Poème des chauffeurs de camion sans pare-brise (i)

From poet Phạm Tiến Duật and La Maison des Éditions en Langues Étrangères

Poem about truckers without a windshield

(Bài thơ về tiểu đội xe không kính)

Without a windshield - not that the truck had not had one - thunder of bombs havoc of bombs - the windshield flew in pieces -

camped in the cabin we watch earth and sky right in front

and the wind that comes in, whips the eyes itching and the road that threads runs straight in the heart and the stars in the sky and suddenly wings of birds like shooting stars - by gusts in the cabin

without a windshield: so there is dust, the dust powders hair white like an old man why bother washing - you pull on a cigarette you look at each other - faces completely filthy - and we break out laughing

without a windshield: so our clothes soak the rain flows the rain streams as out of doors why bother changing - you hold the wheel, hundred kilometers more - the rain stops, the wind swells, we dry quickly

the trucks come arrived from where the bombs drop have returned in convoys when we cross friends along the trail we shake hands through the broken windshield

. . .

without a windshield, without lights either without a tarp, planks that part in pieces the truck keeps rolling for the South - onward: it is enough that there may be a heart in the truck

Pham Tien Duat (born in 1942)

From the province of Vinh Phu. He joined the army after studying language and literature at the University of Ha Noi. He lived long years among the fighters and the members of the Shock Youth who followed the path of Ho Chi Minh, in the Resistance against the Amerians. His direct poetry, brutal and chaotic, effervescent, is more plastic than lyric. Collections of poems Vang tran quang lua (La lune au halo de feu) 1970, Tho mot chang duong (Poem of a pause) 1972.

With love to my friend Hữu Ngọc and his chief Nguyẽn Khắc Viện, who edited and published this volume in great hopes for peace in 1977, at the publishing house where Ngọc welcomed me 20 years later and I met Viện on his deathbed around the corner.

This is the first Viet Nam letter of 2 so far addressing Mireille Gansel’s translation “Poème des chauffeurs de camion sans pare-brise” with poet Xuân Diệu and editor Hữu Ngọc from the work of poet Phạm Tiến Duật. The second went out on January 8, 2023.

We twice have addressed as well their translation “Être mère au Viet Nam” from the work of poet Chế Lan Viên. The first appeared on November 30, 2022 and the second on December 27, 2022.

We have written once only on the 3 friends’ translation “Chaque jour je viens quand même” from poet Hoàng Trung Thông on November 7, 2022, “Questions sous terre” from poet Tế Hanh on December 9, 2022, and on “Les fleurs s'ouvrent sur ta tombe” from poet Thanh Hai on February 7, 2023.

We have written letters as well about Sang et Fleurs, her collection of translations with Xuân Diệu from poet Tố Hữu. We sent the first of 5 on February 28, 2023, the second on March 3, 2023, the third on March 9, 2023, the fourth on March 12, 2023, and the fifth on March 24, 2023.

We have written once so far about Mireille Gansel’s recollection and study of translation, Traduire Comme Transhumer.

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.