It ends 6 more pages later with the signature of Hai-Dang Phan.
Janet Evans-Scanlon designed Paper Bells with reference to the Chicago Manual of Style, which specifies that the author of a book writes the preface. Someone else writes any foreword or introduction
and any translator's note. So this is a preface by an author in the standard contract, specified on the rights page as Hai-Dang Phan for translations and preface, but after Phan Nhiên Hạo for the poems.
Hai-Dang did not translate Hạo's poems for hire. He takes a share in the enterprise of the book. On the other hand I expect that he would object to my legalism to say that of course Hạo is the author.
My point is that Hai-Dang invested himself to make this book. He built authority. He augmented, to go the root of the word, our empire.
What does he have to say about his book and about Hao's in this author's preface? Let me, a third party, introduce you to the first sentence of each paragraph.
"Phan Nhiên Hạowas born in 1967 in Kon Tum, in the Central Highlands of Vietnam, a mountainous area close to the border with Laos and Cambodia."
So the poet arrived one year before my youngest brother. Noting that is a mental tic of speaking Vietnamese that has long since taken over my sense of any other person.
Hạo's home town is also a Roman Catholic mission to the peoples of the highlands, who are not Vietnamese. If it is close to Cambodia and Laos it looks straight through them to Bangkok, rival to Ha Noi and Saigon as patrons of the highlanders.
"In spring 1975, everything changed."
The Republic of Viet Nam fell to the People's Army of Viet Nam. The small son of an officer became the orphan of a dead traitor.
"In the late '70s through the early '90s, life in reunified Vietnam became especially difficult if not unbearable for individuals and families associated with the military and government of the former Republic of South Vietnam, and roughly two million people fled the country by any possible means between 1975 and 1995."
In my legalist, pissy, area studies way I remark that the nation unified in 1976 never had existed before though it did hearken to the nation governed by the Nguyen dynasty circa 1800-1850. There never ever has been anywhere a Republic of South Vietnam.
But Hai-Dang knows what he is talking about and I hear him. The lamp-posts would have fled if they had feet, the saying went. It is common to meet those who escaped 9 times, getting caught 8 times and going to prison each time.
Hạo rather immersed himself in a collection of national and world literature from the Republic of Viet Nam preserved by family in the countryside. In town, he assimilated to the Socialist Republic of Viet Nam curriculum in literature.
"Phan Nhiên Hạo moved to Saigon, now officially renamed after Ho Chi Minh."
Oh, that is the name of the city. The boroughs are still Cho Lon and Saigon. Why give that fool any credit you don't have to?
Hạo did have to. He rose in the Ho dynasty on its terms, staying in school and out of the army, and stepped forward as a young poet.
"In 1991, Phan left Vietnam through the Orderly Departure program, a legal emigration program that established a safer means of exodus for those, particularly individuals and families associated with the South Vietnamese military, wishing to leave."
He got his ducks in a row then flew the coop.
"At twenty-four, Phan Nhiên Hạo arrived in the United States, young enough to start over in crucial ways, but old enough to carry in himself the cargo of his Vietnamese identity, history, and language; and his initial years here followed the restless itinerary of the new immigrant."
You could say that is what you have in your hand. A grown poet in Vietnamese who has made his way into this American English book.
"Determined to continue his studies, Phan Nhiên Hạo pursued a BA at UCLA, majoring in American Literature and Culture, and would also earn a Master's in Library Science there."
So, this Vietnamese poet knows more literature of the United States than you do.
"Phan Nhiên Hạo's first collection, Thiên Đường Chuông Giấy (Paradise of Paper Bells, 1996), written mostly during those first five years in the United States, introduced to Vietnamese-language readers the work of a younger, post-war generation writer whose poetry was a mix of native and foreign influences and the product of his own imagination."
What else is there to say?
"His following collection, Chế Tạo Thơ Ca 99-04 (Manufacturing Poetry 99-04), published in 2004, showed a poet willing to write more outwardly, more boldly and dangerously, taking not only thematic risks, but formal ones."
I haven't seen it myself. We do open up as we age.
"15 years passed before the publication, in spring 2019, of Phan Nhiên Hạo's third and most recent poetry collection, Summer Radio."
And he raised his two children with his wife, won a serious job as one of our Southeast Asianist librarians, at the heart of our national understanding of that strategic area, and wrote a master's thesis in anthropology on the politics of Vietnamese Americans.
"The two enduring themes of Phan Nhiên Hạo's poetry remain: his American life as a Vietnamese refugee and exiled poet, and his commitment to a more just memory and history for South Vietnamese."
Why yes. It never would have occurred to me to say that second part. Hạo and I are on the same team there. But the dozen reviews I have read of the book don't mention it. Well, Hai-Dang tried.
"Echoing the longer title of his first collection, I have chosen Paper Bells to name the present gathering of poems because it rings with the muted music of this poet's voice of solitude."
Hai-Dang explains that he chose early poems from Saigon days, through the present, in order by year but not necessarily the best or most representative. He says they are a matter of what was at hand, what he liked, what got done. I call that life.
"These poems represent the result of over ten years of literary collaboration and friendship."
You are holding in your hands not one author but two.
"For the past thirty years, the poet Phan Nhiên Hạo has been living and writing in exile with no regrets, off-center, in the shadows of no man's land, mostly invisible and unknown, undomesticated, and free. I will be his translator and collaborator - and his witness."
It's a beautiful thing.
Viet Nam letters have addressed Paper Bells from poet Phan Nhiên Hạo translated by Hai-Dang Phan 6 times. The first time was on March 2, 2022 and the second on March 19, 2022.
Viet Nam letters respects the property of others under paragraph 107 of United States Code Title 17. If we asked for permission it wouldn’t be criticism. We explain our fair use at length in the letter of September 12, 2022.
The colophon of these Viet Nam letters, directly above, shows the janitor speaking with poet David A. Willson on a Veterans Day.
Today's Viet Nam letter introduces Hai-Dang Phan's preface to his selection and translations from the poems of Phan Nhiên Hạo. Both men are Americans.
The one who writes in Vietnamese knows more American literature in English than you do. Also anthropology. Today's letter is my third run at writing about this book of poems.
One afternoon later this week I will write my fifth about it, scheduled to launch at the substack in June. I used to go into the Sterling Memorial Library
to gather everything published in English about some American poet or poem and select among them for approval by the critic Harold Bloom. You might be startled
how little I found on some, maybe not, but unless you have done this kind of work you would be amazed at how the vast heap of critics who have piled on a few works and authors
winnows down to a handful when you look for something entertaining and informative to pass along to an interested reader. Writing a poem, Robert Graves said,
a real poem, is like getting hit by lightning. Rare and remarkable. To observe and report one of those strikes is even more rare.
So, you know, since most of us are average most of the time I don't expect to stand out in literary criticism. I do however address the facts
and speak my taste. My work for Harold taught me that I so therefore may become of use. Please consider joining my walk in the storm
by subscribing for free to these letters. Please consider patronizing the others at $50/year or subsidizing the whole project at $250/year.
The war machine of the United States encourages you in this charity by deducting any gift from tax on your income.
Promotional copy:
Today's Viet Nam letter introduces Hai-Dang Phan's preface to his selection and translations from the poems of Phan Nhiên Hạo. Both men are Americans.
The one who writes in Vietnamese knows more American literature in English than you do. Also anthropology. Today's letter is my third run at writing about this book of poems.
One afternoon later this week I will write my fifth about it, scheduled to launch at the substack in June. I used to go into the Sterling Memorial Library
to gather everything published in English about some American poet or poem and select among them for approval by the critic Harold Bloom. You might be startled
how little I found on some, maybe not, but unless you have done this kind of work you would be amazed at how the vast heap of critics who have piled on a few works and authors
winnows down to a handful when you look for something entertaining and informative to pass along to an interested reader. Writing a poem, Robert Graves said,
a real poem, is like getting hit by lightning. Rare and remarkable. To observe and report one of those strikes is even more rare.
So, you know, since most of us are average most of the time I don't expect to stand out in literary criticism. I do however address the facts
and speak my taste. My work for Harold taught me that I so therefore may become of use. Please consider joining my walk in the storm
by subscribing for free to these letters. Please consider patronizing the others at $50/year or subsidizing the whole project at $250/year.
The war machine of the United States encourages you in this charity by deducting any gift from tax on your income.