gaze vacantly
No thread, no stitch, no money
Crumbled bed slats, bare bellies
A patch of leaf can hold words still
But where to find the next meal?”4
When the embroidery cooperative launched the “criticism and self-criticism” movement, she eagerly embraced “fighting negativity, denouncing embezzlers”. Consequently, she was kicked out of the cooperative for “disturbing public order, defaming leaders”. She drifted to a riverside hut, selling tea and sweeping leaves to trade as cooking fuel. Another decade went by, she wrote:
“Ten years sweeping leaves fallen
Curved round the back sullen.”5
The life of destitution never stopped her from writing. Her writing career spanned 80 years, leaving more than 4000 poems in classical Tang poetry form, from 1922 until her death in 2002. Reflecting upon her own life, she wrote:
“Mourn this Tang poetic life
A flower drifts by the tides
A song unfinished, love incomplete
A talent shattered by the miles.”6
Ngân Giang was, always will be, a phenomenon in Vietnamese poetry. As befitting as her pen name, her poetry shines like the Milky Way, forever, upon the history of Vietnamese literature:
“Ngân Giang, once upon a time, a wintry river
Where ten thousand silver stars scattered.”7
The life and career of the talented poet exhibit the consequences of being the oddity, the deviation from the norm in a Confucius-steeped society. After all, the expectation for a woman is etched onto folk poetry and lyrics, reverberating throughout the history of Vietnam:
“Stylish is the lad from the river Của
Know thy duty is the gal from Tân Châu
Weaving silk, sowing mulberry
Honor thy father, see to thy mother –
fret not this life of austerity.”8
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1
“Thân gái như hạt mưa sa
Hạt vào gác tía, hạt ra vũng lầy.”
Tiếng mẹ ru xưa chồng chất đắng cay
Trong đôi mắt thức đêm dài thăm thẳm
Bên ngọn đèn con lắt leo không đủ ấm
Bàn tay gầy mài miệt chiếc thoi tơ
Ngày lại ngày dệt tấm vải thô sơ
Tàn hơi sức không tìm ra lẽ sống
Hạt mưa sa trên bùn lầy nước đọng
Một kiếp người nhắm mắt lệ còn rơi
Tuổi thơ tôi lạc lõng giữa đời
Như một cánh chim bơ vơ mất tổ
2
Tàu về rồi tàu lại đi
Khối vô tình ấy nhớ gì sân ga
3
Con lên hai, mẹ hai mươi
Ngơ ngác buồn tênh giữa cuộc đời
Gió táp mưa tầm, ôi giá lạnh
Đường về, biết sẽ hỏi cùng ai
4
Ngày lại ngày qua sầu cộng sầu
Mẹ con ngơ ngác lặng nhìn nhau
Khung thêu hết chỉ, tiền không có
Giường mọt thưa nan ruột bỗng rầu
Sách viết vẫn nhờ manh lá đấy
Bát cơm chưa biết cậy vào đâu
5
Mười năm quét lá bên sông
Hình hài để lại cái còng trên lưng
6
Ôi một đời thơ, xót luật Đường
Lênh đênh hoa dạt sóng muôn phương
Điệu tỳ lỡ dịp, tơ dang dở
Là một tài hoa mấy đoạn trường
7
Rằng ngày xưa ấy Ngân Giang
Một dòng sông lạnh muôn vàn sao rơi
8
Trai nào thanh bằng trai sông Của
Gái nào thảo bằng gái Tân Châu
Tháng ngày dệt lụa trồng dâu
Thờ cha, nuôi mẹ quản đâu nhọc nhằn
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