Terry Lee
Dreams on
the peak of
the Mountain
Poems by the Most Venerable Tuệ Sỹ
Translated and explained by Terry Lee
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
2
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
Poems by the Most Venerable Tuệ Sỹ | Translated and explained by Terry Lee
First published November 2024
ISBN 978-0-6487506-2-8
This work is intended for free and open access. You are welcome
to use, share, and adapt this work for any purpose, without
seeking permission. However, by assigning it an ISBN, we
kindly request that you attribute the work to Terry Lee when
using it in any form.
Contact Terry at advancedmathematics@gmail.com.
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
3
Anh ôm giấc mộng đi hoang
Biết đâu mà kiếm trăng ngàn cho em
Tuệ Sỹ
Nurturing a dream in my heart, I wander,
Wondering how to pluck the moon down for you
translated by Terry Lee
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
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Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
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Contents
The life of the Most Venerable Tuệ Sỹ 17
Prologue 19
Volume 1: Những phương trời viễn mộng | Celestial
realms of distant dreams 21
1. Cánh chim trời 23
A sky bird 23
2. Cung trời cũ 29
Celestial realm of a previous lifetime 29
3. Hận thu cao 39
Rising autumnal wrath 39
4. Hoài niệm 45
Nostalgia 45
5. Hương ngày cũ 51
Scent of old days 51
6. Kết từ 54
In conclusion 54
7. Mộng trường sinh 61
Eternal life’s dream 61
8. Mưa cao nguyên 65
Highland rain 66
9. Tóc huyền 71
Raven hair 71
Volume 2: Giấc mơ Trường Sơn | Dreams on the peak of
Trường Sơn 73
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1. Ác mộng 75
Nightmares 75
2. Anh sẽ về thăm phố cũ 84
I’ll return to this old town 84
3. Bài ca cô gái Trường Sơn 87
A song of the Trường Sơn girl 88
4. Bếp lửa giữa rừng khuya 93
Forest stove at night 93
5. Bóng cha già 95
Picturing my elderly father 95
6. Buổi sáng tập viết chữ thảo 97
Practicing cursive style in the morning 97
7. Cây khô 100
Withered tree 100
8. Cho ta chép nốt bài thơ ấy 103
Let me finish writing that poem on the walls 103
9. Cỏ dại ven bờ 105
Wild grass by the riverbank 105
10. Cuối năm 109
End of year 109
11. Dạ khúc 111
Serenade 111
12. Đêm dài 113
Long night 113
13. Đời nô lệ 116
Servitude 116
14. Hạ sơn 117
Mountain descending 117
15. Hoa rừng 120
Forest flower 120
16. Luống cải chân đồi 122
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Vegetable beds at the foothill 122
17. Một bóng trăng gầy 128
A slender moonbeam 128
18. Một thoáng chiêm bao 131
A dreamlike moment 131
19. Ngồi giữa bãi tha ma 142
Sitting in the middle of a graveyard 144
20. Nhớ con đường thơm ngọt môi em 150
Missing the streets where I tasted the sweetness and
fragrance of her lips 150
21. Những năm anh đi 157
The long away years 157
22. Những phím dương cầm 163
The piano keys 163
23. Phố trưa 167
Midday streets 167
24. Quán trọ của ngàn sao 171
A tavern of a thousand stars 171
25. Ta biết 173
I know 173
26. Tiếng gà gáy trưa 175
The afternoon rooster’s cry 175
27. Tiếng nhạc vọng 176
The resonant sound of music 176
28. Tìm em trong giấc chiêm bao 179
Searching for you in my dreams 179
29. Tĩnh tọa 180
Meditation 180
30. Tôi vẫn đợi 182
I’ve been waiting 182
31. Tống biệt hành 187
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Farewell 187
32. Trầm mặc 190
Contemplation 190
33. Từ rừng sâu 192
From deep forests 192
34. Tự tình 193
Self-reflection 193
Volume 3: Ngục trung mị ngữ | Somniloquies in prison
195
1. Trách lung 197
Lồng hẹp 197
Narrow cage 197
2. Tảo thượng tẩy tịnh 205
Sáng sớm rửa mặt 205
Face washing in the early morning 205
3. Cúng dường 210
Nghẹn lời cúng dường 210
Choked offerings 210
4. Biệt cấm phòng 220
Phòng biệt giam 220
Solitary confinement cell 220
5. Tác thi sự 231
Việc làm thơ 231
About poem writing 231
6. Thạch bích 235
Vách đá 235
Stone walls 235
7. Triết nhân tưởng 240
Suy nghĩ của triết gia 240
A philosopher’s pondering 240
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8. Ẩn giả tưởng 246
Nghĩ về kẻ ở ẩn 246
About the recluse 246
9. Lãn tiên xứ 251
Xứ tiên lười 251
Land of lazy fairies 251
10. Dạ tọa 254
Ngồi đêm 254
Midnight sitting 254
11. Mộng 259
Mộng 259
Daydream 259
12. Ngọ thụy 267
Ngủ trưa 267
Afternoon nap 267
13. Tự vấn 270
Tự hỏi 270
Self-reflection 270
14. Bán niên tù 273
Nửa năm tù 273
Half-year imprisonment 273
15. Mộng khứ mộng lai 280
Mộng tới mộng lui 280
Dream after dream 280
16. Tự thuật 285
Tự thuật 285
Autobiography 286
17. Nhất bôi thanh thủy 293
Một chén nước trong 293
A cup of clear water 293
18. Tự trào 299
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Tự diễu 299
Self mockery 300
Volume 4: Tĩnh tọa | Meditation 305
1. Bài ca cuối cùng 307
The last song 308
2. Bình minh 312
Dawn 312
3. Bồi hồi 315
Fretfulness 315
4. Hạt cát 317
A grain of sand 317
5. Loạn thị 318
Astigmatism 318
6. Mộng ngày 321
Daydream 322
7. Trăng 329
The moon 329
8. Trúc và nhện 331
Bamboo and spider 332
9. Vết rạn 335
The rift 335
Volume 5: Tĩnh thất | Meditation room 337
1. Cho tôi một hạt muối tiêu 339
Give me a pinch of pepper salt 339
2. Đến đi vó ngựa mơ hồ 346
Arrival or departure from vague hoofprints 346
3. Nghìn năm trước lên núi 349
A thousand years ago 349
4. Ta không buồn 352
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I am filled with sorrow 352
5. Lon sữa bò nằm im bên chợ 358
An empty milk can 358
6. Thuyền ra khơi có mấy tầng tâm sự 362
A ship sets sail 362
7. Trời cuối thu se lạnh 364
In the chilly late autumn 364
8. Lời rao trong ngõ hẻm 365
The street cries 365
9. Nghe luyến tiếc như sao trời mơ ngủ 367
A deep nostalgia 367
10. Để trong góc tim một quả xoài 371
I keep a mango 371
11. Lặng lẽ nằm im dưới đáy mồ 372
Quietly lying still at the bottom of a grave 372
12. Một hai ba 374
One, two, three 374
13. Bỏ mặc đàn bò đôi mắt tình diệu vợi 375
Abandoning the herd 375
14. Giữa Thiên đường rong chơi lêu lỏng 376
Roamed aimlessly through Paradise 376
15. Con trâu trắng thẫn thờ góc phố 377
A white buffalo stands dazed 377
16. Bứt cọng cỏ 378
I pluck a blade of grass 378
17. Cho xin chút hạt buồn thôi 384
Grant me a handful of sorrow’s rain 384
18. Lão già trên góc phố 385
An elderly man on a street corner 385
19. Anh đi để trống cụm rừng 386
You leave behind a ravaged forest 386
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20. Ôi nỗi buồn 389
Oh, sadness 389
21. Tiếng muỗi vo ve 390
By the sound of mosquitoes buzzing 390
22. Người hận ta 392
Hating me 392
23. Hoang vu 393
In this abandoning land 393
24. Người đi đâu bóng hình mòn mỏi 394
Where have you gone? 394
25. Gió cao bong bóng vỡ 395
High winds burst the balloons 395
26. Đàn cò đứng gập ghềnh không ngủ 396
A flock of herons 396
27. Chờ dứt cơn mưa ta vô rừng 397
Waiting for the rain to cease 397
28. Ơ kìa nắng đỏ hiên chùa 398
Oh, look at the blazing red sun 398
29. Người không vui ta đi về làm ruộng 399
If you are not happy 399
30. Thao thức đêm khuya 400
Unable to sleep 400
31. Ơi người cắt cỏ ở bên sông 401
Hey, grass cutter 401
32. Khói ơi bay thấp xuống đi 402
Smoke, descend lower 402
Volume 6: Những điệp khúc cho dương cầm | Refrains for
piano 403
1. Ta nhận chìm thời gian trong khóe mắt 405
When I submerge time 405
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2. Từ đó ta trở về Thiên giới 409
I return to the heavenly realm 409
3. Trên dấu thăng 411
On a sharp note 411
4. Ta bay theo đốm lửa lập lòe 412
I fly, following the flickering flame 412
5. Chiều tôi về 413
In the evening when I return 413
6. Màu tối mù lan vách đá 416
As darkness veils the stone walls 416
7. Chung trà đã lịm khói 417
The steam in a cup of tea 417
8. Công nương bỏ quên chút hờn trên dấu lặng 418
The princess drops her resentment 418
9. Đôi mắt cay 420
My piquant eyes 420
10. Cửa kín chòm mây cuốn nẻo xa 421
Clouds swirl in the distance 421
11. Ve mùa hạ chợt về thành phố 422
Cicadas’ song 422
12. Đạo sĩ soi hình bên suối 425
A Taoist priest gazes at his reflection 425
13. Ô hay dây đàn chợt đứt 427
The piano string snaps 427
14. Đêm sụp xuống 429
Night falls 429
15. Một ngày chơi vơi đỉnh thác 431
Suspended atop a waterfall 431
16. Phủi tay kinh nỗi đảo điên 433
Brushing my hands off 433
17. Hơi thở ngưng từ đáy biển sâu 436
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At the bottom of the ocean 436
18. Tiếng xe đùa ngoài ngõ 437
The sound of a car passing by 437
19. Bóng cỏ rơi giật mình sửng sốt 438
Falling shadows of grass 438
20. Theo chân kiến 439
Following the trail of the ants 439
21. Nỗi nhớ đó khát khao 441
A wave of nostalgia 441
22. Ta sống lại trên nỗi buồn ám khói 443
I resurrect 443
23. Giăng mộ cổ 444
Ancient graves 444
Volume 7: Thiên lý độc hành | A thousand-mile solitary
journey 445
1. Ta về một cõi tâm không 447
I return to the realm of no-mind 447
2. Ta đi dẫm nắng bên đèo 451
Walking along a shaft of sunlight 451
3. Bên đèo khuất miễu cô hồn 452
Beneath the pass 452
4. Đã mấy nghìn năm đợi mỏi mòn 453
Thousands of years of weary waiting 453
5. Từ thuở hồng hoang ta ở đâu 456
Where have I been since the beginning of time 456
6. Trên đỉnh đèo cao bát ngát trông 457
Atop a high mountain pass 457
7. Khi về ngả nón chào nhau 459
Hat off when we say goodbye 459
8. Bóng tối sập mưa rừng tuôn thác đổ 460
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The forest rain cascades down 460
9. Gởi lại tình yêu ngọn cỏ rừng 462
A blade of forest grass 462
10. Một thời thân đá cuội 463
Once I was a pebble 463
11. Bước đi nghe cỏ động 464
The grass stirs 464
12. Thân tiếp theo thân ngày tiếp ngày 466
Life after life, day after day 466
13. Khi về anh nhớ cài quai nón 468
Fasten your hat strap 468
About the author 471
References 471
Bibliography 474
Index 475
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Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
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The life of the Most
Venerable Tuệ Sỹ
The Most Venerable TUỆ SỸ (pronounced “Twey See”),
birth name Phạm Văn Thương, was born on February 15,
1945 in Pakse, Laos.
He sought refuge in Buddha at the Hải Đức Institute, Nha
Trang, when he was 7 years old.
After graduating from the Faculty of Buddhist Studies, Vạn
Hạnh University, in 1965, he was appointed Professor at
Vạn Hạnh University in 1970, at the age of 25, and Editor
of Vạn Hạnh University’s Tư Tưởng (Thought) journal.
On April 30, 1975 the South Vietnamese government
collapsed. Reunified Vietnam began under economically
inefficient and incredibly oppressive communist rule. He
retreated to a monastery plot on the fringes of Vạn Giã
forest, approximately 60 kilometers from Nha Trang.
In 1977, he returned to Saigon and was imprisoned for 3
years ostensibly for illegal residence, but in reality, for his
resistance to the government’s decision to dissolve the
Unified Buddhist Church of Vietnam (UBCV).
On April 1, 1984, he was arrested again, this time with
Venerable Trí Siêu and 17 monks, nuns and lay Buddhists.
On September 30, 1988, the two Venerables were tried and
sentenced to death. Due to worldwide pressure, Hanoi was
compelled to reduce the sentence to 20 years in prison.
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
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On August 21, 1998, the police persuaded him to sign a
plea for pardon. “As I do not recognize the legitimacy of
the trial, you have no right to judge me”, responded the
Venerable, “As you have no right to detain me, you have
no right to pardon me”. Threatened with life imprisonment,
he embarked on a hunger strike. He was released after a 10-
day hunger strike, including the last 7 days of complete
fasting, when he was near-death.
On May 12, 2019, the UBCV’s fifth Patriarch, Most
Venerable Quảng Độ, nominated him as the head of the
Sangha Council. However, Most Venerable Tuệ Sỹ,
prioritizing transparency and unity within the Church,
requested to assume the position temporarily, paving the
way for a formal election of the new sixth Patriarch.
He was fluent in Chinese, English, French, German, Pali,
Sanskrit, and Japanese. He had numerous essays,
monographs, and Buddhist translations to his credit. He
had 46 published works, including Su Dongpo: Celestial
realms of distant dreams, Somniloquies in prison and
Dreams on the peak of Trường Sơn. His famous translated
works included Essays in Zen Buddhism (second and third
series), translated from Daisetz Teitaro Suzuki’s Japanese
original and the Vimalakīrti Sūtra, translated from
Kumārajīva’s Chinese translation; but, for accuracy, he
compared it with the Sanskrit version and commentaries by
Kuiji, Sengzhao, and Jizang.
His passing on November 24, 2023 at Phật Ân pagoda,
Đồng Nai province, Vietnam, constitutes a profound loss
for the Buddhist community and all advocates for religious
freedom and human rights.
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
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Prologue
The previous edition of my little book “Dreams of Tuệ Sỹ
– Giấc mơ Tuệ Sỹ”, published by Amazon USA in
December 2023, has been revised, expanded and divided
into 2 separate books:
- Dreams on the peak of the Mountain: English edition,
- Giấc mơ Trường Sơn: Vietnamese edition.
Throughout these two books, the term “Thầy” refers to the
Zen Master Most Venerable Thích Tuệ Sỹ.
It was his unwavering courage, demonstrated by his refusal
to seek pardon after 14 years being imprisoned in a forced
labor camp, that ignited my admiration and led me to his
poetry. Though I have never met him, his words have
touched my soul.
Through translating his poems, I have realized the immense
contribution he had made, not to Vietnamese culture, but
also to Zen Buddhism. He weaved Zen into his verses with
the simplicity of a stream, the ordinariness of a cabbage, or
the complexity of love. This abstraction requires deep
contemplation to unravel the layers of meaning. Such work
demands an unwavering passion. In short, this book aims
to offer insights into his spiritual journey and his significant
contributions to Vietnamese culture and Zen Buddhism.
In each book, I translate Thầy’s poems from Vietnamese
into English and explain the meaning of these poems. But
in the “Ngục trung mị ngữ” (Somniloquies in prison)
volume, I also add a poetic translation into Vietnamese.
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
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In the explanation section, to clarify the meaning of the
poems, I have gathered some of his essays and translations
(as poetry is only a small part of his legacy) as well as
criticisms and commentaries from respected poets and
writers. Each reader reads and understands poetry,
especially Thầy’s highly abstract poetry, in a different way,
so these gleanings are entirely based on my own
perspective, making this book more of an essay than an
academic treatise.
I have divided this book into 7 volumes, based on the
chronological order of his writings.
Volume 1: Celestial realms of distant dreams: 9 poems,
written before April 30, 1975.
Volume 2: Dreams on the peak of Trường Sơn: 34 poems,
mostly written in Vạn Giã forest (April 30, 1975-1978).
Volume 3: Somniloquies in prison: 18 poems, written
during his first imprisonment (1978-1981).
Volume 4: Meditation: 9 poems, mostly written during his
second imprisonment (1984-2000).
Volume 5: Meditation room: 32 poems, filled with Zen
thoughts while in seclusion (2000-2001).
Volume 6: Refrains for piano: 23 poems, to which he
attached musical notes (2006).
Volume 7: A thousand-mile solitary journey: 13 poems,
about a solitary Zen master’s long journey (2011-2012).
Finally, I want to thank my wife for her unwavering and
invaluable support throughout this project, and express my
gratitude to my friends Phẻ Xuân Bạch and Huân Cung for
their help in proofreading this book.
Terry Lee
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Volume 1:
Những phương trời viễn mộng | Celestial realms of distant dreams
Những phương trời
viễn mộng
| Celestial realms of
distant dreams
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This volume contains 9 poems
Time of composition: Before 1975
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1. Cánh chim trời
Một ước hẹn đã chôn vùi tang tóc
Cánh chim trời xa mãi giữa lòng sâu
Nghe một nỗi hao mòn trong thoáng chốc
Một mùa thu một vạn tiếng kêu gào
Khuya còn lạnh sương mù và gió lốc
Thở hơi dài cát bụi cuốn chiêm bao.
Bên cửa sổ bên kia đồi sao mọc
Một lần đi là vĩnh viễn con tàu
Đi để nhớ những chiều pha tóc trắng
Mắt lưng chừng trông giọt máu phiêu lưu.
A sky bird
A promise buried, shrouded in grief,
A sky bird soars, lost in the vast sky,
I feel a sudden sense of exhaustion,
And hear a thousand wails in the autumn breeze.
The night still chills with fog and gale,
A long sigh, my dreams are swept away.
By the window, beyond the hill, stars arise,
On this side, once gone is forever gone.
Gone to cherish those afternoons that frosted my hair
Eyes half-closed, watching a drop of blood take flight.
Explanation
The poem seems to express a deep sense of grief and regret
over a lost love or a missed opportunity. The author is
haunted by memories of the past and is struggling to come
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
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to terms with the loss. What was his loss? He explained in
the last verse: “Mắt lưng chừng trông giọt máu phiêu lưu”
(Eyes half-closed, watching a drop of blood take flight).
The tone of the poem is melancholic and reflective. The
images of the sky bird, the autumn season, and the stars all
contribute to the overall feeling of longing and isolation.
Dr. Đỗ Hồng Ngọc 1, in his essay “Chén trà lão Triệu mà
chưng hoa ngàn” (Old Zhao’s 2 teacup but filled with forest
1 In this book, the names of Vietnamese people are presented in the
standard Vietnamese order: Surname, Middle name (if applicable),
Given name. Therefore, Dr. Đỗ Hồng Ngọc appears as such, rather
than the standard Western order Dr. Ngoc Hong Do. However, if only
one name is used, the Surname is employed, such as Dr. Đỗ, instead
of Dr. Ngọc, as commonly referred to by Vietnamese acquaintances.
2 Old Zhao is Zen Master Zhaozhou Congshen (778-897) who was
often touted as the greatest Zen Master of the Tang dynasty.
At the age of 18, he met Zen Master Nanquan Puyuan (748-835), and
received the Way (Dharma) from him.
The fortuitous encounter that led to his enlightenment is recorded in
The Recorded Sayings of Zen Master Joshua, compiled by Chaochou,
Chanshih and Yulu, translated to English by James Green, Alta Mira
published in 1998:
- What is the Way? Zhaozhou asked Nanquan Puyuan.
- Ordinary mind is the Way, Nanquan replied.
- Can one seek to attain it?
- To seek is to deviate it.
- If one doesn’t seek, how can one understand it?
- The Way does not belong to understanding or not understanding.
Understanding is conceptual, not understanding is ignorance. If one
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
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flowers), seeks to clarify Thầy’s viewpoint of how to
integrate poetry and Zen practices to attain the highest
level of poetic expression. He has managed to draw upon
a specific quotation from Thầy’s book “Tô Đông Pha:
Những phương trời viễn mộng” (Su Dongpo: Celestial
realms of distant dreams) to support his point:
To reach the supreme realm of poetry is like a Zen
practitioner attaining the state of Nothingness. It’s both
difficult and easy. Practicing Zen for thirty years,
torturing body and mind for thirty years, yet without
success. Feeling resentful, I gave up; suddenly seeing a
flower falling, the state of Nothingness was suddenly
revealed. This miraculous state is difficult to explain.
For a poem to be truly wonderful, it must not be forced,
it must be both nothing and still. Stillness to absorb all
distractions. Nothingness to encompass all phenomena.
Looking at the world, wandering through life, yet feeling
like one is on top of a cloud. Having experienced all the
flavors, bitter and sweet; within that, there is a
wonderful taste. Poetry and the Dharma do not
contradict each other and do not harm each other.
Therefore, to understand why some of his poems appear so
romantic, despite being penned by a Zen monk, it’s crucial
to recall his abovementioned assertion that “To reach the
supreme realm of poetry is like a Zen practitioner attaining
truly attains the Way, there is no more doubt. It is like boundless
empty space; it cannot be forced into categories of right or wrong.
Upon hearing these words, Zhaozhou immediately realized the
profound meaning of the Way, i.e., Dharma.
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
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the state of Nothingness where poetry and dharma do not
contradict each other and do not harm each other”.
And Dr. Đỗ comments:
The realm of poetry has its comings and goings, but
leaves no trace, like a swallow or an eagle beyond the
ten thousand miles of sky.
I think that this “traceless” realm of poetry has “saved”
Tuệ Sỹ, a swallow or an eagle beyond the ten thousand
miles of sky, so that he could return to his familiar
thatched hut and “raise Old Zhao’ s teacup”.
This poem was written while he was a professor at Vạn
Hạnh University. Professors Thích Trí Siêu and Thầy were
hailed as two of the most promising young scholars and
Buddhist monks in Vietnam. At the age of 26, Thầy
published the book “Su Dongpo: Celestial realms of
distant dreams”. In this work, he meticulously explored
every aspect of Su Dongpo’s life, revealing Su’s secret
emotions and distant dreams. So, what was the source of
the sorrow portrayed in this poem? Why did Dr. Đỗ think
that Thầy’s home is the thatched hut in the forest, rather
than the university lecture theater? The answer lies hidden
within his poems.
The teacup in the title of Dr. Đỗ’s essay “Old Zhao’s
teacup but filled with wildflowers” refers to the following
anecdote.
One day, Zen Master Zhaozhou asked a new monk:
- Have you been here before?
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- Yes, I have.
- Have some tea! Zhaozhou said.
Later, Zhaozhou asked another new monk:
- Have you been here before?
- No, I haven’t.
- Have some tea! Zhaozhou said.
The Abbot asked Zhaozhou:
- Why did you tell both the one who has been here and the
one who hasn’t been here to have tea?
- Abbot! Zhaozhou called out.
- Yes?
- You have some tea too!
Readers should know that each of the above answers of
Zhaozhou is a Zen koan, created to challenge our ordinary
ways of thinking and understanding.
What is a koan? Koan is a paradoxical statement or
question used as a meditation practice in Zen Buddhism. It
serves as a tool for seekers of enlightenment to challenge
their understanding of the True Dharma. The seeker is
encouraged to contemplate the koan continuously, not just
during formal meditation but also in daily life, such as
while eating or cleaning. The koan is not meant to be
solved through logical reasoning, as true enlightenment
transcends the limitations of words and language.
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
28
To truly enjoy Zhaozhou’s cup of tea, you must first set
your mind empty and immerse yourself deeply in his koan,
days and nights. Only when illusory concepts and delusive
thoughts are completely dispelled, and inner and outer
realms converge spontaneously, you will become a new
person who is able to sit face to face with Zhaozhou to
enjoy his cup of tea.
To fully grasp Thầy’s profound insights in this book, it may
be helpful to familiarize yourself with a few key Buddhist
concepts. Here are brief explanations of some terms you’ll
encounter:
- Arhat: one who has attained nirvana, thereby free from
saṃsāra. This spiritual attainment is a central goal in
Hīnayāna (small vehicle) or Theravāda (school of the
Elders), a faction of Buddhism, known for its adherence to
the original teachings of the Buddha.
- Bodhisattva: one who has vowed to attain Buddhahood
and dedicate their enlightenment to the liberation of all
sentient beings. This concept is central to Mahāyāna (great
vehicle). Buddhism has two factions: Hīnayāna and
Mahāyāna. Zen is a school of Mahāyāna Buddhism.
- Dharma: either the teaching of the Buddha or the
underlying laws of nature which is often called the Way.
- Nirvana: a state of enlightenment, free from suffering.
- Saṃsāra: the cycle of birth, death and rebirth.
- Śūnyatā: the fundamental core belief of Zen Buddhism,
often translated as Nothingness or Emptiness.
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
29
2. Cung trời cũ
Đôi mắt ướt tuổi vàng cung trời hội cũ,
Áo màu xanh không xanh mãi trên đồi hoang,
Phút vội vã bỗng thấy mình du thủ,
Thắp đèn khuya ngồi kể chuyện trăng tàn.
Từ núi lạnh đến biển im muôn thuở,
Đỉnh đá này và hạt muối đó chưa tan,
Cười với nắng một ngày sao chóng thế,
Nay mùa đông mai mùa hạ buồn chăng.
Đếm tóc bạc tuổi đời chưa đủ,
Bụi đường dài gót mỏi đi quanh,
Giờ ngó lại bốn vách tường ủ rũ,
Suối rừng xa ngược nước xuôi ngàn.
Celestial realm of a previous lifetime
Eyes wet with golden memories of our gathering in the
celestial realm of a previous lifetime,
The green shirt is no longer green on the barren hill,
In a hasty moment, I suddenly feel like a wanderer,
Lighting a lamp late at night, sitting and telling stories to
the waning moon.
From the cold mountains to the ever-silent sea,
This rock peak and that grain of salt remain undissolved.
Laughing with the sunlight in a day, how quickly it
passes.
Today winter, tomorrow summer, is there room for
sadness?
Counting gray hairs, not enough to be called old,
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
30
Dusty long roads, tired feet from walking around,
Now looking back at the four gloomy walls,
The distant forest streams still flow upstream and
downstream.
Explanation
The poem is a quest for the memory of a celestial gathering
from a previous lifetime. “Áo màu xanh không xanh mãi”
(The green shirt is no longer green) signifies the passage
of time, while “ngồi kể chuyện trăng tàn” (sitting and
telling the stories to the waning moon late at night)
indicates the author’s solitude in the celestial realm. The
stories that the author tells under the soft glow of the
waning moon are not strange to us, but they possess a Zen-
like beauty. His comparison of a rock atop a cold mountain
and a grain of salt at the sea’s depths, both unchanged for
millennia, is particularly striking. Strange to us, not to him,
these vast stretches of time are akin to a single day spent
laughing with the sunlight. Through these stories, Thầy
conveys a nostalgic longing for earthly experiences.
The poem is a poignant meditation on the human condition,
exploring themes of loss, longing, and the search for the
memory of the last gathering in the celestial realm of his
previous lifetime. The imagery is evocative and the
language is beautifully crafted, making this a powerful and
moving piece of poetry. Despite its melancholic tone, the
poem also extols the Buddhist concept of Nothingness
(Śūnyatā), when he compares the thousands of years of the
lives of the rock peak and the salt grain to the laugh with
the sunlight in a day of his life; the gray hairs and the tired
feet; and finally, the four glooming walls (of his small
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
31
meditation room or the larger Vạn Hạnh University lecture
theater?) and the forest streams that are flowing upstream
and downstream.
The following is poet Bùi Giáng‘s “personal impression”,
excerpted from his book “Đi vào cõi thơ” (Entering the
realm of poetry), Ca Dao published in 1969:
Just hearing the first four lines, I felt a chill run through
my soul, a numbing coldness in my heart...
Đôi mắt ướt
tuổi vàng
cung trời hội cũ
Eyes wet
with golden memories of our gathering
in the celestial realm of a previous lifetime
Let me write down these words so casually. Surely you
will see the extraordinary solemnity of nostalgia.
Nostalgia for what? – The celestial realm of a previous
lifetime, the last gathering. A spring outing? An exciting
gathering? – The excitement of a youthful time?
Eyes wet with golden memories of our gathering in the
celestial realm of a previous lifetime …
From the opening words, the poetry flows directly into
the center of a contemplative dream. It has all the vast
elements: a vast, brilliant celestial realm of a previous
lifetime, an exciting gathering, a glittering golden
memory…
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
32
A pair of eyes, wet with sorrow in the present. But the
poetic flow is underground. A subtle rhythm guides it.
The poet doesn’t need any descriptive words, yet still
says everything that needs to be said to everyone who
wants to hear, and to himself without caring about what
is said.
Outstanding poets often have this extraordinary
demeanor. They say very little but say a lot. They say a
lot but ultimately, it seems like they say nothing at all.
They speak for themselves, but it’s as if they speak for
everyone. They speak for everyone but hardly care
whether people listen or not. Their joys and sorrows
seem to be nothing like ours...
Đôi mắt ướt
tuổi vàng
cung trời hội cũ
Eyes wet
with golden memories
of our gathering in the celestial realm of a previous
lifetime
Eyes wet? Whose eyes? Why are they wet? Because of
tears, or because they are glittering? The poet doesn’t
say. That’s leaving a silent, empty space for the poetry.
We can freely think in two or three ways. Perhaps the
poet’s eyes are wet in the present because of longing for
an old gathering.
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
33
Or perhaps it’s the eyes of a beautiful woman, as
glistering and gentle as a flowing stream, reflecting an
immortal old gathering that I have lost today?
Phút vội vã bỗng thấy mình du thủ,
In a hasty moment, I suddenly feel like a wanderer?
He is a bodhisattva, year-round chanting sūtras and
fasting, so why in a sudden moment does he dare to be a
wanderer? Dare to abandon the sūtras? Dare to light a
lamp in the night and sit telling stories to the moon?
One must see the austere, devout face of Tuệ Sỹ, to be
terrified by these deep, simple words. The words seem to
resonate from the depths of the soul’s previous lifetime,
from a homeland in the upper reaches, vast with forests,
mountains, wind, dew, and the moon trembling in the
cold night...
A love spread out across the silent, cold sea and
mountains. A grain of salt that has not yet dissolved. A
hidden crease in my heart, wandering and unwashed.
Từ núi lạnh đến biển im muôn thuở,
Đỉnh đá này và hạt muối đó chưa tan
From the cold mountains to the ever-silent sea,
This rock peak and that grain of salt remain undissolved.
I think I can hear the tragic grandeur of Orion (TN –
translator’s note: In Greek mythology, Orion was a
giant huntsman and a son of Poseidon. He was killed by
his lover Artemis in a tragic accident), Nerval (TN:
Gerard de Nerval, French poet, who composed some of
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
34
his best works during his dire financial and emotional
straits. He took his own life by hanging himself), the
deepest silence in the scale of Nietzsche (TN: Friedrich
Nietzsche, German philosopher, who declared that God
is dead. His aim was to free human beings from their
false consciousness about morality).
How many times has the poet sat looking at the fading
moon? Sitting on a stone peak? Surrounded by vast
sacred forests, with the blue moonlight reaching to the
distant horizon of the great sea?
The stone peak and the grain of salt are two places
where the crystals of the mountain and sea converge.
The stone peak gathers all the scents, colors of the sky,
clouds, forests, and howling winds. The grain of salt
contains the ocean’s salty essence. It’s the eternity of a
heart standing tall amidst the drifting snow and moon...
Giờ ngó lại bốn vách tường ủ rũ,
Suối rừng xa
ngược nước
xuôi ngàn.
Now looking back at the four gloomy walls,
The distant forest streams
still flow upstream
and downstream
The poem ends. The endless aftertaste lingers in the
night of wandering, confined within four pale, dreary,
prison-like walls.
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
35
With just one poem, Tuệ Sỹ has covered everything from
the old and new horizons of Tang poetry in China to
Western Surrealism.
It’s true, this is more of an impression than an analysis,
because the poet Bùi Giáng (1926-1998) “reads” the poem
with his own emotions.
It is known that when Thầy showed this poem to Bùi Giáng,
he exclaimed: “You, Master, should stop writing prose.
And write more poetry. Otherwise, Vietnamese poetry will
lose a great genius”.
This poem, Cung trời cũ, has two other names: Không đề
and Khung trời cũ.
“Không đề” (Untitled) is the original name of the poem
when Thầy showed it to Bùi Giáng.
“Khung trời cũ” (Old skyframe) is probably due to a
miscopy. Below are three reasons I believe the term
“Khung” is incorrect.
(1) “Cung trời” is used in the first line of the poem: “đôi
mắt ướt tuổi vàng cung trời hội cũ”.
(2) “Cung trời” could be either a celestial palace (cung =
cung điện) or a celestial realm (cung trời = cõi trời). I
believe that it should be more accurately rendered as a
“celestial realm” or a “heavenly realm,” as these terms
better convey the vastness and spiritual connotations of the
original phrase. A “palace” implies a more concrete
structure, while “realm” suggests a broader, more
ethereal space.
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
36
Besides, “cung trời” (celestial realm) appears frequently
in several Vietnamese Buddhist scriptures, e.g., cung trời
Đâu Suất (Tusita deva), cung trời Đao Lợi (Tavatimsa deva
or Trayastrimsa deva), etc. According to the Ksitigarbha
Sūtra, there are 33 celestial realms, which are divided into
three worlds (Trailokya), from the lowest to the highest: the
Desire world with its nine celestial realms, the Form world
with its twenty celestial realms, and the Formless world
with its four celestial realms.
Given his profound knowledge of Buddhism, Thầy had
undoubtedly delved into the intricate details of these
celestial realms. It’s even conceivable that he was born
into one of these thirty-three celestial realms in his
previous lifetime, before incarnating in this human realm.
Therefore, this poem could be about a recollection of his
gathering in that celestial realm.
Poet Trần Trung Đạo, in his book “Ra đi để lại nụ cười”
(Departing, leaving behind a smile) concurs with this view
of mine:
The reading accumulated a few years before the age of
twenty did not make a professor Tuệ Sỹ. When coming
to this world, he already had a treasure trove of
knowledge brought from many previous lives.
“Cũ” implies a connection to the past, indicating that the
celestial realm referred to is one from a previous lifetime
or existence.
Therefore, “Cung trời cũ” literally means a celestial realm
of a previous lifetime.
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
37
(3) Finally, “Khung trời” (skyframe) is much smaller than
and incompatible with “Cung trời” (celestial realm). If the
title was “Khung trời cũ” then “cũ” means old and
probably rusty, so, its English translation is an old and
rusty skyframe.
The scene Thầy conjured in this poem must be so immense
to have given poet Bùi Giáng “a chill through my soul, a
numbing coldness in my heart”, as he claimed. Our great
poet Bùi Giáng would not have chilled to the core if the
poem only refers to an old skyframe.
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
38
“Không đề” (Untitled), commonly believed to be penned
by Most Venerable Tuệ Sỹ
However, comparing the different handwriting styles in the
above two poems, I suspect that the first poem is not Thầy’s
original handwritten work.
Besides, the writing in the first poem has two spelling
errors (“đĩnh” đá and gót “mõi”, instead of đỉnh đá and
gót mỏi), so, definitely not his work.
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
39
3. Hận thu cao
Quỳ xuống đó nghe hương trời cát bụi
Đôi chân trần xuôi ảo ảnh về đâu
Tay níu lại những lần khân chìm nổi
Hận thu cao mây trắng bỗng thay màu
Ta sẽ rủ gió lùa trên tóc rối
Giọng ân tình năn nỉ bước đi mau
Còi rộn rã bởi hoang đường đã đổi
Bởi phiêu lưu ngày tháng vẫn con tàu
Vẫn lăn lóc với đá mòn dứt nối
Đá mòn ơi cười một thuở chiêm bao
Quỳ xuống nữa ngủ vùi trong cát bụi
Nửa chừng say quán trọ khóc lao xao
Tay níu nữa gốc thông già trơ trọi
Đứng bên đường nghe mối hận lên cao
Nha Trang 1973
Rising autumnal wrath
Kneel there, to breathe in the celestial scent and hear the
whisper of sand and dust,
Barefoot, where do you go to chase your illusions?
Reach out to grasp the fleeting moments of sinking and
floating,
As white clouds above suddenly change colors in the rising
autumnal wrath.
I’ll beckon the wind to tousle my tangled hair,
While a pleading voice urges me to hurry on.
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
40
The wilderness has transformed, echoing the sound of the
train horn
Because the adventure-filled days still lie ahead.
Still struggling with the same old issues, though on and
off,
O these same old issues, laugh at me full of hopes and
dreams.
Kneel again, then slumber in the sand and dust,
Half-drunk in a tavern, crying in a commotion.
Cling once more to the old, bare pine stump,
Standing by the roadside, feeling the rising autumnal
wrath.
Explanation
In the poem, the recurring images of dust, illusion, and
bare feet suggest a sense of isolation and detachment from
the world. The individual is depicted as a solitary figure,
wandering through a vast and indifferent universe.
Imagery such as clouds abruptly changing color, worn-out
stones (metaphorically representing recurring issues), and
an old, bare pine stump (symbolizing the passage of time
and aging) underscore the transitory nature of life and the
unpredictable adventure-filled days ahead.
This poem is the voice of Thầy speaking to himself, inviting
him on a journey characterized by a profound sense of loss,
longing, solitude, and disappointment.
This poem was written in 1973, when he was a professor at
Vạn Hạnh University. Why did he leave his post to go to
Nha Trang to vent his wrath?
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
41
I couldn’t fathom the source of Thầy’s wrath in this poem
until I read his essay “Thuyền ngược bến không” (The boat
drifting against the empty wharf) 3 that he composed in the
winter of 2004, after a death sentence and more than 17
years of imprisonment, narrowly escaping death on
multiple occasions.
War, hatred, and somewhere, deep within the yearning,
love and death are obsessions, and like material for the
consciousness of survival. There exists a separate realm
of poetry for such sensitive souls. Gazing at a dying bird
in a painting, one becomes dazed and bewildered. Yet,
its language transforms. Love, disappointment, passion,
like fervent waves on the water’s surface, but what lies
hidden deep below, who knows?
Nước xa cuồn cuộn ra khơi
Sâu trong tâm thể có đôi giọt gần
(Dư tập, Thủy mộ quan, thơ Viên Linh)
The distant water surges out to sea
Deep within the body, there are a few close drops
3 The title “Thuyền ngược bến không” (The boat drifting against the
empty wharf) of Thầy’s essay is derived from the following two
verses, taken from the poetry collection “Thủy Mộ Quan” (The
underwater graveyard gate) by poet Viên Linh:
Dưới hiên mưa vắng, hồn khua nước
Thả chiếc thuyền con ngược bến không.
Beneath the porch, in the quiet rain, a soul disturbs the water,
Letting down a small boat to drift against the empty wharf.
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
42
(Leftover collection, The underwater graveyard gate,
poetry by Viên Linh)
Such verses are rare for a busy life. How could one not
be busy, when one’s peers are constantly leaving. Some
cross rivers and enter forests, their hearts burning with
heroism, leaving behind the city as in the song “Người
đã đi, đi trên non cao” (He has gone, gone to the
mountains) 4. Others leave, leaving behind choked,
frenzied cries of the young widows: “Ngày mai đi nhận
xác chồng, Say đi để thấy mình không là mình”
(Tomorrow I’ll go to claim my husband’s body. Get
drunk so I don’t feel like myself) 5. Love and hate
become dialectical contradictions.
4 From the song “Người về thành phố” (Urban homecoming), written
by songwriter Phạm Thế Mỹ, a North Vietnamese spy, assigned to
South Vietnam to work with student activists. In this song, he praises
and encourages students to go up the mountain to join the communist
military forces. It wasn’t until the fall of Saigon that his true identity
as a spy was unveiled.
5 From the song “Tưởng như còn người yêu” (Feeling like my lover
is still here), commonly known as “Ngày mai đi nhận xác chồng”
(Tomorrow I’ll go to claim my husband’s body), written by
songwriter Phạm Duy. He set the poet Lê Thị Ý’s poem “Love Song
No. 1” to music. The song’s raw emotion and vivid imagery, depicting
a widow’s journey to claim her husband’s body after he was killed in
war, make it a truly unforgettable work. This song, filled with deep
sorrow and longing, became one of the most popular during the 70s
war era.
The poem’s final lines resonated with me deeply, as I’ve witnessed
many widows, including my own half-sister, grieving at their
husbands’ grave sites:
Chao ơi thèm nụ hôn quen
Đêm đêm hẹn sẽ chong đèn chờ nhau
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
43
So, we may surmise that as reflecting on the impact of war
on individuals and society, Thầy’s wrath was born out of
his deep-seated anxieties for his homeland. War wrought a
terrible toll on the populace, yet the dialectics also ignited
a fervent zeal for slaughter.
As he was struggling to calm his mind on the impact of the
war, I believe the “worn stone” mentioned in this poem
Chiếc quan tài phủ cờ màu
Hằn lên ba vạch đỏ au phũ phàng
Em không thấy được xác chàng
Ai thêm lon giữa hai hàng nến trong?
Mùi hương cứ tưởng hơi chồng
Nghĩa trang mà ngỡ như phòng riêng ta
Oh, I crave our familiar kiss
Night after night, we promised to wait for each other
Your coffin is draped in a colored flag
Etched with three cruel, bloody red stripes
Why can’t I see your body?
Who has had a higher rank between the two lines of candles?
The candlelight’s scent reminds me of your breath
Inside the graveyard, but I feel like we are in our private room.
In the song, the songwriter Phạm Duy drops the line “Etched with
three cruel, bloody red stripes” (the flag of the Republic of Vietnam
features three red stripes on a yellow background) and changes the
last line into:
Ôm mồ cứ tưởng ôm vòng người yêu
Hugging the grave, I feel like I am hugging my lover.
In essence, both lines express deep grief, loss, a sense of surreal
detachment and a profound emotional connection to the deceased. The
poem’s verse uses a metaphorical image of a private room to convey
a sense of intimacy and belonging, while the song’s verse uses an
image of grave hugging to express a longing for physical closeness.
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
44
metaphorically represents his old issues, therefore, I
translate the first verse of the third stanza,
Vẫn lăn lóc với đá mòn dứt nối
to
Still struggling with the same old issues, though on and off.
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
45
4. Hoài niệm
Một đêm thôi mắt trầm sâu đáy biển
Hai bàn tay vén lại tóc xa xưa
Miền đất đó trăng đã gầy vĩnh viễn
Từ vu vơ bên giấc ngủ mơ hồ.
Một lần định như sao ngàn đã định
Lại một lần nông nổi vết sa cơ.
Trời vẫn vậy vẫn mây chiều gió tĩnh
Vẫn một đời nghe kể chuyện không như
Vẫn sống chết với điêu tàn vờ vĩnh
Để mắt mù nhìn lại cõi không hư.
Một lần ngại trước thông già cung kỉnh
Chẳng một lần nhầm lẫn không ư?
Ngày mai nhé ta chờ mi một chuyến
Hai bàn tay vén lại tóc xa xưa.
Nostalgia
Just for one night, let my eyes sink deep into the ocean’s
bed,
With my two hands, I weave her hair back into time, as it
once was.
In her realm, the moon has eternally waned,
Lost in an aimless, hazy slumber.
Once a decision is made, I thought it was set in stone,
But again, impulsiveness led to failure.
The sky remains, with evening clouds and a gentle wind,
Still a lifetime listening to frivolous tales,
Still living and dying in a perpetual pretense,
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
46
Blinded from reality by fabricated legends.
Once I stood fearfully before the ancient, sacred pine,
I have more than once blundered, haven’t I?
Tomorrow, I anticipate a journey,
With my two hands, I’ll weave her hair back into time, as
it once was.
Explanation
In the poem’s opening, the author closes his eyes and
envisions reaching out to weave her hair back into time, as
it once was. In the realm where she resides, the moon has
perpetually waned. It’s important to recognize that “her
hair” refers to Thầy’s homeland, not the hair of any girl.
In the second section, the author admits that he has made
many mistakes, by not keeping his promises and by
spending his lifetime listening to frivolous tales, believing
in perpetual pretense and letting fabricated legends blind
his eyes. These frivolous tales, perpetual pretenses, and
fabricated legends are common strategies employed by
Communist propaganda, widespread among those living
under their regime.
In the final section, the author makes a promise that, come
tomorrow, he will return to rebuild his homeland and,
ultimately, reach out to weave her hair back into time, as it
once was.
The line “hai bàn tay vén lại tóc xa xưa” occurs twice in
the poem. They are identical in Vietnamese due to the
absence of verb tenses. In English, however, the tense shifts
to reflect the present during the dream sequence (With my
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
47
two hands, I weave her hair back into time, as it once was)
and the future when promising a future encounter (With my
two hands, I’ll weave her hair back into time, as it once
was).
This poem is analyzed by Professor Phạm Công Thiện in
his essay “Một buổi sáng đọc thơ Tuệ Sỹ” (A morning
reading Tuệ Sỹ’s poetry), written in 1988, as follows:
Perhaps the first characteristic of Tuệ Sỹ’s poetry is the
lack of personality. Contrary to the common critical
habit of finding the personality of each poet, I think that
demonstrating the lack of personality in poetry is the
most difficult thing for a poet...
Một đêm thôi mắt trầm sâu đáy biển
Hai bàn tay khói phủ tóc tơ xa.
Just for one night, let my eyes sink deep into the ocean’s
bed,
With my two hands, I weave her hair back into time, as
it once was.
Of course, I must pause in surprise: I have never seen
Tuệ Sỹ with hair (only after being imprisoned by the
Communists did hair grow on his head) …
Well, let’s just call it the hair of poetry, that’s enough.
We can temporarily be overly pedantic and call it “the
hair of provisional truth, relative truth” in the spirit of
Nāgārjuna. Absolute truth or ultimate truth requires
provisional or relative truth, because “Nirvana is not at
all different from Saṃsāra”: the highest pinnacle of
Buddhism.
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
48
The last line repeats the second line like a decisive
chorus:
Ngày mai nhé ta chờ mi một chuyến
Hai bàn tay khói phủ tóc tơ xa.
Tomorrow, I anticipate a journey,
With my two hands, I’ll weave her hair back into time,
as it once was.
The word “distant” can also be understood as the
opposite of ordinary time, as in the “distant future”,
because the word “tomorrow”, in combination with the
word “distant”, has expanded the horizon like a
“seaport”, or hidden the horizon and expanded time like
a “forest glen” ...
Now, rereading the entire poem (consisting of 14 lines,
each with 8 characters), we wonder what the poet wants
to say? When reading poetry and feeling that the author
wants to express something clearly, it is no longer
poetry.
I have a different opinion. I think it’s more enjoyable to
read poetry when you understand what the author is trying
to say, especially when you can empathize with them.
In my opinion, this poem is the confession of a person who
has spent his life chasing after vague dreams, allowing him
to listen to frivolous tales, believe in perpetual pretense
and let fabricated legends blind his eyes, neglecting his
loved one for a long time, perhaps too long, due to the word
“eternal” in this verse, in a homeland where the moon has
eternally waned. Now, after a night of deep meditation, he
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
49
regrets his actions and yearns for his loved one, wanting to
reach out and weave her hair back into time, as it once was.
So, he decides to embark on a journey back home
tomorrow, hoping to restore his homeland and make the
moon full again. Then, he can reach out to her and his two
hands will finally weave her hair back into time, as it once
was.
By allowing his “her hair” be a personification of his
homeland, as he has personified other things in his poems
like the streets (Missing the streets where I tasted the
sweetness and fragrance of her lips, page 150), a mustard
seed (The mustard seed’s eyes were wide opened, page
349), a stream (Where a small stream guarding the
Morning Star, page 386) and many more that you will find
in this book, one will see and understand the dream Thầy
has hidden in this poem.
Let’s continue reading the professor’s critique.
Perhaps the second characteristic of Tuệ Sỹ’s poetry is
the abstraction of the concrete and the abstraction of
personality. I use the word “abstraction” here in its
most beautiful and poetic sense… The poetic style of the
Tang and Song dynasties is also subtly hidden in Tuệ
Sỹ’s poetry, although Tuệ Sỹ had proven that he
memorized the entire poetry world of Tang and Song
dynasties. To say that Tuệ Sỹ’s poetry is good or bad is
ridiculous. We can only say that Tuệ Sỹ’s poetry
deserves to be read and re-read many times, and to be
pondered over or felt intuitively. At least there is one
poet worth reading amidst the “feigned ruins”.
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
50
The concepts of a lack of personality (Thầy’s first
characteristic, according to professor Phạm) and the
abstraction of personality (Thầy’s second characteristic,
also according to professor Phạm) in poetry are often
intertwined and can be difficult to distinguish. However,
they represent distinct approaches to characterization and
the portrayal of human experience. A lack of personality in
a poem refers to the absence of a defined or individualized
character, while abstraction of personality in a poem
occurs when the character is presented in a more symbolic
or conceptual way, using metaphors, similes, etc.
The third and final characteristic of Tuệ Sỹ’s poetry is
the changing voice of a bird from the ancient realm of
infinite lifetimes deep within the soul of the Homeland.
For the abovementioned third characteristic, Professor
Phạm Công Thiện derived from the poem “Ngồi giữa bãi
tha ma” (Sitting in the middle of a graveyard), page 142:
Một buổi sáng nghe chim trời đổi giọng
Người thấy ta xô dạt bóng thiên thần
One morning, the birdsong changed its tune,
Awaking me from my angelic slumber.
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51
5. Hương ngày cũ
Màu nắng xế ôi màu hương tóc cũ
Chiều trơ vơ chiều dạt mấy hồn tôi
Trời viễn mộng đọa đày đi mấy thuở
Mộng kiêu hùng hay muối mặn giữa trùng khơi
Scent of old days
The color of the slanting sunlight, oh, it’s the color of her
hair, as fragrant as memories of old days,
Desolate afternoons have often stolen my soul away.
Many times, in these celestial realms of distant dreams I’ve
been tortured,
Heroic dreams or just grains of salt in the middle of the vast
ocean?
Explanation
The images of the slanting sunlight, the fragrance of the
hair, and many lonely afternoons evoke feelings of
nostalgia, melancholy, and the passage of time. In these
celestial realms of distant dreams, he kept asking himself
whether they were heroic dreams or just grains of salt in
the middle of the vast ocean? The comparison of heroic
dreams to grains of salt in the vast ocean suggests the
smallness and insignificance of human aspirations against
the backdrop of a vast and indifferent universe, or perhaps
against the backdrop of the ongoing war that has caused
immense pain, loss, and destruction over a period of two
decades in the author’s country, without seeing the end of
the tunnel, given that this poem was written before the war
ended.
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
52
In my translation, I add a question mark at the end of
Thầy’s final verse. Unexpectedly, I find that Thầy himself
also adds a question mark to this verse in his book, “Tô
Đông Pha: Những phương trời viễn mộng” (Su Dongpo:
Celestial realms of distant dreams).
Below is an excerpt from his book that proves that the last
two lines of this poem exist in it and also end with a
question mark:
In the realm of poetry, the moon is as heroic as a
thousand miles of wind sweeping over mountain peaks.
From that perspective, looking at the moon as if it were
an eyebrow arched over a melancholy, thoughtful eye; a
solitary sliver of moon on a bare parasol tree: is poetry
a metaphor or not a metaphor? It is both a metaphor
and not a metaphor:
Trời viễn mộng đọa đày đi mấy thuở
Mộng kiêu hùng hay muối mặn giữa trùng khơi?”
Many times, in these celestial realms of distant dreams
I’ve been tortured,
Heroic dreams or just grains of salt in the middle of the
vast ocean?
The question mark added to the end of this verse, I believe,
reflects the dialectical contradictions explored in his poem
“Hận thu cao” (Rising autumnal wrath) that we have seen
on page 39.
The book continues to explore how Su Dongpo’s heroic
dreams were shattered by the harsh realities of life, much
like grains of salt dissolving in the vast ocean. Was this a
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
53
reflection of Su Dongpo’s personal torment, or did Thầy’s
own experiences resonate with Su’s struggles?
From the realm of simple dreams to the realm of
tormented distant dreams, there is an abyss, utterly dark
and bottomless. The two sides are connected by a
precarious, single-log bridge. How can one cross it, and
recross it, with the heavy feet of ordinary mortals? Such
a journey must endure countless hardships, even if the
destination is only a thought away. Is that what
tormented distant dreams are? But is it correct to call it
tormented distant dreams? Perhaps that term only
began to resonate when an old minister, accompanied
by a weary spouse, humbly endured exile to the farthest
reaches of South China, or ventured into the deepest,
most secluded mountains of life and death? Lost in a
foreign land, both the sorrow of homesickness and the
longing of being a stranger are intense. Yet, how can
one’s homeland not be one’s homeland, and where is
there a place that is not a foreign land? Standing on one
side, gazing toward the other, the eyes grow weary with
longing. This is mental anguish; this is physical torment.
In the gilded halls, the dream of a lifetime has reached
its peak... And yet, the gilded halls echo with the cries of
heartbreak. A startled eagle takes flight. Where is home,
and where is foreign land, for the eagle to alight?...
A foreign land that has eighteen terrifying rapids and
waterfalls. But that land tortures the body, not the
distant dreams. It is the homeland, with its deep
affections, that truly tortures the distant dreams.
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
54
6. Kết từ
Ngược xuôi nhớ nửa cung đàn
Ai đem quán trọ mà ngăn nẻo về?
In conclusion
Wandering back and forth, I remember half a melody.
Who has placed this inn here, obstructing my way home?
Explanation
Buddhists believe in reincarnation. Life is merely a short
journey. After death, it continues in another life, whether
as a human or not, depending on one’s karma.
Therefore, life is like an inn. Some people wander around
seeking fame and fortune. But Thầy wanders back and
forth, only to remember half of a melody. There are two
interpretations:
(1) Thầy has already played half of the melody, and now
longs for the other half, metaphorically, an unfulfilled
desire.
(2) Half of the melody he already played keeps playing
back in his thoughts, as he is wandering back and forth. He
remembers this half-melody, instead of fame, wealth, or
other worldly pursuits. The image of a “half melody”,
therefore, evokes a sense of incomplete music, mirroring
his incomplete journey and longing for a lost love.
The “inn” can be seen as a metaphor for obstacles or
setbacks that prevent Thầy from reaching his way home.
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
55
This poem is analyzed by Most Venerable Nguyên Siêu in
“Tuệ Sỹ ‒ Người gầy trên quê hương” (Tuệ Sỹ ‒ The gaunt
figure on his homeland) as follows:
Some people strive and struggle to seize power and
wealth, even if it means crawling on their bellies. They
do anything to fulfill their wicked ambitions, to acquire
unjust wealth and high positions, even if it means selling
their country to foreign powers, all for the sake of filling
their pockets with money and their homes with gold and
jewels, to cushion their seats and enjoy life on the blood
and bones of the common people. But here, there is
someone who “strives” only to “remember half a
melody” that has not yet been fully played. How simple!
How content! To be satisfied like a person who is 1.59
meters (TN: = 5.2 feet) tall and weighs 39.5 kilograms
(TN: = 87 pounds). How many people can achieve such
a state? Perhaps only those who stand outside the circle
of fame, fortune, and the trivial affairs of the world.
That half-melody is like the long, lingering sound of a
stringed instrument that is suddenly cut short. Like the
history of our homeland, plummeting into a deep, dark,
and hopeless abyss.
Life is like an inn, and people come and go. Birth and
death are endless, vast, and profound. People become
so immersed in this inn that they create all sorts of
distractions to block the path to their distant dreams.
Thus, being blocked and unable to return, he turned
back to live with himself. He closed his doors, avoid the
outside world, and fast. Sometimes he fainted at his desk
from hunger.
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
56
Most Venerable Nguyên Siêu links the poem’s “half-
melody” to the history of Thầy’s homeland in the aftermath
of 1975.
However, in his 1973 book “Tô Đông Pha: Những phương
trời viễn mộng” (Su Dongpo: Celestial realms of distant
dreams), Thầy introduces the section “The true face of
Lushan” with these two verses. Why? Let’s read a few
passages from this section.
Lushan is an extraordinary and magnificent natural
wonder. With its majestic mountains, somber scenery,
and year-round clouds and mist, this place has been the
hidden abode of enlightened sages for countless
generations. To seek out Lushan and gaze upon its true
face is to resolutely sever all attachments, distractions,
and entanglements from countless past lifetimes. To see
that place is to see the Mind of Zen. But the Mind of Zen
is silent and speaks not. Once one raises a razor to cut
off one’s hair and renounce the mundane world, the
realm of poetry will lose a shining star to guide ordinary
mortals who are still engrossed in poetry. A poet with a
great bodhisattva vow takes upon themselves countless
sufferings and heartbreaks. That vow will illuminate the
truth of Difference and Sameness. Difference and
Sameness are divergent paths; but upon reaching the
profound koan of life and death, the truth of Difference
and Sameness is obliterated. That is where the self and
others, subject and object, all become silent
Nothingness. From there, the poet makes an
appointment with Zen, opens the northern gate, and
looks up at the thirty-six green mountains.
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
57
In another passage:
Huangzhou, Quzhou, Huizhou, and countless other
zhous; these were all paths of exile and days of suffering.
His life was like a boat adrift, letting the current carry it
away. But what about his poetry? Was it suffering?
Wandering? Torment? A distant dream? What is the
true nature, the true form, the true heart? The true face
of Lushan is not easy to see.
The “inn” therefore represents the paths of exile, and the
“half-melody” symbolizes the long historical journey of
suffering and torment Su Dongpo endured throughout his
life. It is only half of the melodies because Su never fully
comprehended the totality of his experiences, as expressed
in this Su Dongpo’s famous poem
題西林壁
(Đề Tây Lâm
bích, Inscription on the wall of the West Grove pagoda) 6:
6 Su Dongpo had two very famous poems written about Lushan. This
is one. The second one is as follows:
盧山湮鎖浙江潮
未到生平 恨不逍
到得還來無別事
盧山湮鎖浙江潮
Lô Sơn yên tỏa Triết Giang triều
Vị đáo bình sinh hận bất tiêu
Đáo đắc hoàn lai vô biệt dị
Lô Sơn yên tỏa Triết Giang triều
Lushan shrouded in mist and Zhejiang tides
Before arriving, a lifetime of sorrows cannot be dispelled
Upon arrival and return, there is nothing else
Lushan shrouded in mist and Zhejiang tides
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
58
橫看成嶺惻成峰
遠近膏低各不同
不識廬山真面目
只緣身在此山中
Venerable Mật Thể (1912-1961) translated to Vietnamese:
Mù tỏa Lô Sơn sóng Triết Giang
Khi chưa đến đó hận muôn vàn
Đến rồi về lại không gì lạ
Mù tỏa Lô Sơn sóng Triết Giang.
Thầy praised Venerable Mật Thể’s Vietnamese translation of the
poem as the best, although at that time, he couldn’t recall the
translator’s name.
This is a poem that carries a distinct Zen flavor. The majestic
mountains, only partially visible through the floating mist, become a
mere point of emphasis against the vast expanse of the sky. Below,
the river tide ebbs and flows.
What makes this poem particularly interesting is the first and last
lines, which are identical in words but carry different meanings.
The first line is simply a description of the scenery, as if heard from
someone else.
The last line is a personal expression after witnessing Lushan and
Zhejiang firsthand. It reflects a personal experience.
The theme of this poem is similar to the saying of Zen Master
Qingyuan Weixin (9th century): “Before a man studies Zen, to him
mountains are mountains and waters are waters; after he gets an
insight into the truth of Zen, mountains to him are not mountains and
waters are not waters; but when he really attains to the abode of rest,
mountains are mountains and waters are waters”.
This poem, widely circulated and admired within the Zen community,
is attributed to Su Dongpo. However, Thầy could not locate it in any
of his published works. Determining its authenticity remains
challenging.
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
59
Hoành khan thành lãnh trắc thành phong
Viễn cận cao đê các bất đồng
Bất thức Lô Sơn chân diện mục,
Chỉ duyên thân tại thử sơn trung
Seen from the side, it’s a ridge; seen from the front, it’s a
peak,
From afar and near, high and low, each is different.
You cannot know the true face of Lushan,
Because you are in the mountain’s midst.
So, the “inn” represents the paths of exile, and the “half-
melody” symbolizes our journey of suffering and torment.
In his book, Thầy also compared Su Dongpo’s evocative
half-melodies to the tragic fate of Kiều, the protagonist of
Nguyễn Du’s (1766-1820) epic poem “Truyện Kiều” (The
Tale of Kiều) 7.
Thầy highlighted the similarities between their fates with
the following verses from “The Tale of Kiều”:
7 “Truyện Kiều” (The Tale of Kiều), original title “Đoạn trường tân
thanh” (A new cry from a broken heart), is an epic poem written by
Nguyễn Du (1766-1820) in Nôm script, consisting of 3254 verses.
Nôm is a logographic writing system, based on Chinese characters,
formerly used to write the Vietnamese language.
In the 16th century, European missionaries, for the purpose of their
mission, introduced the Romanized Vietnamese script, which
gradually became today’s official writing system.
On December 2, 2015, on the 250th anniversary of Nguyễn Du’s birth,
the World Record Union declared “The Tale of Kiều” a literary
masterpiece.
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
60
Mối tình đòi đoạn vò tơ
Giấc hương quan luống lần mơ canh dài
Song sa vò võ phương trời
Nay hoàng hôn đã lại mai hôn hoàng.
All her emotions tangled like sleave silk,
As dreams of home kept stirring sleep till dawn.
From her gauze-curtained window, at heaven’s edge,
Alone, forlorn, she’d watch dusk follow dusk.
(translated by Professor Huỳnh Sanh Thông, quoted from
his bilingual book “The Tale of Kiều”)
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
61
7. Mộng trường sinh
Đá mòn phơi nẻo tà dương
Nằm nghe nước lũ khóc chừng cuộc chơi
Ngàn năm vang một nỗi đời
Gió đưa cuộc lữ lên lời viễn phương
Đan sa rã mộng phi thường
Đào tiên trụi lá bên đường tử sinh
Đồng hoang mục tử chung tình
Đăm chiêu dư ảnh nóc đình hạc khô.
Eternal life’s dream
Worn stones, bathed in the setting sun,
Lie silent, witnessing the floodwaters sweep away lifelong
dreams.
A thousand years echo the fleeting nature of existence,
As wind carries tales of journeys to distant shores.
Extraordinary dreams lie shattered by cinnabar’s allure,
Immortal peach trees, stripped bare, scatter on the path
between life and death.
On a desolate plain, the shepherd stands steadfast,
His wistful afterimage is a reflection of the wooden crane
perched on the temple’s roof.
Explanation
This poem was taken from Thầy’s book “Tô Đông Pha:
Những phương trời viễn mộng” (Su Dongpo: Celestial
realms of distant dreams). Here’s the original passage
where he explained this poem himself:
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
62
The nostalgic sentiment of the traveler is undoubtedly a
sincere aspiration awakened by journeys against the
wind. The path of history, like a river flowing
downstream, or rushing like a flood, sweeps away all
lifelong dreams. This is the history of birth, death, and
long dreams. In that dreamlike realm, on the traveler’s
journey against the wind, the fading sunlight casts a
melancholy, contemplative hue over the ruins, decay,
and corruption; it is the ultimate end of everything in
passionate destruction. Breath fades away; the person
has completely wasted their essence, leaving nature to
express its indifferent affection, like a pebble by the
roadside exposed to the sun and wind. The sun rises with
signs of wear and tear and collapse. The wind carries
with it the echoes of eternal wishes beyond the vast and
silent universe. Extraordinary dreams are entrusted to
cinnabar, a symbol of immortality; yet, the path of life
and death within the vast and silent universe never stops
to let travelers’ dwell there. Life and death remain like
an illusory dream, as noisy as a game. In the vast, empty
expanse, the shepherd gazes thoughtfully at the
silhouette of a thin crane, pondering the ways of the
world and history; then he asks himself: “Where is the
realm of Eternal Dreams?”
The first two lines of Thầy’s poem are inspired by the first
two lines of this poem of Su Dongpo.
門前古碣臥斜陽
閲世如流事可傷
長有幽人悲晉惠
強修遺廟學秦皇
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
63
丹砂久窖井水赤
白朮誰燒廚灶香
聞道神仙亦相過
只疑田叟是庚桑
Môn tiền cổ kiệt ngọa tà dương
Duyệt thế như lưu sự khả thương
Trường hữu u nhân bi Tấn Huệ
Cưỡng tu di miếu học Tần Hoàng
Đan sa cửu diếu tỉnh thủy xích
Bạch truật thùy triêu trù táo hương
Văn đạo thần tiên diệc tương quá
Chỉ nghi điền tẩu thị Canh Tang
In front of the inn, a stone lies exposed to the afternoon
sun,
Viewing the world like flowing water, passing by and
disappearing, matters can be painful.
Even today, there are still foolish people who mourn for
Emperor Hui of Jin,
There are also those who still imitate Qin Shi Huang,
trying to repair the ruined temple.
Cinnabar, once a key ingredient in the pursuit of eternal
life, is now abandoned and submerged in a well, turning
the water red,
Atractylodes root, used in the past for alchemist
purposes, is now seen being used as incense in the
kitchen.
I hear that immortals often interact with mortals,
Perhaps that old farmer is actually the immortal
Gengsang Chu.
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
64
The search for an elixir of immortality, or a substance that
could extend their life, has been a recurring theme in
Chinese culture and history for centuries. This quest was
often driven by a desire for power, wealth, and longevity,
and it was believed that such a potion could be found
through alchemy, a practice that involved combining
various substances to create new ones.
The poem mentions three persons: Qin Shi Huang, Hui of
Jin and Gengsang Chu.
Qin Shi Huang was obsessed with finding the elixir of
immortality and sent numerous expeditions to search for it.
Unfortunately, his efforts were unsuccessful, and he died at
a relatively young age.
Hui of Jin, like many of his predecessors, was captivated
by the idea of eternal life and sought to prolong his reign
through the consumption of elixirs. Unfortunately, Hui of
Jin’s pursuit of immortality had tragic consequences. He
ingested a toxic elixir that was presented to him as a means
to prolong his life. The elixir, however, contained harmful
substances that led to his illness and eventual death.
Gengsang Chu was a disciple of the semi-legendary
ancient Chinese philosopher Laozi (6th century BC), who
is generally considered the founder of Taoism. When
Gengsang Chu took up his residence in the north at the hill
of Wei Lei, his servants left him and his concubines
distanced themselves from him, too. After residing there for
three years, the land of Wei Lei became very prosperous.
Consequently, the people of Wei Lei revered him as a sage.
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
65
8. Mưa cao nguyên
1
Một con én một đoạn đường lây lất
Một đêm dài nghe thác đổ trên cao
Ta bước vội qua dòng sông biền biệt
Đợi mưa dầm trong cánh bướm xôn xao
2
Bóng ma gọi tên người mỗi sáng
Từng ngày qua từng tiếng vu vơ
Mưa xanh lên tóc huyền sương nặng
Trong giấc mơ lá dạt xa bờ
3
Người đứng mãi giữa lòng sông nhuộm nắng
Kể chuyện gì nơi ngày cũ xa xưa
Con bướm nhỏ đi về trong cánh mỏng
Nhưng về đâu một chiếc lá xa mùa
4
Năm tháng vẫn như nụ cười trong mộng
Người mãi đi như nước chảy xa nguồn
Bờ bến lạ chút tự tình với bóng
Mây lạc loài ôi tóc cũ ngàn năm
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
66
Highland rain
1
A lone swallow, lingering on a stretch of a road,
After a long night listening to the waterfall’s cascade.
I hurry across the river on a long voyage,
Awaiting the pouring rain amidst the bustling butterflies.
2
A ghost calls your name each dawn, did you not hear?
Each passing day, each imperceptible sound.
Green rain falls on your black hair, heavy with morning
dew,
In my dreams, leaves drift far away from the shore.
3
Standing forever in the sun-drenched riverbed,
I tell stories of old, distant days.
The small butterfly flutters to and fro on its delicate
wings, free,
But where can I, an out-of-season leaf, drift?
4
Days turn to months; time slips by like a smile in my
dreams,
While you, like flowing water, forever disappear,
To tell your emotions to your shadow on foreign ground.
Oh, those stray clouds! You were my hair thousands of
years ago.
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
67
Explanation
This first stanza paints a picture of solitude and waiting.
The swallow’s flight in a lingering path, the endless river,
and the persistent rain all contribute to a sense of isolation.
The bustling butterfly’s wings, despite their activity, seem
to offer no solace. The author is waiting for the pouring
rain, perhaps it is a change or a resolution.
The theme of longing and loss deepens in the second
stanza. The ghost calling the person’s name suggests a
haunting presence from the past. The “green rain” and
“black hair” create a dreamlike, ethereal atmosphere,
while the image of leaves drifting away symbolizes the
impermanence of life and love.
In the third stanza, the word “người” in the first line could
represent the author or a lost love. The image of the person
standing in the river suggests a timeless quality, as if they
are trapped in the past.
The final stanza reinforces the themes of time, memory, and
loss.
The following verse,
Năm tháng vẫn như nụ cười trong mộng
Days turn to months; time slips by like a smile in my dreams
suggests Thầy’s serene acceptance in the face of all storms,
by considering the passage of the time inside as well as
outside of the prison just like a smile in his dream.
This is the smile of a Bodhisattva!
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68
However, the poem will resonate deeper with you, if you
envision the first and third stanzas spoken by a wanderer
and the second and fourth by his beloved. If you’d agree,
then the poem becomes:
The wanderer whispers to his lover:
A lone swallow, lingering on a stretch of a road,
After a long night listening to the waterfall’s cascade.
I hurry across the river for a long voyage,
Awaiting the pouring rain amidst the bustling butterflies.
His lover whispers back:
A ghost calls your name each dawn, did you not hear?
Each passing day, each imperceptible sound.
Green rain falls on your black hair, heavy with morning
dew,
In my dreams, leaves drift far away from the shore.
The wanderer confides in his lover:
Standing forever in the sun-drenched riverbed,
I tell stories of old, distant days.
The small butterfly flutters to and fro on its delicate
wings, free,
But where can I, an out-of-season leaf, drift?
His lover whispers back, but mainly to herself:
Days turn to months; time slips by like a smile worn in
my dreams.
You forever depart like water flowing, never returned.
To tell your emotions to your shadow on foreign shores.
Oh, those stray clouds! You were my hair thousands of
years ago.
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69
You may notice the following three points that will make
the poem resonate deeper with you:
1) In the second stanza, when the girl says,
Trong giấc mơ lá dạt xa bờ
In my dreams, leaves drift far away from the shore
then she means that he, her lover, not the lost leaves, drifts
far away from her or their home.
2) In the first line of the last stanza,
Năm tháng vẫn như nụ cười trong mộng
Days turn to months; time slips by like a smile worn in my
dreams.
I’ve changed “a smile in my dreams” to “a smile worn in
my dreams” to suggest a strained smile on his lover. In her
dreams, she would always put on a smiling, brave face for
him, even though she sadly yearned for a real-life
encounter.
3) The last line,
Mây lạc loài ôi tóc cũ ngàn năm
Oh, those stray clouds! You were my hair thousands of
years ago
becomes her silent cry as the stray clouds were not the
wanderer’s hair, but her own hair, thousands of years ago.
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Poet Viên Linh 8 pointed out that this poem was originally
featured on the front page of the weekly magazine Khởi
Hành, issue 108, published in Saigon in June 1971.
In “Tuệ Sỹ, tù đày và quê nhà” (Tuệ Sỹ, prison and
homeland), poet Viên Linh describes Thầy’s poetry as
below:
To speak of Tuệ Sỹ’s poetry is to speak endlessly of a
vast, celestial source, where words are imbued with a
serene aura and meaning is deeply intertwined with the
human experience…
Tuệ Sỹ didn’t speak, didn’t use the conversational
language of speech, but instead described with gentle
imagery and colors, creating a unique rhythm for the
poem.
8 Poet Viên Linh (1938-2024) was the Editor-in-Chief of the weekly
magazine Khởi Hành of the Republic of Vietnam’s Military Artists
Association from its first issue on May 1, 1969, until the fall of Saigon
on April 30, 1975.
Having settled in the United States, he founded the overseas monthly
magazine Khởi Hành in November 1996 and served as its Editor-in-
Chief and Managing Editor until it was discontinued in April 2018,
due to his health.
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9. Tóc huyền
Tang thương một dải tóc huyền
Bãi dâu ngàn suối mấy miền hoang vu
Gởi thân gió cuốn xa mù
Áo xanh cát trắng trời thu muộn màng
Chênh vênh hoa đỏ nắng vàng
Gót xiêu dốc núi vai mang mây chiều
Tóc huyền loạn cả nguyên tiêu
Lãng du ai ngỡ cô liêu bạc đầu.
Raven hair
A strand of raven hair, a trail of sorrow,
Across a mulberry field and forest streams, wild and
barren.
She entrusted her life to the wind, carried far into the mist,
A green robe, white sand, under the late autumn sky.
Precariously, red flowers bloom under the golden sun,
Her heels tilt the mountain slope; her shoulders bear the
weight of afternoon clouds.
Raven hair, once neatly flowing, is in disarray even
during the lantern festival,
Who would have thought that this wanderer would have
to live such a solitary life until old age?
Explanation
Is this poem about the Vietnamese women who were forced
to work or marry abroad, following the tragic fall of Saigon
in April 1975? No, it’s not. The poem was composed before
1975, therefore, it’s reasonable to argue that Thầy was
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giving voice to the country’s suffering during the war.
Alternatively, we may argue that this was his prediction for
our Vietnamese women’s fate after the war.
In “Tuệ Sỹ, tù đày và quê nhà” (Tuệ Sỹ, prison and
homeland), poet Viên Linh comments:
The human figure in Tuệ Sỹ’s poetry isn’t defined by
physical attributes like stature, appearance, lips, eyes,
laughter, or voice. In Tuệ Sỹ’s poetry, the human is
merely a strand of hair. But what does this hair
represent? Is it a maiden? A beauty? I cannot answer
these questions. All I know is that the hair in Tuệ Sỹ’s
poetry may or may not be real, yet it is; it may or may
not be absent, yet it remains. Perhaps this hair is a
distant dream, a noble fantasy of a courtier who delights
in gazing upon red earth, green robes, yellow grass,
dark nights, pink buds, and hair. Undoubtedly, this hair
represents a person, but who? Or perhaps it represents
no one at all, but rather the transformations of a
journey, from the green rain to the summer sun, from
primordial chaos to the fading of paradise?
The poem alludes to “nguyên tiêu” (
元宵
, also called
“thượng nguyên” or “hội hoa đăng”, lantern festival).
This is a Chinese traditional festival celebrated on the
fifteenth day of the first month of the lunar calendar.
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Volume 2:
Giấc mơ Trường Sơn | Dreams on the peak of Trường Sơn
Giấc mơ Trường Sơn
| Dreams on the peak
of Trường Sơn
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
74
This volume contains 34 poems, mostly written during the
time of his retreat in Vạn Giã forest.
Time of composition: April 30, 1975-1978
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1. Ác mộng
Lại ác mộng bởi rừng khuya tàn bạo đấy,
Thịt xương người vung vãi lối anh đi.
Nhưng đáy mắt không căm thù đỏ cháy,
Vì yêu em trên lá đọng sương mai.
Anh chiến đấu nhọc nhằn như cỏ dại,
Thoảng trông em tà áo mỏng vai gầy,
Ôi hạnh phúc, anh thấy mình nhỏ bé,
Chép tình yêu trên trang giấy thơ ngây.
Đời khách lữ biết bao giờ yên nghỉ,
Giữa rừng khuya nằm đợi bóng sao mai.
Để một thoáng giấc mơ tàn kinh dị,
Dáng em buồn bên suối nhỏ mây bay
Nightmares
Again, haunted by nightmares of the cruel forest fires,
Scattered human remains line my path.
Yet, no burning hatred consumes the depths of my eyes,
For I love her as pure as droplets of morning dew clinging
to leaves.
I fight relentlessly like a wild weed,
Glimpsing her slender shoulders in a thin gown,
Oh, happiness, I feel so small,
Desperately etching my love on naïve pages.
When will this weary wandering traveler find peace,
Lying in the deep forest, waiting for the morning star to
rise?
Waking up from a terrifying nightmare,
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76
I find her sorrowful figure by the stream where clouds
drift by.
Explanation
In this poem, when Thầy asserts that “there was no burning
hatred in the depths of his eyes”, the pronoun “her” in “for
I love her” symbolizes Thầy’s homeland, personified as a
suffering entity under the oppressive regime. He yearned
for his homeland’s liberation, yet harbored no hatred
towards the oppressive regime. Thầy’s love to his
homeland is as pure as morning dew loves tree leaves.
When scattered human remains line his path, Thầy believes
that it’s a war that he must fight tirelessly like a weed,
persistent but always undervalued, fighting to survive and
to liberate the country from the shackles of the
Communists. He was ready to sacrifice himself because he
felt himself so small compared to his love for his country.
The poem highlights the contrast between the harsh
realities of the world (the forest, the violence) and the
beauty and purity of love. It paints a vivid image of a
traumatic experience in a dark forest, juxtaposed with the
pureness of love.
The peaceful setting of the small stream and drifting clouds
offers a contrast to the nightmares. It might represent his
desire for peace and tranquility, or perhaps a sense of fear
of the unknown that is going to happen to “her”, his
country, represented by the transience of the clouds.
Waking up from his terrifying nightmare to find “her”
sorrowful figure, Thầy’s anxieties are heightened,
revealing a deep concern for her well-being.
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The poet and poetic commentator Châu Thạch, in his
analysis of this poem, “Đọc ‘Ác mộng’ thơ Tuệ Sỹ”
(Reading Tuệ Sỹ’s poem ‘Nightmares’), writes:
A writer (TN: Vĩnh Hảo, quoted from his essay “Thơ tình
Tuệ Sỹ” (Tuệ Sỹ’s Romantic poetry)) once said of Tuệ
Sỹ: “Among the works of Zen Master Thích Tuệ Sỹ, a
large number were composed during the year he
retreated to live in solitude, farming in the Vạn Giã
forest from 1976 to 1977. These poems were collected in
the volume “Giấc mơ Trường Sơn” (Dreams on the peak
of Trường Sơn). Besides poems about mountains,
forests, the universe, and the human condition, there are
also quite a few about love, which are very passionate
and evocative, a rather surprising fact considering the
author is a Zen master. He has a deep understanding of
human psychology to be able to convincingly describe
the romantic paths of love, the secret thoughts of the
human heart, without necessarily expressing his own
personal feelings. On the other hand, in poems about
love, we think of romantic love between men and women,
but in fact, it could be an expression in poetry of a
broader love, that of humanity”.
These observations are indeed very accurate. Tuệ Sỹ is
truly a scholar in the Eastern tradition. Zen Master
Thích Tuệ Sỹ demonstrated the spirit of “uy vũ bất năng
khuất” (Chinese philosopher Mencius’ quotation, which
means a righteous person does not submit to those with
power), the spirit of unyielding integrity of a scholar not
only through his actions but also through his works.
Through his writing, he created his work through self-
sacrificing devotion, to share the suffering with his
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
78
homeland. One such poem is “Nightmares” which he
wrote in the Vạn Giã forest in 1976, in a thatched hut
that he built himself, where at night, there was nothing
but a flickering oil lamp in the thatched hut and the
endless darkness of the mountains.
Now, I invite you to approach the poem “Nightmares”
with two different perspectives. Only then can we
understand some of the profound meaning in his poem.
First, let’s bring the perspective of romantic love to
appreciate the passionate love poem, then, depending on
each person, let’s try bringing a little or a lot of the
perspective of a monk, a person who has distanced
themselves from the mundane world, to feel the mystery
in Tuệ Sỹ’s poetry.
Let’s step into the first stanza:
Lại ác mộng bởi rừng khuya tàn bạo đấy,
Thịt xương người vung vãi lối anh đi.
Nhưng đáy mắt không căm thù đỏ cháy,
Vì yêu em trên lá đọng sương mai.
Again, haunted by nightmares of the cruel forest fires,
Scattered human remains line my path.
Yet, no burning hatred consumes the depths of my eyes,
For I love her as pure as droplets of morning dew
clinging to leaves
Reading the first two lines, we immediately see the poet
dreaming a horrifying dream in the forest. The poet has
seen human remains scattered along his path. The
author’s phrase “again, haunted by nightmares” means
there have been many nightmares in that forest. The
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79
author further states that these forest fires are “cruel”.
So, in the first line of the poem, the author directly points
to the subject that causes the nightmares as the cruel
forest fires. What is the subject? A subject is an
individual, an organization that exists, and is
identifiable through actions. The forest cannot be a
subject. Thus, the forest in the poem is used to allude to
a subject that has caused a nightmare for the author.
Through the next two lines,
Nhưng đáy mắt không căm thù đỏ cháy,
Vì yêu em trên lá đọng sương mai
Yet, no burning hatred consumes the depths of my eyes,
For I love her as pure as droplets of morning dew
clinging to leaves,
it’s a picture of leaves in the Vạn Giã forest.
The third line, “Yet, no burning hatred consumes the
depths of my eyes” suggests that the nightmares
occurred in the autumn, because in autumn, the leaves
turn yellow and look like they’re burning. The poet uses
the phrase “the depths of my eyes” to refer to the inner
part, deep within the inner being of the leaves that do
not know hatred in the face of cruelty. We understand
that the forest in the poem represents a subject, so the
leaves in the poem also represent a class in
contemporary society.
Through the fourth line, the poet suddenly uses the word
“love her”. To understand the meaning of these two
lines better, we can rewrite them as follows:
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The depths of my eyes have no burning hatred,
They are burning with love for her on the dew-covered
leaves.
We pay attention to the phrase “love her on the dew-
covered leaves”. So, who is “her” in this poem? It is the
dew-covered leaves. Understanding this, we no longer
wonder why the monk wrote “her” in his poem.
Through the first stanza, we can see that although the
poet writes about a nightmare, it’s not a dream while
sleeping but a nightmare while awake, because he still
clearly sees the red leaves with dew on them in front of
him.
In summary, the first stanza of Tuệ Sỹ’s poem depicts a
nightmare induced by society. He witnesses widespread
suffering and encounters a marginalized class as
innocent as leaves, devoid of hatred. Their souls are as
pure as the morning dew on those leaves, which he
cherishes. Thus, the leaves symbolize the oppressed,
whom the poet personifies as “her,” and the “morning
dew” represents their pure hearts.
Now, continue reading the second stanza:
Anh chiến đấu nhọc nhằn như cỏ dại,
Thoảng trông em tà áo mỏng vai gầy,
Ôi hạnh phúc, anh thấy mình nhỏ bé,
Chép tình yêu trên trang giấy thơ ngây.
I fight relentlessly like a wild weed,
Glimpsing her slender shoulders in a thin gown,
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81
Oh, happiness, I feel so small,
Desperately etching my love on naïve pages.
The first line, “I fight relentlessly like a wild weed”
refers to Tuệ Sỹ’s power and his will.
The poet’s power is as weak as a weed, but his will is
always strong and fighting. Faced with violence, Tuệ Sỹ
is like a weed, but a weed still fights. Who does he fight
for, and why? The answer is very clear, fighting for
“slender shoulders in a thin gown” meaning fighting for
the weak and poor class. Understanding this, we see that
“her” here is not any girl, but “her” here refers to the
oppressed classes.
The next two lines talk about the poet’s satisfaction in
love and how the poet expresses his love. Of course, we
already know that this love is not romantic love, but a
higher love for others, for the weak, for those who suffer
from injustice and oppression:
Oh, happiness, I feel so small,
Desperately etching my love on naïve pages
“Oh, happiness, I feel so small”: Tuệ Sỹ is happy in his
smallness, because it is precisely that smallness that
makes him an eternal and undeniable monument in the
conscience of the times.
“Desperately etching my love on naïve pages”. Indeed.
Today, although Tuệ Sỹ has passed away, his poetry, his
prose, his scriptures are unparalleled love left forever
on paper, very naïve but extremely valuable, a fragrant
draft for literary history, the teachings of a respected
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Zen master in Buddhism, and the writings of a wise man
for Vietnamese history.
Now, let’s read the final stanza of the poem:
Đời khách lữ biết bao giờ yên nghỉ,
Giữa rừng khuya nằm đợi bóng sao mai.
Để một thoáng giấc mơ tàn kinh dị,
Dáng em buồn bên suối nhỏ mây bay
When will this weary wandering traveler find peace,
Lying in the deep forest, waiting for the morning star to
rise?
Waking up from a terrifying nightmare,
I find her sorrowful figure by the stream where clouds
drifting by.
This stanza is filled with hope and aspiration. Buddhism
views human life as a journey of a wanderer through
countless lifetimes:
Hỡi người khách lữ hành trên cõi thế
Đi lang thang vô định đã bao đời
Vòng tử sinh, sinh tử, nẻo luân hồi
Trong tam giới xoay đi rồi chuyển lại
(Huỳnh Thanh Long)
O traveler in this world
Wandering aimlessly for countless lifetimes
The cycle of birth, death, and rebirth
In the three realms, turning and turning again.
Life is already sorrowful, but Tuệ Sỹ feels even more
sorrowful as he lives this life in a dark forest, uncertain
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83
when dawn will break. Yet, the poet still harbors great
hope, waiting for the morning star to signal the sunrise
and the coming of light. At that moment, his horrific
dream will end, and he will see “her sorrowful figure by
the stream where clouds drifting by” meaning she
stands in a peaceful scene. Of course, her figure is still
sad because he hasn’t yet realized that this day has
come.
As we have discussed earlier, Tuệ Sỹ’s “her” is not a
woman. In his poetry, “her” represents a class of people
who suffer the consequences of life, those who endure
hardship and pain, those who are oppressed and suffer
injustice, or perhaps he views “her” as all those who
are still far from Buddhism, the path he is cultivating.
Tuệ Sỹ’s poetry is not only like a flower blooming before
our eyes but also like a twinkling star in the sky. Like a
flower blooming before our eyes, it is because of its
beautiful colors and sweet fragrance that we can
immediately perceive. Like a twinkling star in the sky, it
is because of its sublime ideas and extraordinary
concepts that we can also see, depending on each
person’s perspective.
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2. Anh sẽ về thăm phố cũ
Mười năm sau anh sẽ về thăm phố cũ
Màu Trường sơn pha nắng rực trưa hè
Anh vẫn nhớ những con đường bụi đỏ
Và tình yêu trong ánh mắt rã rời.
I’ll return to this old town
Ten years from now, I’ll return to this old town,
Where Trường Sơn’s hues blend with the summer’s noon
sun.
I will always remember the dusty crimson streets,
And the love in her languid eyes.
Explanation
This is the promise of a person leaving to pursue his dream.
He promises that in ten years, he will return when the old
streets are tinged with the colors of Trường Sơn under the
blazing summer sun. He also pledges that in those ten
years, he will always remember every dusty crimson road
and her tearful, expectant eyes.
Trường Sơn is a mountain range, extending 1100 km
through Laos, Vietnam and a small area in northeast
Cambodia.
During the Vietnam War, the North Vietnamese army
successfully constructed the Hồ Chí Minh trail along the
Trường Sơn mountain range, serving as a vital supply
route for troops, provisions, and weaponry to the Southern
front.
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Initially, this route was merely an extension of the roads
built during the French colonial period, so the initial
transportation method relied on porters carrying supplies
on their backs and traveling on foot.
In 2002, the United States National Security Agency (NSA)
released a 500-page report titled “Spartans in darkness”,
which revealed secrets about the Indochina war from 1954
to 1975. The report states,
The Ho Chi Minh trail was more than a simple pathway
from North to South Vietnam. It was a military
engineering project that the North Vietnamese
continually expanded and improved until it had become
a vast network which included, by 1974, all-weather
surfaced roads, footpaths, and a network of gasoline
pipelines that, over a period of about fifteen years,
allowed the movement south of as many as one million
soldiers and political cadre – almost a third of them to
their deaths – as well as supplies for the combat units
fighting the South Vietnamese and the Americans. In this
sense, the Ho Chi Minh Trail is one of the great
achievements in military engineering of the 20th
century.
However, the Ho Chi Minh trail was more than a supply
route cut through the heart of Indochina; it was, in
essence, the heart of the Vietnamese communist war
effort, encompassing the entire supply and
reinforcement network running from points in North
Vietnam down to a system of routes, trails, paths and
supply-heads in South Vietnam. It took on an existence
of its own and consumed the efforts of an enormous
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
86
number of people to keep it running, especially in the
face of the Allied air offensive determined to shut it
down.
According to the above report, one million soldiers have
been sent to South Vietnam via this trail, but the true figure
should be three or four times more. The report also says a
third of one million soldiers was estimated to be killed on
the Hồ Chí Minh trail. We now know that many of them are
girls and boys as young as 15 years old. Some locations on
the trail were named “Cửa tử thần” (Death’s gate), “Đèo
lò lửa” (Blazing furnace pass), “Ngã tư thịt chó” (Dog
meat crossroads), “Đồi thịt băm” (Hamburger hill) and
“Thung lũng oan hồn” (Valley of lost souls), served as
grim reminders of the dangers and hardships encountered
by these former soldiers and youth volunteers.
Could Trường Sơn become a catalyst for a different path?
Perhaps Thầy envisioned a future where the mountain
range would not only unify the nation geographically but
also spiritually, liberating the people from the oppressive
communist regime and fostering a democratic society that
upholds the fundamental human rights enshrined in the
United Nations Charter.
While the path to liberating a nation from communism is
complex and multifaceted, it’s worth recalling the
historical example of King Lê Lợi, who, from his base at
Mount Chí Linh, the northernmost peak of the Trường Sơn
mountain range, waged a ten-year resistance against the
Ming invaders. His eventual victory in 1428 restored
Vietnam’s independence, offering a testament to the power
of perseverance and strategic leadership.
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3. Bài ca cô gái Trường Sơn
Nàng lớn lên giữa quê hương đổ nát
Tay mẹ gầy mà đất sống hoang khô
Đàn em nhỏ áo chăn không sưởi ấm
Tuổi trăng tròn quanh má đọng sương thu
Những đêm lạnh tóc nàng hương khói nhạt
Bóng cha già thăm thẳm tận u linh
Tuổi hai mươi mà đêm dài sương phụ
Ngọn đèn tàn tang trắng phủ mênh mông.
Suốt mùa đông nàng ngồi may áo cưới
Đẹp duyên người mình vẫn phận rong rêu
Màu hoa đỏ tay ai nâng cánh bướm
Mà chân mình nghe cát bụi đìu hiu.
Vào buổi sớm sao mai mờ khói hận.
Nghe quanh mình lang sói gọi bình minh
Đàn trẻ nhỏ dắt nhau tìm xó chợ
Tìm tương lai tìm rác rưởi mưu sinh
Từ những ngày Thái Bình Dương dậy sóng.
Quê hương mình khô quạnh máu thù chung
Nàng không mơ buổi chiều phơi áo lụa
Mơ Trường Sơn vời vợi bóng anh hùng
Từ tuổi ấy nghe tim mình rộn rã
Nàng yêu người dâng trọn khối tình chung
Không áo cưới mà âm thầm chinh phụ
Không chờ mong mà ước nguyện muôn trùng.
Rồi từ đó tóc thề cao ước nguyện
Nên bàn chân mòn đá sỏi Trường Sơn
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Thân bé bỏng dập dìu theo nước lũ
Suối rừng sâu ánh mắt vọng hoa nguồn.
Trường Sơn ơi bóng tùng quân ngạo nghễ
Phận sắn bìm lây lất với hoàng hôn
Quê hương ơi mấy nghìn năm máu lệ
Đôi vai gầy dâng trọn cả mùa xuân.
A song of the Trường Sơn girl
She grew up amidst a ravaged homeland,
Her mother’s bony and weary hands tilled the barren land,
Her younger siblings, clad in rags, shivered for warmth,
The moon’s glow on her cheeks mingled with autumn
dew.
On cold nights, her hair resembled pale smoke.
Her father’s distant shadow lingered in the spiritual realm.
At twenty, her nights were long and drenched, widow-
like,
The dying embers of her bedroom lamp cast a vast, white
shroud.
Throughout the winter, she sat sewing wedding gowns,
For other girls’ happiness, while hers remained a bed of
moss.
While the bride’s hands held red-flowered butterfly
wings,
Her own feet trod on gloomy sand and dust.
In the early hours of one morning, the morning star
dimmed by the smoke of hatred,
She heard wolves howling around her, heralding a new
dawn,
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Groups of children, hand in hand, searched flea market
corners,
Foraging from the garbage, searching for a future.
Since the days when the Pacific Ocean roared,
Her homeland parched, sharing the blood of common
foes.
She stopped dreaming of afternoons drying silk robes,
Her dreams were filled with the heroic, awe-inspiring
Trường Sơn.
From that age, she felt her heart pound in her chest,
She loved the Trường Sơn heroes with all her heart.
Even without a wedding gown, she considered herself a
warrior’s wife.
Not waiting passively, she harbored thousands of hopes.
And so, from that day, she cut her hair short and took a
vow,
Her feet wore down the stones and pebbles of Trường
Sơn’s path,
Her small body swayed and drifted with the floodwaters,
Her eyes reflected the wildflowers mirrored in the deep
forest streams.
Oh, Trường Sơn, how majestic and proud you stand!
While the fate of cassava vines lingers in the sunset.
Oh, homeland, for thousands of years, your tears have
been nothing but blood,
Her slender shoulders bore the weight of an entire
springtime.
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Explanation
The poem presents a sorrowful image of the poet’s
homeland.
Let’s reread and slowly savor the fourth stanza of the
poem:
Vào buổi sớm sao mai mờ khói hận.
Nghe quanh mình lang sói gọi bình minh
Đàn trẻ nhỏ dắt nhau tìm xó chợ
Tìm tương lai tìm rác rưởi mưu sinh
In the early time of one morning, the morning star dimmed
by the smoke of hatred,
She heard wolves howling around her, heralding a new
dawn,
Groups of children, hand in hand, searched flea market
corners,
Foraging from the garbage, searching for a future.
Quoted from Wikipedia, “according to the critics, rule by
communist parties has often led to totalitarianism, political
repression, restrictions of human rights, poor economic
performance, and cultural and artistic censorship” 9.
Indeed, the first thing the new government did in the
aftermath of their victory was not to foster reconciliation
to heal the wound caused by the 20-year long war, but to
their propaganda machine to herald what they called “a
new dawn”, and simultaneously add fuel to incite hatred
between their soldiers and soldiers as well as people of the
9 “Criticism of communist party rule.” Wikipedia, Wikimedia
Foundation, 6 October 2024
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Criticism_of_communist_party_rule
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defeated South Vietnamese, hence, Thầy’s phrases “smoke
of hatred” and “wolves howling”.
Just a casual reading cannot fully grasp the depth of
Thầy’s emotions in this poem.
Although this is a poem about a girl living on Trường Sơn,
it should be noted that Trường Sơn here is not just a
mountain, but the dreams and struggles of the Vietnamese
people. The poem emphasizes the sufferings of the poor,
represented by the children, from the day the country fell
to the communist rulers and the glimmer of hope for a
better future.
In “Tuệ Sỹ Đạo sư
−
Thơ và phương trời mộng” (Zen
Master Tuệ Sỹ
−
Poetry and Celestial realms of dreams),
Volume No. 1, Most Venerable Thích Nguyên Siêu writes
about this poem as follows:
Trường Sơn, since the founding of our nation, has
nurtured countless talented individuals and heroes.
Countless brave sons and daughters of our race have
risen and rebelled from Trường Sơn.
The wind howls, the trees bend in the storm, Trường Sơn
is enraged. Violent storms rage. The trails, forced upon
us by a bloodthirsty mob, have exploited countless
precious resources of our homeland, leading to
countless troops “born in the North, died in the South”!
Trường Sơn has become an unwilling host to the bodies
and blood of our nation’s youth, sacrificed for the insane
ideologies from the North.
That Trường Sơn, once so majestic and awe-inspiring.
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That Trường Sơn is now merely a burial ground for the
future of our nation, all for the sake of an alien
fanaticism.
That Trường Sơn is now nothing more than prisons by
those who harbor hatred for an unrealistic belief.
That Trường Sơn, now burdened with more injustice and
wrongs.
That Trường Sơn, now bows its head in shame.
The prisoner author rekindles the fading flame, hoping
for a brighter future for Trường Sơn and the Vietnamese
people.
Just as Lushan was Su Dongpo’s confided dream haven
then Trường Sơn could be seen as where Thầy confided his
dreams and aspirations, too.
Quê nhà trên đỉnh Trường Sơn
Cho ta gởi một nỗi hờn thiên thu
(Tự tình, Self-reflection, page 193)
My homeland on the peak of Trường Sơn
Let me confide in you my thousand-year-long resentment.
To better convey the nuanced meaning of Thầy’s original
title “Giấc mơ Trường Sơn” in this volume, and especially
in this poem, I’ve opted to choose “Dreams on the peak of
the Mountain” for the title of this book, rather than the
previous title, “Dreams of Tuệ Sỹ”.
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4. Bếp lửa giữa rừng khuya
Ai biết mình tóc trắng
Vì yêu ngọn nến tàn
Rừng khuya bên bếp lạnh
Ngồi đợi gió sang canh.
Forest stove at night
Who knows my hair has turned white,
For I love the fading candlelight?
In the deep forest, I sit by the cold hearth,
Waiting for the wind to change for the next hour.
Explanation
“Loving the fading candlelight” signifies Thầy’s deep
dedication to his work, so much so that he loses track of
time and the changing environment around him. The
candle has burned out, the hearth is cold, yet he remains
steadfast.
The poem’s message is one of unwavering commitment and
hope. Thầy’s actions reveal a profound belief in the
eventual triumph of democracy and justice. The metaphor
of waiting for “the next hour” suggests his willingness to
endure any length of time to witness his vision come to
fruition.
Regarding the final word of the poem in Vietnamese,
“canh”, it is a reference to traditional Vietnamese culture.
“Canh” is a unit of nighttime, lasting two hours. The first
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“canh” is the hour of the Dog, followed by the Pig, Rat,
Ox, and Tiger.
Thầy’s use of the word “canh” reminds me of a very
familiar poem in Vietnamese poetry:
Gió đưa cành trúc la đà
Tiếng chuông Thiên Mụ, canh gà Thọ Xương.
A gentle breeze sways the bamboo branches,
The bell of Thiên Mụ temple, the rooster’s crow at Thọ
Xương village.
Thiên Mụ is the name of a temple in Huế, constructed by
Lord Nguyễn Hoàng during his southward migration,
while Thọ Xương is the land opposite the mountain where
the temple was erected. The verse signifies that the
harmonious rhythm of the Thiên Mụ bell and the Thọ
Xương rooster’s crow served as a gentle morning alarm,
signaling the start of a new day for the people of Huế.
Commentator Tâm Nhiên, in his essay “Tuệ Sỹ trên ngõ về
im lặng” (Tuệ Sỹ on the quiet path home), writes about this
poem:
Life, when viewed through the lens of suffering, is a
tapestry of ups and downs, joy and sorrow, from ancient
times to the present. The reality of suffering is the first
truth the Buddha taught nearly three thousand years
ago. Similar to the great writer Hermann Hesse, who
declared, “Despite suffering and agony, I still love this
crazy world”, poet Tuệ Sỹ also wholeheartedly loves
humanity, even when human life is fragile and fleeting.
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5. Bóng cha già
Mười lăm năm một bước đường
Đau lòng lữ thứ đoạn trường Cha ơi
Đêm dài tưởng tượng Cha ngồi
Gối cao tóc trắng rã rời thân con
Phù sinh một kiếp chưa tròn
Chiêm bao hạc trắng hãi hùng thiên cơ
Tuần trăng cữ nước tình cờ
Lạc loài du tử mắt mờ viễn phương
Tàn canh mộng đổ vô thường
Bơ vơ quán trọ khói sương đọa đày
Picturing my elderly father
Fifteen years of a journey’s length,
Oh, father, it’s such heartbreaking pain for this traveler.
In the long night, I imagine you sitting,
Your head held high, your white hair disheveled, my body
slumped.
Your life, an unfulfilled and unfinished cycle,
My dream, a white crane is a foreboding omen,
A moonlit month, a fateful twist of tide,
A lost wanderer, eyes blurred by the distance between us.
The last hour of the night, dreams of impermanence,
Lost and alone in an inn, oppressed by smoke and fog.
Explanation
This poem conveys a deep sense of longing, regret, and the
hardships of a life lived far from home. The author
expresses his sorrow at being separated from his father.
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In Vietnamese culture, the white crane is traditionally
revered as a symbol of longevity, nobility, and spirituality.
However, within the context of dreams, it often carries an
ominous connotation, foreshadowing ill sign for the
elderly.
In the poem “Tống biệt” (Farewell) by poet Tản Đà (1889-
1939), these verses:
Đá mòn, rêu nhạt, nước chảy, hoa trôi,
Cái hạc bay lên vút tận trời
Stones worn, moss faded, water flowed, flowers drifted,
The crane soars up into the sky,
imply that the deceased rides a crane to live in the heavenly
realm.
In a single line, the poet Tản Đà metaphorically described
both the aging process, via the worn stones and faded
moss, and the impermanence of human life, via the flowed
water and drifted flowers. However, the two legendary
figures Lưu Thần and Nguyễn Triệu described in this poem,
instead of riding the crane to heaven, were bored in the
heavenly realm and rode a crane back to the mortal world.
In the last line, the “quán trọ” (inn) in the poetry has
multiple meanings. It can refer to a temporary resting
place for travelers or the paths of exile, as seen in the
explanation of this poem “Kết từ” (In conclusion), on page
54:
Wandering back and forth, I remember half a melody.
Who has placed this inn here, obstructing my way home?
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6. Buổi sáng tập viết chữ thảo
Sương mai lịm khói trà
Gió lạnh vuốt tờ hoa
Nhẹ nhẹ tay nâng bút
Nghe lòng rộn âm ba
Practicing cursive style in the morning
Morning dew blends with the tea’s aromas.
Cold wind strikes the floral paper.
As my hand gently lifts the brush,
My heart echoes the pounding melody of my soul.
Explanation
The poem captures the moment of inspiration and the quiet
focus required for writing. The imagery of the morning
dew, the wind, and the floral paper suggests a deep
connection between the writer and the natural world. The
overall tone of the poem is one of peace and tranquility,
offering a beautiful and evocative description of the writing
process. Thầy seems to be in deep concentration and inner
calm.
This last line is the heart of the poem. It suggests that the
act of writing is deeply connected to the artist’s emotions
and inner spirit. The “pounding melody” could represent
the passion and energy that fuels the creative process.
It should be noted that the scholar in this poem did not
practice writing Chinese, as he was proficient in seven
foreign languages, including Sanskrit, Pali and Chinese at
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the age of 25, therefore, perhaps he practiced writing
Wang Xizhi-style 10 cursive script.
His first lecture on Western Philosophy at Vạn Hạnh
University, recorded by his student Most Venerable Thích
Nguyên Siêu, in “Thượng tọa Tuệ Sỹ, Trí Siêu, những thiên
tài lỗi lạc” (Most Venerables Tuệ Sỹ and Trí Siêu,
outstanding geniuses), as follows:
In his first philosophy class, he introduced us to Western
philosophy through the thoughts of Henry Miller, Jean
Paul Sartre, Engel, Plato... It was incredibly difficult to
understand, but there was something unique and
captivating about his teaching style. He didn’t need any
textbooks; he simply talked and talked. He talked like a
waterfall cascading from above, because the source of
the waterfall is full of water, endlessly replenished
This poem reminds me of the well-known Vietnamese poem
“Ông đồ” (The calligrapher) 11 by Vũ Đình Liên.
10 Wang Xizhi (circa 303-361) was a Chinese politician and writer
from the Jin dynasty. He did not make significant contributions in the
fields of politics. However, he was recognized by his contemporaries
and posterity as one of the most renowned calligraphers in China and
was bestowed the title of “書聖” (Thư thánh, Sage of Calligraphy), a
title that is still used to describe him in the present day.
11 “Ông đồ” was a term used for traditional Chinese character teachers
in Vietnam’s past, when Chinese and the Nôm script were the primary
writing systems. As no one is interested in learning Chinese writing,
the poem refers to him as a calligrapher.
During the Lunar New Year, many people would commission “ông
đồ” to write Chinese characters such as 福 (Happiness), 祿 (Wealth)
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Mỗi năm hoa đào nở
Lại thấy ông đồ già
Bày mực Tàu, giấy đỏ
Bên phố đông người qua
…
Năm nay đào lại nở
Không thấy ông đồ xưa
Những người muôn năm cũ
Hồn ở đâu bây giờ?
Every year the peach blossoms bloom
Again, I see the aged calligrapher
Displaying Chinese ink and red paper
Beside the bustling street
…
This year the peach blossoms bloom again
But the old calligrapher is nowhere to be seen
Those people of the past thousand years
Where are their souls now?
Both poems evoke nostalgia for a lost aspect of our
historical heritage.
or 壽 (Longevity), or couplets to adorn their homes. This practice was
seen as a way to invoke blessings and good fortune for the coming
year.
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7. Cây khô
Em xõa tóc cho cây khô sầu mộng
Để cây khô mạch suối khóc thương nhau
Ta cúi xuống trên nụ cười chín mọng
Cũng mơ màng như phố thị nhớ rừng sâu.
Withered tree
She loosens her hair for the grieving, withered tree,
And the stream mourns together,
I bow my head, a full, mature smile blooming on my lips,
My feeling is akin to that of a bustling city longing for a
tranquil forest.
Explanation
The poem has two parts: The first two lines represent a
girl’s wish for the tree to come back to life by loosening her
hair, while the last two lines represent Thầy’s no-self state.
The image of a “full, mature smile blooming on my lips”
creates a vivid picture of Thầy’s contentment and joy. This
is the smile of a Bodhisattva as it resonates with many
people’s longings for a simpler, more peaceful life.
What is the significance of the girl loosening her hair for
the withered tree and the stream to mourn together? This
is a common Vietnamese practice: loosening one’s hair or
shearing it for parental bereavement or supplication.
A city was once a forest years ago. The comparison of the
author’s feeling to that of a bustling city longing for a
tranquil forest is a powerful metaphor that conveys the
depth of the author’s desire for peace and tranquility.
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In the eyes of ordinary people, a withered tree is dead, a
stream is alive, and hills, pits, thorns, rocks and mountains
are all dirty.
The following excerpt is taken from the “Vimalakīrti
Sūtra”.
Śāriputra thought to himself:
- When the mind of a Bodhisattva is pure, the Buddha
land is pure. So why, when the Tathāgata (TN: World-
Honored One) first determined to become a bodhisattva,
surely his intentions were pure. Why then is this Buddha
land so filled with impurities?
The Buddha, knowing this thought, said to Śāriputra:
- Śāriputra, it is because of the sins of sentient beings
that they do not see the purity and majesty of the Buddha
land; it is not due to any fault of the Tathāgata.
Śāriputra, this land of mine is pure, but you do not
perceive it.
Then, the heavenly being Lokeśvara said to Śāriputra:
- Do not think that this land is not pure. Why? Because
I see the Buddha land of Śākyamuni as pure and spotless
as the palace of the heavenly being Great Freedom.
- I see this land full of hills, pits, thorns, rocks, and
mountains, all dirty, replied Śāriputra.
- It is because your mind has highs and lows, and does
not rest on Buddha wisdom, that they see this land as
impure. Śāriputra, because Bodhisattvas treat all things
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and beings with perfect equality. Their minds are deeply
pure, and rest on Buddha wisdom, they can see this
Buddha land as pure.
At that moment, the Buddha pressed his toe onto the
earth. Immediately the thousand-millionfold world was
adorned with hundreds and thousands of rare jewels, as
majestic as the Pure Land of the Buddha of Splendid
Adornment, adorned with immeasurable virtues that the
assembly praised as never seen before. Moreover,
everyone saw themselves seated on a magnificent lotus
flower.
The Buddha said to Śāriputra:
- Observe the purity and majesty of this Buddha land.
Śāriputra replied:
- Yes, Tathāgata, these are things I have never seen or
heard about before. Now the purity and majesty of this
land are clearly revealed.
Then the Buddha said to Śāriputra:
- This Buddha land of mine is always pure like this. But
it manifests countless impurities and defilements to
guide those with inferior roots. It is like the heavenly
beings all eating from the same jeweled bowl, but the
color of the food differs according to the merit of the
eater. Therefore, Śāriputra, those with pure minds will
see this land adorned with virtues.
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8. Cho ta chép nốt bài thơ ấy
Ôi nhớ làm sao, em nhỏ ơi!
Từng đêm ngục tối mộng em cười
Ta hôn tay áo thay làn tóc
Nghe đắng môi hồng lạnh tím người
Đừng ghét mùa mưa, em nhỏ ơi!
Nằm ru vách đá chuyện lưu đày
Cho ta chút nắng bên song cửa
Để vẽ hình em theo bóng mây
Cho đến bao giờ, em nhỏ ơi!
Tường rêu chi chít đọng phương trời
Cho ta chép nốt bài thơ ấy
Để giết tình yêu cả mộng đời
Let me finish writing that poem on the walls
Oh, how I miss you, my little one!
Each night, within this darkened cell, I dream of your
smile,
I kiss my sleeve, thinking of your hair,
The bitterness of my lips chills me to the core.
Don’t despise the rainy season, my little one!
When rain falls, I can lie and tell stories of exile to the
stony walls.
Grant me a sliver of sunlight through the window,
So I may sketch your image upon the clouds.
Until when will these moss-stained walls, my little one!
Be filled with prisoners’ wishes from four corners of the
earth,
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Let me finish writing that poem on the walls,
To extinguish the love that haunts my sleep.
Explanation
The moss-stained prison walls are where prisoners
imagine being able to write their wishes on. Of course, only
prisoners can see them and write on them in their
imagination, outsiders cannot enter the prison. When the
walls are filled with countless dreams of prisoners from the
four corners of the earth, let me finish writing my final
poem that I’ve already started.
I hope this is my last poem. I won’t write anymore, and the
prisoners won’t need to, either (because we all will be
free?).
The poem is a poignant expression of longing, isolation,
and the hope for freedom. The rainy cell, the moss-stained
walls, and the imaginary writing of prisoners on the walls
create a powerful atmosphere of despair but resilience.
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9. Cỏ dại ven bờ
Không vì đời quẫn bức
Nhưng vì yêu rừng sâu
Bước đường vẫn tủi nhục
Biết mình đi về đâu
Ta muốn đi làm thuê
Ðời không thuê sức yếu
Ta mộng phương trời xa
Trời buồn mây nặng trĩu
Ven bờ thân cỏ dại
Sức sống thẹn vai gầy
Tóc trắng mờ biên ải
Nỗi hờn mây không bay
Mây không trôi về Bắc
Người mơ về Trường sơn
Nắng chiều rưng tủi nhục
Người trông trời viễn phương.
Rừng Vạn Giã, 1976
Wild grass by the riverbank
Not driven by life’s constraints,
But drawn by my deep forest’s love,
My path remains humiliating,
My future is uncertain.
I want to work for hire,
But life does not employ the weak,
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I dream of distant lands,
The sky is gray, the clouds heavy.
Along the shore, wild grass stands tall,
An embarrassing contrast to my frail form.
My white hair blurs the distant horizon,
My resentment holds the clouds captive.
Captive, the clouds don’t drift to the northern sky,
Where dreams of Trường Sơn’s miracles fill the air.
The evening sun casts a humiliating glow,
As everyone yearns for a distant land.
Vạn Giã forest, 1976
Explanation
After April 30, 1975, Thầy chose a simpler life, farming in
Vạn Giã forest, drawn by his love for nature, yet he felt
trapped by his circumstances. Overall, this stanza conveys
a powerful sense of melancholy and introspection. The
author’s isolation, coupled with his deep connection to
nature, creates a poignant image of a person struggling to
find his place in the world.
In the essay “Thơ Tuệ Sỹ – tiếng gọi của những đêm dài
heo hút” (Tuệ Sỹ’s poetry – the call of long and desolate
nights), Most Venerable Phước An shared:
Every one or two weeks, I would travel from Nha Trang
to Vạn Giã to visit him. The road to his farm was
winding and bumpy, making it very difficult to navigate,
especially during the rainy season when it became
slippery. Sometimes, I would stay overnight with him in
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the thatched hut he had built himself. During these
nights, I was even more impressed by his endurance.
There was nothing there at night except a flickering oil
lamp in the hut and the endless darkness of the vast
mountains and forests.
Let’s compare Thầy’s experiences in exile in 1976 to those
of Su Dongpo, as described in his 1973 book, “Su Dongpo:
Celestial realms of distant dreams”.
During the winter solstice, his grandson Anjie came to
visit. He has been exiled to Hoàng Châu for nearly two
years now. The feelings of nostalgia for his hometown
and the bitterness of being a stranger in a strange land
are both intense. He was almost 46 years old at the time,
and his hair was already turning white. In autumn, with
white hair, the sounds of loneliness echoed everywhere.
An old man and a young boy, in the remote mountains,
life seemed like the endless waves of the Yangtze River;
September marked the beginning of the flood season;
and in late winter, the fog rolled in thick and heavy.
Where does the intense passion of the soul end? Hungry
rats scavenge in the quiet nights. Although nature is
indifferent, as the years pass and the clouds drift, even
on these steep mountains, one can sometimes hear the
faint echoes of the long, lonely nights.
When Su Dongpo was 59 years old, he was exiled again,
this time to Hainan.
It was a difficult and dangerous journey. Along the way,
his poetry echoed with strange reverberations. Extreme
pain mingled with an extraordinary spirit; yet it was
inspired with sincere and distant hopes.
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The journey to Hainan passed through Congzhou; the
Cong River flowed through 18 rapids. On the 7th day of
the 8th lunar month of that year, he entered Congzhou
and passed by a raging waterfall, known as Huangkung
(Terrifying) Waterfall. The name itself was enough to
suggest its turbulent power. Amidst the terror of that
foreign land, his poetry yearned for his hometown. In his
hometown, there was a marketplace called Xihuan
(Joyful). Xihuan and Huangkung, the emotions were the
same, but the scenes were different. On one side were
the wild and fierce features of a foreign land; on the
other side was the deep affection of his homeland.
山憶喜歡勞遠夢
地名惶恐泣孤臣
Sơn ức Hỉ hoan lao viễn mộng
Địa danh Hoàng khủng khấp cô thần
Remembering Joyful Mountain Pass, I was burdened by
distant dreams,
In the land of Terrifying Waterfall, the heavens and
earth wept for this lonesome and helpless public servant.
I translate into Vietnamese poetry:
Núi Hỉ Hoan, mộng đọa đày,
Thác cao Hoàng Khủng, trời mây khóc người.
These two excerpts draw a parallel between Thầy’s
experiences while living in exile in Vạn Giã and those of
the famous Chinese poet Su Dongpo. Both experienced
feelings of loneliness, nostalgia, and a deep connection to
nature.
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10. Cuối năm
Lận đận năm chầy nữa
Sinh nhai ngọn gió rừng
Hàng cà phơi nắng lụa
Ngần ngại tiếng tha phương.
End of year
Another year of hardship passes by,
Eking out a living amidst the forest breeze,
Rows of eggplant bask in the golden sunlight,
I still wonder if this is exile.
Explanation
This is the heartfelt confession of a person living in exile
who constantly questions whether he is truly living in exile.
In “Thơ Tuệ Sỹ – tiếng gọi của những đêm dài heo hút”
(Tuệ Sỹ’s poetry – the call of long and desolate nights),
Most Venerable Phước An writes
Nevertheless, the two words “ngần ngại” (wondering)
still evoke a deep sorrow in us. But it’s alright, because
Tuệ Sỹ once wrote: “That land tortures the body but not
the dreams. That homeland, with its deep affection, is
the one that truly tortures the dreams”. He wrote this
line for Su Dongpo, but it was also written for himself.
At the end of the lunar year 1060, Su Dongpo wrote three
poems to his brother, Su Ziyou:
饋歲
(Kuì suì, Quĩ tuế),
別
歲
(Bié suì, Biệt tuế), and
首歲
(Shǒu suì, Thủ tuế).
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In Western Shu (Su’s homeland), “Kuì suì” is the New
Year’s Eve offering, “Bié suì” is giving wine and food to
each other and “Shǒu suì” is staying awake from New
Year’s Eve until the dawn.
Below are the last two verses from Su Dongpo’s “Kuì suì”:
亦欲舉鄉風
獨倡無人和
Diệc dục cử hương phong
Độc xướng vô nhân họa
I too would like to raise a cup in celebration,
But drinking alone, there’s no one to harmonize.
Thầy comments, noting his translation of the poem, clearly
sharing his personal feelings with Su:
The mature techniques and gentle words create a very
ancient atmosphere. This not only reflects a nostalgia
and longing for one’s homeland, but also reflects the
strange heartache of time passing endlessly.
Quê cũ tình dẫu đượm
Tình riêng nói với ai
Though hometown love runs deep,
To whom can I confide my heart?
The old year is about to pass away, like a snake crawling
into a hole. How can we catch it? Grasping its tail is
useless. Days pass like a crawling snake; the longing
there is truly cruel and harmful.
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11. Dạ khúc
Tiếng ai khóc trong đêm trường uất hận,
Lời ai ru trào máu lệ bi thương,
Hồn ai đó đôi tay gầy sờ soạng,
Là hồn tôi tìm dấu cũ quê hương.
Ai tóc trắng đìu hiu trên đỉnh tuyết
Bước chập chờn heo hút giữa màn sương
Viên đá cuội mấy nghìn năm cô quạnh
Hồn tôi đâu trong dấu tích hoang đường?
Serenade
Whose voice weeps in the long night, filled with bitter
resentment?
Whose words lull, filled with sorrowful tears?
Whose soul wanders, gaunt hands fumbling?
It is my soul, seeking traces of my lost homeland.
Who, with white hair, stands forlorn on the snowy peak,
With staggering steps, lost amidst the swirling mist?
A boulder, thousands of years alone, wonders,
Where is my soul, in this desolate and forgotten land?
Explanation
This poem explores themes of loss, longing, and isolation.
In the first stanza, Thầy’s voice is filled with a deep sense
of sorrow and resentment, particularly toward the loss of
their homeland. The imagery is powerful, evoking a sense
of desolation and despair. The “long night” filled with
bitterness suggests a prolonged period of mourning and
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112
anguish. The third line “whose soul wanders, gaunt hands
fumbling” conveys a sense of aimlessness and confusion.
In the second stanza, Thầy continues to explore the sorrow
and resentment of his desolate and forgotten homeland, but
this time through the lens of the boulder. The image of the
white-haired figure standing on the snowy peak and
staggering in the swirling mist is particularly poignant.
This figure represents Thầy, while his snowy and swirling
background symbolizes his lost homeland.
Could the millennia of solitude endured by this ancient
boulder mirror the four-thousand-year history of its
homeland? If so, it stands as a silent sentinel, a stone
witness to the nation’s rise and fall. Why, then, does this
once-proud land now lie desolate and forgotten? The
boulder’s enduring presence poses a poignant question, a
silent cry echoing through the ages.
The poem’s overall tone is one of melancholy and despair.
However, there is also a sense of hope and yearning, as
Thầy continues to search for traces of his lost homeland.
The poem’s final question of the boulder, “Where is my
soul, in this desolate and forgotten land?” suggests a
longing for connection and belonging to his homeland.
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12. Đêm dài
Canh khuya tiếng trùng rủ rỉ
Đêm dài dế vọng huyên thiên
Tôi yêu bàn tay quỷ dị
Ấn sâu trên nỗi ưu phiền
Bàn tay ửng hồng nỗi chết
Áo cơm rữa nát tinh thần
Tan đi hình hài cát bụi
Tan đi khổ nhọc sinh tồn
Long night
In the dead of night, the crickets chirp a soft murmur,
Their mournful song echoes through the long hours.
I love the eerie hand,
That presses deeply on my sorrows.
This demonic hand flushed with the color of death,
Clothes and food gnaw at my soul,
My body crumbles, dissolving into dust,
The hardship of survival disintegrates.
Explanation
The images of the “dead of night” and the “long hours”
emphasize the author’s isolation. The crickets, often
associated with loneliness, underscore this theme. The
“eerie hand” and the “color of death” suggest a deep-
seated despair and a morbid fascination with mortality.
The lines about “clothes and food gnaw at my soul”
conveys a sense of physical and emotional exhaustion. The
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final lines seem to express a longing for an end to suffering
and a morbid fascination with death as a form of escape.
Given Thầy’s esteemed status as a Zen master and
Bodhisattva, the aforementioned observation may be a
misinterpretation. Perhaps a deeper understanding of his
philosophical outlook on life and death might be gleaned
from excerpts of these two essays, both written by him: the
first written before the tumultuous year of 1975, and the
second written in its aftermath in exile in his country:
1) “Sau lưng ngôn ngữ của thi ca” (Behind the language
of poetry)
Life is but a journey, a passing traveler.
Death is the return home.
Heaven and Earth are like an inn,
Feeling compassion for the grains of sand that have
rolled for millennia.
(Chinese great poet Li Bai)
Throughout this journey, words alone are insufficient.
Sweet talk is inadequate. Not even the pain Kiều
experienced when she played the lute until “bốn dây rỏ
máu năm đầu ngón tay” (five fingertips dripped blood
upon four strings, translated by Professor Huỳnh Sanh
Thông) or the silent demise of a beautiful flower in cold
waters can truly express it.
(Khởi Hành magazine, No. 104, 1971)
2) “Ngày mai tìm bóng tử thần mà yêu” (Seeking the
shadow of death to love tomorrow)
Obsessed by the darkness, one is startled to sense the
void take shape through the summons of life and death.
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In that call, a death must be endured to gaze upon a
naked hand extended. Is it love or death that beckons?
Yet, as one toils over strands of hair, rebirth arrives, and
a world of song is rediscovered.
(Overseas Khởi Hành magazine, No. 46, August 2000)
Perusing his book “Tô Đông Pha: Những phương trời viễn
mộng” (Su Dongpo: Celestial realms of distant dreams), I
discover that Su Dongpo and Thầy spent his long, sleepless
nights engaged in the following:
- burn firewood to brew tea and watch the moonlight slant
into the cup’s bottom.
- listen to the faint echoes of the long, desolate nights.
- listen to the poetry resounds with heartfelt love songs.
These images evoke a sense of serenity and tranquility, far
removed from the darkness and haunting atmosphere
previously assumed.
In “Tuệ Sỹ trên ngõ về im lặng” (Tuệ Sỹ on the quiet path
home), critic Tâm Nhiên adds this:
Even if the path of life is full of traps, pits, obstacles, and
difficulties, Thầy Tuệ Sỹ still recognizes and is aware of
the events that are unfolding, because he has awakened
to the realization: “Even in suffering lies enlightenment,
and even in the terrifying dangers of birth and death lies
the peaceful Nirvana. The rope that is mistaken for a
snake is not destroyed to eliminate the illusion that
causes fear. Beyond what is impermanent, perceived by
our five senses, there exists no other realm of eternal
truth, great bliss, or great self. This is the ultimate non-
dual reality”.
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13. Đời nô lệ
Núi rừng những giấc mộng đen
Tóc em xõa thanh xuân còn bé bỏng
Trên đỉnh đá mây trời tơ lụa mỏng
Ta làm thân nô lệ nhọc nhằn
Servitude
In mountains and forests, shadowed by dark dreams,
Her hair, a cascade in her youthful days
(Now fades and tangles in sunlit streams).
On the peak, where clouds are thin as silk,
I live a life of hardship as a weary slave.
Explanation
Most Venerable Thích Phước An revealed that this poem
was composed by Most Venerable Tuệ Sỹ in the
mountainous region of Vạn Giã, while gazing at the white
clouds drifting across the rocks and mountain peaks.
The verse “her hair, a cascade in her youthful days” hints
at a sense of isolation or a longing for something more than
just the cascading hair of a girl in her youth. Could it be
the image of his country that Thầy has personified in this
poem? I add “Now fades and tangles in sunlit streams” as
I believe it is.
The poem seems to contrast the past beauty of his country
with the present dark dreams. The dark dreams and the thin
silk clouds on the peak of the Trường Sơn mountain range
could suggest his spiritual or philosophical journeys.
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14. Hạ sơn
Ngày mai sư xuống núi
Áo mỏng sờn đôi vai
Chuỗi hạt mòn năm tháng
Hương trầm lỡ cuộc say
Bình minh sư xuống núi
Tóc trắng hờn sinh nhai
Phương đông mặt trời đỏ
Mùa hạ không mây bay
Ngày mai sư xuống núi
Phố thị bước đường cùng
Sư ho trong bóng tối
Điện Phật trầm mông lung
Bình minh sư xuống núi
Khóe mắt còn rưng rưng
Vì sư yêu bóng tối
Ác mộng giữa đường rừng
Mountain descending
Tomorrow, the monk will descend the mountain,
His worn-out robe frayed at the shoulders,
Prayer beads bearing the marks of time.
The scent of incense will mark a missed rendezvous.
At dawn, the monk will descend the mountain,
Sulky gray hair, a life relinquished.
The eastern sky ablaze, a fiery red,
No stray clouds mar summer’s sky.
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Tomorrow, the monk will descend the mountain,
The city will be his final hurdle.
As he coughs in the darkness,
Temple smoke drifts aimlessly.
At dawn, the monk descends the mountain,
With tears in the corners of his eyes,
Because he loves the darkness of the forests,
Where nightmares wait on his path.
Explanation
The monk’s internal struggle is evident in the first three
stanzas. He descends the mountain only in the last stanza.
In the first stanza, the scent of incense will mark a missed
rendezvous because the monk will miss his morning ritual,
failing to light incense and recite scripture.
In the second stanza, the red sun in the east and the
cloudless summer sky are signs of the challenges the monk
will face when he descends from the mountain.
In the third stanza, the incense smoke drifting aimlessly
means an uncertain future will greet the monk.
In the fourth stanza, despite loving the darkness and the
forest path, the monk still descends from the mountain.
The repetition of the first verse in the first and the third
stanzas (“Ngày mai sư xuống núi”; Tomorrow, the monk
will descend the mountain) demonstrates that the monk is
torn between the peace at his mountain retreat and the
challenges of the world. Ultimately, his decision to descend
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119
from the mountain demonstrates a willingness to engage
with life on a deeper level, even if it means facing
uncertainty and hardship.
Therefore, the repetition of the first verse in the second and
the fourth stanzas (“Bình minh sư xuống núi”), although
identical in Vietnamese, conveys different meanings in
English: In the second stanza, at dawn, the monk will
descend the mountain and in the final stanza, at dawn, the
monk descends the mountain.
This metaphor embodies the concept of “Engaged Monks”,
exemplified by Khuông Việt, advisor to King Đinh Tiên
Hoàng (reign 968-979) and Vạn Hạnh, teacher of King Lý
Thái Tổ (reign 1009-1028).
The monk in the poem, with tears in his eyes, descends the
mountain, knowing nightmares await. He is Thầy himself.
In 1977, Thầy left his Vạn Giã retreat to descend the
mountain. His voice against the Communist party’s attempt
to force the Unified Buddhist Church of Vietnam to join the
Vietnamese Fatherland Front led to his arrest and being
sent to re-education camp (a disguised form of prison) until
1981.
From 1981, he taught at Quảng Hương Già Lam monastery
school in Saigon, but the school was forced to close down
and he was arrested again in 1984. In a kangaroo court
held in September 1988, he was sentenced to death,
together with Venerable Thích Trí Siêu (also known as
Professor Lê Mạnh Thát). Due to international pressure,
Hanoi commuted their sentences to 20 years of hard labor
in a remote prison in a forest in Northern Vietnam.
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15. Hoa rừng
Em trải áo trên hoa rừng man dại
Để hoa rừng nước cuộn biết yêu nhau
Nhưng nước cuộn xóa đời ta trên bãi
Để hoa rừng phong nhụy với ngàn lau.
Forest flower
She lays her dress upon the wild forest flowers
For them and swirling waters to love each other.
But swirling waters erase my footprints on the shore
For the forest flowers to maintain their dignity with the
reeds.
Explanation
Similar to the poem “Cây khô” (Withered tree), page 100,
this poem also has two parts: The first two lines represent
the action of a person who wants to arrange nature’s way
into their own way; while the last two lines represent
Thầy’s state of no-self, i.e., a state of profound peace and
contentment, reminiscent of the Buddhist concept of
Nirvana, where the illusion of self is transcended and
interconnectedness with all things, organized in nature’s
way, is realized.
The last verse has an unpopular word “phong nhụy”
(phong = close, nhụy = stigma), which literally translates
to “close the stigma”. Stigma is the part of a flower that
receives the pollen. So, “phong nhụy” means to close the
female part of the flower, preventing pollination.
Metaphorically, it represents the women’s virginity.
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The word “phong nhụy” also appears in “The Tale of
Kiều”. When Kiều laments about her loss of purity, she
feels her purity has been compromised and can never be
restored:
Nghĩ rằng trong đạo vợ chồng,
Hoa thơm phong nhụy, trăng vòng tròn gương.
I believe that to her man
A bride should bring the scent of a close bud, the shape of
a full moon.
(translated by Professor Huỳnh Sanh Thông, quoted from
his bilingual book The Tale of Kiều)
Poet Bùi Giáng also has a poem employing the word
“phong nhụy”. It’s the poem “Impressions”, which he
wrote in the appendix of the novel “La porte étroite” (The
narrow gate) by André Gide, a work he translated. Below
are two lines of this poem:
Em về rủ 12 áo mù sa
Trút quần phong nhụy cho tà huy bay.
You return, disrobing in the misty rain,
Shedding your skirt, letting your stigma fly in the setting
sun.
12 While other versions utilize the word “rũ” (to fall limp or to drop
dead) and “giũ” (shake), Thầy Tuệ Sỹ uniquely employs “rủ” (to
gently drop down) to convey a sense of deliberate and gentle descent.
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16. Luống cải chân đồi
Vác cuốc xuống chân đồi
Nắng mai hồng đôi môi
Nghiêng vai hờn tuổi trẻ
Máu đỏ rợn bên trời
Sức yếu lòng đất cứng
Sinh nhai tủi nhục nhiều
Thân gầy tay cuốc nặng
Mắt lệ nóng tình yêu
Thầy tóc trắng bơ vơ
Con mắt xanh đợi chờ
Đèn khuya cùng lẻ bóng
Khúc ruột rối đường tơ
Tuổi Thầy trông cánh hạc
Cánh hạc vẫn chốc mòng
Mắt con mờ ráng đỏ
Ráng đỏ lệ lưng tròng
Chân đồi xanh luống cải
Đời ta xanh viễn phương
Sống chết một câu hỏi
Sinh nhai lỡ độ đường.
Vegetable beds at the foothill
With hoe upon my shoulders, I descend the hill,
The morning sun paints my lips a fiery red.
My shoulders slump, longing for my youthful days,
The sky bleeds crimson, a stark contrast overhead.
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123
Weak arms struggle against the earth’s hard soil,
My livelihood is filled with despair.
The slender body dwarfed by the hoe’s heavy weight,
Yet the love for this land warms my tear-filled eyes.
Father, white hair, lost in his own thoughts,
Child, exhausted eyes, forever in waiting,
Midnight lamp, casting a solitary shadow,
Our broken hearts were tangled by twisted threads.
Father, lonely in his golden years,
Like a forgotten sack on the shelf.
My eyes grow dim, reflecting the red sunset’s glow,
The red flow of the sunset bleeds into my welled-up tears.
The foothill now adorned with vibrant green vegetable
beds,
But my life stretches far beyond this field,
My livelihood has pushed aside,
The weighty question of life and death.
Explanation
Thầy wrote this poem late in 1975, probably while he was
in Vạn Giã. Therefore, the context of this poem’s creation
is very likely a gentle voice for the fate of our country after
the fall of Saigon in 1975. Those who remained in Vietnam
at that time also had thin bodies and heavy hoes in the New
Economic Zones (NEZ), while their elderly parents had
white hair and were left alone in the city, clinging to it,
ironically, to support those who were living in exile at these
NEZ. Understanding it this way, this poem is not written by
Thầy to lament about his own circumstances, but rather for
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us, those whose voices were silenced after 1975, those who
were sent to the NEZ, leaving their elderly parents behind.
In the third stanza, my heart was broken by these verses:
Thầy, tóc trắng bơ vơ
Con, mắt xanh đợi chờ
I translate, keeping their symmetry
Father, white hair, lost in his own thoughts
Child, exhausted eyes, forever in waiting.
In the fourth stanza:
Tuổi Thầy trông cánh hạc
Cánh hạc vẫn chốc mòng,
the word “cánh hạc” is used to refer to elderly people 13.
13 In an essay titled “Tuổi hạc” (The golden age) published on the
website of poet Du Tử Lê, late writer Duy Lam delved into the reasons
why a human’s old age is often likened to the crane.
Interestingly, cranes are not the longest-living birds. Compared to the
four sacred animals (TN: dragon, unicorn, turtle and phoenix), the
crane’s lifespan is relatively short. Turtles have been scientifically
documented to live nearly two centuries. But it wouldn’t sound
pleasant or poetic to compare a person’s lifespan to that of a turtle.
Cranes, with their various species and graceful appearance, have
captured the imagination of ancient people. Their ability to soar high
in the sky, their long necks and legs, and their clear calls have made
them symbols of elegance and freedom… Perhaps, because humans
are often confined to small spaces and dream of soaring to great
heights, they have projected their aspirations onto the crane.
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The word “tuổi hạc”, was also used by poet Nguyễn Đình
Chiểu (1822-1888) in his famous work “Lục Vân Tiên”:
Thương cha tuổi hạc đã cao
E khi ấm lạnh buổi nào biết đâu.
Loving my father, in his golden age,
I fear the cold and warmth, not knowing what the days
will bring.
And the word “chốc mòng” (chốc = impetiginous, mòng =
eye pouches) refers to sore, red eyes, implying waiting in
vain for a long time.
The word “chốc mòng” also appears in “The Tale of
Kiều”:
Nước non cách mấy buồng thêu
Những là trộm nhớ thầm yêu chốc mòng.
But, as if hills and streams had barred the way,
He had long sighed and dreamt of them, in vain.
(translated by Professor Huỳnh Sanh Thông)
In these two verses, Nguyễn Du painted a picture of Kim
Trọng’s secret but enduring and ceaseless love for the two
Despite this, the direct connection between the crane and human’s old
age remains unclear… Perhaps the association between cranes and old
age stems from the white feathers on the heads of some crane species,
which may have reminded people of elderly individuals with white
hair. This image, combined with the crane’s ability to fly high, may
have led to the idea of elderly people ascending to heaven on the backs
of cranes. This poetic image was often used to depict the peaceful
passing of the elderly, who were highly respected in ancient societies
for their wisdom.
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
126
Kiều sisters that even the distance separating him from
them could not extinguish it.
To translate the word “chốc mòng”, I choose an English
idiom, that is “a sack on the shelf”. The Cambridge
dictionary explains “on the shelf” as an elderly person who
is not noticed.
The African American poet Maya Angelou, who was invited
by President Clinton to read her poetry at his inauguration
in 1993, in her poem “On Aging”, writes “like a sack left
on the shelf” 14 to refer to lonely, forgotten elderly people.
Going back to these two verses in Thầy’s poem:
14 On Aging, by Maya Angelou
When you see me sitting quietly
Like a sack left on the shelf,
Don’t think I need your chattering.
I’m listening to myself.
Hold! Stop! Don’t pity me!
Hold! Stop your sympathy!
Understanding if you got it,
Otherwise, I’ll do without it!
When my bones are stiff and aching,
And my feet won’t climb the stair,
I will only ask one favor:
Don’t bring me no rocking chair.
When you see me walking, stumbling,
Don’t study and get it wrong.
‘Cause tired don’t mean lazy
And every goodbye ain’t gone.
I’m the same person I was back then,
A little less hair, a little less chin,
A lot less lungs and much less wind.
But ain’t I lucky I can still breathe in.
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Tuổi Thầy trông cánh hạc
Cánh hạc vẫn chốc mòng,
I translate as follows,
Father, lonely in his golden years,
Like a forgotten sack on the shelf.
But in their book “Dreaming the Mountain”, professor
Nguyễn Bá Chung and poet Martha Collins translate these
verses as:
My father dreams a crane’s wings
The crane is dreaming too.
It’s a mistake to translate “chốc mòng” as dreaming, but
a more serious mistake is to misunderstand “cánh hạc” as
crane’s wings.
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17. Một bóng trăng gầy
Nằm ôm một bóng trăng gầy
Vai nghiêng tủi nhục hờn lay mộng tàn
Rừng sâu mấy nhịp Trường sơn
Biển đông mấy độ triều dâng ráng hồng
Khóc tràn cuộc lữ long đong
Người đi còn một tấm lòng đơn sơ?
Máu người pha đỏ sắc cờ
Phương trời xẻ nửa giấc mơ dị thường
Quân hành đạp nát tà dương
Khúc ca du tử bẽ bàng trên môi
Tình chung không trả thù người
Khuất thân cho trọn một đời luân lưu
A slender moonbeam
I lie embracing a slender moonbeam,
Shoulders slumped, grief and resentment slay my dreams.
Deep forests roar with Trường Sơn’s thunderous beat,
Countless crimson tidal waves rise in the Eastern Sea.
Tears flood my long and lonely journey,
Can this traveler still hold a simple heart,
While blood stains the flag a gruesome red,
And the dream of a distant realm is irrevocably severed?
Marching armies crush the setting sun,
My song becomes a mournful tune on this traveler’s lips.
Unrequited love seeks no vengeance,
I’ll retreat away, to fulfill a life’s endless journey.
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
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Explanation
The poem’s themes of grief and the shattered dream
resonate with universal human experiences:
Can this traveler still hold a simple heart,
While blood stains the flag a gruesome red,
And the dream of a distant realm is irrevocably severed?
In the essay “Tuệ Sỹ, thái độ của nhà sư nhập thế” (Tuệ
Sỹ, the attitude of an engaged monk), Most Venerable
Thích Nguyên Siêu writes:
Spiritual practice seeks liberation, but this liberation
does not mean abandoning the world. Spiritual practice
begins in the world, and it is also from the world that
one attains enlightenment. Thầy spreads the spirit of
enlightenment, nourishing and brightening the world.
This engaged attitude permeates all of Thầy’s poetry
and writings, as well as his daily life. He lived a simple
life in a small room, surrounded by bookshelves,
spending his days translating and writing. At night, he
slept on his work chair, without a bed or hammock, not
concerned with material comforts. This was because he
saw the suffering and hardship of the impoverished
people, and he saw the poverty and backwardness of the
country, realizing that he too was living in this
impoverished and backward homeland.
This is the attitude of a monk, an engaged spirit with the
aspiration for peace and prosperity for Vietnam today.
But when the dream of the Trường Sơn failed, Thầy
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retreated away, focusing on translating scriptures, placing
his hopes in future generations.
Most Venerable Thích Nguyên Siêu continued:
He translated the Aṅguttara Nikāya, which shows us
that the Buddha’s teachings build a life of true
happiness in families, nations, and societies. This is
considered a positive engaged spirit. It’s about the
happy life of Buddhist lay people in the present and
future. A very humanistic and progressive view based on
compassion for fellow human beings, and the
interconnectedness of individuals and the human
community worldwide. The good relationships between
parents and children, teachers and students, friends and
neighbors, employers and employees... Thầy brought the
baggage of words and meanings of the scriptures to
inspire enlightenment for those who dedicate their
hearts to studying, researching, and applying the
Dharma in daily life, so that they can personally realize
the Dharma and find liberation.
The second engaged spirit is the Vimalakīrti Sūtra and
Śrīmālādevī Sūtra. These two sūtras exemplify the lay
Bodhisattva 15 practices of the lay people Vimalakīrti
and Śrīmālā Siṃhanāda. Here, the engaged spirit is
expanded, completely selfless, breaking away from
delusions and attachments, to directly advance to the
realm of the Buddha nature.
15 Bodhisattvas are those who practice the Dharma with the aspiration
for the happiness and benefit of countless beings, both in the present
and in the future.
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18. Một thoáng chiêm bao
Em mắt biếc ngây thơ ngày hội lớn
Khóe môi cười nắng quái cũng gầy hao
Như cò trắng giữa đồng xanh bất tận
Ta yêu người vì khoảnh khắc chiêm bao
A dreamlike moment
Your innocent green eyes, so captivating at the grand
festival,
Your smiling lips, soothing the summer’s blistering heat,
You were like a white stork amidst a vast green field.
I fell in love with you because of that dream-like fleeting
moment.
Explanation
In the essay “Đọc thơ Tuệ Sỹ” (Reading Tuệ Sỹ’s poems),
the poet Vĩnh Hảo comments on this poem:
Describing a beautiful woman with just a few words.
Bright eyes: the window to the soul. Naive: the soul. Just
by looking at the window, one can see what lies deep
within. The bright blue window, as blue as jade, reveals
a pure and innocent soul. Moreover, the naive quality is
further defined by the surrounding scene, by the bustling
crowd of a grand day; through this, the poet sees “you”
as strangely naive amidst the crowded festivities. What
kind of festival is it? It must be a great festival at a
pagoda for the bright eyes to connect with the poet’s
gaze. The Lantern Festival? Vesak? No. These festivals
are very joyful. The weather is warm, and people are
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
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excited and happy. It’s not suitable for one’s heart to
suddenly feel a vague sadness or to suddenly love
someone so deeply.
It must be the Ullambana Festival 16 (TN: Ullambana is
a Sanskrit word. Yulan in Chinese or Vu-Lan in
16 The Ullambana Festival, in essence, originated from the story of
Maudgalyāyana, a devout Buddhist monk who sought to rescue his
mother from hell.
According to the Ullambana Sūtra, also known as the Yulanpen Sūtra
or kinh Vu Lan Bồn in Vietnamese, during the time of the Buddha
Śākyamuni, Maudgalyāyana, one of the ten great disciples of the
Buddha, discovered through his meditative powers that his mother,
who had committed severe bad karma, had been reborn in hell,
enduring hunger and thirst. When he learnt that her spirit was being
subjected to hunger and misery, he decided to go to the netherworld
to relieve her of her suffering.
Once he went there, Maudgalyāyana offered her a bowl of rice. Due
to her greed, she was so afraid that others would steal her food that
she covered the bowl with her hand, preventing others from seeing it,
while using her other hand to scoop up the rice. However, the rice
turned to pieces of smoldering charcoal that she couldn’t eat.
Maudgalyāyana was distressed. He returned to the Buddha and sought
his advice. The Buddha told him that his mother’s offences were deep-
rooted and that he alone would not be able to ease her sufferings. He
should wait until the 15th day of the seventh lunar month, when the
monks complete their retreat, to seek the power of the monks and their
prayers.
Following the Buddha’s teachings, on the 15th day of the seventh
lunar month, Maudgalyāyana prepared offerings and food to present
to the monks and people in the ten directions, i.e., all the eight cardinal
and ordinal (N, S, E, W, NE, SE, NW, SW) directions plus the upward
(heavenly realms) and the downward (underworld realms) directions.
Not only did he help his mother escape from suffering, but many
others on that day were also freed from hell.
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
133
Vietnamese, it’s a significant Buddhist holiday,
celebrated on the fifteenth day of the seventh lunar
month). Autumn. The wind is cool. It’s a bit sad.
Although it’s also a big festival, it’s not as lively and
joyful as spring or Vesak. On that day, children who are
far from home will miss their parents more; monks will
feel more sentimental.
In the temple courtyard, the sounds of drums, bells, and
wooden clappers mingled with the rhythmic chanting of
the monks, as thousands of people gathered around the
altar, waiting for the moment to scramble for the food
offerings to hungry ghosts. And amidst this bustling
festival, you stood out with your surprised eyes,
curiously observing the scene. And then, suddenly, you
caught sight of the poet-monk.
Khóe môi cười nắng quái cũng gầy hao
Your smiling lips, soothing the summer’s blistering heat.
The corners of your mouth curved into a mischievous
smile, softening the harsh sunlight. The sun no longer
felt as intense. The sunlight suddenly softened...
Softened not because of the autumn sun, but because of
a smiling corner of a mouth. The smiling corner made
the harsh sunlight grow thin and less intense. In other
words, the scorching sun suddenly became gentle when
you smiled. What kind of smile was that? Were you
The day on which Maudgalyāyana performed the act of
compassionate filial conduct and brought salvation to his foreparents
was celebrated as Ullambana. It is observed on the 15th day of the
seventh lunar month.
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
134
smiling at someone? At friends? At family? Or at the
poet-monk? Perhaps you were smiling at the monk. You
smiled as a greeting. But how could your smile make the
harsh sunlight grow thin? How could your smile make
the poet’s heart feel so wistful and gentle... that he
couldn’t help but sing?
Em mắt biếc ngây thơ ngày hội lớn
Khóe môi cười nắng quái cũng gầy hao
Your innocent blue eyes, so captivating at the grand
festival,
Your smiling lips, soothing the summer’s blistering heat.
It wasn’t over. At that very moment, in the midst of that
bustling festival, you suddenly transformed into a white
egret in a green field. Clearly, you were standing among
a crowd of people, yet the poet saw you differently. He
saw you stand out, not like a white egret among a flock
of black crows, nor like a white egret among a flock of
chickens and ducks, but standing in a vast green field.
All the people around you seemed to disappear, to
become non-existent. Only you, in your white dress,
innocent and with bright eyes, stood in the vast expanse
of heaven and earth.
Như cò trắng giữa đồng xanh bất tận
You were like a white stork amidst a vast green field.
With bright eyes, naive, in a white áo dài (another white
dress!), she stood silently, offering a smile amidst the
bustling crowd. Oh, so beautiful, how could one’s heart
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not be filled with longing and excitement; how could this
not become a poem? Therefore:
Ta yêu người
I fell in love with you.
Don’t rush, let’s stop there, just pause. Let’s not read
the last few words. Let’s leave the poem unfinished.
Let’s linger here for a moment. And let’s borrow the
poet’s words to express our ordinary way of loving:
Em mắt biếc ngây thơ ngày hội lớn
Khóe môi cười nắng quái cũng gầy hao
Như cò trắng giữa đồng xanh bất tận
Ta yêu người.
Your innocent blue eyes, so captivating at the grand
festival,
Your smiling lips, soothing the summer’s blistering heat,
You were like a white stork amidst a vast green field.
I fell in love with you.
I fell in love with you. Full stop. Then we begin the
journey of conquest, of possession. Each person’s
journey is unique, there’s no need to say it. Just: I love
you, and that’s it.
The sequence of love for ordinary people would end like
that. Seeing you with bright eyes, pure, gentle, smiling
so charmingly, standing out among the other ordinary
people, ... we must fall in love. Yes, I love you, I love her,
he loves you. It must be like that. Our poem, no matter
the rhyme or form, we wouldn’t want to cut it off there,
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
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it would be too abrupt; but in real life, we cut it off
abruptly, there’s no need to think about it anymore.
Beautiful, charming like that, then... love! The poem
ends with a very realistic, very common, very human
conclusion.
But the poet-monk’s poem continues:
Ta yêu người vì khoảnh khắc chiêm bao
I fell in love with you because of that dream-like fleeting
moment.
It’s still love, but the love has been elevated. From the
ordinary love of an artist for beauty, it transforms into
the love of a sage for the true nature of humanity and a
suffering world.
The reason for loving her is affirmed. It’s not because of
her beauty, her innocent purity, or the graceful
slenderness of a white-clad angel, but rather because of
the fragile, easily broken nature of that white color. All
beauty is merely illusory and transient. Yet, it is
precisely because of this illusory transience that
everything becomes beautiful.
It’s all contained within a dreamlike moment. This very
dreamlike moment upends everything that seemed so
identical to the worldly experiences that preceded it. The
first three lines describe the beauty of a muse in a white
dress. Exceedingly lovely. It perfectly aligns with our
emotions. But in the fourth line, the poet suddenly
changes tone and speaks with the awakened voice of a
sage. This sage doesn’t say “I love you” like we do, but
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
137
says “I love people.” It’s the pronunciation of someone
who stands outside, above, looking down on the
temporary, illusory world. In the first line, the sweet
endearment “you” is used in the style of a poet, but
suddenly it changes to the solemn, lofty tone of a master,
a practitioner on the precipice of life and death,
addressing people as “people”! And “people” here
doesn’t necessarily refer solely to “you.” It could refer
to all suffering beings in the world. In this way, by
looking at “you,” he sees everything. You are the
embodiment of all sentient beings, of dreams and
illusions. Changing the pronoun, changing the address,
is to reverse one’s perspective and stance towards the
object of their existence.
A moment of passion, a glittering moment of overflowing
poetic love... suddenly turns into a dream. Love is also
a dream. Beauty is also a dream. Even the most poetic,
dreamlike moment is a dream...
Therefore, don’t say that sages are heartless. Without a
heart, how can they save people, save the world? They
love and strive to elevate that love. They perceive beauty
not only through concrete forms but also perceive the
eternal beauty within each momentary dream. No one
can love and express it in such beautiful words and
songs as poets, but no one can love and perceive the
object of their love as deeply and fundamentally as
sages.
This love is as fleeting as a dream but also immortal,
because it is awakened by a moment and fully
experienced within that very moment.
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
138
The poem is unexpectedly beautiful. If you don’t know
love, you can’t write such a beautiful poem.
Poet Vĩnh Hảo believes that the grand festival Thầy
mentioned in this poem is the Ullambana festival, but
Doctor Đỗ Hồng Ngọc wonders whether it is the day the
Buddha attained enlightenment?
In his essay “Chén trà lão Triệu mà chưng hoa ngàn” (Old
Zhao’s teacup but filled with forest flowers), Doctor Đỗ
writes:
Reading Tuệ Sỹ’s poetry, I often ponder why his poems
frequently mention the great gathering day, namely the
grand festival in this poem and the gathering in the
celestial realm in the poem “Cung trời cũ” (Celestial
realm of a previous lifetime), page 29?
Đôi mắt ướt tuổi vàng cung trời hội cũ,
Áo màu xanh không xanh mãi trên đồi hoang
Eyes wet with golden memories of our gathering in the
celestial realm of a previous lifetime,
The green shirt is no longer green on the barren hill.
And in the poem “Một thoáng chiêm bao” (A dreamlike
moment)
Em mắt biếc ngây thơ ngày hội lớn
Khóe môi cười nắng quái cũng gầy hao
Your innocent blue eyes, so captivating at the grand
festival,
Your smiling lips, soothing the summer’s blistering heat,
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
139
Where is that grand festival? Where is that gathering in
the celestial realm? It sounds so familiar!
Ah, could it be that day, under the Bodhi tree where the
Buddha attained enlightenment at the First Assembly of
the Avataṃsaka (TN: Avataṃsaka Sūtra or
Buddhāvataṃsaka Sūtra, kinh Hoa Nghiêm in
Vietnamese, has been described by the translator
Thomas Cleary as “the most grandiose, the most
comprehensive, and the most beautifully arrayed of the
Buddhist scriptures”. The Avataṃsaka Sūtra describes
a cosmos of infinite realms upon realms filled with an
immeasurable number of Buddhas), a vast flower world
opened up, the Tathāgata appeared as an innocent
Buddha with blue eyes, smiling faintly... like when he
was a 7 or 8-year-old boy watching the Royal Ploughing
Ceremony (TN: an ancient royal rite held in many Asian
countries to mark the traditional beginning of the rice
growing season) and entered a meditative state without
realizing it? And that gathering in the celestial realm
perhaps is the ninth assembly in the Jeda forest 17, when
17 According to the Great Master Zhiyi (538-597), after attaining the
supreme enlightenment of Buddhahood, Śākyamuni Buddha entered
the great meditative state of Śāgāramudrāsamādhi (the Ocean-seal
meditative state, where the Buddha’s mind is free from all arising
thoughts. Śāgāramudrā literally means “Ocean-seal”, which is a
metaphorical term used to describe the image of a perfectly still and
peaceful ocean with no waves or wind) and expounded the
Avataṃsaka Sūtra in his first 9 assemblies.
In the Buddha’s ninth assembly, which took place in the Jeda forest,
Sudhana recalled his long quest to enlightenment. His final encounter
is with Bodhisattva Samant Bhadra who instructs Sudhana that the
only purpose of wisdom is that it should be practiced and shared for
the benefit of all sentient beings. The ultimate meaning of
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
140
people entered the Dharma realm, embarked on a
journey, to see the Dharma realm’s substantial nature
and casually entered the marketplace?
Reflecting on “Buổi chiều nắng hạ đọc thơ Tuệ Sỹ” (A
summer afternoon spent reading Tuệ Sỹ’s poetry),
professor Phạm Công Thiện believes that the dreamlike
moment suggests a Buddhist concept of the impermanent
nature of existence and this awakening leads to a selfless
desire to help others. It’s selfless, because love and
compassion are seen as intrinsic and pure, unaffected by
the transitory nature of existence.
Love is truly love, and human compassion is truly human
compassion, because of the direct realization that all is
but a dreamlike moment. Each time one directly
perceives that they themselves are also a dreamlike
moment, a sudden and complete awakening arises.
From that moment, Tuệ Sỹ rises and throws himself into
the pure action of a Bodhisattva to liberate people from
all the turmoil of life. Tuệ Sỹ was ready to go to prison
to transform his consciousness, potentially shattering all
the prisons of human existence.
When introducing his book “Khoảnh khắc chiêm bao” (A
moment of dream), Nguyên Giác (poet Phan Tấn Hải)
comments about this poem as follows:
The past doesn’t exist, for it’s only a memory in the
mind. The future doesn’t exist, for it’s only a projection
enlightenment is not to seek enlightenment for himself, but to share it
with others, to make other people’s lives more meaningful. His story
appears in chapter 39, Entering the Dharma Realm, of the Sūtra.
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
141
of the mind. The present doesn’t exist, for it’s only a
moment between two non-existent times, and also
because no one can grasp it. But pain has manifested in
this realm, regardless of the true nature being selfless.
These words are written from those moments of dream.
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
142
19. Ngồi giữa bãi tha ma
I
Lửa đã tắt từ buổi đầu sáng thế
Một kiếp người ray rứt bụi tro bay
Tôi ngồi mãi giữa tha ma mộ địa
Lạnh trăng ngà lụa trắng trải ngàn cây
Khuya lành lạnh gió vào run bóng quỷ
Quỷ run run hôn mãi đống xương gầy
Khóc năn nỉ sao hình hài chưa rã
Để hồn tan theo đầu lửa ma trơi
Khi tâm tư chưa là gỗ mục
Lòng đất đen còn giọt máu xanh ngời.
II
Ta làm kẻ rong chơi từ hỗn độn
Treo gót hài trên mái tóc vào thu
Ngồi đếm mộng đi qua từng đọt lá
Rủ mi dài trên bến cỏ sương khô
Vì lêu lổng mười năm dài gối mộng
Ôm tình già quên bẵng tuổi hoàng hôn
Một buổi sáng nghe chim trời đổi giọng
Người thấy ta xô dạt bóng thiên thần
Ðất đỏ thắm nên lòng người hăm hở
Ðá chưa mòn nên lòng dạ trơ vơ
Thành phố nọ bởi mưa phùn nắng quái
Nên mười năm quên hết mộng đợi chờ.
III
Cầm lòng lại dấu chân ngày biệt xứ,
Cuộc buồn vui đâu hẹn giữa vô cùng.
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
143
Bờ bến lạ biết đâu mòn cuộc lữ
Ðể ta về uống cạn nét thu phong
Như cánh hải âu cuối trời biển lộng
Bồng bềnh bay theo cánh mỏng ngàn đời
Chạnh nhớ người xưa miền nguyệt ẩn
Thôi một lần thương gởi giữa mênh mông
Chiều lắng đọng thênh thang ghềnh đá dựng
Những nỗi buồn nhân thế cũng phôi pha,
Mầu nhiệm nào đằng sau bao huỷ diệt
Mà nụ hồng vừa nở thắm ven khe.
Khắp cả chốn đâu chẳng là tịnh độ,
Vô sự một đời trắc trở gì đâu,
Không phiền trược mong cầu chi giải thoát,
Cứ thong dong như nước chảy qua cầu.
Từ độ biết buồn câu sinh tử,
Bỏ nhà đi một thoáng riêng mình,
Mẹ già thôi khóc cho thân phụ,
Lại khóc cho đời ta phiêu linh.
Nhớ mẹ một lần trong muôn một,
Thương em biết vậy chẳng gì hơn,
Suối trăng về tắm bên đồi lạ,
Chiều thu sang hải đảo xanh rờn
IV
Một kiếp sống, một đoạn đường lây lất
Một đêm dài nghe thác đổ trên cao
Ta bước vội qua dòng sông biền biệt
Ðợi mưa dầm trong cánh bướm xôn xao
Một buổi sáng mắt bỗng đầy quá khứ
Ðường âm u nối lại mấy tiền thân
Ta đứng mãi trên suối ngàn vĩnh viễn
Mộng vô thường máu đỏ giữa hoàng hôn.
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
144
Sitting in the middle of a graveyard
I
The primal flame has long been extinguished,
A human life, a lifetime of torment, turns to ashes.
I sit forever amidst the ghosts and graves,
Watching the cold, ivory moonlight drapes a white, silky
shroud over the forest.
In the chill of the night, the wind shivers, trembling the
ghosts,
Who incessantly kiss piles of thin bones.
They cry and plead for their bodies to disintegrate,
So that their souls can dissipate with the will-of-the-
wisps.
When your heart is not yet disintegrated like rotten wood,
Believe that a drop of green blood still flows within the
black earth.
II
I have been a wanderer since the dawn of time,
Hanging my shoes over my head on autumn’s span,
Sitting and counting my dreams through budding leaves,
Drooping my long lashes on dew-kissed, barren turf.
For ten long years, I’ve wandered aimlessly,
Embracing past loves, forgetting my twilight years.
One morning, the birdsong changed its tune,
Awaking me from my angelic slumber.
Crimson earth prompts hearts restless,
Unworn stone causes souls barren.
This city, with its fickle rain and sun,
Has forgotten its ten long years of waiting.
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
145
III
I’ve held back my emotions since the day I was
expatriated,
My joys and sorrows, endless and uncharted.
On foreign shores, who knows when the journey will end,
To return and drink the wine of autumn’s blend?
Like seagulls soaring on the ocean’s breast,
Floating into eternity with their thin wings,
I suddenly yearn for my past lovers in moonless lands,
I once sent my love adrift in the boundless world.
As evening settles on the rugged shore,
Earthly sorrows fade forevermore.
What mystery lies beneath all destructions,
As roses bloom anew on the creek?
If you believe that every place is a Pure Land,
There will be no crises in a worry-free life.
Why seek Enlightenment, when worry-free?
Just drift along like water flowing under a bridge.
Since I knew the sorrow of life and death,
I’ve left my home to find some inner breath.
My aging mother once wept for my father’s loss,
Now weeps for me, a wandering life.
I miss her once in countless times I think of her,
I also love my sister, but I can’t do anything more.
I bathe in the moonlit stream by a foreign hill at night,
I travel to a green island in the autumn afternoon.
IV
A lifetime lingering on a stretch of road,
After a long night listening to the sound of the waterfall
cascading down from above,
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
146
I hurriedly cross the river on a long voyage,
Like a butterfly, eagerly waiting for a drenching rain.
One morning, my eyes are flooded with memories of the
past,
My former lives are connected through dark paths.
In these lives, I stand forever in an eternal forest stream.
In these impermanent dreams, I see red blood at nightfall.
Explanation
In the context of the 50th anniversary of Tuệ Sỹ’s birthday,
reflecting on “Buổi chiều nắng hạ đọc thơ Tuệ Sỹ” (A
summer afternoon spent reading Tuệ Sỹ’s poetry),
professor Phạm Công Thiện writes about the first stanza:
Even in the face of immense suffering and deprivation in
prison, the brilliant Zen master Tuệ Sỹ remained
unwavering. His spirit soared as high and mighty as the
Trường Sơn mountains, a symbol of unwavering hope
that the poet Tuệ Sỹ had always revered. Through his
heroic efforts, he paved the way for the liberation of his
homeland from the Communist regime, a regime he
aptly described as a graveyard of ghosts.
Let us now listen to Tuệ Sỹ’s poem “Ngồi giữa bãi tha
ma” (Sitting in the middle of a graveyard):
Lửa đã tắt từ buổi đầu sáng thế
Một kiếp người ray rứt bụi tro bay
Tôi ngồi mãi giữa tha ma mộ địa
Lạnh trăng ngà lụa trắng trải ngàn cây
The primal flame has long been extinguished,
A human life, a lifetime of torment, turns to ashes.
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147
I sit forever amidst the ghosts and graves,
Watching the cold, ivory moonlight drapes a white, silky
shroud over the forest.
These next four lines encapsulate the desolate world of
contemporary Communist Vietnam:
Khuya lành lạnh gió vào run bóng quỷ
Quỷ run run hôn mãi đống xương gầy
Khóc năn nỉ sao hình hài chưa rã
Để hồn tan theo đầu lửa ma trơi
In the chill of the night, the wind shivers, trembling the
ghosts,
Who incessantly kiss piles of thin bones.
They cry and plead for their bodies to disintegrate,
So that their souls can dissipate with the will-of-the-
wisps.
The final two lines reveal an unwavering will, a fiery
determination to burn away the rot of a degenerate
consciousness.
Khi tâm tư chưa là gỗ mục
Lòng đất đen còn giọt máu xanh ngời
When your heart is not yet disintegrated like rotten
wood,
Believe that a drop of green blood still flows within the
black earth.
I believe that in these two abovementioned lines, regardless
of what he had been through, Thầy did not give up his hope
for a free and democratic Vietnam.
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In analyzing this poem, I find that the poem seems to
explore themes of existentialism, the fleeting nature of life,
and the human search for meaning and purpose. There is
a strong emphasis on isolation, loss, and the passage of
time.
In the first stanza, Thầy seems to be haunted by the past
and the futility of existence. The imagery of the graveyard
and the crying ghosts is particularly evocative.
In the second stanza, the contrast between the crimson
earth and unworn stone suggests a disconnect between the
natural world and human emotions. I wonder what
message Thầy has hidden in these verses:
Thành phố nọ bởi mưa phùn nắng quái
Nên mười năm quên hết mộng đợi chờ
This city, with its fickle rain and sun,
Has forgotten its ten long years of waiting.
In the third stanza, Thầy’s experiences as an expatriate and
the longing for home are explored. The imagery of the
raging ocean and the floating clouds conveys a sense of
uncertainty and the passage of time.
In the final stanza, Thầy reflects on a lifetime of wandering
and the interconnectedness of past lives. The imagery of the
eternal forest stream and the red blood suggests a cyclical
nature to existence.
Overall, this poem explores themes of isolation, loss, and
the search for meaning in a world that is often chaotic and
unpredictable.
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In terms of Zen concept contained in this poem, the
following two lines:
Không phiền trược mong cầu chi giải thoát,
Cứ thong dong như nước chảy qua cầu
Why seek Enlightenment, when worry-free?
Just drift along like water flowing under a bridge.
also agree with Zen Masters Baizhang Huaihai and
Zhaozhou Congshen’s instructions 18.
18 His disciples asked Master Baizhang Huaihai (720–814):
- How does one attain Great Nirvana?
- Don’t create the karma of birth and death, replied the Master.
- What creates the karma of birth and death?
- Seeking great nirvana, eliminating defilements, achieving purity,
believing in attainment and realization, not escaping conceptual
limitations, this is creating the karma of birth and death.
- How can one be liberated?
- If one is initially free from afflictions, what is there to seek liberation
from? Following one’s desires, going with one’s preferences, without
any mixed thoughts, this is the supreme path.
Zen Master Zhaozhou (778-897) also taught: “Bodhi and Nirvana are
all like tight-fitting garments. They can also be considered
afflictions”.
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20. Nhớ con đường thơm ngọt môi
em
Tóc em tung bay sương chiều khói biếc
Dệt tơ trời thành khúc hát bâng khuâng
Tỉnh hay mộng khi Trường Sơn xa hút
Đến bao giờ mây trắng gởi tin sang
Hồn tôi đi trong rừng lang thang
Vọng lời ru từ ánh trăng tàn
Mắt em nhỏ ngại ngùng song cửa
Nghe tình ca trên giọt sương tan
Bóng tôi xa đêm dài phố thị
Nhớ con đường thơm ngọt môi em
Ơi là máu, tủi hờn nô lệ
Bóng tôi mờ suối nhỏ đêm đêm
Gót chân em nắng vàng xua viễn phố
Những ngón hồng ngơ ngác giữa đường chim
Ôi ta nhớ như đêm dài thượng cổ
Sợi tóc mềm lơi nhịp hát trong tim
Missing the streets where I tasted the
sweetness and fragrance of her lips
Her hair, fluttering in afternoon mist and blue smoke,
Weaving heavenly threads into a pensive song,
As Trường Sơn is far away, is she awake or dreaming,
To receive the news carried by the white cloud?
My soul wanders through the forest’s expanse,
Echoing lullabies from the fading moon’s glow,
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Her shy eyes peering through the windowpane,
Hearing love’s melody on melting dewdrops.
While my shadow fades in the city’s long night,
Missing the streets where I tasted the sweetness and
fragrance of her lips,
Oh! now on these streets, blood, suffering, and slavery
bind,
My shadow fades away in the stream night after night.
As the yellow sunlight sent her heels to a distant place,
Her rosy toes became withered and lost in the birds’ path.
Oh, I can never forget the long nights of antiquity,
Her soft hair slowed the lingering melody in my heart.
Explanation
In “Thơ tình Tuệ Sỹ” (Tuệ Sỹ’s love poems), poet Vĩnh Đào
expresses his deep impressions about this poem:
Like other love poems in the collection “Giấc mơ
Trường Sơn” (Dreams on the peak of Trường Sơn), this
poem expresses the sentiments of an author who lived in
the forest, specifically the Trường Sơn mountains, for a
reason. He confides his feelings to a woman in a city or
town. The unnamed woman is likely his lover or
someone he admires.
In the poem, the author talks about himself, his
circumstances, and his surroundings, a remote and
desolate forest…
Regarding the man, in five lines, the author describes
his location and the surrounding landscape, a desolate
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forest in a remote place: “my soul wanders through the
forest’s expanse” and “while my shadow fades in the
city’s long night”.
Amidst this setting, there are poetic elements: “echoing
lullabies from the fading moon’s glow”.
However, more importantly, there are sad, tragic, and
somber tones, although the author does not elaborate on
the reasons.
Ơi là máu, tủi hờn nô lệ
Bóng tôi mờ suối nhỏ đêm đêm
Oh! now on these streets, blood, suffering, and slavery
bind,
My shadow fades away in the stream night after night.
Let’s imagine a gloomy, mysterious, and uncertain
scene. Despite the faint moonlight above, the ground is
shrouded in darkness, beneath thick leaves. A stream
flows through a desolate forest, and a solitary figure
stands there. The reader knows nothing more about this
character’s actions, and it seems he has no clear
purpose, for “my soul wanders through the forest’s
expanse”.
In short, we don’t know much about the man in the
forest, only that he is haunted day and night by the image
of a woman in the city.
Regarding the young woman, the author begins the
poem with two lines that evoke memories of the distant
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
153
woman. The first image of the woman in the poet’s
memory is her hair:
Tóc em tung bay sương chiều khói biếc
Dệt tơ trời thành khúc hát bâng khuâng
Her hair, fluttering in afternoon mist and blue smoke,
Weaving threads of heaven into a pensive song.
The scene is painted with romantic colors: evening mist,
blue smoke. The image is not new, but it still holds a high
degree of suggestiveness. A departure, a farewell that
takes place on a misty evening always adds to the
sadness or tragedy of a parting, depending on the
circumstances.
Besides the evening mist, there is also blue smoke which
adds a sense of endless sorrow to the scene, as we recall
that the image of smoke and waves on the river at dusk
in classical works always evokes a pensive feeling.
Next is a very new image: her hair weaves heavenly
threads into a pensive song. The author presents here a
surreal image, a very new technique in poetry. Don’t
look for logical explanations in this image. Because
surreal poetry forces us to view reality from a
completely new angle, different from what our senses
perceive under normal conditions. But it’s not that you
can write anything to create a surreal image. We know
that the material of poetry is language. For surreal
poetry, this is even more important. A surreal image is
first and foremost a harmonious combination of
language, creating a chain of attractive sounds that
gains the reader’s approval. This is not easy at all. Here
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154
we can see the mark of a talented poet. In the hands of
an amateur, we would only have clumsy, naïve
combinations…
After revealing about himself and painting a portrait of
the girl in his mind, the poet expresses his deep longing
in the following verses. Right from the beginning, the
author indicates the setting of his yearning:
Tỉnh hay mộng khi Trường Sơn xa hút
Đến bao giờ mây trắng gởi tin sang
As Trường Sơn is far away, is she awake or dreaming,
To receive the news delivered by the white cloud?
The poet and his muse are separated by a vast distance,
with no means of communication. If people in the past
relied on carrier pigeons, the poet can only look to the
clouds for a sign, but the clouds cannot carry messages,
and watching them only deepens his longing.
Nhớ con đường thơm ngọt môi em
Missing the streets where I tasted the sweetness and
fragrance of her lips.
This is a typical way of expressing oneself in poetry. In
reality, no path can retain the sweet scent of a lover’s
lips. The poet can only remember the path of their
memories, the old path she walked, and from there
imagine her image and recall the sweet scent of her lips.
The words are very concise, allowing the reader’s
emotions and imagination to fill in the gaps with their
own memories.
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Ôi ta nhớ như đêm dài thượng cổ
Sợi tóc mềm lơi nhịp hát trong tim
Oh, I can never forget the long nights of antiquity,
Her soft hair slowed the lingering melody in my heart.
The poem ends with two lines expressing endless
longing. The poem ends, but the longing continues
endlessly. The word “thượng cổ” (antiquity) here is not
to be understood literally but with all its implications.
Antiquity is a long, primitive, and dark period in human
history. The longing is also long, wild, and primitive,
originating from the deepest parts of the heart.
The poem began with a surreal image of hair and a
song: “weaving heavenly threads into a pensive song”
and now it ends with a surreal image with the same
elements, hair and a song: “her soft hair slowed the
lingering melody in my heart”. The author’s thought
returns to the starting point, forming a closed circle. If
we divide the number of lines equally between what the
author says about himself, about the distant woman, and
about his feelings of longing, we see that what the author
reveals about himself is very little, very concise, and the
author has dedicated the most evocative and poetic
images to the distant lover and his feelings of longing.
Impressive commentaries! But poet Vĩnh Đào has only
looked at the romantic side of the poem and ignored Thầy’s
observation that now there are “blood, suffering, and
slavery bind” on the streets where he tasted the sweetness
and fragrance of her lips.
Indeed, in the two lines:
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156
Nhớ con đường thơm ngọt môi em
Ơi là máu, tủi hờn nô lệ
Missing the streets where I tasted the sweetness and
fragrance of her lips,
Oh! now on these streets, blood, suffering, and slavery
bind,
by understanding that “her lips” is our homeland, I believe
Thầy refers to the streets of his homeland, once sweet and
fragrant, but now filled with blood, sorrow and slavery. He
was a great poet, but he was also a resilient great fighter
for a cause.
And in the final part:
Gót chân em nắng vàng xua viễn phố
Những ngón hồng ngơ ngác giữa đường chim
As the yellow sunlight sent her heels to a distant place,
Her rosy toes became withered and lost in the birds’ path.
I believe that “the yellow sunlight sent her heels to a distant
place” refers to those who were sent to the New Economic
Zones after 1975, causing their once rosy toes to become
withered and lost.
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21. Những năm anh đi
Ngọn gió đưa anh đi mười năm phiêu lãng,
Nhìn quê hương qua chứng tích điêu tàn,
Triều Đông hải vẫn thì thầm cát trắng,
Truyện tình người và nhịp thở Trường Sơn.
Mười năm nữa anh vẫn lầm lì phố thị,
Yêu rừng sâu nên khóe mắt rưng rưng,
Tay anh với trời cao chim chiều rủ rỉ,
Đời lênh đênh thu cánh nhỏ bên đường.
Mười năm sau anh băng rừng vượt suối,
Tìm quê hương trên vết máu đồng hoang,
Chiều khói nhạt như hồn ai còn hận tủi,
Từng con sông từng huyết lệ lan tràn.
Mười năm đó anh quên mình sậy yếu,
Đôi vai gầy từ thuở dựng quê hương,
Anh cúi xuống nghe núi rừng hợp tấu,
Bản tình ca vô tận của Đông phương.
Và ngày ấy anh trở về phố cũ,
Giữa con đường còn rợp khói tang thương,
Trong mắt biếc mang nỗi hờn thiên cổ,
Vẫn chân tình như mưa lũ biên cương.
The long away years
The wind carried him away for ten years of wandering,
He saw his homeland in ruins, desolate and bare,
The Eastern Sea’s tide still whispered to the white sand,
Tales of love and the Trường Sơn’s breath.
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For the next ten years, he stayed in the city,
Loving the deep forest, his eyes welled up with tears,
His arms reached to the sky, where birds chirped in grace,
Afraid of life afloat, their small wings rested on this side
street.
Ten years later, he crossed forests, traversed streams,
Seeking his homeland on the barren, blood-stained land,
Evening smoke rising like suffering souls filled with
resentful dreams,
Each river, each bloodstain, tears they could not
withstand.
In those ten years, he forgot his reed-like frailty,
And the slender shoulders he bore since he had this
dream,
He crouched down to listen to the symphony played by
our mountains and forests,
The Eastern World’s endless love song.
And on that day, he returned to his old town,
Amidst streets still shrouded in mourning smoke,
In his blue eyes, the deep sorrow frowned,
As real and heartfelt as the monsoon on our borderland.
Explanation
This poem has two lines that I’ve read in many
commentaries on Thầy’s poetry:
Anh cúi xuống nghe núi rừng hợp tấu,
Bản tình ca vô tận của Đông phương.
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I pondered for a long time searching for words to translate
these lines. Translating “anh cúi xuống” as “you bend
down” is grammatically correct, but it doesn’t convey the
demeanor of the main character. And the main character
in this poem is probably Thầy because it fits him very well.
In the end, I decided to use “crouch” instead of “bend.”
Crouch is a position where the knees are bent and the
upper body is brought forward and down (Oxford
dictionary). This is the posture of a tiger ready to fight.
Therefore, here is my translation of these two lines:
Anh cúi xuống nghe núi rừng hợp tấu,
Bản tình ca vô tận của Đông phương
He crouched down to listen to the symphony played by our
mountains and forests,
The Eastern World’s endless love song.
The war must end and unfortunately it ended in tragedy,
but Thầy hopes that we will reclaim our homeland and all
that we have lost, and that we will rebuild our homeland
into a prosperous, thriving, and democratic nation because
we have the “Eastern World’s endless love song”.
In short, our homeland endures as long as the “Eastern
World’s endless love song” endures.
But the third stanza really moved me:
Mười năm sau anh băng rừng vượt suối,
Tìm quê hương trên vết máu đồng hoang,
Chiều khói nhạt như hồn ai còn hận tủi,
Từng con sông từng huyết lệ lan tràn
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Ten years later, he crossed forests, traversed streams,
Seeking his homeland on the barren, blood-stained land,
Evening smoke rose, like suffering souls filled with
resentful dreams,
Each river, each bloodstain, tears they could not withstand.
The imagery in this stanza is powerful and evocative. The
“barren, blood-stained land” is a stark contrast to the
implied beauty and abundance of our homeland. The
“evening smoke rising like suffering souls filled with
resentful dreams” is a particularly striking metaphor,
suggesting the collective grief and anger of a people. The
repetition of “each river, each bloodstain” emphasizes the
overwhelming nature of the devastation. What a display of
collective resilience and suffering! Above all, what a
profound loss and longing for home!
On October 28, 2003, in an open letter to young postulant
monks in Thừa Thiên - Huế, Thầy reminded them of his
past:
My generation, the youth of my age, were nurtured to be
sent to the battlefield of the ideological war, educated to
know class hatred. But fortunately, the Buddhist
Compassion stream continued to flow silently, to soothe
the pain and loss, to heal the broken and ruined of the
nation.
And Thầy encouraged them to be resilient:
Living or dying, honor or disgrace, do not disturb the
minds of those who know how to live and die worthily of
human dignity, and who are not ashamed of the noble
virtues of an ordained.
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The last stanza paints a vivid picture of a return, marked
by deep-seated resentment and unwavering patriotism.
Và ngày ấy anh trở về phố cũ,
Giữa con đường còn rợp khói tang thương,
Trong mắt biếc mang nỗi hờn thiên cổ,
Vẫn chân tình như mưa lũ biên cương.
And on that day, he returned to his old town,
Amidst streets still shrouded in mourning smoke,
In his blue eyes, the deep sorrow frowned,
As real and heartfelt as the monsoon on our borderland.
Most Venerable Nguyên Hiền (pen name Nhất Thanh)
writes about Thầy in his essay “Giấc mơ Trường Sơn hay
những phương trời viễn mộng” (Dreams on the peak of
Trường Sơn or Celestial realms of distant dreams), saying:
Reading many of his works, be it translations like “Thiền
Luận” (Essays in Zen Buddhism), commentaries like
“Thập Mục Ngưu Đầu” (Ten Ox-Herding Pictures),
philosophical treatises like “Triết học về tánh Không
(Philosophy of Nothingness), “Thắng Man Giảng Luận”
(Śrīmālā Discourse), or simply introductions like those
to “Vô Môn Quan” (Wumen Guan, The Gateless Gate)
and “Duy-ma-cật sở thuyết” (Vimalakīrti Sūtra), all
exude an extraordinary talent for poetry, deep and
profound, like a hidden waterfall at the bottom of the
ocean. Only those who know how to live and dare to live
can compose for the world a silent melody with the
breath of heaven and earth, and the breath of their own
being. But literature is merely ripples on the calm
surface of the river of consciousness. Only poetry is the
true voice of silent tones. And “Giấc mơ Trường Sơn”
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(Dreams on the peak of Trường Sơn) became perfect
silent voices, a foundation for a whole generation of
poetry.
Similarly, Most Venerable Phước An writes in “Thơ Tuệ Sỹ
– tiếng gọi của những đêm dài heo hút” (Tuệ Sỹ’s poetry –
the call of long and desolate nights), saying:
At times of national turmoil and suffering, the most
beloved children of the nation always review the
glorious and shameful chapters of their nation’s history.
From this, they can draw historical lessons for
tomorrow, a tomorrow in which they firmly believe their
nation must be brighter.
Tuệ Sỹ is a scholar in the Eastern tradition. For over
twenty years, Tuệ Sỹ has demonstrated the spirit of “uy
vũ bất năng khuất” (Chinese philosopher Mencius’
quotation, which means a righteous person does not
submit to those with power) of a scholar, not through
written works, but he has written his work through self-
sacrifice, to share the suffering with his homeland.
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22. Những phím dương cầm
Tự hôm nào suối tóc ngọt lời ca
Tay em run trên những phím lụa ngà
Thôi huyền tượng xô người theo cát bụi
Vùng đất đỏ bàn chân ai bối rối
Đạp cung đàn sương ứa đọng vành môi
Đường xanh xanh phơn phớt nụ ai cười
Như tơ liễu ngại ngùng lau nắng nhạt.
Lời tiễn biệt nói gì sau tiếng hát
Hỏi phương nào cho nguyện ước Trường Sơn
Lời em ca phong kín nhụy hoa hờn
Anh trĩu nặng núi rừng trong đáy mắt.
Mờ phố thị những chiều hôn suối tóc
Bóng ai ngồi so phím lụa đàn xưa.
The piano keys
From the day I saw her hair cascade a symphony of sweet
melodies,
Her trembling hands dancing across ivory piano keys,
All illusions shattered, swept away by sand and dust.
In this crimson land, where footsteps falter,
As she presses the piano pedals, dewdrops cling to her
lips.
Her smile, framed by verdant blossoms,
Like silken willows, shyly holds back the pale sunset.
How to say farewell when the song finishes?
Where to go to fulfill the Trường Sơn’s yearning desire?
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
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While her singing conceals the bud of resentment,
My eyes are heavily laden with mountains and forests.
Remembering those hazy afternoons kissing her flowing
hair,
Whose silhouette, sitting here, plays the old ivory keys?
Explanation
I have written half a page of analysis about the excessive
romanticism in this poem, but I deleted it all when I
happened to read in “Chén trà lão Triệu mà chưng hoa
ngàn” (Old Zhao’s teacup but filled with forest flowers) by
Dr. Đỗ Hồng Ngọc that when the doctor told Thầy that this
was too lyrical and sentimental a poem, he replied, “Don’t
doubt and question”.
Zen meditation has no language different from ordinary
language. But I worry that when one has shaved their
head, poetic feelings still remain. So, whether the path
of Zen and poetry are the same or different, let us not
doubt and question. Perhaps this poem “The piano
keys” is a very lyrical and sentimental poem, with her
trembling fingers on ivory piano keys and mountains
and forests weighing heavy on his eyes, but he has
already said, “Don’t doubt and question”.
In “Phương nào cõi tịnh?” (Which direction is purity?),
Thầy recited the story of a musician of the heavenly king
Indra who fell in love with a celestial maiden, so he
sought out the Buddha and sang “A love song to the
Buddha”, with a passionate description: “I love her as
an Arhat loves the Dharma”. Perhaps there is no more
sincere description of faithful love. The lyrics were
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strange to the ears of those who read the Buddhist
scriptures, and the Buddha’s answer was also strange
and difficult to understand: “Very good, the music
harmonizes with the words, and the words harmonize
with the music; within it there is desire and also
Nirvana”. Desire is love that is attached to sensuality,
and Nirvana is the state of being free from desire. Does
this mean that from desire, one can see Nirvana, and
from Nirvana, one can clearly see the nature of desire?
More simply, can one find a lotus flower in the stinking
mud?
And Thầy gifted the doctor a two-line poem:
Nhà tranh mái cũ quen chừng
Chén trà lão Triệu mà chưng hoa ngàn.
Ancient house with thatched roof is familiar
(But what is not familiar is) Old Zhao’s teacup but filled
with wildflowers.
In “Essays in Zen Buddhism”, the first series, Dr. Daisetz
Suzuki explained the difference between our “ordinary”
way and the Zen way of tea drinking.
You and I sip a cup of tea. The act is apparently alike,
but who can tell what a wide gap there is subjectively
between you and me? In your drinking there may be no
Zen while mine is brimful of it. The reason is, the one
moves in the logical circle and the other is out of it; that
is to say, in one case rigid rules of intellection so called
are asserting themselves, and the actor even when
acting is unable to unfetter himself from these
intellectual bonds; while in the other case the subject
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166
has struck a new path and is not at all conscious of the
duality of his act, in him life is not split into object and
subject or into acting and acted. The drinking at the
moment to him means the whole fact, the whole world.
Zen lives and is therefore free, whereas our “ordinary”
life is in bondage; satori (awakening, in Japanese) is the
first step to freedom.
We are supposedly living in the same world, but who can
tell the thing we popularly call a stone lying before this
window is the same thing to all of us? According to the
way we look at it, to some the stone ceases to be a stone,
while to others it forever remains a worthless specimen
of geological product. And this initial divergence of
views calls forth an endless series of divergences later
in our moral and spiritual lives. Just a little twisting as
it were in our modes of thinking and yet what a world of
difference will grow up eventually between one another!
So, with Zen, satori is this twisting or rather screwing,
not in the wrong way, but in a deeper and fuller sense,
and the result is the revelation of a world of entirely new
values…
The subjective revolution that brings out this state of
things cannot be called abnormal. When life becomes
more enjoyable and its expanse is as broad as the
universe itself, there must be something in satori quite
healthy and worth one’s striving after its attainment.
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23. Phố trưa
Phố trưa nắng đỏ cờ hồng
Người yêu cát bụi đời không tự tình
Sầu trên thế kỷ điêu linh
Giấc mơ hoang đảo thu hình tịch liêu
Hận thù sôi giữa ráng chiều
Sông tràn núi lở nước triều mênh mông
Khói mù lấp kín trời đông
Trời ơi, tóc trắng rũ lòng quê cha
Con đi xào xạc tiếng gà
Ðêm đêm trông bóng thiên hà buồn tênh.
Ðời không cát bụi chung tình
Người yêu cát bụi quê mình là đâu?
Midday streets
Midday streets, red sun, crimson flags,
Lovers of street dust find no solace in life.
Sorrow hangs heavy over the crumbling century,
Dreams of cocooning on isolated islands.
Hatred boils amidst the evening glow,
Overflowing rivers, crumbled mountains and immense
tides.
Smoke obscuring the eastern sky,
Oh heavens, white hair droops, my heart aches for my
father’s land.
I leave at the crackle of roosters,
Night after night, gazing at the melancholic galaxy.
Life’s journey is not shared with the dust,
Where are the lovers of street dust of my homeland?
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Explanation
The poem is imbued with a pervasive sense of transience,
loss, and the futility of human existence. Images of dust,
crumble and isolation underscore the ephemeral nature of
life and the inevitability of suffering for the people of his
homeland. Thầy’s lament over the destruction of his
homeland creates a melancholic tone that lingers
throughout the poem.
Beneath the surface of personal loss, there seems to be a
deeper layer of social and political commentary. The
references to hatred, overflowing rivers, crumbled
mountains, immense tides and smoke obscuring the eastern
sky suggest a world in turmoil.
Red sun and crimson flags remind me of these lines from
this famous poem “Nhất định thắng” (Victory Certainty)
by Trần Dần 19. This is his most representative poem,
written in 1955, depicted the state of starvation and
suppression, both physically and mentally, as well as in
19 Trần Dần (1926-1997) was barely twenty years old when he joined
the Việt Minh force in 1946. Eight years later, he fell out of favor with
the party. In 1956, he was sentenced for 3 months for “losing his class
standpoint”.
On leaving prison, he joined Nhân văn - Giai phẩm affair, which took
its name from two journals respectively titled Nhân văn (Humanity)
and Giai phẩm (Masterpieces). This affair and the journals that lent
their names to it were led by a group of intellectuals and artists, many
of them Communist party sympathizers, who sought to condemn the
corruption and dogmatism of Communist officialdom and advocate
for greater degree of intellectual and artistic freedom. While the
journals were completely shut down by December 1956, the affair
continued for several years with intensification of official crackdown
and condemnation, culminating in a landmark trial by 1960.
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
169
artistic creation. This poem led to a campaign of criticism
against the author, causing him to attempt suicide by
cutting his throat:
Tôi bước đi
không thấy phố
không thấy nhà
Chỉ thấy mưa sa
trên màu cờ đỏ.
I was walking,
seeing no shops,
no houses,
Only rain falling
on the red flags.
His poem refers to red flag which is the national flag of the
Democratic Republic of Vietnam (in 1955), and the current
Socialist Republic of Vietnam. It has a small yellow star in
the middle of a dazzling red background.
Both poets were struck by the pervasive display of red
flags, which house owners were compelled to hang in front
of their homes.
The final two lines,
Ðời không cát bụi chung tình
Người yêu cát bụi quê mình là đâu?
Life’s journey is not shared with the dust,
Where are the lovers of street dust of my homeland?
raise existential questions about the meaning of life and the
nature of love.
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170
Critic Nguyễn Mạnh Trinh, in “Tuệ Sỹ, viễn mộng mấy
khung trời” (Tuệ Sỹ, skyframes of distant dreams) connects
the poem to the fate of the nation:
The poem was written in April 1975 in Nha Trang, at a
time when the country was in turmoil. The poem is like
a marker for the unforgettable days in the hearts of the
Vietnamese people...
Dust is repeated deliberately. “Lovers of street dust find
no solace in life”, “Life’s journey is not shared with the
dust” and “Where are the lovers of street dust of my
homeland?”. Dust represents an image of chaos, of
drifting days.
The poem expresses the feelings of a person lost in the
turmoil of time...
Days of April 1975 cannot be forgotten. Even a monk
trying to keep a calm mind, still feels the overwhelming
emotions.
Regarding the poems in this volume, he concludes:
The poems have a subtle sentimentality, a heart like a
turbulent sea, always overflowing with countless waves.
Without explicitly mentioning the times, the homeland is
still present in the poetry. The hardships of a blood-
soaked era. The dreams of those who inadvertently
participated in history. Those who saw Trường Sơn as a
towering witness.
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24. Quán trọ của ngàn sao
Mắt em quán trọ của ngàn sao
Ngọt ngất hoang sơ ánh rượu đào
Pha loãng nắng tà dâng cát bụi
Ấm lòng khách lữ bước lao đao.
Mắt huyền thăm thẳm mượt đêm nhung
Mưa hạt long lanh rọi nến hồng
Sương lạnh đưa người xanh khói biển
Bình minh quán trọ nắng rưng rưng.
A tavern of a thousand stars
Her eyes, a tavern of a thousand stars,
Sweet and wild glow of peach wine,
Diluting fading and dusty sunlight,
Warming weary travelers’ hearts.
Her deep, mysterious eyes, like velvet night,
Sparkling raindrops illuminating pink wedding candles,
Transporting people in cold mist and blue-hued smoke of
the sea.
As dawn breaks, the sun is glistening with tears.
Explanation
In this poem, Thầy compares her eyes to a starry tavern,
where weary travelers can blissfully drink sweet peach
wine after a long day under the scorching sun. Her eyes
can also provide comfort to the bride on her wedding night,
and solace to those adrift in cold, tempestuous seas.
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I’m unable to determine what “her eyes” represent in
Thầy’s personification within this poem. Could it be the
True Dharma?
He frequently personified our country and its people in his
poetry. In “Ác mộng” (Nightmares), page 75, his verse “vì
yêu em trên lá đọng sương mai” (For I love her as pure as
droplets of morning dew clinging to leaves), “em” (her) is
clearly identified as his homeland. However, in “Nhớ con
đường thơm ngọt môi em”, page 150, (Missing the streets
where I tasted the sweetness and fragrance of her lips),
“gót chân em nắng vàng xua viễn phố” (as the yellow
sunlight sent her heels to a distant place), “em” (her) likely
represents the people being sent away to the distant New
Economic Zones.
However, these rich and powerfully evocative lyrics are
particularly striking when considered in the context of the
prison setting, as he wrote this poem while being detained
in Phan Đăng Lưu prison. By describing the eyes as a
source of comfort and a gateway to transport people to a
different world, the poem evokes a desire to escape.
In “Tuệ Sỹ, viễn mộng mấy khung trời” (Tuệ Sỹ, skyframes
of distant dreams), critic Nguyễn Mạnh Trinh comments:
To write about a starry inn while confined in Phan Đăng
Lưu prison, perhaps only Tuệ Sỹ could have done so.
Such an imagination is like a sail carrying a ship out to
sea, toward a boundless horizon that only poets, with
their far-reaching souls, can reach. Poetry, fearless and
carefree. Poetry, as if climbing over the hill of reality to
reach a vast expanse.
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25. Ta biết
Ta biết mi bọ rùa
Gặm nhấm tàn dãy bí
Ta vì đời thiệt hơn
Khổ nhọc mòn tâm trí
Ta biết mi là dế
Cắn đứt chân cà non
Ta vì đời đổ lệ
Nên phong kín nỗi hờn
Ta biết mi là giun
Chui dưới tầng đất thẳm
Ta vì đời thiệt hơn
Đêm nằm mơ tóc trắng.
I know
I know you, squash bug,
Nibbling on my row of pumpkins.
Bearing life’s burdens,
My mind is worn out by hardship.
I know you, cricket,
Biting off my baby eggplants.
For life, I shed tears,
To keep my resentment hidden.
I know you, earthworm,
Burrowing under the deep earth.
Bearing life’s burdens,
My hair turns white in my night dreams.
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Explanation
The poem uses vivid imagery of insects to symbolize human
suffering. The squash bug, cricket, and earthworm
represent different aspects of the natural world, and the
author compares their lives to their own.
Thầy’s worn-out mind, of course, is not because of his row
of pumpkins being nibbled on, and Thầy’s shedding tears,
of course, is not because of his baby eggplants being bitten.
The remaining question is, who does Thầy imply in this
poem that caused him to wear out his mind and shed tears?
He didn’t say it, but perhaps he didn’t need to. And of
course, I didn’t need to say it, either.
The repeated line “Ta vì đời thiệt hơn” (I bear life’s
burdens) and “Ta vì đời đổ lệ” (For life, I shed tears)
emphasize the author’s sense of voluntary hardship, and
the final image of him waking up with white hair suggests
the weight of Thầy’s suffering.
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26. Tiếng gà gáy trưa
Gà xao xác gọi hồn ta từ quá khứ
Về nơi đây cùng khốn với điêu linh
Hương trái đắng mùa thu buồn bụi cỏ
Ôi ngọt ngào đâu mái tóc em xinh
Từng tiếng lẻ loi buồn thống thiết
Nghe rộn ràng từ vết lở con tim
Từ nơi đó ta ghi lời vĩnh biệt
Nắng buồn ơi là đôi mắt ân tình
Còi xa vắng giữa trưa nào lạc lõng
Môi em hồng ta ước một vì sao
Trưa dài lắm nhưng lòng tay bé bỏng
Để vươn dài trên vầng trán em cao.
The afternoon rooster’s cry
Rooster’s cry wakes my soul up from the past,
To return here, sharing the misery of the ruins.
The fragrance of bitter autumn fruits saddens the grass,
Oh, how sweet is her beautifully flowing hair!
Each solitary sound echoes mournfully,
Heard resounding from the wounds of my heart.
From these sounds, I record my farewell.
Sorrowful sun, casting a gaze full of affection.
A distant train whistle, lost in the midday sun,
Upon her rosy lips, I wish for a star.
The noon stretches long, but my hand, so small,
Unable to reach her high forehead.
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27. Tiếng nhạc vọng
Ta nhớ mãi ngày đông tràn rượu ngọt
Ngày hội mùa ma quỷ khóc chơi vơi
Trưa phố thị nhạc buồn loang nắng nhạt
Chìm hư vô đáy mắt đọng ngàn khơi
Đây khúc nhạc đưa hồn lên máu đỏ
Bước luân hồi chen chúc cọng lau xanh
Xô đẩy mãi sóng vàng không bến đỗ
Trôi lênh đênh ma quỷ rắc tro tàn.
Vẫn khúc điệu tự ngàn xưa ám khói
Ép thời gian thành rượu máu trong xanh
Rượu không nhạt mà thiên tài thêm cát bụi
Thì ân tình ngây ngất cõi mong manh
Ôi tiết nhịp thiên tài hay quỷ mị
Xô hồn ta lảo đảo giữa tường cao
Trưa dài lắm ta luân hồi vô thủy
Đổi hình hài con mắt vẫn đầy sao.
The resonant sound of music
Forever etched in memory, a winter day overflowing with
sweet wine,
It’s the festival of demons wailing in playful grief.
Bathed in soft afternoon light, the city streets are filled
with melancholic melodies,
Thousands of stars, once bright in my eyes, now fade into
oblivion.
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These melodies elevate your soul to blood-red hues,
To jostle the clump of green reeds through reincarnation,
To endlessly push the yellow waves away from the dock,
To set them adrift for the demons to scatter their ashes.
The same tune, mothballed since eternity,
Compressed time into clear, blood-red wine,
Not insipid, but the genius demons added dust,
To make it an intoxicating love in the ephemeral realm.
Oh, the rhythm of genius or illusion,
Swaying my soul amidst towering walls.
Through endless noon, trapped in the cycle of rebirth,
Though forms may change, my eyes gleam with starlight.
Explanation
The line “festival of demons wailing in playful grief”
suggests a celebration with a dark undercurrent,
potentially alluding to the mass mobilizations and
propaganda campaigns often associated with Communist
regimes, while their “melancholic melodies” could
represent the somber and oppressive atmosphere of a
society under Communist rule and “intoxicating love in the
ephemeral realm” could be seen as a metaphor for the
seductive allure of Communist ideology, which promises a
utopian future but ultimately leads to disillusionment and
suffering.
If so, “demons’ dust” that the genius demons add to make
the wine intoxicating, refers to the Vietnamese Communist
party’s tactics used in the North to lure millions of people
to their death, such as their claims of “liberating the
South” and “national unification”.
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178
In the last two lines,
Trưa dài lắm ta luân hồi vô thủy
Đổi hình hài con mắt vẫn đầy sao,
Through endless noon, trapped in the cycle of rebirth,
Though forms may change, my eyes gleam with starlight,
the phrase “endless noon” implies a timeless state, and
“my eyes gleam with starlight” indicates that despite the
changing forms and the passage of time, Thầy’s soul and
consciousness remains intact.
Why? Thầy explained that a monk must cultivate
Bodhicitta, the bodhisattva vow, and shoulder the
countless sufferings and sorrows of the world, as expressed
in the following excerpt from his book “Thắng Man giảng
luận” (Śrīmālā discourse):
Bodhicitta is the burning aspiration of a being who
recognizes their own existence in the darkness of
suffering and seeks a path of light, not only to liberate
oneself from oppression and threats but also to liberate
all those who share the same plight.
Bodhicitta is the unwavering, indomitable will of a
person bound by the flames of passion, crushed under
the cruel forces of our own and others’ insatiable
desires.
Without this determination, the Bodhisattva path is an
impossible, and mythical dream, and the Mahāyāna is
no more than only empty words of a daydreamer.
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28. Tìm em trong giấc chiêm bao
Ta tìm em trong giấc chiêm bao
Nỗi buồn thu nhỏ hàng cây cao
Cháy đỏ mùa đông ta vẫn lạnh
Bóng tối vương đầy đôi mắt sâu
Yêu em dâng cả ráng chiều thu
Em đốt tình yêu bằng hận thù
Cháy đỏ mùa đông ta vẫn lạnh
Giấc mơ không kín dãy song tù.
Searching for you in my dreams
I have been searching for you in my dreams,
My sorrow rises high, shrinking the tall trees,
While this blazing winter still grips my frozen soul,
Darkness filling up the depth of my eyes.
I offer you the gentle glow of an autumn evening,
But you ignite a flame of hate, burning my love.
While this blazing winter still grips my frozen soul,
No prison bars can seal my dream.
Explanation
Thầy wrote this poem in the X4 prison in 1979. No hatred,
just sorrow. I believe that “em” in this poem represents his
country and its people. Therefore, translating “em” as
“you”, instead of “her”, establishes a more direct
communication between the poet and his nation.
The theme of the poem is Thầy’s sorrow upon witnessing
his country and its people replacing love with hatred.
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29. Tĩnh tọa
Ôi nỗi buồn từ ngày ta lạc bước
Cố quên mình là thân phận thần tiên
Meditation
Oh sadness, since the day I lost my way,
I’ve striven to forget my divine identity.
Explanation
In “Tuệ Sỹ trên ngõ về im lặng” (Tuệ Sỹ on the quiet path
home), critic Tâm Nhiên writes:
Having witnessed countless grievances, cruelties, and
sufferings, the poet has deeply felt a timeless sorrow, a
profound compassion. A poet’s spirit is naturally free,
wild, and soaring, a celestial being of grandeur and
majesty. But he had to suppress these qualities, for the
demonic Asuras of greed, anger, and delusion had taken
human shape. With savage brutality, they unleashed a
torrent of greed, hatred, and obsession, inflicting
terrible calamities in a whirlwind of madness.
When did Thầy get lost? He gave the answer himself in his
essay “Thuyền ngược bến không” (The boat drifting
against the empty wharf):
Sitting on the hilltop of Trại Thủy in Nha Trang, looking
down at the village below, I watch a group of elementary
school children march out, chanting slogans in support
of the revolution and denouncing reactionary and
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decadent culture. I know I am being rejected. And I am
truly rejected.
Not only Thầy but millions of Vietnamese were truly
rejected and lost. Slogans in support of the so-called
“revolution” and denouncing the “reactionary” culture
were broadcast daily throughout the streets. Books were
publicly incinerated. The relentless hunt for “reactionary
forces” amidst a deteriorating economy led to a wave of
arrest. A network of thousands of prisons, many
masquerading as “re-education” facilities, spread rapidly.
The boat drifts upstream, leaving the wharf behind. And
as the nation heals, the people rise from the ashes of
war, transforming hatred into love. But it is also a time
when a generation of writers is rejected. For they cannot
accept a love defined by dialectics, a love that can only
blossom from hatred and destruction. The love that must
grow on human blood.
Most Venerable Thích Nguyên Siêu, in “Tuệ Sỹ – người gầy
trên quê hương” (Tuệ Sỹ – The gaunt figure on his
homeland), agrees:
Indeed, Tuệ Sỹ was a lost soul. For the past forty years,
he has lived among the grass, the mist, and the
sunlight...in the deep, quiet forests of Trường Sơn,
nourishing a frail body. Lost, he has lulled himself
through the nightmarish dreams of his homeland.
Through the suffering and misery of his people. For he
has stumbled into a desolate scene that has stirred the
collective pain of humanity. The resentment of the grass,
the stones, and the lives swept away by the dust of dark
times.
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30. Tôi vẫn đợi
Tôi vẫn đợi những đêm dài khắc khoải,
Màu xanh xao trong tiếng khóc ven rừng,
Trong bóng tối hận thù, tha thiết mãi,
Một vì sao bên khóe miệng rưng rưng.
Tôi vẫn đợi những đêm đen lặng gió,
Màu đen tuyền ánh mắt tự ngàn xưa,
Nhìn hun hút cho dài thêm lịch sử,
Dài con sông tràn máu lệ quê cha.
Tôi vẫn đợi suốt đời quên sóng vỗ,
Quên những người xuôi ngược Thái Bình Dương,
Người ở lại giữa lòng tay bạo chúa,
Cọng lau gầy trĩu nặng ánh tà dương.
Rồi trước mắt ngục tù thân bé bỏng,
Ngón tay nào gõ nhịp xuống tường rêu,
Rồi nhắm mắt ta đi vào cõi mộng,
Như sương mai, như ánh chớp, mây chiều.
I’ve been waiting
On endless nights of restless sleep, I’ve been waiting,
For a colorless cry piercing the forest’s edge,
In the darkness of ceaseless hatred,
For a star to appear at my tearful mouth’s corner.
In silent, windless nights, I’ve been waiting,
For two black eyes from our ancient times,
To look deeper into our historical insights,
Where rivers of our fatherland overflowed with blood and
tears.
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183
I’ve waited all my life to forget the crashing waves,
To forget those who crossed the Pacific Ocean,
And those left behind in the hands of cruel tyrants.
I am a slender reef, weighed down by sunset rays.
Facing the truth that I’m a little prisoner,
Unconsciously, my finger taps a rhythm on the mossy
wall,
Closing my eyes, I dream to become,
A morning dew, a lightning flash, or some afternoon
clouds.
Explanation
In the third stanza, when Thầy said Thầy has waited to
forget, it means that Thầy was unable to forget them. They
are those who crossed the border, crossed the sea, both
those who lived and those who died, and also those who
were left behind at home, living under the tyrant’s rule. His
inability to forget them highlights his deep empathy and
compassion for the suffering of others.
In the last line of the above poem, Thầy referred to these
four lines of verse in the Diamond Sūtra (kinh Kim Cương
in Vietnamese):
All conditioned dharmas
Are like dreams, illusions, bubbles, shadows,
Like dew drops and a lightning flash:
Contemplate them thus.
The Sūtra states that to attain Enlightenment, one must
contemplate that all conditioned dharmas (i.e., dharmas
arising from causes and conditions) are like dreams,
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
184
illusions, bubbles, shadows, dew drops, and lightning
flashes, i.e., unreal or impermanent. However, in this
poem, interestingly while Thầy acknowledges the
impermanence of all conditioned dharmas as dew drops,
lightning flashes, or clouds, he yearns to become a dew
drop, a lightning flash, or afternoon clouds himself.
Writer Nguyễn Mộng Giác criticizes this poem in “Văn
Học” (Literature) newspaper, issue 65, July 1991 as
follows:
The first sentence speaks of the color of night. The
second sentence further explains a metaphor (a
colorless cry in the forest). This metaphor is seemingly
explained again in the third sentence (in the darkness of
ceaseless hatred) but it’s not. This is merely a false
connection… These last two lines soar to another
universe, taking flight from the worldly entanglements,
the petty disputes and hatred, to reach a higher, more
sublime realm, symbolized by a star, a smile. The four
lines move vertically, from the low level of petty, painful
disputes to the high level of awakening and
enlightenment.
The second stanza inherits the essence of the first, so the
transformation is simpler, not as convoluted or
struggling to rise up as the first stanza. This stanza
moves horizontally and also begins with a color: the
color of the dark night...
From the deep darkness of night, the poet does not evoke
the gloomy darkness of birth, old age, sickness, and
death, but rather the darkness of an eye. That’s right, all
life begins with a glance, a way of looking. There are
gazes that are drowned and lost in the transient world,
and there are gazes that see through to the truth of
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
185
existence. The poem moves horizontally through time,
looking out at the unfolding of life from ancient times,
seeing the essence of all historical changes, and
understanding the reasons behind the mountains of
bones and rivers of blood in our beloved homeland. The
eyes of a condemned prisoner do not dwell on petty
resentments and vulgar desires. Those eyes transcend
everything, beyond all bars and prison walls, even the
bars and prison walls of delusion.
The transformative power of poetry, the sublimation of
thought to the end. The eighth line has thus reached its
peak. Ideally, after the eighth line, Tuệ Sỹ could have
stopped without needing to write anything more. In
prison, the poet lives with the pale color of the little light
that filters through the prison door and the vast
darkness, from which the raw materials of creation and
thought are born. But let us not forget that the
condemned prisoner can still feel the life of the world
through the sounds outside. The next two stanzas of Tuệ
Sỹ are a different journey, beginning not with color but
with sound.
I have just written down the words “different journey”
Actually, writing it like that is not quite right, because
Tuệ Sỹ is not creating a different poem but simply
changing the way he uses images in the poem.
Therefore, the grammatical structure of the third stanza
remains the same as that of the previous two stanzas,
while the poetic meaning also receives the sublimation
of the upper part to express a desire that, upon first
reading, we might think is paradoxical: the desire to
forget, to forget everything. Forget the crashing waves
of the stormy life outside, the violent waves that forced
the poet to roll up his brown sleeves and try to set sail,
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
186
leading to the current imprisonment and shackles.
Forget the pitiful fate of millions who have had to risk
their lives to cross the sea in search of freedom. Forget
even the thin reeds that bear the weight of the tyranny
for over seventy million people who remain.
Tuệ Sỹ explains all these seemingly paradoxical things
in the last stanza with a very representative image and
sound: the gentle tapping of a finger on the cold mossy
wall of the prison. It is representative because it is a
quiet sound, completely opposite to the raging roar of
the waves on the other side of the prison wall. The thin,
weak finger of a frail condemned prisoner tapping on a
mossy wall certainly cannot create a great resounding
sound. Not for his fellow prisoners in the same solitary
confinement. Not for the jailers. Much less for those who
are not in prison. It is not a sound for the ears, but a
sound for perception, for wisdom. That sound, that
rhythmic tapping, is not due to the strength of muscles,
of violence aimed at knocking down the mossy wall and
destroying the prison, but it has a great spiritual power
to lift people above all prisons: the power of
enlightenment, of awareness.
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31. Tống biệt hành
Một bước đường thôi nhưng núi cao
Trời ơi mây trắng đọng phương nào
Đò ngang neo bến đầy sương sớm
Cạn hết ân tình, nước lạnh sao?
Một bước đường xa, xa biển khơi
Mấy trùng sương mỏng nhuộm tơ trời
Thuyền chưa ra bến bình minh đỏ
Nhưng mấy nghìn năm tống biệt rồi.
Cho hết đêm hè trông bóng ma
Tàn thu khói mộng trắng Ngân hà
Trời không ngưng gió chờ sương đọng
Nhưng mấy nghìn sau ố nhạt nhòa
Cho hết mùa thu biệt lữ hành
Rừng thu mưa máu dạt lều tranh
Ta so phấn nhụy trên màu úa
Trên phím dương cầm, hay máu xanh
Farewell
Just one step to reach there, yet the mountain stands high,
Oh heavens, where do the white clouds gather?
Boats lie anchored, laden with morning fog,
Is the water icy cold, affection dried up?
A long journey, far from the open sea,
Layers of thin mist paint the sky’s silk,
The boat hasn’t left the dock, but the dawn sky starts to
bleed,
Thousands of years have passed since the last farewell.
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Let the summer night be spent watching spirits of the past,
Late autumn’s dream smoke whitens the Milky Way,
The wind never ceases to wait for the mist to gather,
After a thousand years, only stains remain.
An autumn has passed since the traveler’s departure,
Blood-soaked autumn rain lashes against my thatched hut,
I dread the pollen on the fading hues,
On the piano keys or of the green blood?
Explanation
Just one step, yet the mountain stands high in the way, the
boats are laden with fog, the water is icy cold.
Just one step, but the journey is far from the open sea.
Just one step, but for many Vietnamese people at the time
of 1975-1981, it was a desperate, frightening journey, a
gamble with death, whether it was crossing mountains or
oceans. After the fall of Saigon, everyone had only one
thing on their mind: crossing the border, crossing the
ocean. There was a common saying: Even electric poles
would escape if they had legs. Crossing the oceans on tiny
fishing boats is more difficult than threading a camel
through the eye of a needle. No one knows the exact
number, but according to the United Nations High
Commission for Refugees, between 200,000 and 600,000
boat people died at sea. Such a tragic! 20
20 My youngest brother was one of these unfortunates. His tragic
death devastated my mother, who passed away a few months later,
unable to bear the grief.
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
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The fourth stanza reveals that an autumn has passed since
the traveler departed his thatched hut. But during that
autumn, his thatched hut in the forest has been destroyed
by the blood-soaked rain.
The last two verses,
Ta so phấn nhụy trên màu úa
Trên phím dương cầm, hay máu xanh
I dread the pollen on the fading hues,
On the piano keys or of the green blood?
He draws a parallel between the withered flowers’ pollen
to the fading piano keys, pondering the contrast between
black and white, and to the enduring nature of hope in the
fading green blood.
The green blood described in this poem represents his hope
for a better future for his homeland.
The staggering number of lives lost meant little to the Communist
dictators. Mao Zedong himself, while in Moscow, infamously
declared his willingness to sacrifice over 300 million Chinese lives
for the cause of revolution. Yet, when his own son perished in the
Korean War, his callous facade cracked. As he received the news, he
sat motionless, his gaze fixed on a pack of cigarettes on the tea table.
He slowly picked up the pack and tried to take out a cigarette but he
couldn’t do it; he tried again, and again he failed. (Michael Lynch,
Mao, Taylor & Francis e-Library, 2004)
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32. Trầm mặc
Anh ôm chồng sách cũ
Trầm mặc những đêm dài
Xót xa đời lữ khách
Mệnh yểu thế mà hay
Contemplation
He cradles a pile of old books,
Through several contemplative nights.
Pitying the life of a traveler,
The fragility of life makes it all the more precious.
Explanation
The image of a solitary figure surrounded by old books
creates a mood of quiet contemplation and introspection.
Through several contemplative nights, the scholar feels
“pitying the life of a traveler”. Given that the traveler’s life
could be metaphorical, referring to the journey of life itself,
the line “pitying the life of a traveler” hints at a sense of
empathy for the transient nature of human existence. The
final line suggests a paradoxical thought: life is incredibly
fragile but its fragility makes it all the more precious.
Overall, there seems to be a certain kind of both
meaninglessness and absurdity in this poem;
meaninglessness like life itself and absurdity like such a
thought itself. But this is Nāgārjuna’s viewing of life: A
sense of vagueness and impossibility pervades, a
vagueness as broad as life and an impossibility as deep as
thought.
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
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In “Triết học về tánh Không” (Philosophy of Nothingness),
Thầy writes:
There seems to be a certain kind of floating and
impossibility; floating like life itself and impossible like
thought itself. Nāgārjuna emerges from the mist of dawn
and late afternoon sunlight, then disappears into the
mist of dawn and late afternoon sunlight. Like sunlight,
like a dream, like a city in the desert: all arising,
existing, and ceasing are like this…
Since the advent of Nāgārjuna in South India, eighteen
centuries have passed. Throughout three-quarters of
Asia, the philosophy of Nothingness (Śūnyatā) has
become an exceedingly sharp weapon, equipped for a
philosophy specialized in destruction. For its opponents,
destruction is destruction. But its proponents say that
destruction is actually construction. For both,
destruction is something to be feared and avoided. In
truth, what truth was Nāgārjuna intentionally defending
with the weapon of Nothingness? People have long
thought that Nothingness itself was that truth. For, with
very solid textual evidence, one can find that Nāgārjuna
himself considered means and ends to be one. In other
words, the truth of Nothingness itself protects itself,
defends itself.
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33. Từ rừng sâu
Rừng sâu nọ vẫn mơ màng phố thị,
Tình yêu xa như khói thuốc trưa hè.
Trong quãng vắng khúc nhạc sầu tư lự,
Chợt căm thù dồn dập đuổi anh đi.
Em đứng đó hận Trường Sơn mưa lũ, --
Một phương trời mây trắng nhuộm quanh đê
From deep forests
The deep forest yearns for the city’s bustle,
Its love is as distant as midsummer’ smoke.
A sorrowful tune fills the empty forest corner.
It suddenly shifts sharply, a hate-filled force, chasing him
away.
She stands there, resentful of the Trường Sơn’s rains and
floods,
A sky, blanketed in white clouds, surrounds the dike.
Explanation
This poem is a query, questioning why when he (probably
Thầy) is chased away from his forest, but his lover
(probably his homeland’s people) only stands there,
resentful of the Trường Sơn’s rains and floods, instead of
actively seeking a solution.
The final image of “the sky, blanketed in white clouds,
surrounds the dike” provides a serene backdrop to the
emotional turmoil, creating a sense of contrast and irony.
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34. Tự tình
Còn nghe được tiếng ve sầu
Còn yêu đốm lửa đêm sâu bập bùng
Quê nhà trên đỉnh Trường Sơn
Cho ta gởi một nỗi hờn thiên thu.
Self-reflection
Still hearing the cicadas’ chants,
Still loving the flickering flames of the night,
My homeland on the peak of Trường Sơn,
Let me confide in you my thousand-year-long resentment.
Explanation
Thầy’s sorrow still lingers on the peak of Trường Sơn. Yet,
he had sown the belief that the day our country will break
free from the shackles of Communism will come.
The distinguished scholar Phạm Quỳnh 21 had the immortal
but controversial saying: “Truyện Kiều còn, tiếng ta còn.
Tiếng ta còn, nước ta còn” (As long as “The Tale of Kiều”
21 Phạm Quỳnh (1892-1945) was a cultural scholar, journalist, writer,
and high-ranking official in the Nguyễn dynasty (1802-1945,
although beginning in 1883, Vietnam gradually became a French
colony). He served as the longtime editor of Nam Phong (Southern
Wind) magazine, where he aimed to promote East-West cultural
exchange, and to enrich the Vietnamese language. He was a pioneer
in promoting the use of the Romanized Vietnamese language, in lieu
of the Nôm script. He was killed by the Communists in 1945.
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
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endures, our language endures. As long as our language
endures, our nation endures).
Thầy Tuệ Sỹ conveyed a similar concept but in a more
poetic sentiment:
Còn nghe được tiếng ve sầu
Còn yêu đốm lửa đêm sâu bập bùng.
Still hearing the cicadas’ chants,
Still loving the flickering flames of the night.
Or, in an attempt to remind us of our heroic anthem: the
Eastern World’s endless love song.
Anh cúi xuống nghe núi rừng hợp tấu,
Bản tình ca vô tận của Đông phương
He crouched down to listen to the symphony played by our
mountains and forests
The Eastern World’s endless love song.
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Volume 3:
Ngục trung mị ngữ | Somniloquies in prison
Ngục trung mị ngữ
| Somniloquies in
prison
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“Ngục Trung Mị Ngữ” (Somniloquies in prison, Những lời
nói mê sảng trong tù) is a collection of 18 poems, part of a
larger collection of 50 poems written during his first
imprisonment from 1978 to 1981. Unfortunately, the
remaining 32 poems have been lost. The Most Venerable
wrote these poems in Chinese characters with Vietnamese
phonetic transcriptions. I have translated them into both
Vietnamese and English.
Time of composition: 1981-1984.
Reference: “Ngục Trung Mị Ngữ”, published by Quảng
Hương tùng thư in 1988.
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1. Trách lung
窄籠
窄籠猶自在
散步若閑遊
笑話獨影響
空消永日囚
Trách lung
Trách lung do tự tại
Tán bộ nhược nhàn du
Tiếu thoại độc ảnh hưởng
Không tiêu vĩnh nhật tù.
Lồng hẹp
Thanh thản tự tại thong dong
Nhàn nhã tản bộ bên trong nhà tù
Một mình cười nói vô tư
Ngày trong lồng hẹp nhẹ như bên ngoài.
Narrow cage
With a peaceful and relaxed mind,
I strolled back and forth in this narrow cage.
Smiling and talking to myself peacefully,
I got through the never-ending prison days.
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
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Explanation
In the book “Ngục trung mị ngữ” (Somniloquies in prison)
published by Quảng Hương Tùng thư in 1988, the last
character in the poem, in the Chinese character section,
Thầy wrote
囚
, meaning “prisoner”. However, in the
Vietnamese phonetic section, Thầy wrote “sầu”, meaning
“sadness”. The Chinese character for “sầu” is
愁
.
Based on the Chinese character in the original text and
considering his state of mind, I believe “nhật tù” (daily
imprisonment) is more accurate than “nhật sầu” (daily
sadness), so I’ve changed his “sầu” in the Vietnamese
phonetic section to “tù”.
Reading this poem, I don’t perceive any fear by the
prisoner Tuệ Sỹ, and strangely, I also don’t detect any
resentment towards those who imprisoned him.
The poem explores themes of confinement, freedom, and
the human spirit. Thầy is able to find peace and
contentment even within the confines of a “narrow cage”,
suggesting a deep inner strength and a capacity for
resilience.
His message is one of compassion, confinement, inner
peace, and the power of humor, but beneath it, I sense an
undercurrent, “when the opportunity arises, laughter and
shouts will erupt, turning everyday life upside down”, as
clearly as he wrote in 1971 in the introduction to the book
“Vô Môn Quan” (Wumen Guan, often known as The
Gateless Gate) translated to Vietnamese by Professor Trần
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Tuấn Mẫn. This book was originally compiled by Zen
Master Wumen Huikai, and published in 1228.
Below is the moving Introduction by Thầy to Professor
Trần Tuấn Mẫn‘s book “Wumen Guan” 22:
Once upon a time, in the halls of Zen monasteries, one
could hear the resounding sounds of laughter and
shouts. Countless intricate arguments were cast aside
like grains of sand on the vast Asian deserts, where
countless souls had endured arduous journeys in their
quest for the absolute. Here, the desert remained
eternally solitary, swept by the blistering winds of
Nothingness. The meaning of life and death continued to
drift aimlessly in the void. Hearts burned with fervent
passion, yet could not consume the terrifying dreams of
Nothingness and annihilation. And then, one day, when
the time was right, laughter and shouts would erupt,
turning everyday life upside down…
One morning, a visitor came to the temple and gave me
a Vietnamese manuscript of the book “Vô Môn Quan”
(Wumen Guan). It was as if a tiny ember, buried in the
cold ashes of the hearth, was rekindled. This happened
amidst the heavy weight of old age and the irreversible
decline of health, yet it was not enough to fully thaw the
22 “Wumen Guan” (Vô Môn Quan) is a collection of 48 Zen koans,
each accompanied by a commentary and a verse by Wumen Huikai
(1183-1260).
In Chinese, Wumen (無門) literally means no gate, and Guan (關)
means the gate at the border, therefore, the book Wumen Guan is
understood to mean “the Gateless Gate” then this work can be seen as
a barrier with no entrance.
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
200
frost within me. I hastily write these words to express my
gratitude to all beings for this accidental encounter in a
rare lifetime. And I am grateful for the drops of “Tào
Khê” (Caoxi) blood that flow in the rich and strange
melody of the Vietnamese language, a gift brought to me
as if from a thousand generations.
Đá mòn nhưng dạ chẳng mòn
Tào khê 23 nước chảy vẫn còn trơ trơ.
(Vietnamese folk poem)
Though stones wear away, the heart does not
The water of Caoxi river still flows on.
To provide a glimpse into the book’s worth, here’s an
excerpt from the fifth koan:
Xiangyan said:
- It is like a man over a precipice one thousand feet high,
he is hanging himself there with a branch of a tree
between his teeth, the feet are far off the ground, and his
hands are not taking hold of anything. Suppose another
man coming to him to propose a question, “What is the
meaning of the First Patriarch Bodhidharma’s coming
from the west?” If this man should open the mouth to
answer, he is sure to fall and lose his life; but if he would
23 Caoxi (Tào khê) is the name of a small river located in Guangdong
Province, China. It’s home to the ancient Paolin Temple, which was
once the major spiritual center of Master Huineng (638-713), the sixth
patriarch of Chinese Zen Buddhism.
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
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make no answer, he must be said to ignore the inquirer.
At this critical moment what should he do?”
Wumen commented:
Even if your eloquence flows like a river, it is of no use.
Even if you can expound the whole body of the sūtras, it
is of no avail. If you can respond to it fittingly, you will
give life to those who have been dead, and put to death
those who have been alive. If, however, you are unable
to do this, wait for Maitreya (TN: the future Buddha of
this world, commonly believed to be the direct successor
of Gotama Buddha) to come and ask him.
Wumen’s verse:
Xiangyan is really outrageous,
His perversity knows no limits;
He silences the monk,
Turning his entire body into the glaring eyes of a demon.
(Excerpted from The Story of Zen, by Richard Bryan
McDaniel, published by The Sumeru Press, 2019)
This koan refers to Xiangyan’s quote.
Xiangyan Zhixian (?-898) and Guishan Lingyou (771-853)
were both students of Baizhang Huaihai (720-814).
Before coming to Baizhang, Xiangyan had devoted himself
to the study of the Chinese classics as well as the
traditional Buddhist scriptures, and he acquired a
reputation for scholarship. He kept copious notes on his
studies and was known to have a ready answer to every
question he was asked.
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
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After Baizhang died, Xiangyan presented himself to
Guishan, who had been declared the master’s dharma
successor, and, even though they were about the same age,
Xiangyan asked to be accepted as a disciple. Guishan,
however, was reluctant to grant the request.
“When we were both disciples of our late master,”
Guishan said, “you were said to be able to give ten answers
to a single question. This, however, isn’t the way of Zen.
Such intellectual attainments only result in an abstract or
analytical comprehension, which really isn’t of much use.
Still, perhaps you do have some insight into the truth of
Zen. So, tell me: what is your true self, your original self
before your mother gave birth to you, before you came to
know east from west?”
Xiangyan was unsure how to reply to this question but
ventured a number of attempts, each of which Guishan
dismissed. Finally, he said, “Please, then, teach me. Show
me this original self.”
“I’ve nothing to give you,” Guishan told him. “Even if I
tried to instruct you, that would only provide you an
opportunity to ridicule me later on. After all, whatever I
have is my own and can never be yours. How can that be
of any help to you?”
Xiangyan retired to his quarters, where he searched
through the books and notes he had collected over the
years, but nothing he found in them helped him understand
what Guishan was asking for when he demanded that
Xiangyan “show” his original self.
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
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“A picture of rice cakes will never satisfy hunger”, he
admitted to himself. Then he gathered all his papers
together, took them outside, and set fire to them. “What’s
the use of studying Buddhism, so difficult to comprehend
and too subtle to receive instruction from another?” he
said to himself. “I’ll become a simple monk, abiding by the
precepts, with no desire to try to master things too deep for
thought”.
He left Baizhang’s temple that day and traveled to a
mountain, where he built a grass hut to live in. One day, as
he was sweeping the grounds with a broom, a stone he
cleared away struck a bamboo stalk. The sound, sharp and
hollow, was clear in his attention, and the moment he heard
it, he came to a deep awakening. He was speechless for a
moment, then broke out laughing. He bowed in the
direction of Guishan’s temple. Then he traveled to see the
man who had refused to teach him. “Your kindness to me
was greater than even that of my parents,” Xiangyan told
Guishan. “Had you tried to explain this truth to me in
words, I would never be where I am now”.
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
204
The handwriting of Thầy Tuệ Sỹ, copied from the book
“Ngục trung mị ngữ”, published by Quảng Hương Tùng
Thư in 1988, reveals that the final character in the Chinese
section is
囚
, meaning “prisoner”, while in the Vietnamese
section, it is “sầu”, meaning “sorrow”.
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2. Tảo thượng tẩy tịnh
早上洗净
早起出洗净
從容立片蒔
自有神仙態
何湏山水為
Tảo thượng tẩy tịnh
Tảo khởi xuất tẩy tịnh
Thung dung lập phiến thì
Tư hữu thần tiên thái
Hà tu sơn thủy vi
Sáng sớm rửa mặt
Sáng sớm dậy ra ngoài rửa mặt,
Chút thời gian khoảnh khắc thanh nhàn.
Núi cao, biển rộng chẳng màng,
Thần tiên tự tại cao sang nơi này.
Face washing in the early morning
Washing my face in the early morning,
It was such a relaxing moment,
That I felt like a celestial being.
Why must one go to high mountains or vast seas?
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206
Explanation
We often assume that only gods and spirits dwell in
mountains or oceans, yet the history of Zen is filled with
stories of monks who retreated to these remote places for
their practice.
The Sixth Patriarch, Huineng, lived in seclusion in the
forest for fifteen years with a group of hunters after taking
leave of the Fifth Patriarch. He lived in obscurity, unknown
to anyone, until the day he heard an Indian monk
expounding the scriptures.
The State Preceptor, Nanyue Huizhong, spent ten years in
seclusion without leaving his hermitage. Word of his
retreat spread far and wide, reaching the ears of the king,
who sent urgent envoys to invite him back. Only then did
he descend from the mountain.
Guishan Lingyou lived for many years in a remote
wilderness with monkeys and deer, subsisting on chestnuts.
But eventually, his fame spread, people came seeking him
out, and grand monasteries sprang up around him, and he
became a great master leading a sangha of 1,500 monks.
In the second series of Essays in Zen Buddhism, Professor
Daisetz Suzuki explained the purpose of spiritual practice,
whether it’s done in the mountains or not.
The aspiration of a Bodhisattva is to benefit the world,
to bring happiness to the world, and to cultivate great
compassion for the world. Therefore, when a
Bodhisattva experiences supreme enlightenment, they
vow to become a great protector of the world, a refuge
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for the world, a dwelling place for the world, a
destination for the world, a great island, a great light, a
guide, and a true destination for the world.
Thus, a Bodhisattva is not a negative, escapist soul,
always seeking to flee the world to find perfection and
enlightenment for themselves. They are a very active
savior of the world; they actively engage in the world
through vigorous interaction to achieve their desired
results...
The following dialogue between Purnamitrayasputra
and Śāriputra, found in the Prajñāpāramitā Sūtra, (Tâm
kinh in Vietnamese), gives us an idea of why
Bodhisattvas develop a compassionate heart towards all
sentient beings who are still deluded. In this
compassionate love for others, there is no arrogance,
egotism, or dogmatism; these are the things that create
a stubborn and isolated character…
Bodhisattvas never have the thought of belittling others;
they maintain a respectful attitude towards all beings as
well as towards the Buddha and the Tathāgata.
Purnamitrayasputra asked Śāriputra: “Is it only other
Bodhisattvas that Bodhisattvas respect, and not other
sentient beings?”
Śāriputra replied: “A Bodhisattva should respect all
sentient beings just as they respect the Tathāgata... A
Bodhisattva should think like this: When I attain
enlightenment, I will teach all sentient beings the pure
Dharma to cut off their evil afflictions and attain
nirvana, or to attain enlightenment, and to rest in peace
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
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and happiness, or to be completely liberated from the
suffering of the lower realms.
Such a Bodhisattva should arouse great compassion
towards all sentient beings and guard their mind against
arrogance, egotism, and self-importance. A Bodhisattva
should think like this: I will employ all skillful means to
enable sentient beings to experience the Buddha-nature
in their deepest nature. Through experiencing this, all
will become Buddhas.”
A Zen master may retreat to the mountains for practice, but
they must eventually descend and engage with the world.
They cannot evade their responsibility to the world and
must come to the world with a compassionate heart for all
beings, free from arrogance, ego, and dogmatism. That’s
why Thầy affirmed, “Why must one go to high mountains
or vast seas?”
It was precisely because of this attitude of “not being able
to escape responsibility to the world” that, before April 30,
1975, when Nha Trang was abandoned, Thầy stopped
teaching at Vạn Hạnh University and went to Nha Trang
with his monastic students to care for the patients who were
still in Nha Trang General Hospital, as there were no more
doctors or nurses on duty at that time. Faced with this new
and chaotic situation, when someone suggested that Thầy
should evacuate, he resolutely said: “As long as I am still
here, you must also stay here. Our homeland and our
country need you more than ever. We cannot flee when our
nation and our religion are in such a state of ruin.”
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
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Critic Nguyên Giác (poet Phan Tấn Hải), in his work
“Khoảnh khắc chiêm bao” (A dreamlike moment),
positively evaluates Thầy’s actions as follows:
This is the moment that marks Thầy’s firm decision to
stay on in his homeland. The nation and the Dharma still
need Thầy’s presence. As long as the nation is suffering
and the homeland is in distress, there will always be
hands and minds like Thầy’s to till the soil, sow seeds of
love, to lessen hatred, to show that on the homeland
there are still beautiful flowers blooming, adding
fragrance and color to the barren fields and withered
reeds. Thầy is the embodiment of the flower of love,
vowing to stay and share the suffering with the suffering
of the nation, vowing to enter the place of misery, of
storms and tempests, to bring the boat of the Dharma to
a peaceful shore. Thầy’s staying has many meanings of
a Taoist, a poet, a scholar, and the heartfelt sentiment of
a Vietnamese citizen. It is the key, the golden highlight
of the historical journey of the nation and the Dharma.
Thầy stayed because there are still millions of people
staying...
That is the vow of a Bodhisattva: to enter hell with
sentient beings...
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
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3. Cúng dường
供養
奉此獄囚飯
供養最勝尊
世間長血恨
秉鉢淚無言
Cúng dường
Phụng thử ngục tù phạn
Cúng dường tối thắng tôn
Thế gian trường huyết hận
Bỉnh bát lệ vô ngôn.
Nghẹn lời cúng dường
Hai tay nâng bát cao lương
Cúi đầu kính cẩn cúng dường Thế tôn
Thế gian máu hận thành sông
Ôm bát mà khóc nghẹn không ra lời.
Note: Sau 1975, thời gian đầu không có gạo, chỉ có bo bo,
mà khi đó chính quyền mới lường gạt gọi là cao lương, vốn
là tên người miền Nam dành cho các món ăn ngon và hiếm.
Choked offerings
Lifting a bowl of rice inside the prison cell,
I whispered a prayer to the Enlightened One.
The world full of hatred, a heavy weight on my heart,
I silently choked back tears while clutching the bowl.
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Explanation
The poem’s core is a wordless prayer expressed through
tears, while he was offering, so I’ve retitled my translation
from “Offerings” to “Choked Offerings”.
Critic Nguyên Giác (poet Phan Tấn Hải) comments,
This isn’t merely a poem; it surpasses the limits of
human language. It’s like heavenly flowers raining onto
a prison, allowing a monk to gather words and offer
them to the Buddha. It’s not words but tears, the pain of
a body holding a bowl of rice, and the compassion felt
when witnessing a world steeped in hatred. This monk
then expresses gratitude to the Tathāgata.
What is the meaning and purpose of offerings in
Buddhism? According to the Tibetan Buddhist Meditation
Centre, “Offerings are the formal religious expression of
the fundamental Buddhist virtue of giving. The perfection
of giving, dana-paramita in Sanskrit, is the first of the six
or ten perfections (TN: The six perfections in Mahāyāna
tradition are (1) generosity, (2) morality, (3) patience, (4)
diligence, (5) concentration, and (6) wisdom, and the ten
perfections in the Theravāda tradition are (1) generosity,
(2) morality, (3) renunciation, (4) insight, (5) energy, (6)
patience, (7) truthfulness, (8) resolution, (9) kindness, and
(10) equanimity). It encompasses every kind of generosity,
whether it involves a gift to those higher than ourselves,
such as deities in the merit field, or the poor and needy,
who are worse off than we are.
In giving to a being in an equal or worse state than
ourselves, we sacrifice something that belongs to us for the
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benefit of another. In giving to a being superior to
ourselves, to our guru, a Buddha or bodhisattva, we
perform an act of renunciation. As an altruistic deed,
giving is a basis for acquiring merit. In Buddhist doctrine,
the accumulation of merit leads to higher rebirth, and
eventually to release from the sufferings of cyclic existence.
In order to attain highest enlightenment, we must be able
to give to a superlative degree, with perfect motivation,
thus attaining the unsurpassable level of the perfection of
giving.
Whether the physical offerings benefit the recipient or not,
from a Buddhist practitioner’s point of view as a donor,
they are essential means of reducing our attachment to the
physical world. Attachment reinforces our notion of
ourselves as real, independent selves to be satisfied by
obtaining or clinging onto objects we desire. Making
offerings accustoms the mind to giving and letting go of
desirable objects. It serves to loosen our conception of a
real and independent self. In this way, it contributes to our
acquiring the essential wisdom realizing that all
phenomena as empty of intrinsic existence. Without such
realization we will not attain Buddhahood. The value of
merit acquired from an act of giving depends on several
factors: the motivation, the status of the recipient and the
quality of the offering.
While the excerpt above describes various physical
offerings, the Buddha emphasized that the most profound
and beneficial offering is to the Dharma itself. The Buddha
explained to Heavenly King Lokeśvara, “O Heavenly King,
know this: if a person were to hear this inconceivable
Sūtra, believe in it, uphold it, recite it, and practice
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accordingly, their merit would surpass that of the former.
To believe, uphold, recite, and practice is to offer the
Dharma. Heavenly King, understand this: offering the
Dharma is the supreme, most honorable, and
incomparable of all offerings. Therefore, offer the Dharma
to the Buddhas.”
The Sūtra praised by the Buddha is the Vimalakīrti Sūtra.
So, who was Vimalakīrti?
The passage from the Sūtra describes Vimalakīrti as
follows:
In the city of Vaishali, there was a layman named
Vimalakīrti, who had offered to countless Buddhas and
planted deep roots of goodness, attained the
unconditioned state, had the ability to debate without
hindrance, displayed miraculous powers, mastered all
the concentrations, and achieved fearlessness; he
subdued all enemies and disturbances of Mara, had
entered the profound Dharma gate, was skillful in
wisdom, proficient in various means, and had completed
his great vows. He knew well the tendencies of beings’
minds, and could distinguish between sharp and dull
roots. For a long time, his mind had matured in the
Buddha’s path, and he had decided on the Mahāyāna.
All his actions were based on correct thinking. Residing
in the majesty of the Buddha, his mind was as vast as the
ocean. He was praised by the Buddhas; the gods Indra
and Brahma, and the world rulers all respected him.
With his endless wealth, he protected the suffering. With
his pure precepts, he protected those who violated
precepts. With the softness of patience, he protected
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those who were angry and fierce. With great diligence,
he protected the lazy. With one-pointedness, meditation,
and tranquility, he protected those with scattered minds.
With immaculate wisdom, he protected the ignorant.
Although a layman, he followed all the pure rules of the
Śramaṇa (TN: one who practices austerity). Although a
white-robed (TN: layman), he was free and unattached
to the three realms. Although he had a wife and children,
he always lived a pure life.
Chapter 5 of the sūtra tells the story of when the Manjusri
was sent by the Buddha to visit the sick Vimalakīrti, after
other great disciples such as Śāriputra, Maudgalyāyana,
Mahākāśyapa and Ananda refused to go because they all
were overwhelmed by Vimalakīrti’s spiritual stature.
Manjusri replied, “Lord, it is not easy to converse with
such a superior person. For he has deeply penetrated the
true nature of things, skillfully expounds the essential
meanings of the Dharma. His debating skills are flawless,
his wisdom is unimpeded. He knows all the practices of
bodhisattvas; he has entered the mysterious treasury of the
Buddhas; he subdues all Mara with miraculous powers; his
wisdom and means are perfectly accomplished.
Nevertheless, I will obey your command and visit him.”
At that time, among the assembly, the bodhisattvas, the
great disciples of the Buddha, all thought to themselves,
“Now that the two great beings, Manjusri and Vimalakīrti,
are meeting, they will surely speak profound Dharma”.
Therefore, they all wished to follow Manjusri.
In chapter 9 of the sūtra, Vimalakīrti asked the 32 present
Bodhisattvas to present their understanding of non-duality.
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
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I encourage my readers to read the following dichotomy of
all of these 32 Bodhisattvas as each offers a unique
perspective of their understanding and realizing on the
non-duality, based on their personal experience and
insight, emphasizing different aspects of realization.
1. Śikṣasamuccaya said: “Birth and death are two. To
comprehend that dharma is unborn, therefore, it cannot
die, is to enter the non-duality.”
2. Śrīgupta said: “Self and possessions are two. If there is
no self, there are no possessions. That is to enter the non-
duality.”
3. Animisa said: “Perception and non-perception are two.
If one does not perceive phenomena, then there is nothing
to be gained. That is to enter the non-duality.”
4. Srīkuṭa said: “Defilement and purity are two. Seeing the
nature of defilement, there is no longer the appearance of
purity. That is to enter the non-duality.”
5. Sunakṣatra said: “Movement and thought are two.
Without movement, there is no thought. To reach this point
is to enter the non-duality.”
6. Sunetra said: “Form and formlessness are two. To not
cling to formlessness but to abide in equality is to enter the
non-duality.”
7. Subāhu said: “The Bodhisattva mind and the Shravaka
(TN: not endowed with bodhicitta) mind are two. To
understand that there is no such thing as a Bodhisattva
mind or a Shravaka mind is to enter the non-duality.”
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
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8. Pusya said: “Good and evil are two. If one does not give
rise to good or evil, one enters the non-duality.”
9. Siṃha said: “Sin and virtue are two. Understanding the
nature of sin as not different from the nature of virtue, is to
enter the non-duality.”
10. Siṃhamati said: “Defilement and purity are two. If one
does not give rise to thoughts of defilement or purity, one
enters the non-duality.”
11. Sukhādhimukta said: “Form and formlessness are two.
If one leaves behind all distinctions, the mind is like empty
space; that is to enter the non-duality.”
12. Narayana said: “The world and the transcendent are
two, but understanding that the nature of the world and the
transcendent is empty is to enter the non-duality.”
13. Dāntamati said: “Birth and death are two. To
understand the nature of birth and death is to enter the non-
duality.”
14. Pratyakṣadarśī said: “Limited and unlimited are two.
In ultimate reality, both limited and unlimited are
ultimately formless. In formlessness, there is no limited or
unlimited. To enter this is to enter the non-duality.”
15. Samantagupta said: “Self and non-self are two. Seeing
the true nature of self, dualistic thinking does not arise.
That is to enter the non-duality.”
16. Vidyuddeva said: “Enlightenment and ignorance are
two. But the true nature of ignorance is enlightenment.
Abiding in this equality is to enter the non-duality.”
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17. Priyadarāno said: “Form and formlessness are two.
Form itself is Emptiness, because the nature of form is
Emptiness itself. To understand this is to enter the non-
duality.”
18. Prabhāketu said: “The four elements (TN: fire, water,
earth and air) and the absence of elements are two. The
nature of the four elements is the absence of elements. To
penetrate this nature of the four elements is to enter the
non-duality.”
19. Sumati said: “The eye and form are two. Likewise, the
ear and sound, the nose and smell, the tongue and taste, the
body and touch, and the mind and mental objects are two.
If one knows the true nature of the mind, there is no arising
of greed, hatred, or delusion. To abide in this is to enter the
non-duality.”
20. Akṣayamati said: “Alms and dedicating all good deeds
to the attainment of omniscience are two. But the nature of
alms is itself the dedication to omniscience. To penetrate
this single reality is to enter the non-duality.”
21. Gambīrabuddhi said: “Emptiness and actionlessness
are two. But understanding that Emptiness and
actionlessness are without mind, without thought, and
without consciousness is to enter the non-duality.”
22. Śāntendriya said: “The Buddha is the Dharma. The
Dharma is the Sangha. These Three Jewels, Buddha,
Dharma, and Sangha, are formless, and so are all
phenomena. To penetrate this is to enter the non-duality.”
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23. Apraticakṣu said: “The body and the body’s cessation
are two. When one penetrates the true nature of the body,
there is no longer any arising of the concept of the body or
the cessation of the body. To abide in this without fear is to
enter the non-duality.”
24. Suvinīta said: “The nature of body, speech, and mind
is actionlessness. The actionlessness of these three actions
is the actionlessness of all phenomena. If one can abide in
such actionless wisdom, one enters the non-duality.”
25. Puṇyakṣetra said: “The true nature of virtuous actions,
unvirtuous actions, and actions that are neither virtuous
nor unvirtuous is Emptiness. To not give rise to these three
actions is to enter the non-duality.”
26. Padmavyūha said: “Duality arises from the self. When
one sees the true nature of the self, this duality does not
arise. When there is nothing to be cognized, one enters the
non-duality.”
27. Śrīgarbha said: “The nature of that which is obtained
is dualistic. If there is nothing to be obtained, then there is
neither grasping nor letting go. To not grasp and not let go
is to enter the non-duality.”
28. Candrottara said: “Darkness and light are two. When
one enters the cessation of feelings, perceptions, and
volitions, there is no more darkness or light. To abide in
this equality is to enter the non-duality.”
29. Ratnamudrāhasta said: “The joy of Nirvana and the
lack of joy in the world are two. Without binding and
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without release, there is neither liking nor disliking; that is
to enter the non-duality.”
30. Maṇikūṭarāja said: “The right path and the wrong path
are two. One who abides in the right path does not
differentiate between the right and the wrong. To leave
behind these two extremes is to enter the non-duality.”
31. Satyanand said: “Truth and falsehood are two. One
who sees the truth does not even consider it to be true,
much less that is false. Why? It is something that the
physical eye cannot see, only the eye of wisdom can
perceive. But when the eye of wisdom does not see, nor
does it not see, that is to enter the non-duality.”
32. Manjusri said: “In my view, regarding all phenomena,
there is no speaking, no explaining, no pointing out, and no
cognizing; it transcends questioning. That is to enter the
non-duality.”
Then Manjusri asked Vimalakīrti, “We have each spoken.
Please, Sir, tell us what it is like for a Bodhisattva to enter
the non-duality?”
At that time, Vimalakīrti remained silent.
Manjusri praised, “Well said, well said! When there are no
more words or speech, that is truly to enter the non-
duality.”
This is referred to as Vimalakīrti’ s “thunderous silence”.
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4. Biệt cấm phòng
別禁房
我居空處一重天
我界虚無真個禅
無物無人無甚亊
坐覌天女散花綿
Biệt cấm phòng
Ngã cư không xứ nhất trùng thiên
Ngã giới hư vô chân cá thiền
Vô vật vô nhơn vô thậm sự
Tọa quan thiên nữ tán hoa miên.
Phòng biệt giam
Ta nhập thiền cõi trời cao
Chân thiền: cảnh giới không vào, không ra
Không người, không vật, không ta
Ngồi xem thiên nữ rắc hoa chúc mừng.
Solitary confinement cell
I reside in a celestial realm,
My world is the void, the true essence of Zen,
Where objects, human beings, and essence are all empty.
I sit in stillness, observing the celestial maidens scatter
their flowers.
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Explanation
This poem paints a vivid picture of a bodhisattva’s mental
fortitude and detachment from worldly suffering. Even in
the confines of a solitary prison cell, a bodhisattva can find
inner peace and tranquility. The image of celestial maidens
scattering flowers symbolizes divine blessings or spiritual
enlightenment, which the bodhisattva is able to appreciate
regardless of their circumstances.
This is the hallmark of a Bodhisattva. How could Thầy be
incarcerated and still find peace in meditation, even
watching heavenly beings shower flowers?
According to the Heart Sūtra (Prajñāpāramitā Sūtra in
Sanskrit, Tâm kinh in Vietnamese),
Avalokiteshvara Bodhisattva, when practicing deeply
the Prajñāpāramitā, perceived that all five skandhas in
their own being are nothing and was saved from all
suffering.
It seems so easy to be liberated from all suffering simply by
seeing that the five skandhas (form, feeling, perception,
concept, and consciousness) are nothing. What exactly is
this Nothingness?
In the book “Triết học về tánh Không” (Philosophy of
Nothingness), in the conclusion of the chapter “Name and
Reality”, Thầy Tuệ Sỹ explains:
The Middle Way states: “If one does not rely on
conventional truth, one cannot attain ultimate truth. If
one does not attain ultimate truth, one cannot
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222
understand the Dharma”. Within the realm of logic,
conventional truth here refers to language. The value of
language does not lie in its success, but in its failure to
express the absolute. It is precisely due to this failure
that language gives rise to the Middle Way. The non-
verbal philosophy of the Middle Way cannot be
superficially understood as a desire to move towards the
Absolute by completely eliminating all forms of
language.
Logicians, when seeking the success of language to
create a correspondence between the process of symbols
and the process of absolute reality, are essentially
adopting a naive realist attitude, overly trusting in
obvious experience.
Distinguishing between names and reality, on the basis
of both difference and non-difference, is the entry point
into the philosophy of the Middle Way. Because reality
only exists through conventional names, Nāgārjuna 24
(circa 150-250) often says that phenomena are like
dreams or illusions.
A passage in the Shorter Heart Sūtra, Chapter 2, shows the
meaning of conventional names and the idea of describing
phenomena as dreams or illusions:
24 Nāgārjuna (circa 150-250) was the 14th Patriarch of Indian
Buddhism. He developed the doctrine of the Middle Way
(Mādhyamakārikā), defeating all philosophical arguments of
Buddhism at that time. His contributions significantly developed
Buddhist thought, especially Zen Buddhism.
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
223
At that time, the heavenly beings thought to themselves,
“Who can possibly understand what Ananda is saying?”
Ananda, knowing their thoughts, said to them, “One
who is like an illusion can understand what I am saying,
and even the hearing and the understanding are like
illusions.”
The heavenly beings thought, “If the listener is like an
illusion, then beings are like illusions. The results of
stream-entry, once-returner, non-returner, and
arahantship are also like illusions.”
Ananda, knowing their thoughts, said to them, “I say
that beings are like illusions and dreams; stream-entry,
once-returner, non-returner, arahantship, and even
Nirvana are like illusions and dreams.”
The heavenly beings said, “Venerable Ananda, are you
saying that the Dharma and Nirvana are also like
illusions and dreams?”
Ananda said, “O heavenly beings, if there were any
dharma higher than Nirvana, I would say that it too is
like an illusion and a dream. Heavenly beings, illusions,
dreams, and Nirvana are not two or different”.
We see in the passage above, when Ananda explains that
hearing and understanding are also like illusions, that no
one is surprised when he states that beings are like
illusions and dreams, that attainments are like illusions
and dreams, and even Nirvana is like illusions and dreams.
And yet, Ananda goes further by asserting that if there were
any dharma higher than Nirvana, it would also be like an
illusion and a dream.
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224
700 years later, Nāgārjuna also said, “There is no
difference between Saṃsāra and Nirvana.”
So, what is Nothingness after all? No one can answer
because we are trapped in language.
When Jayatilleke, in his book “Early Buddhist Theory of
Knowledge”, used the tetralemma (A is B, A is not B, A is
both B and not B, A is neither B nor not B) to try to answer
the question of what Nothingness is, he was off track from
the start.
This is how Thầy beautifully addressed the question of what
Nothingness is. In his book “Triết học về tánh Không”
(Philosophy of Nothingness), he uses language in such a
way that the reader must leave language to understand:
Nothingness is when a summer butterfly lands on a
flower, folds its wings, and sways with the wind of the
grass and forest flowers....
What a wonderful answer!
The following article, written by Professor Maria
Montenegro, explains this famous statement of Nāgārjuna
that “If one does not rely on conventional truth, one cannot
attain ultimate truth” (excerpted from the book “The Joy
of Living”, compiled by Tibetan Buddhist Most Venerable
Yongey Mingyur Rinpoche with Yale University graduate
Eric Swanson, Transworld Books, 2007).
Suppose in the dream you’re driving along when
suddenly another car smashes into you. The front of your
car is completely ruined and you’ve broken one of your
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225
legs. In the dream, your mood would probably shift
immediately from happiness to despair. Your car’s been
ruined, and your broken leg is causing tremendous pain.
You might even begin to cry in the dream, and when you
wake up your pillow might be wet with tears.
Now I’m going to ask a question, but not a difficult one.
Is the car in the dream real or not?
The answer, of course, is that it is not. No engineers
designed the car, and no factory built it. It isn’t made of
the various parts that constitute an actual car, or of the
molecules and atoms that make up each of the different
parts of a car. Yet, while dreaming, you experience the
car as something quite real. In fact, you relate to
everything in your dreams as real, and you respond to
your experiences with very real thoughts and emotions.
But, no matter how real your dream experiences may
seem, they can’t be said to exist inherently, can they?
When you wake up, the dream ceases and everything you
perceived in the dream dissolves into Emptiness: the
infinite possibility for anything to occur.
The Buddha taught that, in the same way, every form of
experience is an appearance arising from the infinite
possibility of Emptiness. As stated in the Heart Sūtra,
one of the most famous of the Buddha’s teachings:
Form is Emptiness.
Emptiness is form.
Emptiness is nothing other than form.
Form is nothing other than Emptiness.
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
226
In modern terms, you might say:
A dream car is a not-inherently-real car.
A not-inherently-real car is a dream car.
A dream car is nothing other than a not-inherently-real
car.
A not-inherently-real car is nothing other than a dream
car.
Of course, it may be argued that the things you
experience in waking life and the events you experience
in a dream can’t logically be compared. After all, when
you wake from a dream, you don’t really have a broken
leg or a wrecked car in the driveway. If you got into an
accident in waking life, though, you might find yourself
in the hospital and facing thousands of dollars’ worth of
damage to your car.
Nevertheless, the basis of your experience is the same in
dreams and in waking life: thoughts, feelings, and
sensations that vary according to changing conditions.
If you bear this comparison in mind, whatever you
experience in waking life begins to lose its power to
affect you. Thoughts are just thoughts. Feelings are just
feelings. Sensations are just sensations. They come and
go in waking life as quickly and easily as they do in
dreams.
Everything you experience is subject to change
according to changing conditions. If even a single
condition is changed, the form of your experience will
change. Without a dreamer, there would be no dream.
Without the mind of the dreamer, there would be no
dream. If the dreamer were not sleeping, there would be
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
227
no dream. All these circumstances have to come
together in order for a dream to occur.
Perhaps Most Venerable Zen Master Thích Nhất Hạnh
(1926-2022) was the first to translate “Śūnyatā” as
Emptiness, instead of Nothingness. He explained
(excerpted from “Awakening of the Heart: Essential
Buddhist Sūtras and Commentaries):
If I am holding a cup of water and I ask you, “Is this cup
empty?”, you will say, “No, it is full of water.” But if I
pour out the water and ask you again, you may say,
“Yes, it is empty.” But empty of what? Empty means
empty of something. The cup cannot be empty of nothing.
“Empty” doesn’t mean anything unless you know
“empty of what?” My cup is empty of water, but it is not
empty of air. To be empty is to be empty of something.
This is quite a discovery. When Avalokita (TN: also
known as heavenly king Lokeśvara) says that the five
skandhas (TN: form, feeling, perception, mental
formations or concept, and consciousness) are equally
empty, to help him be precise we must ask, “Mr.
Avalokita, empty of what?”
The five skandhas, which may be translated into English
as five heaps, or five aggregates, are the five elements
that comprise a human being. These five elements flow
like a river in every one of us. In fact, these are really
five rivers flowing together in us: the river of form,
which means our bodies; the river of feelings; the river
of perceptions; the river of mental formations; and the
river of consciousness. They are always flowing in us.
So according to Avalokita, when he looked deeply into
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228
the nature of these five rivers, he suddenly saw that all
five are empty.
If we ask, “Empty of what?” he has to answer. And this
is what he said: “They are empty of a separate self.”
That means none of these five rivers can exist by itself
alone. Each of the five rivers has to be made by the other
four. It has to coexist; it has to inter-be with all the
others…
Form is the wave and Emptiness is the water. To
understand this, we have to think differently than many
of us who were raised in the West were trained to think.
In the West, when we draw a circle, we consider it to be
zero, Nothingness. But in India and many other Asian
countries, a circle means totality, wholeness. The
meaning is the opposite. So “form is Emptiness, and
Emptiness is form” is like wave is water, water is wave.
“Form is not other than Emptiness, Emptiness is not
other than form. The same is true with feelings,
perceptions, mental formations, and consciousness,”
because these contain each other. Because one exists,
everything exists.
In the Vietnamese literary canon, there are two lines of
poetry by a twelfth-century Zen master 25 of the Lý
dynasty that say:
25 The poem 有空 (Hữu Không, Existence and Non-existence) by
Vietnamese Zen Master Từ Đạo Hạnh (1072-1116):
作有塵沙有
為空一切空
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
229
If the cosmos exists, then the smallest speck of dust
exists.
有空如水月
勿著有空空
Tác hữu trần sa hữu,
Vi không nhất thiết không.
Hữu, không như thuỷ nguyệt,
Vật trước hữu không không
If one sees that there is existence, then even dust and sand have
existence
If one sees that there is non-existence, then everything is non-
existent
Existence and non-existence are like the moon’s reflection in water
Do not cling to existence nor non-existence:
The first line suggests that when we perceive the world as real and
substantial, even the smallest and most insignificant things seem to
have a tangible existence.
The second line implies that when we adopt a nihilistic perspective
and see the world as illusory, then everything, including ourselves,
becomes void of substance.
The third line uses a metaphor to illustrate the inter-connection and
impermanence of existence and non-existence. Just as the moon’s
reflection in water is constantly changing, so too is our perception of
reality.
The final line warns against becoming attached to either the belief in
a solid, objective reality or the belief in the ultimate nothingness of all
things. It suggests that both perspectives are limiting and ultimately
unsatisfactory.
Translated into Vietnamese poem by Zen Master Huyền Quang
(1254-1334), the third patriarch of Trúc Lâm Zen sect:
Có thì có tự mảy may
Không thì cả thế gian này cũng không
Kìa xem bóng nguyệt lòng sông
Ai hay không có, có không là gì
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
230
If the smallest speck of dust doesn’t exist, then the whole
cosmos doesn’t exist.
The poet means that the notions of existence and
nonexistence are just created by our minds. He also said
that “the entire cosmos can be put on the tip of a hair,”
and “the sun and the moon can be seen in a mustard
seed.” These images show us that one contains
everything, and everything is just one.
Because form is Emptiness, form is possible. In form, we
find everything else – feelings, perceptions, mental
formations, and consciousness. “Emptiness” means
empty of a separate self. It is full of everything, full of
life.
In my view, Nothingness or Emptiness are different by
names only, as Nāgārjuna defines Nothingness in
Mādhyamaka Śāstra (Treatise on the Middle Way) as
“Nothing is arisen, nothing is not empty.”
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
231
5. Tác thi sự
作詩亊
自心自境自成章
自对悲欢亦自賞
他日顏回坐葬偶
蠶絲割断散蒼蒼
Tác thi sự
Tự tâm tự cảnh tự thành chương
Tự đối bi hoan diệc tự thưởng
Tha nhật Nhan Hồi tọa táng ngẫu
Tàm ty cát đoạn tán thương thương.
Việc làm thơ
Thơ từ tâm, cảnh mà sinh,
Tự mình thưởng thức, tự mình buồn vui.
Có yểu mệnh như Nhan Hồi,
Tơ tằm cắt vụn mây trôi khắp trời.
About poem writing
Poetry – an interaction of heart and environment;
Sad or happy, regardless, I enjoy writing them myself.
When I must leave this world suddenly, like Yan Hui 26
26 Yan Hui (513-481 BC) was one of the four outstanding disciples of
Confucius (the other three were Zengzi, Mengzi, and Confucius’ grandson,
Zisi).
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
232
I would shred and scatter these silk threads amidst the
sky.
Explanation
Yan Hui died very young, at the age of 32. However, there
are also many documents stating that he was born in 521
BC, so he died at the age of 40, which could also be
considered a young death.
Thầy wrote this article while imprisoned for the first time
(1978-1981). Thầy was born in 1945, so at that time, he
was about 33-36 years old.
In the third verse, he compares himself to Yan Hui because
Yan Hui was a talented scholar but died young. Perhaps at
that time, he thought he would be killed in the re-education
camp.
I haven’t found any documents stating that Yan Hui died
sitting down, so in this verse, “
坐葬
’” (sitting burial) can
only mean Thầy is implying that he himself would do so if
he died young like Yan Hui, because in Zen history, there
are many enlightened people who died sitting.
For example, Pang Yun (740-808), who was compared to
Vimalakīrti in his lifetime. He was an outstanding disciple
of Shitou Xiqian and Mazu Daoyi. When he prepared to
pass away, he told his daughter Lingzhao to check if the
Once, Confucius asked his disciples about their goals in studying. Yan Hui
replied: “I want to teach the people the rules of propriety and music, so that
there will be no war, no worries about war, no widows, and swords can be
turned into farming tools and livestock can be used in the fields.”
Confucius praised: “Your virtue is truly admirable.”
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
233
midday sun had passed overhead. She went to check and
told her father that there was a solar eclipse. Believing it
to be true, he left his seat to check, and his daughter sat in
his place and passed away, to which he said, “Oh that girl!
She was always ahead of me”. He had to wait another 7
days before passing away. His wife reported the news to
their son who was in the fields, and he leaned on his hoe
and passed away. Seeing this, his mother silently sat down
and passed away too. The whole family attained
enlightenment.
This is a very special point of Buddhism: not only monks
can attain enlightenment. Laypeople who attained
enlightenment while the Buddha was still alive include
Vimalakīrti (see page 213) and Śrīmālā Siṃhanāda (see
page 469), and later there were the Sixth Patriarch
Huineng (see page 343), Pang Yun, and Tuệ Trung Thượng
Sĩ (see pages 242 and 271) and many others.
In the last verse, Thầy wants to shred and scatter these silk
threads amidst the sky. Silk thread is drawn from the gut of
a silkworm. So, I believe the silk thread here is Thầy’s
poetry.
Silk thread can be cut into pieces, but how can poetry be
cut?
Please note that this is poetry, not a poem that has been
printed on paper. Thầy wants to cut his poetry into pieces
and scatter it across the blue sky, not cut up paper.
How can one cut poetry into pieces and scatter it across
the blue sky?
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
234
Let’s recall his will: “Cremate my physical body. Scatter
the ashes of my physical body into the Pacific Ocean so
that they can dissolve with the sea and become clouds in
the sky, wandering throughout the vast expanse of
Nothingness.”
He wrote this line when he was about 35 years old:
蠶絲割断散蒼蒼
Tàm ty cát đoạn tán thương thương
I would shred and scatter these silk threads amidst the sky.
Unexpectedly, he still remembered it 45 years later!
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
235
6. Thạch bích
石壁
石壁峥嶸遮暮雲
籠中難見日西沈
幽人空対幽光裏
千古文章千地心
Thạch bích
Thạch bích tranh vanh già mộ vân
Lung trung nan kiến nhật tây trầm
U nhân không đối u quang lý
Thiên cổ văn chương thiên địa tâm.
Vách đá
Trong lồng khó thấy mặt trời lặn
Mây chiều núp vách đá chênh vênh
Tù nhân u uẩn trong tù tối,
Từ cổ văn chương gốc từ tâm.
Note: Tôi đổi thứ tự hai câu đầu.
Stone walls
Towering stone walls, a stark barrier against the blushed
evening clouds,
Inside the cage, the sun’s setting was veiled from sight.
A somber prisoner, facing the prison’s cold embrace,
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
236
Ancient literature, from thousands of years ago, has
always captured the heart of heaven and earth.
Explanation
In this poem, in the penultimate line, Thầy repeats the word
“
幽
” (u, dark) twice and, symmetrically, in the last line, he
also repeats the word “
千
” (thiên, thousand as in
千古
and
heaven as in
千地
) twice. This repetition is important in
Chinese poetry, as it creates a certain rhythm and
emphasis.
幽人空対幽光裏
千古文章千地心
U nhân không đối u quang lý
Thiên cổ văn chương thiên địa tâm
I try to maintain this repetitive rhythm in my Vietnamese
translation:
Tù nhân u uẩn trong tù tối,
Từ cổ văn chương gốc từ tâm.
A somber prisoner, facing the prison’s cold embrace,
Ancient literature, from thousands of years ago, has always
captured the heart of heaven and earth.
I wish our great poet Nguyễn Du could return to life to
commend Thầy’s these two lines. During his diplomatic
mission to China, Nguyễn Du visited Du Fu‘s 27 tomb and
27 Du Fu (712-770) was a Chinese poet and politician during the Tang
dynasty. Together with his elder contemporary and friend Li Bai (701-
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
237
composed a poem whose opening line echoes these two
lines of Thầy’s work.
天古文章天古師
平生佩服未常離
耒陽松柏不知處
秋浦魚龍有所思
異代相憐空灑淚
一窮至此豈工詩
掉頭舊症醫痊未
地下無令鬼輩嗤
Thiên cổ văn chương thiên cổ si,
Bình sinh bội phục vị thường ly
Lỗi Dương tùng bách bất tri xứ,
Thu phố ngư long hữu sở ti.
Dị đại tương liên không sái lệ,
Nhất cùng chí thử khởi công thi
Trạo đầu cựu chứng y thuyên vị?
Địa hạ vô linh quỷ bối xi
Your literature has been passed down through the ages
because you are a master of all ages.
All my life, I have admired you immensely and never left
your poetry.
The pine and cypress trees of Luoyang are now nowhere to
be found (because Du Fu‘s tomb was originally buried in
762), they were two of the most prominent figures in the flourishing
of Chinese poetry under the Tang dynasty, and are considered the
greatest Chinese poet duo. He is called 詩聖 (Shisheng, Thi Thánh,
Poet Saint) and Li Bai is called 詩仙 (Shixian, Thi Tiên, Poet God)
by Chinese critics.
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
238
Luoyang County, Hebei Province, but when Nguyễn Du
visited, the tomb had been moved to Henan).
Even in the midst of autumn, there is still a place for fish
and dragons to remember each other (meaning although I
cannot see Du Fu‘s tomb, I still have a place to remember
him).
Living in different times, we can only express our affection
through tears.
You suffered so much in your life simply because your
poetry was so good.
Has your old habit of shaking your head been cured? (In
his old age, Du Fu was deaf, so he would shake his head
whenever anyone asked him something),
Don’t let the underground ghosts laugh at you.
The first line of the above poem by Nguyễn Du uses these
four words
天古文章 (
Thiên cổ văn chương, Ancient
literature) from Du Fu‘s poem, titled
感作 (
Cảm tác,
Susceptibility), so perhaps he wants to refer to the
following poem:
感作
文章千古事
得失寸心知
作者皆殊列
聲名豈浪垂
Cảm tác
Văn chương thiên cổ sự,
Đắc thất thốn tâm tri.
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
239
Tác giả giai thù liệt,
Thanh danh khởi lãng thùy.
Susceptibility
Literature is a matter of being passed down for eternity,
Success or failure, only one’s heart knows.
Each author has their own rank,
Reputation begins from the tip of the wave.
Below is my Vietnamese translation of this poem:
Văn chương: chuyện của muôn đời
Dở hay tự biết riêng nơi đáy lòng
Mỗi tác giả, một văn phong
Thanh danh: đầu sóng nơi dòng sông sâu.
The last line,
聲名豈浪垂 (
Reputation begins from the tip
of the wave) is a metaphor that suggests the fragility of a
writer’s reputation. It implies that a single mistake or
misstep can have a significant impact on the writer’s
career.
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
240
7. Triết nhân tưởng
哲人想
哲人遯世隐嚴中
我也逃生坐底籠
籠裏煙花無路処
巖前依旧水浮空
Triết nhân tưởng
Triết nhân độn thế ẩn nham trung
Ngã dã đào sinh tọa để lung
Lung lý yên hoa vô lộ xứ
Nham tiền y cựu thủy phù không.
Suy nghĩ của triết gia
Triết gia hốc đá ẩn tu,
Còn ta ẩn chốn lao tù không ra.
Trong tù không khói, không hoa,
Trước hang, dòng nước vẫn sa lưng trời.
A philosopher’s pondering
Philosophers seek solace from life in grottoes,
I, too, flee from life by sitting at the bottom of a cage,
No scattering smoke, nor sprinkled flowers,
Just the rhythmic drip of water, in front of the stone cave.
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
241
Explanation
This quatrain expresses a sense of deep isolation and
confinement. The imagery of the philosopher withdrawing
to a secluded place contrasts with Thầy’s more restrictive
confinement in a cage. The final two lines evoke a sense of
Nothingness of Zen Buddhism.
These 18 poems in this volume “Ngục trung mị ngữ”
(Somniloquies in prison) are taken from the book of the
same name, published by Quảng Hương Tùng thư in 1988.
They are the handwritten poems that Thầy secretly brought
out of prison. Later, he revealed that he had written and
sent out 50 poems, but unfortunately 32 of them were lost.
In this book, this poem only has the Vietnamese phonetic
transcription and lacks the original Chinese characters. It
seems that this part has been lost. Based on the Vietnamese
phonetic transcription provided by Thầy, I transcribe it
into Chinese characters. If there’re any errors, I would be
grateful for any corrections from my readers.
At the age of 26, Thầy analyzed Western philosophical
views on the Buddhist doctrine of Nothingness in his
research paper “Sự hủy diệt của một trào lưu tư tường”
(The destruction of a philosophical trend), published in the
journal “Tư tưởng” (Thoughts) of Vạn Hạnh University in
1971, stating:
Since Europeans began studying Buddhism with
scientific and rigorous methods in the early 20th
century, after a hundred years, they have expressed
bewilderment and disappointment with a subject of
study that seems neither philosophy nor religion.
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
242
Despite expressing their deep sympathy, like Fyodor
Stcherbatsky (TN: 1866-1942, a Russian Indologist who
was responsible for laying the foundations in the
Western world for the study of Buddhism), or
maintaining the rigorous objectivity of a scholar, their
conclusions are truly heartbreaking.
Louis de la Vallée-Poussin, a French scholar, facing the
strange theories of Mādhyamaka (Middle Way),
regardless of violations of the law of non-contradiction
or the law of excluded middle, said in his 1917 work
“The Way to Nirvana”: “We are disappointed”. In
1927, Stcherbatsky responding to Poussin’s
interpretation of Nirvana from the Mādhyamaka
perspective, also began his work with the words:
“Although a hundred years have passed since the
scientific study of Buddhism began in Europe, we are
still in the dark about the fundamental doctrines of this
religion and its philosophy”.
Most Venerable Nguyên Siêu, in his essay “Tuệ Sỹ - Thơ
và con đường Trung đạo” (Tuệ Sỹ, Poetry, and the Middle
Path), asserts that the Middle Way doctrine is an essential
method to save one’s homeland and people, as follows:
In the past, Tuệ Trung Thượng Sĩ 28, while living an
ordinary life in the secular world with an appearance
28 Tuệ Trung (1230-1291), birth name Trần Tung, was a prominent
figure in Vietnamese history. Alongside his younger brother Hưng
Đạo Vương, he led the Vietnamese forces in two successful
campaigns against the Mongol invasions. After the wars, he retired
from official duties and became a follower of the Zen Master Tiêu
Dao, though he did not become a monk.
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
243
like everyone else, possessed a transcendent Zen mind.
His heart was unattached to worldly dust, calm and at
ease, as carefree as clouds in the sky, without
distinctions or grievances.
The path of cultivation is the journey from the ordinary
to the sacred. One’s mind should not be biased towards
the sacred or the ordinary but should stride freely along
the Middle Way, avoiding attachment at the end of
enlightenment. Tuệ Trung entered the world to elevate
the lives of his people and nation. He walked the path of
self-existence, independence, and firmly maintained the
connection between the Way and the world. He did not
leave his homeland because of a desire for cultivation,
nor did he neglect cultivation and liberation due to the
afflictions of his country. He opened up a vast and
mysterious horizon of living for the sake of values: “The
Ordinary Mind is the Way” or “The Profound is
Simultaneously Profound.” This is the fragrance of a
lotus flower burning brightly in a red furnace.
The following verses demonstrate Tuệ Trung’s rejection of
attachment to concepts:
“Sắc tức thị không, không tức thị sắc”
Tam thế Như Lai phương tiện lực
Không bổn vô sắc, sắc vô không
Thể tính minh minh phi thất đắc.
“Form is Nothingness, Nothingness is form”
The Buddhas throughout the three cosmic ages made it up as
strategically skillful means
Originally, Nothingness is formless, form is nothingless
The nature is clear and bright, neither gained nor lost.
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
244
Tuệ Trung emphasized serving sentient beings in his
own homeland. He fully entered the world, bringing the
aspirations of a scholar to pacify the nation and save the
world, dedicating all his efforts to serving the country
and its mountains and rivers, and using Zen to transcend
ordinary minds. He was deeply imbued with the true
reality while living in the world of conventional reality,
transcending the world while living in the world.
Therefore, every place is the Buddha-land, and the path
of the Bodhisattva is the path of conduct.
No true Zen master, seeing their homeland and people
in suffering, would fail to lend a helping hand or to live
and die for their ancestors. The Middle Path is the
philosophy of self-liberation and liberating others, of
self-awakening and awakening others. It is a miraculous
path initiated with a heart dedicated to protecting the
country and ensuring peace for the people.
Most Venerable Khuông Việt expanded the Middle Way
to save the nation. He put aside his robes and bowl to
become an old ferryman, welcoming envoys from China.
Relying on this opportunity, he turned misfortune into
good fortune and defeat into victory, bringing peace and
prosperity to the country. Perhaps this is the practice in
the midst of suffering and enlightenment in one’s
homeland, the miraculous nature of the Middle Way,
and the unimpeded nature of reason and reality.
Under Tuệ Trung‘s guidance, his nephew King Trần Nhân
Tông abdicated the throne to enter the monastic life,
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
245
practicing the rigorous 12 dhūtaguṇas austerities 29, and
later became the first patriarch of the Vietnamese Zen sect
Trúc Lâm.
In the history of Zen, there are three lay people whose
dialogues, verses, and poems are considered Buddhist
scriptures. They are Indian Vimalakīrti, Chinese Pang Yun
and Vietnamese Tuệ Trung Thượng Sĩ.
29 The 12 dhūtaguṇas austerities are
(1) eating only almsfood,
(2) wearing only three robes,
(3) not receiving food after eating,
(4) not lying down, even in sleeping,
(5) sleeping in accordance,
(6) living at the root of a tree,
(7) not re-sitting down to eat,
(8) living in an empty space,
(9) living in a forest,
(10) living in a graveyard,
(11) wearing robes made from discarded materials only,
(12) only wearing felt garments.
Mahākāśyapa was the first Buddha’s disciple to practice the 12
dhūtaguṇas austerities.
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
246
8. Ẩn giả tưởng
隱者想
小隱高山非可奇
大居鬧市也兮希
絕塵籠裏真甚事
無物無人無所為
Ẩn giả tưởng
Tiểu ẩn cao sơn phi khả kỳ
Đại cư náo thị dã hề hy
Tuyệt trần lung lý chân thậm sự
Vô vật vô nhân vô sở vi.
Nghĩ về kẻ ở ẩn
Tiểu ẩn núi cao, chưa là lạ
Đại ẩn chợ đông, vẫn thường tình
Tuyệt trần là chốn ngục hình
Không vật, không mình, không vướng mắc chi.
About the recluse
Secluding oneself in the forest is too easy;
Secluding oneself in the markets is ordinary;
Complete seclusion from the world is in prison,
Nothing arises, nothing is not empty.
Explanation
The words
小隱
(tiểu ẩn ) and
大居
(đại ẩn) in the first two
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
247
lines come from these two lines of the poem
反思隱詩
(Phản chiêu ẩn thi), written by
王康居
(Vương Khang Cư),
who lived in the politically fragmented Eastern Jin dynasty.
小隱隱陵藪
大隱隱朝市
Tiểu ẩn ẩn lăng tẩu
Đại ẩn ẩn triều thị
Ordinary people hide in the wild mountains
Great hermits hide in the royal court or the marketplace
In the third line,
絕塵
(tuyệt trần) has two meanings:
(1) transcendence, to transcend the mortal world,
(2) perfection, the best, most beautiful in the mortal world,
showing that even in prison, Thầy did not lose his sense of
humor.
In the last line, I use a statement from Nāgārjuna‘s
Mādhyamaka Śāstra (Treatise on the Middle Way):
“Nothing arises, nothing is not empty.”
In the Mādhyamaka Śāstra, Nāgārjuna presented the
theory of the Eight Negations that Kumārajīva (344-413)
translated to Chinese as:
不生亦不滅; 不常亦不斷; 不一亦不異; 不來亦不出
Neither born nor died; Neither eternal nor temporary;
Neither one nor different; Neither coming nor going.
According to his student Phẻ Xuân Bạch, Thầy Tuệ Sỹ said
he did not understand why Kumārajīva, when translating
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
248
into Chinese, inverted the text, differing from the original
Sanskrit meaning. Could it be that he intentionally
translated in such a way for the Chinese people to
understand more easily, or perhaps he didn’t understand
the doctrine of Dependent Origination as propounded by
Nāgārjuna, thus causing a distortion of the entire
Mādhyamaka philosophy?
The original Sanskrit text is as follows: anirodham
anutpādam; anucchedam aśāśvataṃ; anekārtham
anānārtham; anāgamam anirgamaṃ
Neither ceasing nor arising; Neither annihilation nor
eternal; Neither one nor many; Neither coming nor going.
From this standpoint, Nāgārjuna raised his argument to a
higher level by affirming “There is no difference between
Saṃsāra and Nirvana”.
Thầy Tuệ Sỹ, in his book Philosophy on Nothingness, writes
about Nāgārjuna as follows:
Great geniuses all appear in a state of fury. Heraclitus,
in the dawn of Greece, with fury like raging flames,
wanted to kick Homer out of the common games because
Homer prayed for the cessation of discord between the
gods and mankind. Zarathustra descended from the
mountain, along with the appearance of the Superman,
after being furious with the sun. The worms sleep all
winter, waiting for the first thunders of the beginning of
spring. But, “once born, they want to live and then
endure death, or to seek rest. And they leave behind
descendants to share the same fate” (Heraclitus). The
worms only turn in their eternal sleep, and must wait
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
249
until the grass cracks after the thunders and rains of the
beginning of spring before rising to “the time of
profound interconnectedness and cosmic harmony”.
This is according to I-Ching’s Thunder-Water
Hexagram (TN: This is I-Ching Hexagram No. 40, out
of 64 hexagrams: Liberation): “Thunder and rain are a
way for nature to release built-up tension and restore
balance. After the cleansing process, nature rejuvenates
and new life emerges. It is the time of profound
interconnectedness and cosmic harmony”.
Nāgārjuna appeared like a fierce elephant in the
tradition of Buddhist and Indian philosophy. At that
time, for Indian philosophers, Nāgārjuna was ranked
among the most outstanding Buddhist thinkers. But even
within this rank, Nāgārjuna was revered as a terrible
destroyer. The first person to be afraid was probably his
senior disciple, Aryadeva. Even in the name, there is a
contradiction. The name Nāgārjuna refers to a fierce
serpent. Because Naga means a fierce serpent. But
Aryadeva implies a holy angel. These two teachers, a
dinosaur and an angel, are perhaps two folds of thought:
mysterious but real? Many legends have been created to
prove that there have been many miracles to reduce
Nāgārjuna’s arrogance, when he decided to leave the
mountains, the forests, and the mainland to live in the
sea with the serpents. Thus, people had enough reason
to confirm that he was indeed a mainstream Buddhist
thinker - because mainstream also implies obedience,
when he followed the advice of the serpent king and
returned to the mainland. He was indeed a mainstream
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
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Buddhist thinker, although his behavior sometimes
seemed arrogant...
If there is absolutely Nothingness, then there is no birth
and death. If so, what is cessation and what is
annihilation that is called Nirvana? Only the
conditioned arising, that is, the nature of Nothingness,
can express a notion of Nirvana without confining
Nirvana to any definition, as the Middle Way continues:
“There is neither enlightenment nor attainment, neither
cessation nor permanence, neither birth nor
annihilation. That is Nirvana” ...
Nothingness is a form of negation, but its meaning, as
we have seen above, is very special. It is not only related
to the language used to negate, but also to the object of
negation...
This issue was raised by Nāgārjuna himself in the
Vigrahavyāvartanī (TN: translated into English by
Professor Jan Westerhoff as The Dispeller of Disputes,
published by Oxford University in 2010) as follows: “If
things do not have inherent existence, language will
have no object to negate. If there is no existence as an
object that language can negate, then there is no
negation”. This verse means that the premise “All things
are nothing” is not intended to negate anything, because
everything should not have an object to negate. Such
negation is no different from saying: fire is not cold;
water is not hard. Although these propositions are true,
they do not interfere with the obvious fact. That is, even
if the Mādhyamaka premise is established correctly, it is
redundant.
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
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9. Lãn tiên xứ
懒仙處
神仙到此煉金丹
無酒無花丹不成
推却紅炉我睡罢
此身非有豈曾生
Lãn tiên xứ
Thần tiên đáo thử luyện kim đan
Vô tửu vô hoa đan bất thành
Suy khước hồng lô ngã thụy bãi
Thử thân phi hữu khởi tằng sanh.
Xứ tiên lười
Thần tiên đến luyện kim đan
Thiếu hoa, thiếu rượu, khóc than không thành
Đập lò, ta ngủ yên lành
Thân còn không có, trường sanh chỗ nào?
Land of lazy fairies
Fairies came here to concoct cinnabar.
Elixir failed to form due to missing wine and flowers.
I kicked over their cauldron and peacefully went to sleep.
If even our bodies are impermanent, what can truly be
considered eternal?
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Explanation
Thầy named the poem “Lãn tiên xứ” (Land of lazy fairies).
Why did he call those who dream of finding the elixir of
immortality lazy? Because they refuse to cultivate
themselves to attain liberation. This path is not easy, but
they seek a shortcut through the elixir of immortality.
Eternal life, or in other words, escaping the realm of death,
has always been a human desire. In the book “Huyền thoại
Duy-ma-cật (Legends of Vimalakīrti), Thầy writes:
What is the end? All conditioned phenomena are subject
to decline, decay, and exhaustion. Either their lifespan
is exhausted, or their good fortune is exhausted, like
certain deities who, due to such exhaustion, die there
and are reborn here. Or a monk keeps practicing until
he has completely eliminated all defilements and
impurities, becoming pure, mentally liberated, and
wisdom-liberated, right in this life through victorious
wisdom, self-realization, and abiding. In short, to attain
the realm of formless Nirvana, a monk must exhaust all
craving and aversion. Such a Dharma is said to be
supreme among all conditioned and unconditioned
Dharmas. This is the conventional meaning of end and
endlessness.
According to this, when Vimalakīrti was asked by Manjusri
“How should a Bodhisattva view the world?”, he replied:
“A Bodhisattva views the world like a magician views an
illusion or a phantom that he has created. Both Shravakas
(TN: a follower of Hīnayāna who strives to attain the level
of an Arhat) and Bodhisattvas start from such a
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conventional world. Because this world is merely an
illusion, not real, Bodhisattvas seek something that is truly
real and not false. Such a starting point is to reject the
existing world before their eyes. Like someone searching
for the core of a tree, peeling off the outer layers until they
find what is the solid core of the tree”.
That is a cold, detached view of the world and human life.
Because, every phenomenon in this world, while having the
sweetness of form, also has the affliction of form.
Therefore, the Buddha taught: Know this body as a bubble,
all phenomena as a mirage, as an illusion; whoever
understands this clearly, escapes the realm of death.
Also in this book, when Śāriputra asked Vimalakīrti where
he had died and been reborn, Vimalakīrti countered by
asking if the Dharma that Śāriputra had realized could die
and be reborn. Vimalakīrti explained that “death is the
cessation of actions, and birth is the continuation of
actions”. Thầy Tuệ Sỹ explained that this affirms that life
and death are like waves on an ocean. However,
Vimalakīrti’s answer also implies a unity between the two
worlds, despite their apparent differences in space and
time.
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
254
10. Dạ tọa
夜坐
逐日牢囚亊更茫
中霄独坐对寒灯
空門天遠犹懁夢
歸路無期任轉蓬
Dạ tọa
Trục nhật lao tù sự cánh mang
Trung tiêu độc tọa đối hàn đăng
Không môn thiên viễn do hoài mộng
Quy lộ vô kỳ nhiệm chuyển bồng
Ngồi đêm
Ngày tù dài, công chuyện nhiều
Đêm lo không ngủ liêu xiêu ánh đèn
Mái chùa, hồn nước, tối đen
Đường về vô hạn, lòng thêm rối bời
Midnight sitting
Days in prison are long, work is endless,
I sat still at midnight, under the cold light.
Thinking back to my distant pagoda,
Confusion gnawed at me, with no way back in sight.
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
255
Explanation
To understand what worried Thầy Tuệ Sỹ enough to cause
him sleepless nights while imprisoned, one only needs to
look at his relentless efforts before and after his
imprisonment.
Following the 1975 event, he oversaw the educational
programs at the Hải Đức Buddhist Institute in Nha Trang
until its forced closure in 1977, when he returned to
Saigon.
In 1978, he was arrested for illegal residence and sent to
re-education camp (a disguised form of prison) until 1981.
From 1981 to 1984, he taught at Quảng Hương Già Lam
monastery school in Saigon.
Most Venerable Nguyên Siêu, in “Thượng tọa Tuệ Sỹ, Trí
Siêu, những thiên tài lỗi lạc” (Most Venerables Tuệ Sỹ and
Trí Siêu, outstanding geniuses), recounts this period:
There were many sleepless nights for the entire
monastery as the police would conduct identity checks
at one or two o’clock in the morning, forcing the
monastic students to hide in the attic.
On April 1, 1984, he was arrested along with Venerable Trí
Siêu Lê Mạnh Thát and 17 other monks, nuns, and lay
people. While the Hanoi government claimed the
Venerables were plotting a coup, the primary reason for
their persecution was their opposition to the dissolution of
the Unified Buddhist Church of Vietnam. In a trial held in
September 1988, both Venerables were sentenced to death.
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
256
However, due to widespread international condemnation
and advocacy from Western governments and human
rights organizations, Hanoi commuted their sentences to
20 years of hard labor. Venerable Thích Tuệ Sỹ was
subsequently transferred to Ba Sao prison in Nam Hà
province, located in the northernmost part of Vietnam.
On August 21, 1998, the police persuaded him to sign a
plea for pardon. “As I do not recognize the legitimacy of
this trial, you have no right to judge me”, responded the
Venerable, “As you have no right to detain me, you have
no right to pardon me”. Threatened with life imprisonment,
he embarked on a hunger strike. He was released after a
10-day hunger strike, including the last 7 days of complete
fasting.
In a state of near-death due to his 7-day complete fasting,
during the next 36 straight hours on a train returning from
Ba Sao prison, he fainted multiple times and had to be
taken off at Nha Trang station. He temporarily stayed at
the Hải Đức Buddhist Institute but was soon ordered by the
police to return to Saigon. He responded, “Either I am free
to go wherever I want, or I will go back to prison. You
cannot release me from a small prison only to put me in a
larger prison, which is this whole country”.
In April 1999, he accepted the position of General
Secretary of the Institute of Dharma Propagation of the
Unified Buddhist Church of Vietnam.
On May 12, 2019, at Từ Hiếu Pagoda in Saigon, Most
Venerable Thích Quảng Độ issued a decree nominating
Most Venerable Thích Tuệ Sỹ to succeed him as the head
of the Sangha Council. However, Most Venerable Tuệ Sỹ,
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
257
prioritizing transparency and unity within the Church,
requested to assume the position temporarily, paving the
way for a formal election of the new Sixth Patriarch.
After the passing of Most Venerable Quảng Độ in February
2020, he was entrusted with the position of Acting Head of
the Sangha Council. In this role, he and other monks of the
Church tried to fight for religious freedom in Vietnam,
particularly the right to revive the Unified Buddhist
Church of Vietnam, but to no avail.
In 2015, he was diagnosed with prostate cancer that had
metastasized to his bones, entering the final stage.
Conventional treatments, like surgery, radiation, and
chemotherapy, were no longer viable. Dr. Lê Việt Hùng
predicted he had only months to live if he did not seek
treatment abroad. Initially, understanding the natural
cycle of life, aging, and illness, he accepted his fate. Yet,
after a tempestuous inner debate, he recognized the value
of his knowledge in translating Buddhist sutras into
Vietnamese. He ultimately decided to pursue treatment in
Japan. On December 12, 2019, he was admitted to the
Fujita Health University Hospital in Nagoya. However, in
July 2020, Dr. Takahara delivered the disheartening news
that all treatment options had been exhausted. He returned
to Vietnam on November 5, 2020. (Summarized from the
article “Chiến binh Tuệ Sỹ” (The Warrior Tuệ Sỹ) by his
disciple Quảng Diệu Trần Bảo Toàn)
Knowing that his time was limited due to his prostate
cancer, he devoted himself to translating Buddhist
scriptures, editing works, and organizing a catalog for the
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
258
translation project of the Tripitaka according to
international academic standards.
In November 2021, at the first congress of the Dharma
Propagation Council, he decided to establish the Tripitaka
Translation Council. He served as its chairman, with
Professor Trí Siêu Lê Mạnh Thát as an advisor, Most
Venerable Thích Như Điển (Hannover, Germany) as the
chief secretary, and Most Venerables Thích Nguyên Siêu
(San Diego, USA) and Thích Thái Hòa (Vietnam) as deputy
secretaries. In early 2023, the council released 29 volumes
of the Tripitaka. It should be noted that the number of his
works exceeds these 29 volumes, but some were not
included in the Tripitaka because they fall outside the
scope of the Hīnayāna.
Wikipedia 30 writes about Thầy’s version of the Vimalakīrti
Sūtra: “Among the Vietnamese translations, the version by
Most Venerable Thích Tuệ Sỹ is the most accurate. Most
Venerable Thích Tuệ Sỹ translated from the Kumārajīva
version; but, for accuracy, he compared it with the Sanskrit
version and two other Chinese versions, as well as the
commentaries of Chinese monks Kuiji (
窺基
), Sengzhao
(
僧肇
), Jizang (
吉藏
), etc....”.
30 “Duy-ma-cật sở thuyết kinh.” Wikipedia, Wikimedia Foundation,
8 October 2024
https://vi.wikipedia.org/wiki/Duy-ma-cật_sở_thuyết_ kinh
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11. Mộng
夢
夜残蝴夢叩禅扃
両両松梢笑我逞
擬坐綠苔翻貝葉
空留枯樹対空庭
Mộng
Dạ tàn hồ mộng khấu thiền quynh
Lưỡng lưỡng tùng sao tiếu ngã trình
Nghỉ tọa lục đài phiên bối diệp
Không lưu khô thọ đối không đình.
Mộng
Đêm tàn, mộng tưởng về chùa,
Hai cội tùng bách cười đùa cùng ta.
Ngồi trên phiến đá rêu già,
Lật chiếc lá bối để mà đọc kinh,
Ơ kìa, chùa sao vắng tanh
Cây khô lạc lõng sân đình hoang vu
Daydream
At night’s end, I dreamt of returning to my pagoda,
Wishing the twin pines would laugh at my journey,
I’d sit on a green moss-covered rock, to read scriptures on
talipot palms.
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
260
But there were only dead trees on the deserted pagoda
grounds.
Explanation
The word
貝葉 (
bối diệp, lá bối) in the third line of the
poem refers to the talipot palm. The talipot palm tree has
the Latin scientific name Corypha umbraculifera.
Historically, the leaves were written upon in various South
and South-East Asian cultures, including India, to create
palm leaf manuscripts. When Buddhism was introduced to
China, scriptures were also written on talipot palms, so the
term “talipot palm” also came to mean Buddhist
scriptures.
Before April 30th, 1975, there was a publishing house in
South Vietnam called “Lá Bối” that published many
valuable books. For example, in terms of research books,
there were “Thiền học Việt Nam” (Vietnamese Zen studies)
published in 1966 by professor Nguyễn Đăng Thục and
“Xứ trầm hương” (The land of Agarwood) in 1973 by
Quách Tấn; In terms of translated works, there were “War
and peace” in 1970 by scholar Nguyễn Hiến Lê and “Vô
Môn Quan” (The Wumen Guan) in 1972 by professor Trần
Tuấn Mẫn; In terms of fiction, there were “Hương rừng Cà
Mau” (The Scent of the Cà Mau forest) in 1967 by Sơn Nam
and “Đoạn đường chiến binh” (The Soldier’s journey) in
1971 by Thế Uyên.
The term “lá bối” is used in “The Tale of Kiều” when
Nguyễn Du described Kiều’s situation while studying at
Chiêu Ân shrine with nun Giác Duyên:
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Sớm khuya lá bối phiến mây,
Ngọn đèn khêu nguyệt, tiếng chày nện sương.
Handle palm leaves, fly banners in the clouds 31,
Light lamps at moonrise, ring the bell at dawn.
(translated by Professor Huỳnh Sanh Thông in The Tale
of Kiều)
The word “phiến mây” is often mistakenly written as
“phướn mây”. Venerable Nun Thích Nữ Trí Hải 32, in her
31 When translating as “fly banners in the clouds”, Professor Huỳnh
Sanh Thông translated the words “phướn mây”, not “phiến mây”, as
Venerable Nun Thích Nữ Trí Hải correctly explained in her essay
“The Tale of Kiều and Buddhism” as above.
32 Venerable Nun Thích Nữ Trí Hải was the former Director of the
Vạn Hạnh University Library (1968-1975) and Deputy Director of the
Vietnam Institute for Buddhist Studies (1983-2003). To enroll in this
institute, students must successfully complete an exam that includes
Marxist-Leninist philosophy.
When the Nun died in a tragic traffic accident in 2003, Thầy Tuệ Sỹ
wrote a very moving eulogy as follows:
Cánh chim đã vượt qua vũng lầy sinh tử
Bóng nắng rọi lên dòng huyễn hóa
Thân theo tro tàn bay
Hoa trắng vỡ trên đại dương sóng cả
Sao trời chợt tắt giữa lòng tay
Sương còn đọng trên đầu cây lá
Đến rồi đi nước lửng vơi đầy
Heo hút bờ hoang ảnh giả
Người sống mỏi mòn trong nhớ tiếc không khuây.
The bird has flown beyond the mud of life and death
Sunlight shines on the illusory stream
The body follows the ashes, flying away
White flowers shatter on the stormy ocean
The stars suddenly go out in the palm of the hand
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essay “The Tale of Kiều and Buddhism” in the book “Đạo
và Thơ” (Dharma and Poetry), analyzed:
The two words “phiến mây” are often mistakenly
written as “phướn mây”. “Phướn” is explained as a
banner hanging in a Buddhist temple, while “mây”
(cloud) is not explained. In fact, “phiến mây” is correct.
As we know, Kiều at that time was a novice nun in a
temple. The work of a novice nun at night was to go to
the temple to strike the wooden block (often
accompanied by a drum) to wake up the others and ring
the great bell. The order of work of a novice nun is fully
described in the above poem: during the day (morning),
she copied scriptures on talipot leaves 33, at night she
woke up to strike the wooden fish (a wooden board made
of jackfruit wood, often carved with the image of a fish
symbolizing wakefulness, because fish sleep very little)
as a signal to wake up; next, she lit the and then rang
the great bell. No one would fiddle with the banners at
that time! Therefore, “phiến mây” can only be the
Yet, dew still lingers on the leaves
Coming and going, the water level rises and falls
The desolate shore is empty and illusory
The living are weary in their endless longing and sorrow.
33 As I explained above, “lá bối” has two meanings: (1) the leaf of the
talipot palm tree, which was used by Indians in ancient times to write
scriptures, and (2) Buddhist scriptures. In the verse “sớm khuya lá bối
phiến mây”, Venerable Nun Trí Hải thought that Kiều copied
scriptures onto talipot leaves, but if we understand “lá bối” as
Buddhist scriptures, then it means that Kiều chanted Buddhist
scriptures.
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
263
wooden fish, which is struck to wake everyone up in the
middle of the night.
The word “mây” (cloud) is derived from the preface of
the Kṣitigarbha Sūtra and many other sūtras.
Bodhisattvas gather as numerous as clouds, so there is
the word “vân tập” (cloud gathering) in Buddhist
scriptures. The wooden board is often called “ngọc
bảng” (jade board, referring to the bell and board in the
temple). When used to signal in the dining room, it is
called “phạn bảng” (food board), in the bathroom, it is
called “thủy bảng” (water board), and when hung in the
main hall to summon the sangha, it is called “vân bảng”
(cloud board). The word “phiến mây” originates from
this “vân bảng”.
Below is a delightful poetic exchange that involves Thầy
Tuệ Sỹ, poet Bùi Giáng and Nun Trí Hải.
Around 1970, one day Thầy Tuệ Sỹ read two lines of
Chinese poetry to Bùi Giáng and asked him to complete it
into a quatrain.
Thâm dạ phong phiêu nghiệp ảnh tùy,
Hiện tiền vi liễu lạc hoa phi
Deep in the night, the wind flits about, playing with the
shadows of karma,
The willow flowers fall and scatter in front of the face.
These two lines have a very unique meaning: Everyone has
seen and knows that the night wind blows, shaking the
leaves and playing with the shadows of the leaves, but Thầy
let the wind play with the shadows of karma. As for the
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264
willow flowers, symbolizing prosperity and good fortune,
he let them fall, fly before his eyes, asking if anyone could
catch them?
I translated into Vietnamese:
Gió đêm thổi, giỡn đùa bóng nghiệp,
Hoa liễu rơi, lạc trước lông mày
The night wind blows, playing with the shadows of karma,
Willow flowers fall, scattering before the eyebrows.
After hearing these two lines, Bùi Giáng teased him: “Why
don’t you ask Nun Trí Hải (who was then the Librarian of
Vạn Hạnh University) to help you?”
Thầy bashfully said, “Don’t make fun like that” (quoted
from Bùi Giáng‘s account).
Bùi Giáng then took a piece of paper and wrote:
Phiêu bồng tâm sự tân toan lệ,
Trí Hải đa tàm trúc loạn ty.
Notice that Thầy read the first two lines, while the poet Bùi
Giáng wrote, because he wrote “Trí Hải” instead of “trí
hải”, hinting that this is the name of Ni sư Trí Hải.
The first line of Bùi Giáng‘s poetry means that a person
with wandering thoughts shed bitter tears. In the second
line, (1) if we understand “tàm”,
蠶
, as a silkworm, then
here it means eyebrows, “đa tàm” means thick eyebrows.
Silkworm eyebrows (mày ngài, in Vietnamese), are often
used to describe the beauty of a woman’s face, but the great
poet Nguyễn Du in “The Tale of Kiều” described both men
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and women as having silkworm eyebrows (verse 927
describing a prostitute: “bên thì mấy ả mày ngài” and
verse 1267 describing Từ Hải: “râu hùm, hàm én, mày
ngài”). So, this line means that looking at Ni sư Trí Hải‘s
thick eyebrows, the zither strings are tangled and cannot
be played (trúc loạn ty = tangled zither strings, the poem
does not mention the zither, the reader must understand
implicitly). (2) If we understand “tàm”,
慙
, as shame, then
the second line has a different meaning: Because of being
ashamed of the vast sea of wisdom of the world (trí hải =
sea of wisdom), the zither strings are tangled and cannot
be played.
I choose the second meaning to translate because such a
playful story is interesting, but one must know when to
stop:
Tâm sự chơi vơi, cay nước mắt
Thẹn vì biển trí, trúc rối dây.
Wandering thoughts add bitter tears,
Ashamed of the sea of wisdom, the zither strings are
tangled.
So, this is the quatrain, composed by two young Vietnamese
great poets, at that time Thầy was 25 years old, and Bùi
Giáng was 34 years old:
Thâm dạ phong phiêu nghiệp ảnh tùy,
Hiện tiền vi liễu lạc hoa phi.
Phiêu bồng tâm sự tân toan lệ,
Trí hải đa tàm trúc loạn ty.
Let me write this poem in Traditional Chinese:
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
266
深夜風飄業影隨
眼前为柳落花飛
飄蓬心事添愁淚
智海多慙竹亂絲
Gió đêm thổi, giỡn đùa bóng nghiệp,
Hoa liễu rơi, lạc trước lông mày.
Tâm sự chơi vơi, cay nước mắt,
Thẹn vì biển trí, trúc rối dây.
The night wind blows, playing with the shadows of karma,
Willow flowers fall, scattering before the eyebrows.
Wandering thoughts only produce bitter tears,
Ashamed of the sea of wisdom, the zither strings are
tangled.
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267
12. Ngọ thụy
午睡
睡回午雨思輊堙
想個寒風拂面前
庭樹黄花成幻事
曲肱安枕抱孤眠
Ngọ thụy
Thụy hồi ngọ vũ tứ khinh yên
Tưởng cá hàn phong phất diện tiền
Đình thọ hoàng hoa thành huyễn sự
Khúc quăng an chẩm bảo cô miên.
Ngủ trưa
Tỉnh giấc ngủ trưa, mưa như khói,
Tưởng như gió lạnh thổi phất phơ.
Hoa vàng sân trước huyễn mơ,
Gác tay làm gối, thẫn thờ cô miên.
Afternoon nap
A drizzle woke me from an afternoon nap,
A cool breeze lightly caressing my face.
The yellow plum blossoms in the front yard were nothing
but an illusion,
Pillowing my head on my bent elbow, I drifted off to a
slumber.
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
268
Explanation
The two words
孤眠 (
cô miên) in the poem, according to
the New Sino-Vietnamese Dictionary by scholar Nguyễn
Quốc Hùng, published by Khai Trí in 1971, have two
meanings: (1) to sleep alone, and (2) the state of immobility
of insects during molting or of animals during hibernation.
Both these meanings are applicable to this poem, so I kept
the original “cô miên” in the Vietnamese translation. In
the English translation, instead of sleep, I choose
“slumber”, as this word also has two meanings: sleep and
hibernation. Hibernation is a way for many creatures like
butterflies, bats, bears, etc., to survive the cold winter
without needing to forage for food or migrate to warmer
places. Instead, when hibernating, they reduce their
metabolic rate to conserve energy. Bears, in particular,
don’t sleep for the entire 6-7 months of winter, but they still
conserve energy by lying still, not eating or drinking, and
rarely urinating or defecating.
The third line “Đình thọ hoàng hoa thành huyễn sự” (the
yellow plum blossoms in the front yard are nothing but an
illusion) reminds me of the last line of a very famous poem,
and also the only one, by the Vietnamese Zen Master Mãn
Giác (1052-1096). He once served as a high-ranking
official under Kings Lý Thánh Tông and Lý Nhân Tông but
later resigned to become a monk. On October 17, 1096, at
the age of only 45, he sat in the lotus position, called the
congregation together, recited the following poem, and
then passed away
Xuân khứ bách hoa lạc
Xuân đáo bách hoa khai
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
269
Sự trục nhãn tiên quá
Lão tòng đầu thượng lai
Mạc vị xuân tàn hoa lạc tận
Đình tiền tạc dạ nhất chi mai
Spring passes, a hundred flowers fall
Spring comes, a hundred flowers smile
Before our eyes, tasks go on endlessly
Above our heads, old age arrives
Don’t think that when spring ends, all flowers fall
Last night, a yellow plum blossom bloomed in the front
yard.
Poet Ngô Tất Tố (1893-1954) translated to Vietnamese:
Xuân qua trăm hoa rụng
Xuân tới trăm hoa cười
Trước mắt việc đi mãi
Trên đầu già đến rồi
Đừng tưởng xuân tàn hoa rụng hết
Đêm qua sân trước nở nhành mai.
The first four lines depict the cyclical nature of life and the
impermanence of all things. Just as the seasons change and
flowers bloom and wither, so too do our lives. The last two
lines introduce a contrasting idea: amidst this constant
change and decay, there is an underlying unchanging truth
– the Nothingness (Śūnyatā) as taught in Buddhism.
In the fourth line of Thầy’s poem,
曲肱安枕
, meaning to
“pillow one’s head on one’s bent elbow” refers to the
sleeping posture of the Buddha: lying on his right side, with
his left arm extended alongside his body and his right arm
serving as a pillow for his head.
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
270
13. Tự vấn
自問
問余何故坐牢籠
余指輕煙絆獄穹
心境相持驚旅梦
故敎珈鎖面虚隅
Tự vấn
Vấn dư hà cố tọa lao lung
Dư chỉ khinh yên bán ngục khung
Tâm cảnh tương trì kinh lữ mộng
Cố giao già tỏa diện hư ngung.
Tự hỏi
Nhà tù hay cõi âm ty?
Tường cao, xích sắt làm gì được mây?
Cảnh, tâm: ác mộng đêm ngày
Gông xiềng như ảo, lời thầy không quên.
Self-reflection
On self-reflection, I asked: “Am I in jail?”,
“Who can detain a thin veil of smoke on the prison
window frame?”
Mind and scene intertwine, causing terrifying dreams,
Drawing on ancient teachings, I see these shackles as the
void.
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
271
Explanation
The second verse,
余指輕煙絆獄穹
(Dư chỉ khinh yên bán
ngục khung; Who can detain a thin veil of smoke on the
prison window frame?), is a bold and unwavering
declaration by Thầy, equivalent to his saying “You have no
right to detain me, you have no right to pardon me” when
the Communist prison officers wanted him to sign the plea
for pardon.
The third line of the poem,
心境相持驚旅梦
(Tâm cảnh
tương trì kinh lữ mộng; Mind and scene intermingle,
causing terrifying dreams,) is similar in meaning to the
following verse by Tuệ Trung Thượng Sĩ.
無常諸法行
心疑罪便生
本來無一物
非種亦非萌
日日薱境時
景景從心出
心境本來無
處處巴羅密
Vô thường chư pháp hành
Tâm nghi tội tiện sinh
Bản lai vô nhất vật
Phi chủng diệc phi manh
Nhật nhật đối cảnh thời
Cảnh cảnh tòng tâm xuất
Tâm cảnh bản lai vô
Xứ xứ ba la mật.
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
272
All dharmas are impermanent.
Doubtful minds give rise to sin.
There has never been a single thing:
Neither seed nor sprout.
Daily, when facing a scene,
The scene is born from the mind.
Mind and scene are originally nothing.
Everywhere, nirvana is spontaneously completed
According to the poem above, when facing a scene, we
should understand that the scene is born from the mind and
our experiences are a reflection of our minds. When we
realize the true nature of reality, which is devoid of
inherent existence, we achieve enlightenment. In this
enlightened state, all suffering, including our deepest fears
and the constraints we feel, is seen as illusory. Therefore,
we will reach Nirvana, or the ultimate goal. At that point,
not only nightmares are unreal, but also shackles are
unreal.
In Thầy’s poem, in the last two words
虚隅
(hư ngung),
虚
(hư) means empty or void, like an illusion or Nothingness;
while
隅
(ngung) means corner or angle. Therefore,
虚隅
(hư ngung) can be understood as an empty corner of a
prison or as a void aspect, similar to Nothingness. I think
it’s the latter, as shackles are worn on a prisoner’s hands
and feet, not placed in a corner of a prison.
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
273
14. Bán niên tù
半年囚
別世封関近半年
丹砂現鬼誤神仙
青鬚不断磨紅掌
傾倒南山怪老夫
Bán niên tù
Biệt thế phong quan cận bán niên
Đan sa hiện quỷ ngộ thần tiên
Thanh tu bất đoạn ma hồng chưởng
Khuynh đảo nam sơn quái lão thiên.
Nửa năm tù
Nửa năm đóng cửa lánh đời
Đan sa hóa quỷ hại người cõi tiên
Nắm râu xanh kéo liên miên
Núi nam sụp đổ, lão thiên kinh hoàng.
Half-year imprisonment
Six moons waned from life, behind closed doors,
Cinnabar-turned fiends taunted the fairies:
Their red hands relentlessly tore the fairies’ blue beards,
Crumbling the southern peak, to the old God’s despair.
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
274
Explanation
Cinnabar is a mineral. In Traditional Chinese Medicine, it
was believed to have cooling and sedative properties, used
to treat insomnia, sore throat, and mouth ulcers. It was also
applied topically to treat skin infections. The ancient
Chinese believed that cinnabar was the primary ingredient
in an elixir of immortality. However, the main components
of cinnabar are mercury and sulfur, which can be fatal if
consumed over a long period. Many Chinese emperors,
seeking eternal life, consumed large amounts of cinnabar
and died from mercury poisoning.
This poem was written after the author had spent six
months in prison, at the end of 1981. In this short time, he
observed that outside the prison walls, cinnabar had
transformed into a demon, harming deities and causing
great upheaval. Therefore, “cinnabar” simply is a
metaphorical representation as a destructive evil force.
Thầy had a treatise on demons, and an excerpt from his
work “Một tấm lòng của Kinh Kha” (A heart as resolute
as Jing Ke) reveals his views on the use of poetry as a form
of magic. He wrote:
Using poetry as a magical technique is not merely a
skill. Behind the illusion of words, there lies a hidden
world of dreams and solitude. To truly understand the
depths of this world, we cannot rely solely on curiosity;
we must approach it with a deep-seated yearning, driven
by the very essence of human existence. For instance,
when Nguyễn Du wrote “Văn tế thập loại chúng sinh”
(Lament for ten types of beings), could we not perceive
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275
his profound sorrow? Or perhaps, discern the societal
context that gave rise to such sorrow?
Trong trường dạ tối tăm trời đất
Xót khôn thiêng phảng phất u minh
Thương thay thập loại chúng sinh
Phách đơn hồn chiếc lênh đênh quê người
Hương khói đã không nơi nương tựa
Phận mồ côi lần lữa đêm đêm
Còn chi ai khá ai hèn
Còn chi mà nói ai hiền ai ngu
In the immense darkness of the universe,
Sacred souls wander aimlessly in the netherworld.
Pity all ten types of beings,
Adrift and alone in the strange land.
Finding no solace without incense and prayers,
Orphaned spirits roam night after night.
What does it matter who is noble or lowly,
Wise or foolish, in this world of suffering?
Certainly, those words are not the self-confessions of a
ghost. They are, in fact, the sorrowful laments of a
human being, facing the harsh reality of exile, a journey
limited to the span between life and death. Living and
dying in absolute and eternal solitude; with one’s
homeland echoing mournfully in the underworld, in the
long, dark night. So, what kind of words could truly be
called the words of a ghost?
A story told by Su Dongpo: the son of Li Dao, the prefect
of Xuzhou, at the age of 17 or 18, originally did not know
how to write poetry. Suddenly, he composed a poem
about falling flowers, saying:
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276
流水難窮目
斜陽易斷腸
誰同砑光帽
一曲舞山香
Lưu thủy nan cùng mục
Tà dương dị đoạn trường
Thùy đồng nha quang mạo
Nhất khúc “Vũ sơn hương”.
Nước cuộn mòn con mắt
Tà dương lắm đọa đày
Chao ôi hương phấn rã
Chưa dứt một bài ca
The flowing water seems endless to the eyes
The setting sun fills the heart with melancholy
Who is wearing the gleaming hat
Dancing a single tune of “mountain fragrance dance”?
The story goes that after hearing his son read this poem,
the father was startled and asked where it came from.
And thus, he learned this story: In a banquet hosted by
the Queen Mother of the Heavenly West, a dancer sang
and danced wearing a hat, with flowers pinned to the
hat. But before the song
舞山香
(Vũ Sơn Hương,
mountain fragrance dance) was finished, all the flowers
had fallen.
The inspiration of a person who does not know how to
write poetry, or does not care for poetry, but who
expresses a deeply sorrowful and passionate mood; that
alone is perhaps enough to say that these are truly the
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
277
words of a ghost. If so, the torment of the ghost is also
the torment of a human; it is the suffering before the
sight of flowing water and the setting sun…
Human life, viewed through a certain realistic lens, can
be a romantic and tragic image, like a traveler walking
in the autumn wind; of a passionate flame that burns
forever and fades forever into voidness. The same life,
in the eyes of dark mystery, can be the innocent songs of
an ethnic woman on vast, desolate mountains, amidst a
vast expanse of green wilderness dotted with blood-red
flowers as bright as tears. Blood of hatred and tears of
love; these are the crystals of a demon. That hatred is
truly meaningless and illogical. Because dreams are too
far away, unrealistic, and it is difficult to hide what
people call boundless, unforgivable arrogance.
Therefore, those tears are also just a sign of meaningless
torment. People choose their destiny with their dreams.
When destiny comes knocking, blood is not enough to
wash away hatred and tears are not enough to sweeten
the essence of love:
秋雨晴時淚不晴
(Su Dongpo)
Thu vũ tình thời lệ bất tình
The autumn rain has stopped, but the tears do not dry
up.
The sound of a ghost is like that.
Or differently, like Nguyễn Du‘s lament in “Văn tế thập
loại chúng sinh” (Lament for ten types of beings):
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
278
Giàu sang càng nặng oán thù
Máu tươi lai láng xương khô rã rời
Đoàn vô tự lạc loài nheo nhóc
Quỉ không đầu kêu khóc đêm mưa
Đã hay thành bại là cơ
Mà u hồn biết bao giờ cho tan?
Wealth and power only increase resentment,
Fresh blood flows profusely, and dry bones fall apart.
Heirless souls wander aimlessly,
Headless ghosts cry in the night rain.
It is known that success and failure are fate,
But how long will the ghosts wander?
The soul does not dissipate, because resentment is
buried deep in a dark tomb; because the blood has not
yet dried to become dust. Li He’s 34 ghost poetry
sometimes echoes with a fishy smell.
It is the drop of hatred’s blood from a soul torn apart in
the autumn wind, withered by the aimlessly drifting
yellow leaves. The autumn wind blows through the
Chinese parasol tree, the young man is startled and
bitter. The gentle, desolate autumn wind is not strong
enough to create storms and landslides; but it consumes
the mind, turns the hair of youth gray, amidst the cold
chirping of crickets and the flickering light of a lamp. A
head of green hair bows over the book, allowing
bookworms to draw ephemeral flowers of dreams and
heartbreak. In the dim light, dreams flutter, stretching
34 Li He (790-816) was a Chinese poet in the Tang dynasty. His poems
famously explored ghostly, supernatural and fantastic themes.
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
279
the intestines. Cold rain, the ghost weeps for the literary
guest. On the autumn mound, the golden leaves pile up
into the tomb of autumn, the ghost sings a poem in a
fishy voice. Thousands of years of hatred become jade
beads in the earth.
Is this a ghost poem with the wild emotions of a ghost?
That’s an autumn of Li He.
A Bodhisattva’s heart is needed to write that ghosts, not
only human beings suffer. It implies that true
understanding and compassion can extend beyond human
limitations and encompass all beings, regardless of their
form or existence.
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280
15. Mộng khứ mộng lai
夢去夢来
半年禁固夢烕絲
踏遍江湖放任煽
夢去夢来身外物
夢残呆坐撥長眉
Mộng khứ mộng lai
Bán niên cấm cố mộng thành ty
Đạp biến giang hồ phóng nhiệm qui
Mộng khứ mộng lai thân ngoại vật
Mộng tàn ngốc tọa bát trường mi.
Mộng tới mộng lui
Nửa năm tù mộng như tơ,
Giang hồ dẫm khắp, cõi mơ mặc lòng.
Trong mộng, thân ở ngoài song,
Tỉnh mộng, ngồi vuốt mi cong thẫn thờ.
Dream after dream
Half year of solitary confinement spun my dreams into
webs of threats,
That I had reached far and wide, crisscrossing the land,
unrestrained and carefree.
Dream after dream, my body felt detached from them.
Waking, I sat flabbergasted, stroking my long eyebrows.
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
281
Explanation
Thầy’s dreamscape reflects the Celestial realms of distant
dreams he penned in his 1973 work, “Tô Đông Pha: Những
phương trời viễn mộng (Su Dongpo: Celestial realms of
distant dreams).
Su Dongpo (1037-1101), whose real name was Su Shi, was
one of the Eight Great Masters of the Tang and Song
dynasties, alongside his father Su Xun and brother Su Zhe.
Other renowned figures include Han Yu, Liu Zongyuan,
Ouyang Xiu, Zeng Gong, and Wang Anshi.
Beyond literature, Su Dongpo was also a virtuous
politician who deeply loved the people. His courageous
opposition to authoritarian rule led to two exiles: first to
Huangzhou in Hubei Province for five years, and then to
Hainan Island for seven years. Su Dongpo’s life bears
striking similarities to Thầy’s as both were renowned
scholars, both staunchly opposed tyranny, and both faced
imprisonment.
What’s truly remarkable is that the distant celestial realms
Thầy depicted in Su Dongpo’s life are, in essence,
reflections of his own experiences. To demonstrate this,
let’s explore five key periods of Su Dongpo’s life, drawing
from excerpts of his work:
1) When Su Dongpo was an official in Fuxian County,
Henan Province, Thầy wrote:
In a foreign land, one always senses the presence of
their homeland; the sky of one’s homeland echoes with
history. Homesickness and the feelings of a stranger are
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282
but the long notes of history... The hidden and the
revealed emotions in each poem share a common
sorrow. This sorrow is temporarily wrapped up in the
misty, dreamlike skies of one’s homeland.
This is the feelings Thầy described in “Hận thu cao”
(Rising autumnal wrath, page 39) when he left Vạn Hạnh
University to go to Nha Trang.
2) When Su nearly faced execution, he was merely exiled
to Huangzhou:
Even in autumn, there are rain and wind, and floods. So,
the tranquil sadness of the sky is also the tumultuous
sadness of the earth.
Thầy also escaped execution and was exiled to Ba Sao
prison in Nam Hà province, northernmost point of
Vietnam. Although Su was free while Thầy was
incarcerated, their sentiments share a striking
resemblance.
3) When Su lived in poverty in Huangzhou:
On one hand, Lushan is hidden amidst clouds and mist,
harboring mankind’s deepest aspirations. On the other
hand, the floodwaters of a ruined nation, carrying the
once-mighty heroes, are swept away into the vast,
unknowable ocean. Yet, these are the very crystals that
form in the distant horizons of our dreams.
Similarly, Thầy spent three years living in Vạn Giã forest
in a thatched hut he built himself. “There was nothing there
at night except a flickering oil lamp in the hut and the
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283
endless darkness of the vast mountains and forests”, as
recounted by Most Venerable Thích Phước An. He penned
the following verses during this time:
Trên đỉnh đá mây trời tơ lụa mỏng
Ta làm thân nô lệ nhọc nhằn
On the peak, where clouds are like thin silk,
I live a life of hardship as a weary slave.
4) When Su was appointed as a Hanlin Academician:
Whether one rises or falls in life, it does not create
poetry, nor does it build a poetic realm. It is not through
the descent from the pinnacle of power to the depths of
poverty that the poetic sky expands. Poetry is like a lost
wild goose seeking its homeland across mountains and
rivers, and that homeland continues to echo in a silent,
spaceless melody.
Similarly, Thầy was appointed professor at Vạn Hạnh
University when he was only 25 years old. His book “Tô
Đông Pha: Những phương trời viễn mộng”, despite being
written in prose, is fundamentally a poetry collection. The
literal translation of this title is “Distant dreamy realms”,
but I believe Thầy emphasizes the heavenly, otherworldly
nature of Su Dongpo’s realms, so I choose “Su Dongpo:
Celestial realms of distant dreams”.
5) When Su was exiled to Hainan Island:
Wulao Peak had once welcomed him in his time of
wealth and fame, and the cascading waterfalls had once
proudly served his talents. Now, from afar, Lushan
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
284
appears as a distorted, tormented vision... And there is
that azure color again. The azure of Mount Emei, the
color of the sky that echoed the homeland of old. In those
days, the azure Mount Emei against the sky was the
warm affection of home. But now, a mere glimpse of that
color in a dream is enough to cause countless
heartbreaks.
Similarly, Thầy regarded his time after the release from Ba
Sao prison is a form of exile in his homeland. This final
excerpt reveals a profound sense of nostalgia and loss
shared by both Su Dongpo and Thầy. They reflected on
their transformations and how these changes had shaped
their worldviews, marked by sorrow and yearning.
Having penned the celestial realms of distant dreams of Su
Dongpo, it is only natural that the author should seek his
own celestial realms of distant dreams, even in the confines
of a prison, as he yearns for the freedom expressed in this
verse:
半年禁固夢烕絲
踏遍江湖放任煽
Bán niên cấm cố mộng thành ty
Đạp biến giang hồ phóng nhiệm qui
Nửa năm tù mộng như tơ,
Giang hồ dẫm khắp, cõi mơ mặc lòng
Half year of solitary confinement spun my dreams into
webs of threats,
That I had reached far and wide, crisscrossing the land,
unrestrained and carefree.
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285
16. Tự thuật
自述
三十年前學苦空
經函堆絫暗西窗
春花不顧春光老
翠竹斜飛翠夢魂
荏苒長眉垂壞案
蹉跎素髮絆殘風
一朝撒手懸崖下
始把真空對墜紅
Tự thuật
Tam thập niên tiền học khổ không
Kinh hàm đôi lũy ám tây song
Xuân hoa bất cố xuân quang lão
Túy trúc tà phi túy mộng hồn
Nhẫm nhiễm trường mi thùy hoại án
Ta đà tố phát bạn tàn phong
Nhất triêu cước lạc huyền nhai hạ
Thủy bả chân không đối tịch hồng.
Tự thuật
Đời là bể khổ, vạn pháp Không
Ba mươi năm học, sách chất chồng
Hoa xuân không ngắm, xuân tàn úa
Trúc biếc nghiêng bay, biếc cả hồn
Thấm thoát mi dài, rủ bàn cũ
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
286
Rung rinh gió nhẹ, tóc trắng bông
Một lần hụt chân nơi vách đá
Nhờ có Chân Không thoát đêm hồng
Autobiography
In the last thirty years, I’ve learned that life is suffering
and the Dharma is Nothingness.
Stacks of sutra books pile up by the west window.
Ignoring the blossoming spring flowers, the spring
withers,
Beholding the fluttering green bamboo leaves, my soul is
intoxicated.
My eyebrows have grown long, drooping over the old
bench.
My hair has turned gray, my body weakened by age.
Having misstepped once on the cliff’s edge,
Clinging to Emptiness, I escaped the nights living beneath
the red flag.
Explanation
Just like in the poem “Thạch bích” (Stone walls) on page
235, where Thầy repeated the word
幽
(u, dark) twice in
the third sentence and
千
(thiên, thousand or heaven) twice
in the fourth.
幽人空対幽光裏
千古文章千地心
U nhân không đối u quang lý
Thiên cổ văn chương thiên địa tâm.
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
287
Tù nhân u uẩn trong tù tối,
Từ cổ văn chương gốc từ tâm.
A somber prisoner, facing the prison’s cold embrace,
Ancient literature, from thousands of years ago, has
always captured the heart of heaven and earth.
In this passage, Thầy repeated the word “
春
” (xuân,
spring) twice in the third sentence and “
翠
” (túy, green)
twice in the fourth.
春花不顧春光老
翠竹斜飛翠夢魂
Xuân hoa bất cố xuân quang lão
Túy trúc tà phi túy mộng hồn
Hoa xuân không ngắm, xuân tàn úa
Trúc biếc nghiêng bay, biếc cả hồn
Ignoring the blossoming spring flowers, the spring withers,
Beholding the fluttering green bamboo leaves, my soul is
intoxicated.
The word “
紅
” (hồng, red), at the end of the poem hints at
Communism. Thầy was tempted by the Communists but
because of his faith in Buddhism (
真空,
Chân không
means True Nothingness), he rejected them and avoided
falling into their trap.
When I found these 18 poems of “Ngục trung mị ngữ”
(Somniloquies in prison) (or perhaps they found me, which
is correct?), I was astonished to find this particular poem.
It surprised me because Thầy never spoke of himself. Even
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
288
when others made errors in copying or translating his
poetry, he never offered corrections or criticisms. And yet,
here is a poem that appears to be a personal account of his
own life.
Naturally, eight lines of Tang poetry, with only 56 words,
cannot fully encapsulate Thầy’s life and experiences.
Therefore, let us turn to the accounts of those who were
fortunate enough to have known him personally.
From Most Venerable Thích Nguyên Siêu who was Thầy
Tuệ Sỹ’s former student, writes in his essay “Thượng tọa
Tuệ Sỹ, Trí Siêu, những thiên tài lỗi lạc” (Most Venerables
Tuệ Sỹ, Trí Siêu, outstanding geniuses), as follows:
Thầy single-handedly shattered the foundations of the
philosophy of Śūnyatā, unearthing and presenting the
deepest values of Mādhyamaka (i.e., Middle Way)
thought…
For all the works composed and translated by these
ancestors were like bedside books to Thầy, and as for
the Tripitaka and the Great Collection, there was no
volume he had not perused.
Having studied under Thầy and subsequently worked
with him on translating the Mādhyama Agama, the
Dhammapada, and collections of Nikāya Agamas, from
1975-1977 at the Hải Đức College in Nha Trang and
from 1980-1984 at the Quảng Hương Già Lam
Monastery, which also housed the Vạn Hạnh Library, I
was able to witness firsthand Thầy’s extraordinary
abilities and memory. The Sūtras, Vinaya, Abhidharma,
and the entire Tripitaka, he seemed to know by heart
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from some past life. Perhaps in countless lives of endless
birth and death, he had been a Zen master, Dharma
master, and Abhidharma master, for whenever I asked
about numerical formulas, sūtra meanings, or
Abhidharma interpretations in the Great Collection, he
could immediately turn to the correct page, volume, and
line. Working alongside Thầy, I came to understand his
diligence, unwavering determination, and self-reliance
in building himself up.
At almost any given moment, Thầy was studying,
researching, pondering, reading scriptures, poetry, the
Classic of Poetry, the Classic of Changes, philosophy,
and literature. He also taught himself music: the piano
and violin. He practiced writing Chinese characters,
particularly the cursive script of Wang Xizhi, and read
the poetry of Li Bai, Du Fu, and Su Shi. Thầy lived a
simple, pure life, spending his days and nights immersed
in the worlds of spirituality, thought, philosophy, poetry,
language, and had no time to consider the clothing or
appearance of others. Thus, he was always dressed in a
simple, four-flap, faded Japanese robe that reached
below the knees, whether teaching or going out. Though
small in stature, his mind was vast and brilliantly gifted.
From professor Phạm Công Thiện who also taught at Vạn
Hạnh University, excerpted from “Buổi chiều nắng hạ đọc
thơ Tuệ Sỹ” (A Summer afternoon reading Tuệ Sỹ’s
poetry), SBS Radio Australia, June 20, 1994:
In this collection of 18 poems written entirely in Chinese
by Tuệ Sỹ, one poem, “Cúng dường” (Choked Offerings,
page 210), moved me deeply. All ordinary political
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actions are biased; a comprehensive political
consciousness is only expressed in a person who is both
a poet, a Zen master, and a worldly activist with the
“skillful means” spirit of a Bodhisattva. Such a person
engages in vigorous and thorough actions while
maintaining a sense of detachment and idealism. It is
because of their lack of selfish and blind ambitions that
they cultivate a sense of detachment, and because they
are not trapped by the worldly desires, anger, and
ignorance that they cultivate idealism. To engage in
politics while knowing how to dream and live poetically,
and to maintain detachment and idealism, is very rare
in the harsh reality of our homeland today.
From Most Venerable Thích Phước An, who has lived with
Thầy Tuệ Sỹ in his thatched hut, nestled deep within the
Vạn Giã forest, the following is excerpted from “Theo
Quách Tấn tìm về núi cũ xem mai nở” (Following Quách
Tấn to return to the old mountain to see the plum blossoms
bloom):
In the final months of 1975, and continuing through
1976 and 1977, as far as I know, those were the saddest
years of Quách Tấn’ s life. Old friends, some had passed
away, while others who remained were afraid of “walls
have ears” and few dared to visit to chat or confide, even
though there was so much to talk about.
At that time, Tuệ Sỹ was still in Nha Trang, and the
temple had nothing much to do, so Tuệ Sỹ and I often
went down to visit Quách Tấn, and occasionally he
would also come up to the temple to visit us. Even though
Tuệ Sỹ was much younger than Quách Tấn, Quách Tấn
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always had a deep respect for Tuệ Sỹ’s abilities and,
above all, his integrity.
When discussing the two works written about Su
Dongpo, one by Nguyễn Hiến Lê 35 and the other by
35 Professor Nguyễn Hiến Lê (1912-1984) was a scholar, writer,
translator and educator. He published 120 works, the vast majority of
which were before the fall of Saigon.
Below is an excerpt he writes in the Introduction Replacement to his
book “Tô Đông Pha” (Su Dongpo):
Just a few days ago, due to the sudden change in weather, as soon as
I turned on the light to eat dinner, a swarm of termites flew in. I had
to turn off the light and go outside to eat dinner in the dark (in Long
Xuyên). Then, late at night, the frogs croaked loudly outside my room,
so I had to get up, find a sleeping pill, and think back to the time when
he was exiled to Hainan Island. Despite living in extreme poverty, he
was still cheerful and full of humor. In every aspect, he deserved to
be my teacher…
In 1974, I revised my book “Su Dongpo”, adding a few sections
(including one about the West Lake scene). Before Cảo Thơm
Publishing could reprint it, Saigon was liberated, and the press had to
close. Some resistance fighter friends really enjoyed that book.
The way professor Nguyễn Hiến Lê used language in this book clearly
reflects his political views.
“Saigon was liberated” (Sài Gòn được giải phóng): It shows his
agreement with the event of April 30, 1975, and views it as a national
liberation event.
“Resistance fighter friends” (Bạn kháng chiến): This term means he
called those who participated in the war against the South Vietnam
government as his friends. It shows his respect and empathy for them.
It wasn’t until five years later that he admitted in his memoirs the
failure of the ruling regime. The biggest failure, according to him, was
the inability to unite the nation. The second point was that society had
become more unjust than before. Third, there was a lack of
responsibility and excessive factionalism, leading to a lack of
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Thầy Tuệ Sỹ, poet Quách Tấn said, “Nguyễn Hiến Lê
has only looked at Lushan from a distance, while Tuệ Sỹ
has truly entered its depths” …
Perhaps unable to bear the stifling atmosphere of the
city, Tuệ Sỹ went to work on a farm in a remote forest in
Vạn Giã town, about sixty kilometers from Nha Trang.
Most of the poems expressing his own melancholy and
concerns for his homeland were written in this secluded
mountainous area.
discipline, disobedience, and chaos. Fourth was the collapse of the
economy. Finally, society had become degenerate: Cadres were
corrupt and engaged in theft. In such a society, he observes, people
easily lose their humanity, becoming vile, greedy, immoral, and
deceitful, devoid of any human compassion.
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17. Nhất bôi thanh thủy
一杯清水
自隱孤峰不味茶
清心清水玩空花
希夷人影風塵外
托夢蒼蒼望紫霞
Nhất bôi thanh thủy
Tự ẩn cô phong bất vị trà
Thanh tâm thanh thủy ngoạn không hoa
Hi di nhân ảnh phong trần ngoại
Thác mộng thương thương vọng tử hà.
Một chén nước trong
Không trà, khi ở trên non,
Lòng trong, chỉ uống nước trong như lòng,
Thưởng ngoạn hoa đốm hư không.
Xa xa thấp thoáng ngoài song bóng người.
Vén mây gởi mộng lên trời,
Trời xanh, ngóng đợi ráng chiều tím than.
A cup of clear water
Not a sip of tea have I taken since I secluded myself on a
mountain,
With pure heart and clear water, I watched flowers in the
void.
As a looming shadow appeared in the dusty distance,
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I consigned my dreams to the blue sky, wishing to see
purple clouds.
Explanation
In the second verse, Thầy uses the term
空花
(không hoa).
These are the flashes of light or other visual sensations,
such as either black and white or colorful dancing patterns,
that occur without external light stimulation we see when
we press on our eyes. Buddhism likens these fleeting,
illusory phenomena to “flowers in the void”, emphasizing
their impermanence and lack of inherent substance.
The Avataṃsaka Sūtra (kinh Hoa Nghiêm in Vietnamese)
further elaborates on this concept, urging us to view all
conditioned phenomena – everything that arises due to
causes and conditions – as illusory as dreams, bubbles,
shadows or flowers in the void. These are merely
temporary manifestations and lack any enduring,
substantial self.
All conditioned dharmas
Are like dreams, illusions, bubbles, shadows
Like dew or lightning
Thus should one contemplate.
In the final verse, the purple clouds Thầy wishes to see can
symbolize his spiritual aspirations, dreams, or the divine.
The author, living in the prison cell, consigns his dreams
in the sky as he is relying on dreams to connect with the
world beyond the prison wall.
In the essay “Truy tìm tự ngã” (Searching for the Self) in
the Pháp luân (Dharma wheel) magazine, issue 60, Thầy
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explains why the self does not exist. The beauty of this essay
is that Thầy begins by assuming that everything has a self,
then explains why this self exists, and only then refutes it
by arguing that it is a construct, shaped only by
experiences, language, and cultural conditioning, proving
that it does not exist.
The scripture says: “All conditioned phenomena are like
dreams, illusions, etc.”. This is to say about the doctrine
of Nothingness and No-Self through direct experience or
realization...
Buddhism teaches that there are good and bad actions,
and corresponding good and bad results, but there is no
doer and since there is no doer, there is no person to
receive the consequences of their actions. This is very
difficult to understand.
We should start with the easy and move on to the
difficult. The easy thing to understand is that everything
has a self: I walk, I stand, I eat, I sleep, etc. But when a
person sleeps without dreaming, it seems that this self
disappears. Or like a person who has an accident and
loses their memory, they no longer remember who they
are. If they are treated and their memory recovers, then
it is still the same self as before. And when a person dies,
does that self still exist? To admit that it does is to admit
that there is an unchanging soul that exists both when
awake and asleep, both when alive and after death.
This is the everyday experience of a self. This experience
is the accumulation in a lifetime of memories, sufferings,
happiness, fame, and misery. From these accumulated
experiences, the idea of a permanent self is formed. At
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
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the lowest level, this self is identified with the physical
body and possessions. A great emperor has an entire
empire: me and my empire. But once this body decays,
and it certainly will, who am I, and what is this empire?
Those emperors, like Qin Shi Huang, Han Wudi, and
Genghis Khan, believed in a self and their physical body
that could exist for a long time, because they did not
want to lose their fame and power; they sought out
Taoist priests and searched for the elixir of life. Where
are those who sought immortality now?...
Suppose a man bought a dog and named it Lucky. At
first, when called, Lucky was indifferent and
unresponsive. Gradually, upon hearing the name
“Lucky”, it would wag its tail happily. It had come to
understand what “Lucky” meant, and in doing so, it had
also developed a sense of self. It formed a new ego
through this new name. Before it had a name, it still
existed and protected itself. It sought food, found a place
to sleep, and would bite anyone who came too close as
a threat. After being given a name, its entire existence
was now encapsulated in the name “Lucky”. However,
if someone insulted the name “Lucky”, it wouldn’t react.
But with humans, when a name or title is insulted,
beware. Of course, humans don’t know their names until
a certain age, just like Lucky. Clearly, the name that
carries the connotation of self is merely a false name,
yet humans suffer or rejoice because of this very false
name...
This means that this body, with these sensations,
thoughts, and perceptions, is a collection of
accumulated experiences as vast as the universe. This
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mass solidifies into a thick hard shell. It can only be
shattered by the Vajrachedikā Sūtra (TN: also known as
the Diamond Sūtra, kinh Kim Cương in Vietnamese, this
is a foundational text in Mahāyāna Buddhism and
emphasizes the Nothingness of all phenomena) pestle.
In short, the teachings in the Diamond Sūtra begin with
the negation of self: no-self view, no-person view... In
various religions and philosophical systems, there are
different concepts of self. In many religions, the self is a
soul given by God. The goal of human life is to keep the
soul from being lost, so that one can enjoy the blessings
of God later...
In Buddhism, whether it’s a small self or a great self,
they are merely nominal concepts. But this nominal
concept is solidified by the accumulation of countless
delusions. The self is formed in this life, influenced by
tradition, religion, thought, and society, and from this, a
personality and a soul are formed, and then one clings
tightly to it in order to exist. This is called the view of a
separate self.
The self, formed from the accumulation of delusions
over many lifetimes, creates the instinctual desire for
survival even in the smallest creatures; this is called the
birth of self-grasping.
Therefore, there is no need to search for a small self or
a great self, but to eliminate the false concept created by
delusions.
I have not seen anyone exploring the Buddhist concept of
no-self using such an analogy better than his essay.
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
298
First, the dog’s experience with the name “Lucky”
demonstrates how a label can create a sense of self. This is
extended to humans, showing how our names and identities
shape our perception of ourselves.
Then, Thầy suggests that the self is not a fixed entity but a
constantly changing collection of experiences. Our
understanding of self is heavily influenced by the cultural,
religious, and societal norms we are exposed to.
Finally, Thầy explains that the ultimate goal of Buddhism
is to break free from the illusion of self and realize the
interconnectedness of all things.
In essence, this essay argues that our sense of self is a
socially constructed illusion and that true liberation comes
from recognizing this.
Naming an imaginary dog “Lucky” to explain the concept
of Nothingness and naming his real room in Già Lam
pagoda “Thị Ngạn Am” 36 to guide visitors, makes me
wonder: What is imagination and what is reality?
36 “Thị ngạn” is an abbreviation of the phrase “hồi đầu thị ngạn”,
which means “to turn inward is to see the shore”. “Thị Ngạn Am” was
the name Thầy gave to his room at Già Lam pagoda.
The following Nguyễn Đạt’s tale of Thầy’s “Thị Ngạn Am” has left
me regretting not having had a chance to encounter Thầy.
“The first room, on the left, right after ascending the steps to the upper
floor of a series of rooms in Già Lam Pagoda, was the meditation
room of Venerable Tuệ Sỹ, named Thị Ngạn Am.
But this morning, looking up at the wall of Thị Ngạn Am, there was a
beautifully handwritten poem in Nôm script by Tuệ Sỹ. I asked Tuệ
Sỹ for a copy to bring home. He happily agreed. Spreading the paper
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18. Tự trào
自嘲
山中懶卧一残僧
夢寐喧譁党更謊
独对青松誇所悟
百余年後史傳灯
Tự trào
Sơn trung ẩn ngọa nhất tàn tăng
Mộng mị huyên hoa giác cánh hoang
Độc đối thanh tùng khoa sở ngộ
Bách dư niên hậu sử truyền đăng.
Tự diễu
Núi kia ẩn một ông tăng,
Ngủ thì huyên náo, thức càng huyênh hoang,
Gốc tùng xanh, tự khoe khoang:
Trăm năm sau nữa danh vang sử Thiền.
with header Thị Ngạn Am on the tiled floor, he hunched over like an
old scholar, carefully writing this poem in Nôm script:
Năm chầy đá ngủ lòng khe
Lưng trời cánh hạc đi về hoàng hôn
A late-arriving new year finds the stone slumbering in the crevice
In the vast expanse of the sky, a swallow soars home towards the
sunset.”
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
300
Self mockery
A ludicrous monk, secluded on a mountain,
Chattered nonsense in his sleep, but his ramblings became
wilder when awake.
He bragged about his enlightenment to a green pine,
Boasting that his name would grace the list of Zen
masters in a hundred years.
Explanation
In the last sentence, Thầy uses the term
傳灯
(truyền đăng,
transmission of the lamp). The transmission of the lamp
means the passing of the torch. The first person to receive
the torch from the Buddha was Mahākāśyapa, based on the
legend of the “smile at the flower”:
Śākyamuni was once engaged at the Mount of the Holy
Vulture in preaching to a congregation of his disciples.
He did not resort to any lengthy verbal discourse to
explain his point, but simply lifted a bouquet of flowers
before the assemblage, which was presented to him by
one of his lay-disciples. Not a word came out of his
mouth. Nobody understood the meaning of this except
the old Venerable Mahākāśyapa, who quietly smiled at
the Master, as if he fully comprehended the purport of
this silent but eloquent teaching on the part of the
Enlightened One. The latter perceiving this opened his
golden-tongued mouth and proclaimed solemnly: “I
have the most precious treasure, spiritual and
transcendental, which this moment I hand over to you,
O Venerable Mahākāśyapa!”
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(quoted from Dr. Daisetz Suzuki‘s “Essays in Zen
Buddhism”)
The poem is titled “Tự trào” (Self-mockery), but the speech
Thầy wrote in 2000, which he intended to read before the
Dutch Parliament when the Dutch government and
parliament invited him to visit, but he was not allowed to
go abroad by the Hanoi government, is not sarcastic at all.
The main part is as follows:
People only need to look at the garbage and waste
dumped in the backyard to know what has been
consumed in the front yard. We, some people who have
long been accustomed to thinking about the fate of the
nation from piles of garbage, have asked ourselves many
questions about the human conscience, the meaning of
social progress, and above all a historical question:
How much blood and bones of generations of ancestors
and friends has the country absorbed to become such
piles of garbage, piles of garbage that are growing
larger and larger in a terrifying way.
Vietnam is becoming a huge garbage dump. That is not
my personal opinion, but the observation of the highest-
ranking officials of the Vietnamese Communist Party.
This is not just an economic issue. It encompasses all
aspects of life: culture, politics, and even religion. So, a
question needs to be asked to those who still have a bit
of national pride: Why would a nation that has always
been proud of its 4,000-year-old civilization suddenly let
its country become a garbage dump, a repository for all
the worst things of civilized humanity...
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
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Despite significant changes from certain perspectives, I
know for sure that one thing hasn’t changed. That is: the
Communist Party still considers itself the benefactor of
the nation and therefore has the exclusive right to decide
the nation’s fate (whether it is a benefactor or a
criminal, the masses and history will judge). This is
different from other famous authoritarian regimes in
history. This is also the reason for one of the things that
conservative party members consider “capitalist
garbage”. That is corruption. Because bureaucracy,
arrogance, and the attitude of a benefactor are both the
nature and the nutrient of corruption in Vietnam today.
All crimes involve a perpetrator and a victim. In
corruption, at first glance, no one is clearly harmed.
Initially, both the bribe-giver and the bribe-taker
receive certain benefits. Thus, the real victims are the
masses who do not have enough privilege to participate
in order to benefit directly from corruption. That means
those who are equally miserable in society have nothing
to give, so they receive nothing, and therefore they
become victims. The unique nature of corruption victims
in Vietnam today is due to the patronizing attitude of
those in power towards the “subjects” under their rule.
Corruption in Vietnam is not just a bilateral agreement
to secure lucrative economic contracts. It sucks the
marrow out of the people; those who are equally
miserable have to work hard to pay taxes.
Corruption is the root of other social evils. Because it
organizes, protects, and nourishes them all. It erodes all
traditional moral values. Protecting or promoting
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national culture on this basis is merely a shield for
rampant corruption.
I say, corruption is the backyard of power. Because it is
the impoverished people, whose voices are always
suppressed by intimidation, who are suppressed by the
most brutal authoritarian regime, but who also endure
silently. They are the witnesses to the dark side of
corruption and power; the direct victims of all its
suppression of human dignity.
Nowadays, many people want to evaluate Thầy as a poet,
a writer who has made great contributions to Vietnamese
culture, or as an outstanding monk of Vietnamese
Buddhism. According to them, Thầy should not engage in
political activities. In the last paragraph of the above
speech, I think Thầy wrote for them:
I don’t know what my tomorrow will be like when the
things I say don’t please the party and the state. The
situation in Vietnam is such that our people have to
suffer too much pain and humiliation. For the
intelligentsia in particular, whom traditional
Vietnamese society respects very much, the greatest
humiliation is that they cannot honestly speak on behalf
of the common people about all the resentment and
suffering they endure. Because, in Vietnam today, those
who can speak have their pens bent; those who want to
speak have their pens broken.
In conclusion of this volume, I want to quote Most
Venerable Nguyên Siêu’s comment in “Tuệ Sỹ – Thơ và tư
tưởng Triết học” (Tuệ Sỹ – Poetry and Philosophical
Thought), which is as follows:
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The poems in “Ngục trung mị ngữ” (Somniloquies in
prison) are written during his time in prison, it is said
that there are quite a lot, but only about twenty poems
have reached the readers. In those twenty poems, we see
a peaceful, carefree, and transcendent soul, in the spirit
of a prisoner who is not confined by imprisonment.
This is the mind of a practitioner, a prisoner in body but
not in mind. Even within the four walls of a prison, he is
still at ease, wandering freely, talking and laughing with
his own shadow, seen as an old friend who is always
there to talk, to share. This mind, wherever it is, is not
bound by worldly ties, not influenced by external
circumstances and causes, because it has mastered itself
and is not affected by the wrongs, rights, commonality
and differences of the world, once the mind is at peace,
the three realms are also at peace...
Indeed, the mind is not bound by the three thousand
great worlds. If the mind is free, who can imprison it? If
the clouds are light and float freely, what prison bars
can hold them?
Thầy is like a cloud floating in the boundless sky!
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Volume 4:
Tĩnh tọa | Meditation
Tĩnh tọa
| Meditation
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
306
This volume, “Tĩnh tọa” (Meditation, Ngồi thiền),
containing 9 poems, is mostly written during his second
imprisonment in North Vietnam (1984-1998).
Time of composition: 1984-2000.
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1. Bài ca cuối cùng
Chim trời xếp cánh
Hát vu vơ mấy tiếng trong lồng;
Nhớ mãi rừng cây thăm thẳm
Ủ tâm tư cho hạt thóc cay nồng
Rát bỏng với nỗi hờn khổ nhục
Nó nhịn ăn
Rồi chết gục.
Ta đã hát những bài ca phố chợ:
Người ăn mày kêu lịch sử đi lui;
Chàng tuổi trẻ cụt chân từ chiến địa
Vỗ lề đường đoán mộng tương lai.
Lộng lẫy chiếc lồng son
Hạt thóc căng nỗi hờn
Giữa tường cao bóng mát
Âm u lời ca khổ nhục
Nó nhịn ăn
Và chết.
Ta đã hát bài ca của suối:
Gã anh hùng bẻ vụn mặt trời,
Gọi quỷ sứ từ âm ty kéo dậy,
Ngập rừng xanh lấp lánh ma trơi.
Đêm qua chiêm bao ta thấy máu,
Từ sông Ngân đổ xuống cõi người
Bà mẹ xoi tim con thành lỗ,
Móc bên trong hạt ngọc sáng ngời.
Lồng son hạt cơm trắng
Cánh nhỏ run uất hận
Tiếng hát lịm tắt dần
Nó đi về vô tận
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The last song
The sky bird folds his wings,
Singing a few words in vain within the cage.
Missing the vast, deep forest,
Nurturing thoughts with the spicy grains,
Burning with resentment and humiliation,
The bird fasts,
Then dies.
I have sung these songs in the markets:
The beggar calling for history to retreat,
The young man with a war-amputated leg,
Tapping the curb, predicting the future.
But in this beautiful red cage,
The rice grains swelled with resentment.
Amidst the tall and shady walls,
Echoing mournful and despairing songs,
The bird fasts,
And dies.
I have sung these songs of the stream:
The brash hero shattering the sun,
Summoning the demons from the underworld,
Flooding the forest with shimmering ghosts.
Last night I dreamed of blood,
Pouring down from the Milky Way into the human realm,
Where a mother hollowed her child’s heart,
Pulling out a shining pearl.
The red cage, the white rice grain,
The little wings trembled with resentment,
The song fades away,
Going off into infinity.
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309
Explanation
His point in the first stanza is that no song can compare to
the final song of a bird trapped in a cage, preferring death
to a life of shame.
In the second stanza, Thầy echoes the crying voices of the
market, capturing the cul-de-sac of its inhabitants: the
beggar wants to rewind history (because the past was
better), and the legless soldier pats the roadside guessing
dreams (because he doesn’t know what to do).
In the third stanza, Thầy channels the ethereal melody of a
stream, mirroring the aspirations of the people. A brash
hero’s defiance against demons only serves to unleash
their menacing presence upon the forest (here, “gã” in the
phrase “gã anh hùng” is used with a contemptuous
undertone, hence, I translate it as “brash hero”). But the
following four lines, where a mother hollows her child’s
heart to get a pearl, are deeply moving and bring me to
tears:
Đêm qua chiêm bao ta thấy máu,
Từ sông Ngân đổ xuống cõi người
Bà mẹ xoi tim con thành lỗ,
Móc bên trong hạt ngọc sáng ngời
Last night I dreamed of blood,
Pouring down from the Milky Way into the human realm,
Where a mother hollowed her child’s heart,
Pulling out a shining pearl.
This isn’t just his imagination. Stories of parents selling
their children to survive aren’t uncommon in this land of
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310
so-called “heroes” according to Communist propaganda.
It’s heartbreaking to see a nation so deceived that there’s
no humanly way out.
The image of a bird preferring death to a life of shame in a
cage is a reflection of Thầy through the following
statement:
If my words mean digging my own grave, I am willing to
bury myself, rather than accepting that. And if you say
it’s the law, yes, I respect the law, but if the law violates
my ideals, I don’t accept that law. Don’t use the word
“law” with me. It’s true that in any country, one must
respect the law, but if one creates a law to use it to
violate the values, the ideals of others, then I don’t
accept that law, I’m ready to die. I’ve already faced a
death sentence, I’m not afraid, I accept it. This is not a
challenge, but a matter of my ideals.
(Copied from his article “Định hướng tương lai với thế hệ
Tăng sỹ trẻ ngày nay” (Orientation for the future with the
younger generation of monks today))
Nothing is clearer than his statement: “If my words mean
digging my own grave, I am willing to bury myself, rather
than accepting that”.
The “words” Thầy mentioned in this statement is Thầy’s
stance when the Vietnamese Communist Party wanted to
dissolve the Unified Buddhist Church of Vietnam.
He dedicated his life to advocating for a strict separation
of religion and politics. While his efforts were unsuccessful
during his lifetime, he remained steadfast in his belief that
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311
they would ultimately prevail. His key arguments can be
summarized in the following four points:
1) Separation of religion and politics: Thầy firmly believed
that religion, particularly Buddhism, should be separate
from politics. The Unified Buddhist Church of Vietnam
should not be affiliated with any political organization.
2) Respect for religious freedom: Thầy demanded that the
government should respect religious freedom and not use
religion as a tool for political gain.
3) Preservation of Buddhist traditions: Thầy rejected any
attempt to use Buddhism as a tool for political purposes, as
he believed it would compromise the integrity of the
religion.
4) Historical perspective: Thầy believed that the traditions
of Buddhism are timeless against the fragility of political
regimes.
Considering the themes of imprisonment and the poet’s
personal experiences, it’s likely that this poem was written
during his period of confinement in prison. Such
circumstances would provide a poignant backdrop for the
emotional intensity and the symbolic resonance of the
caged bird.
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312
2. Bình minh
Tiếng trẻ khóc ngân vang lời vĩnh cửu
Từ nguyên sơ sông máu thắm đồng xanh
Tôi là cỏ trôi theo dòng thiên cổ
Nghe lời ru nhớ mãi buổi bình minh.
Buổi vô thủy hồn tôi từ đáy mộ
Uống sương khuya tìm sinh lộ viễn trình
Khi nắng sớm hôn nồng lên nụ nhỏ
Tôi yêu ai, trời rực sáng bình minh?
Đôi cò trắng yêu nhau còn bỡ ngỡ
Sao mặt trời thù ghét tóc nàng xinh?
Tôi lên núi tìm nỗi buồn đâu đó
Sao tuổi thơ không khóc buổi bình minh?
Dawn
The infant’s cries echo endlessly,
A haunting reminder of the fields that were stained with
blood.
A blade of grass, adrift on ancient currents,
I hear their mothers’ lullaby, remembering the nation’s
dawn.
In the beginning, my soul rose from the grave,
Drinking midnight dew, seeking a journey’s path.
When the morning sun kisses tiny flower buds,
As the dawn breaks, the sky glows bright. Who do I love?
Two white storks, in love yet still bashful,
Why does the sun envy their beautiful feathers?
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313
I climb the mountain, seeking the cause of my sorrow,
Why don’t our youth cry for their nation’s dawn?
Explanation
Given that “dawn” alludes to the nation’s emergence, I
replaced it with “nation’s dawn” in my translation.
“The fields that were stained with blood” is a haunting
reminder of our ancestors’ sacrifice, who shed their blood
so that these fields could be green and fertile.
The blade of grass, rooted in the earth, serves as a witness
to the history of its country. It has heard the cries of infants
and their mothers’ lullaby and witnessed the fields stained
with blood since the nation’s dawn. This imagery positions
the blade of grass as a silent observer and a living
testament to the nation’s past:
Tiếng trẻ khóc ngân vang lời vĩnh cửu
Từ nguyên sơ sông máu thắm đồng xanh
Tôi là cỏ trôi theo dòng thiên cổ
Nghe lời ru nhớ mãi buổi bình minh
The infant’s cries echo endlessly,
A haunting reminder of the fields that were stained with
blood.
A blade of grass, adrift on ancient currents,
I hear their mothers’ lullaby, remembering the nation’s
dawn.
In my translation, I seek to establish a connection between
the poem’s allusions to infants’ cries, maternal lullabies,
and the nation’s dawn. This also is the reason that in the
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
314
last sentence, I write “their nation, the youth’s nation”,
instead of “our nation”:
Why don’t our youth cry for their nation’s dawn?
I believe that this is the message Thầy places in this poem.
This poem poses three interesting questions, inviting the
reader to consider the complexities of history, the enduring
nature of love, and the challenges of remembering and
honoring the past:
1) Khi nắng sớm hôn nồng lên nụ nhỏ
Tôi yêu ai, trời rực sáng bình minh?
When the morning sun kisses tiny flower buds, as the dawn
breaks, the sky glows brightly. Who do I love?
2) Đôi cò trắng yêu nhau còn bỡ ngỡ
Sao mặt trời thù ghét tóc nàng xinh?
Two white storks, in love yet still bashful, why does the sun
envy their beautiful feathers?
3) Tôi lên núi tìm nỗi buồn đâu đó
Sao tuổi thơ không khóc buổi bình minh?
I climb the mountain, seeking the cause of my sorrow, why
don’t our youth cry for their nation’s dawn?
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315
3. Bồi hồi
Thời gian đi khấp khiễng
Để rụng phấn rơi hồng
Tơ nắng dài tâm sự
Bồi hồi mộng vẫn không.
Fretfulness
Time stumbles with a limp,
Scattering its pollen and scent.
Sunlight thread is burdened with thoughts,
Fretfully, my dreams remain unfulfilled.
Explanation
“Fretfully, my dreams remain unfulfilled”. What were his
dreams?
After assuming the position of General Secretary of the
Unified Buddhist Church of Vietnam, he affirmed that “the
Church does not place itself under the direction of any
secular power, is not a tool to protect the existence of any
political trend, of any secular organization; does not
practice, propagate according to any ideological
orientation; the only orientation is the Ten Directions of
the Buddha; the only ultimate goal is liberation”.
In the article “Định hướng tương lai với thế hệ Tăng sỹ trẻ
ngày nay” (Orientation for the future with the younger
generation of monks today), he further explains:
The issue of the Unified Buddhist Church of Vietnam
being in the government’s Fatherland Front, I do not
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
316
accept. And the issue of unification between the two
churches. I say our position is that there is no
unification. The Vietnam Buddhist Sangha is a member
of the Fatherland Front, which is a political
organization; we do not do politics, we do not unite with
any political organization. Then people say that in the
regulations, in our constitution, the party leads
everything. I say I know that point. I also know that
Lenin said “the party must go through religion to gather
the masses”. Lenin said, any communist cadre who
suppresses religion is reactionary. Lenin did not accept
the suppression of religion; in communism, there is no
suppression of religion, that is what Lenin instructed.
“The party must go through religion to gather the
masses” means that religion is a political tool of the
party. Because the party is not capable enough to
gather, it must borrow the hand of religion to gather.
But I will never let Buddhism be a tool for any political
party. Like the Soviet Union, a political party, collapsed
after 70 years. Even if the Communist Party of Vietnam
exists for another 1000 years, I will never use 2500
years of Buddhist heritage as a tool for any party. I also
said: “If my words mean digging my own grave, I am
still willing to bury myself, rather than accepting that.
And if you say it’s the law, yes, I respect the law, but if
the law violates my ideals, I don’t accept that law. Don’t
use the word “law” with me. It’s true that in any
country, one must respect the law, but if one creates a
law to use it to violate the values, the ideals of others,
then I don’t accept that law, I’m ready to die. I’ve
already faced a death sentence, I’m not afraid, I accept
it. This is not a challenge, but a matter of my ideals.
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
317
4. Hạt cát
Nữ vương ngự huy hoàng trong ráng đỏ
Cài sao hôm lấp lánh tóc mai
Bà cúi xuống cho đẹp lòng thần tử
Kìa, khách lạ, ngươi là ai?
Tôi sứ giả Hư vô
Xin gởi trong đôi mắt Bà
Một hạt cát.
A grain of sand
The Queen gloriously sits in her crimson glow,
Adorned with a sparkling Hesperus hairband.
A gracious sight, she lowers her head:
“Stranger, who are you?”
“I am the messenger of a realm of the Void you have not
heard of,
I’d like to put in your eyes,
A grain of sand.”
Explanation
Was it this grain of sand that made the Queen so furious
that she wanted to execute this brave stranger?
The verse “Tôi là sứ giả Hư vô” literally means “I am the
messenger of the Void”. However, Thầy’s intent in putting
a grain of salt in her eyes is to awaken her from the harsh
reality of her country. To emphasize her ignorance, I’ve
changed “the Void” to “a realm of the Void she has not
heard of”.
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
318
5. Loạn thị
Cắt gân máu chiêm bao quỉ hiện
Ai làm gì bên chiếc ghế mây
Vách tường trắng bàn tay năm ngón
Một bông hồng năm cánh đang xoay.
Chồng gối cao không thấy mặt trời
Trên khung cửa con chim thắt cổ
Đàn kiến bò hạt cát đang rơi
Tôi nhắm mắt trầm ngâm ánh lửa.
Astigmatism
Once a blood vessel was cut, ghosts appeared,
The bamboo chair was moving, but no one was near,
A five-fingered hand displayed on the white wall,
And a five-petal rose was twirling in the air,
A high stack of pillows blocked the sun,
On the window frame, a bird hung itself,
A colony of ants crawled over a falling grain of sand,
I closed my eyes, contemplating the fire.
Explanation
Thầy would not harm himself by cutting his blood vessel to
experience the things described in the poem. It’s common
for meditators during retreats to experience vivid and
sometimes bizarre dreams, which can occasionally serve
as omens of future events.
In the Aṅguttara Nikāya, it is recorded that on the night
before his enlightenment under the Bodhi tree, Prince
Siddhartha had five strange dreams that he could explain
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
319
only after attaining Enlightenment and becoming the
Śākyamuni Buddha.
First vision: The Prince dreamed that he suddenly became
enormous and was sleeping on the surface of the earth, his
head resting on the peak of the Himalayas, his left hand on
the eastern sea, his right hand on the western sea, and his
feet on the southern sea. This vision indicated that he would
attain Enlightenment and become the teacher of gods and
humans.
Second vision: The Prince dreamed of a red Tiriya grass
growing from his navel. It grew taller and taller, piercing
the sky and stopping there. This was an omen that he would
find Enlightenment and spread his teachings throughout
the heavens and realms of human existence.
Third vision: The Prince dreamed of four types of birds,
green, red, gray, and yellow, flying from the four
directions. When they landed on his feet, they all turned
white. This vision foretold that the four classes of kings,
monks, merchants, and common people would all convert
to his teachings, become monks, and attain enlightenment.
Fourth vision: The Prince dreamed of white worms
crawling up his legs and covering his knees. This was an
omen of the appearance of a large number of white-robed
lay people who would follow him.
Fifth vision: The Prince dreamed that he was walking on a
large, filthy mountain but his feet were not soiled in the
slightest. This was an omen that he would receive the
respect and offerings of all beings in the heavens and
human realms with a pure heart.
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Trần Nhân Tông, a renowned Vietnamese king who ruled
from 1278 to 1293 before abdicating to become a monk,
also had a profound dream. Refer to page 244, for his
rigorous 12 dhūtaguṇas austerities.
While visiting Từ Phước pagoda, in his afternoon nap, he
dreamt of a golden lotus, as vast as a wheel, unfurling from
his navel with a radiant golden Buddha enthroned upon it.
This dream foreshadowed his role as the First Patriarch of
the Trúc Lâm Zen Buddhist sect, which he founded and now
has branches worldwide.
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6. Mộng ngày
Ta cỡi kiến đi tìm tiên động,
Cõi trường sinh đàn bướm dật dờ,
Cóc và nhái lang thang tìm sống,
Trong hang sâu con rắn nằm mơ
Đầu cửa động đàn ong luân vũ,
Chị hoa rừng son phấn lẳng lơ.
Thẹn hương sắc lau già vươn dậy,
Làm tiên ông tóc trắng phất phơ.
Kiến bò quanh nhọc nhằn kiếm sống,
Ta trên lưng món nợ ân tình.
Cũng định mệnh lạc loài Tổ quốc,
Cũng tình chung tơ nắng mong manh.
Ta hỏi kiến nơi nào cõi tịnh,
Ngoài hư không có dấu chim bay.
Từ tiếng gọi màu đen đất khổ,
Thắp tâm tư thay ánh mặt trời?
Ta gọi kiến, ngập ngừng mây bạc,
Đường ta đi, non nước bồi hồi.
Bóc quá khứ, thiên thần kinh ngạc,
Cắn vô biên trái mộng vỡ đôi.
Non nước ấy trầm ngâm từ độ,
Lửa rừng khuya yêu xác lá khô.
Ta đi tìm trái tim đã vỡ,
Đói thời gian ta gặm hư vô.
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322
Daydream
On the back of an ant, searching for a sanctuary,
Where death does not exist, I find a herd of butterflies
fluttering,
Toads and frogs wander around, looking for food,
Deep in its cave, a snake lies daydreaming.
At the entrance, a swarm of bees dances whirling around
the forest flowers,
Which proudly show off their beautiful colors and
attractive perfume.
Ashamed of their inferior colors and fragrance, the
flowers of the reeds stand up,
Looking like old angels’ white hair, wavering in the wind.
Here, too, are some ants running around, searching for
their homeland.
With a heavy debt of love that I carry on my back,
I also find myself homeless, sharing the same fate with
the ants,
And the love for our homeland, as fragile as sunlight
threads.
I ask my ant where the tranquil world beyond the void is,
Where traces of bird flights are forever there,
And from the darkness of this suffering Earth,
Rises the light of hope, in lieu of sunlight?
I call the ants, but silver clouds hesitantly arrive instead.
My homeland trembles following my path.
The angels are utterly shocked when I unveil my
country’s past,
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323
And her dream fruit broke in half when I bit into the
limitless.
My country has been in a stalemate,
Since the day her forests were furiously burnt down.
In search of her broken heart,
I’ll bite the Emptiness when I’m hungry for time.
Explanation
When I read the line:
Ta gọi kiến, ngập ngừng mây bạc
I call the ants, but silver clouds hesitantly arrive instead,
I feel as if I’m reading the poetry of the Chinese Zen master
Fudaishi (497-569). His poem has four lines:
空
手
把
鋤
頭
步
行
騎
水
牛
人
從
橋
上
過
橋
流
水
不
流
Không thủ bả sừ đầu,
Bộ hành kỵ thuỷ ngưu.
Nhân tùng kiều thượng quá,
Kiều lưu thuỷ bất lưu
Tay không: nắm cán mai
Đi bộ: lưng trâu ngồi
Trên cầu người qua lại
Cầu trôi, nước chẳng trôi.
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324
Empty-handed: he holds the hoe
Walking: he rides the water buffalo
People pass over the bridge
The bridge flows, the water does not.
Back to the poem, the verses
Ta hỏi kiến nơi nào cõi tịnh
Ngoài hư không có dấu chim bay
I ask my ant where the tranquil world beyond the void is,
Where traces of bird flights are forever there
reminds me of the story of Zen Master Mazu Daoyi (709-
788) and his disciple Baizhang Huaihai (720-814).
While they were walking, they saw a flock of birds flying
by. Mazu asked Baizhang, “Where do the birds go?”
Baizhang replied, “They have flown away”. Immediately,
Mazu twisted Baizhang‘s nose so hard and asked,
何曽飛
去
(Hà tằng phi khứ? From the beginningless time, have
they ever really flown away?), causing Baizhang to
suddenly realize the truth in the midst of pain.
Therefore, I translate his verse “ngoài hư không có dấu
chim bay” as “where traces of bird flights are forever
there”.
The poem has 6 sections:
In the first section, I use the phrase “where death does not
exist” to describe the realm of perpetual being, instead of
the word “eternal”, to underscore Thầy’s intention that
this place transcends birth and death.
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325
Every action here is depicted in the present moment, not
the past. The whole poem unfolds in the present tense, as
though events are occurring right now. Since Vietnamese
doesn’t have the same nuanced tense system as English, I
believe conveying Thầy’s meaning by using the present
tense is the better choice.
In the second section, Thầy continues to paint a picture of
superficial tranquility in the celestial realm. He suggests
that even in a place beyond birth and death, petty ambitions
and envy still exist. Therefore, I translate the three words
“thẹn hương sắc” as “ashamed of their inferior colors and
fragrance.” Thầy is merely using the celestial realm as a
metaphor to express his feelings about his homeland, a
place where ambition and envy also prevail, as he will
elaborate in the following sections.
In the third section, Thầy reveals that he carries a heavy
burden. It is the debt he owes his homeland, one of the
fourfold graces 37 in Buddhism. His verse, “ta trên lưng
37 The fourfold graces in Buddhism include grace of parents, grace of
the Triple Gem, grace of nation and society and grace of all sentient
beings.
Grace of parents: Parents give birth to us and raise us. Their kindness
and dedication are immeasurable. We must repay our parents’
kindness. According to Buddhism, being born into a particular family
is not by chance but due to past karmic connections.
Grace of the Triple Gem: In Buddhism, the Triple Gem represents the
Buddha (the enlightened one), the Dharma (the teachings), and the
Sangha (the community of monks and nuns). By acknowledging this
grace, individuals express gratitude for the teachings and guidance
that have helped them on their spiritual journey. It is a way of
recognizing the importance of these elements in their lives.
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
326
món nợ ân tình,” can be interpreted as “I carry the debt of
gratitude on my back.” While some translations suggest
Thầy places this debt on the back of an ant, I believe it
refers to Thầy himself carrying this burden on his back
while he is riding on an ant’s back. The repeated use of “tổ
quốc” (homeland) in the following lines emphasizes his
sense of belonging and loss. His love for his country is as
delicate as a sunbeam, yet it is strong and enduring.
In the fourth section, on the journey to find the realm of
serenity, where birds have flown but their traces remain,
guiding his path. This is the realm of enlightenment that
Zen Master Baizhang discovered upon seeing the traces of
birds in flight. With a deep love for his homeland, Thầy’s
realm of serenity is our homeland, where our minds
illuminate, replacing the sunlight:
Từ tiếng gọi màu đen đất khổ,
Thắp tâm tư thay ánh mặt trời
And from the darkness of this suffering Earth,
Rises the light of hope, in lieu of sunlight.
In the fifth section, Thầy expresses his intense love for his
homeland, a love so profound that it moves even the
heavens and the earth: “Ta gọi kiến, ngập ngừng mây bạc”
Grace of nation and society: This refers to the benefits and
opportunities provided by one’s nation and society, such as education,
infrastructure, and social support. Citizens have the duty to comply
with their nation’s laws and protect the sovereignty of their nation.
Grace of all sentient beings: This encompasses gratitude for all living
beings, recognizing that one’s existence is intertwined with the
existence of others.
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
327
(I call the ants, but silver clouds hesitantly arrive instead).
Nothing can hinder his path.
Bóc quá khứ, thiên thần kinh ngạc,
Cắn vô biên trái mộng vỡ đôi.
The angels are utterly shocked when I unveil my country’s
past,
And her dream fruit broke in half when I bit into the
limitless.
Why are the angels utterly shocked when Thầy unveils his
country’s past? Thầy didn’t say. “The Black Book of
Communism: Crimes, Terror, Repression” is a 1997 book
by Stéphane Courtois and several other European
academics documenting a history of political repression by
communist states, including genocides, extrajudicial
executions, deportations, and deaths in labor camps and
allegedly artificially created famines. According to the
introduction of the book, the number of people killed by the
Communist governments amounts to more than 94 million.
But this is only an estimation. The truth should be much
worse than that. The book, although having many
limitations, contradictions, and inconsistencies, estimated
1 million deaths caused by the Vietnamese Communists.
The next verse, “cắn vô biên trái mộng vỡ đôi” (her dream
fruit broke in half when I bit into the limitless), represents
his desire to grasp something beyond his reach (the
limitless), only to find his cherished hope or aspiration for
the nation has been shattered.
In the final section, I understand “trầm ngâm” to mean a
“stalemate” or a state of being stuck, and “lửa rừng khuya
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
328
yêu xác lá khô” as a metaphor for a raging fire, specifically
describing a profound sense of stagnation, comparing the
situation to a raging wildfire consuming everything in its
path. This is clearly a reference to the tumultuous event of
April 30th, 1975.
Since the nation was in a state of paralysis, Thầy
relentlessly sought to mend her broken heart, undeterred
by adversity. I translate “hư vô” as “Emptiness” rather
than “Nothingness” to convey a sense of void or vacancy
without completely negating existence. “Emptiness”
suggests a state of mind free from distractions, while
“Nothingness” implies a complete absence of everything.
Dreams, while intangible, are far from nonexistent. They
are vivid mental experiences that can feel incredibly real,
complete with physical manifestations like shouting or
sweating.
Finally, I have opted for the title of this poem as
“Daydream” rather than “Day Dream” to indicate that
the dreams referred to in the poem are imaginative
thoughts that occur while one is conscious, as opposed to
the nighttime dreams that occur during sleep.
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
329
7. Trăng
Nhà đạo nguyên không khách
Quanh năm bạn ánh đèn
Thẹn tình Trăng liếc trộm
Bẽn lẽn núp sau rèm.
2
Yêu nhau từ vạn kiếp
Nhìn nhau một thoáng qua
Nhà đạo nguyên không nói
Trăng buồn trăng đi xa.
The moon
1
Not a visitor disturbs the hermit’s solitude.
Year in and year out, his friend is the lamplight.
Ashamed of her feelings, the moon, steals glances,
Shyly hiding behind the curtain.
2
Bound by love through countless lifetimes,
But they only exchange a fleeting glance.
As the hermit keeps his unspoken love,
The moon sadly turns and flees away.
Explanation
In the artist’s perception, the moon is not merely a source
of light in the night or a measure of time, but has become
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an art form. There, it has become a polyphonic harmony,
carrying many emotions about war and peace, happiness
and suffering, homeland and family, love and despair.
However, it is only Thầy who sees the moon’s coy glances:
Thẹn tình Trăng liếc trộm
Bẽn lẽn núp sau rèm
Ashamed of her feelings, the moon, steals glances,
Shyly hiding behind the curtain
and its sadness as its love has not been returned.
Nhà đạo nguyên không nói
Trăng buồn trăng đi xa
As the hermit keeps his unspoken love,
The moon sadly turns and flees away
In the poem, the hermit is depicted as a solitary figure,
seeking solace in nature and the company of the moon. But
there is a sense of unfulfilled longing, as the hermit and the
moon are drawn to each other but unable to fully connect.
The moon’s departure at the end of the poem underscores
the theme of unfulfilled longing and the bittersweet nature
of their relationship, from the joys of love to the pains of
loss.
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8. Trúc và nhện
1
Nắng sớm in tường bạc
Trúc gầy ngả bóng xanh
Tâm tư lắng tĩnh mặc
Tơ nhện buông xuôi cành
2
Trúc biếc che ngày nắng
Hương chiều đuổi mộng xa
Phương trời nhuộm ráng đỏ
Tóc trắng nhện tơ lòa
3
Gió khẽ lay cành trúc
Hương vàng ánh nhện tơ
Buông rời giấc tịnh tọa
Nghe động phương trời xa
4
Ngõ vào qua khóm trúc
Cửa khép vượt đường mây
Tá túc trăng hờn nhện
Nghiêng nghiêng áo lụa dài.
5
Trúc già ngọn phơi phới
Trời hận tuôn mưa rào
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Nặng trĩu tình tơ nước
Trúc già lặng cúi đầu.
Bamboo and spider
1
Early sunlight shines on the silver wall,
Where a slender bamboo casts its green shadow.
A spider peacefully rests in its web,
Threads hanging on the bamboo branches.
2
The green bamboo guards against sunny days,
Its afternoon fragrance chases dreams away.
As twilight paints the sky with red hues,
The spider threads resemble wisps of white hair.
3
A gentle breeze shakes the bamboo tree,
Shimmering golden hues of the spider silken threads.
From meditative depths, I gently rise,
To distant echoes from the sky.
4
The entrance is veiled by the bamboo grove,
Its gate hidden beyond the clouds,
The moon, envious of the spider’s shelter on the bamboo,
Tilts the hem of its silk gown áo dài.
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5
The old bamboo vigorously stands tall,
But angry heavens open up to pour rain down.
Laden with love of watered threads,
The old bamboo silently bows its head.
Explanation
The poem paints a beautiful and delicate picture of love
between a bamboo plant and a spider. The imagery used is
colorful, rich and evocative, with elements of nature like
sunlight, wind, and moon contributing to the overall theme
of love and connection.
Nắng sớm in tường bạc
Trúc gầy ngả bóng xanh
Early sunlight shines on the silver wall,
Where a slender bamboo casts its green shadow
Phương trời nhuộm ráng đỏ
Tóc trắng nhện tơ lòa
As twilight paints the sky with red hues,
The spider threads resemble wisps of white hair
Gió khẽ lay cành trúc
Hương vàng ánh nhện tơ
A gentle breeze shakes the bamboo tree,
Shimmering golden hues of the spider silken threads
Tá túc trăng hờn nhện
Nghiêng nghiêng áo lụa dài
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The moon, envious of the spider’s shelter on the bamboo,
Tilts the hem of its silk gown áo dài
These lines suggest that the moon desires to dwell upon the
bamboo branch, but finding the spider already there, it
casts a jealous glance, draping its silvery gown over the
bamboo in a fit of pique.
As Thầy emerges from meditation, a distant rumble heralds
an impending storm. The bamboo, fearing the rain would
sever the delicate web, a symbol of the spider’s love, bows
its head in silent worry.
The poem explores a unique form of love, not between
humans, but between a spider and a bamboo tree. The
bamboo recognizes the significance of the web and worries
for its safety during the impending storm.
The poem thus conveys a sense of empathy and
compassion, even towards a seemingly insignificant
creature. It highlights the interconnectedness of all beings
and the importance of protecting the delicate balance of
nature.
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9. Vết rạn
Áo lụa mỏng đẹp bờ vai thiếu phụ
Tóc nàng xanh chỉ nói một tình riêng
Tôi nhạc sĩ, nhưng âm đàn ngược gió
Nàng yêu chồng cho giấc ngủ bình yên.
Nắng lụa đỏ phủ tường rêu xám bạc
Lá cây xanh nghiêng xuống mắt mơ màng
Người có biết mặt trời kia sẽ tắt?
Tôi yêu người từ vết rạn thời gian.
The rift
A silken dress, a gentle grace drapes her shoulder.
Her emerald hair hints at a reserved love tale.
I am a musician yet my melodies are lost to the wind,
As she loves her husband, her refuge from the storm.
Crimson silky sunlight covers the gray mossy walls,
Green leaves droop over my dreamy eyes.
Don’t you know the sun will one day die?
But my love for you endures through the rift of time.
Explanation
In the first stanza, the term “nàng” can refer to a woman,
a lover, or a country. In this context, it seems to represent
Thầy’s homeland, so I translated the word “nàng” into the
third person.
She is Thầy’s homeland. Her beauty takes his breath away.
He loves her, but the winds of time muffle his voice, and
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
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she remains unaware. All she desires is tranquility with her
partner, which could be a metaphor for her people.
The original verse is rich in imagery, using elements like
silk, hair, wind, and sunlight to convey emotions and ideas.
The translation attempts to preserve these images while
adapting them to English. For instance, “tóc nàng xanh”
is translated as “her emerald hair” and “âm đàn ngược
gió” literally means tunes against the wind, but it is
translated as “melodies lost to the wind” to give it a more
poetic and evocative quality.
In the second stanza, the term “nàng” is changed to
“người”. “Người” can also be used in the third person, but
I choose the second person so that this stanza represents
his promise Thầy has directly spoken to his homeland:
Người có biết mặt trời kia sẽ tắt?
Tôi yêu người từ vết rạn thời gian.
Don’t you know the sun will one day die?
But my love for you endures through the rift of time.
This choice is to create a more direct and personal
connection between Thầy and you, the reader.
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Volume 5:
Tĩnh thất | Meditation room
Tĩnh thất
| Meditation room
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338
These are 32 short poems named “Tĩnh thất” (Meditation
room, Thiền phòng). All of these poems do not only
contain more or less Zen thoughts, but also reveal Thầy’s
deep feelings for his homeland.
Time of composition: 2000-2001
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1. Cho tôi một hạt muối tiêu
Cho tôi một hạt muối tiêu
Bờ môi em nhạt nắng chiều lân la
Tôi đi chấn chỉnh sơn hà
Hồng rơi vách đá mù sa thị thành
Give me a pinch of pepper salt
Give me a pinch of pepper salt,
To season your lips, faded by the evening light.
I will go to reform my homeland,
For red demons to fall into cliffs and dews to fall on my
cities.
Explanation
I’ve changed “một hạt muối tiêu” (a grain of salt and
pepper) to “một nhúm muối tiêu” (a pinch of salt and
pepper) in my translation because salt and pepper are
mixed together, so there can’t be just one grain.
By combining the last two sentences with the first two, I get
Thầy’s message: Because her lips are bland, he’ll use salt
and pepper to season them. Similarly, driven by his
homeland’s turmoil, he seeks to purge the red demons and
restore the dews.
Using salt and pepper to season one’s lips so they won’t be
bland is a strange idea, but full of Zen meaning! Many
people think Zen is something abstract and hard to
understand. Eating when hungry, sleeping when tired,
that’s Zen. The difference is, according to Zen master
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
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Baizhang Huaihai (720-814), a Zen master knows when
they’re eating or sleeping, while ordinary people think
about all sorts of other things while eating or sleeping.
Something bland needs to be seasoned, that’s the true Zen
spirit.
The following story shows that sitting in meditation every
day does not help to obtain the true Zen spirit.
In the history of Zen Buddhism, Mazu Daoyi (709-788) was
a renowned Zen master during the Tang Dynasty of China.
He was the most outstanding disciple of Zen Master
Nanyue Huairang (677-744) who was a major disciple of
the Sixth Patriarch Huineng. The following is the first
lesson that Huairang taught Mazu:
In the year 713 of the Tang Dynasty, Master Huairang
arrived at the Baoya Temple on Mount Heng. There was a
monk named Mazu Daoyi at the Monastery who sat in
meditation every day. Huairang approached him and
asked:
- Why do you sit in meditation?
- To become a Buddha.
Huairang took a brick and began to grind it in front of
Mazu. Seeing this, Mazu asked in surprise:
- Master, what are you doing with that brick?
- I’m making a mirror.
- How can you make a mirror by grinding a brick?
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
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- If you can’t make a mirror by grinding a brick, how can
you become a Buddha by sitting in meditation?
- Then how does one become a Buddha?
- This principle is like an ox pulling a cart. If the cart
doesn’t move, do you beat the cart or the ox?
Mazu was speechless. Huairang continued:
- Are you learning to sit in meditation or to sit as a
Buddha? If you are learning to sit in meditation, then
meditation is not about sitting or lying down. If you are
learning to sit as a Buddha, then a Buddha does not have
a fixed form. The Dharma has nowhere to abide, so when
seeking the Dharma, one should not cling, reject, or be
attached. Like clouds drifting in the sky, no one can use
force to nail them in place. Since the Dharma has no fixed
abode, one should not cling to it or reject it. If you learn to
sit as a Buddha, you are killing the Buddha. If you cling to
the form of sitting, you will never see the Dharma.
Upon hearing these words, Mazu felt as if a thirsty person
had just drunk a cupful of cold water. He immediately
bowed to Huairang and became Nanyue Huairang‘s
disciple.
Nanyue Huairang’s teacher was Dajian Huineng (638-
713) who is a semi-legendary but central figure in the early
history of Chinese Zen Buddhism. According to the
Platform Sūtra (Pháp Bảo Đàn kinh in Vietnamese),
Huineng was a poor, illiterate young man from southern
China who was selling firewood. When he heard someone
reciting the Diamond Sūtra (kinh Kim Cương in
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
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Vietnamese), he had an awakening experience. Huineng
learned that the man reciting the sūtra had come from
Daman Hongren‘s monastery, in Huangmei (Yellow Plum)
Mountain, so he traveled to Huangmei and presented
himself to Hongren.
Hongren saw that this uneducated youth from South China
had a rare understanding. But to protect Huineng from
jealous rivals, he put Huineng to work doing chores instead
of inviting him into the Buddha Hall for teaching.
One day Hongren challenged his disciples to compose a
verse that expressed their understanding of the dharma. If
any verse reflects the truth, Hongren said, the monk who
composed it will receive the robe and bowl passing to him
from the First Patriarch Bodhidharma and become the
Sixth Patriarch.
Yuquan Shenxiu, the most senior monk, accepted this
challenge and wrote this verse on a monastery wall:
身
是
菩
提
樹
心
如
明
鏡
臺
時
時
勤
拂
拭
勿
使
惹
塵
埃
Thân thị bồ-đề thọ
Tâm như minh kính đài
Thời thời cần phất thức
Vật sử nhạ trần ai
Thân là cây bồ-đề
Tâm như đài gương sáng
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Phải luôn lau chùi sạch
Chớ để bụi trần bám
The body is the bodhi tree.
The mind is like a bright mirror platform.
Moment by moment wipe and polish it,
Not allowing dust to collect.
When someone read the verse to the illiterate Huineng, the
future Sixth Patriarch knew Shenxiu had missed it.
Huineng dictated this verse for another to write for him:
菩
提
本
無
樹
明
鏡
亦
非
臺
本
來
無
一
物
何
處
惹
塵
埃
Bồ-đề bổn vô thọ
Minh kính diệc phi đài
Bổn lai vô nhất vật
Hà xứ nhạ trần ai?
Bồ-đề vốn chẳng cây
Gương sáng cũng không đài
Xưa nay không một vật
Bụi trần bám vào đâu?
Bodhi originally isn’t a tree,
The mirror has no platform.
Nothing has ever existed,
Where might dust collect?
Hongren recognized Huineng‘s understanding and gave
him the robe and bowl, as insignia of his authority and
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in acknowledgment of his unsurpassed spiritual
attainment. But Hongren then advised him that it would
be wise for him to hide his own light under a bushel until
the proper time arrived for his public appearance and
active propaganda, and also that the robe which was
handed down from Bodhidharma as the sign of faith
should no more be given up to Huineng’s successors,
because Zen was now fully recognized by the outside
world in general and there was no more necessity to
symbolize the faith by the transference of the robe. That
night Huineng left the monastery.
Three days after the flight of Huineng from Huangmei,
the news of what had happened in secret became noised
abroad throughout the monastery, and a party of
indignant monks, headed by one named Ming, pursued
the fugitive, Huineng. When Huineng was overtaken by
Ming, he laid down his robe on a rock nearby and said
to Ming:
- This robe symbolizes our patriarchal faith and is not
to be carried away by force. Take this along with you,
however, if you so desire.
Ming tried to lift it, but it was as heavy as a mountain.
He halted, hesitated, and trembled with awe. At last, he
said:
- I come here to obtain the faith and not the robe.
- If you come for the faith, stop all your hankerings.
Think not of good, think not of evil, but see what at this
moment your own original face looks like, which you
had even prior to your own birth.
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Ming felt as if he had taken a cupful of cold water and
tasted it to his own satisfaction. Approaching the
Patriarch, he bowed and asked,
- Besides this hidden sense as is embodied in these
significant words, is there anything which is secret?
- In what I have shown to you, there is nothing hidden.
If you reflect within yourself and recognize your own
face, which was before the world, secrecy is in yourself.
Whatever historical circumstances surrounded Huineng
in those remote days, it is certain that in this statement,
“to see one’s own face even before one was born”, we
find the first proclamation of the new message, which
was destined to unroll a long history of Zen and to make
Huineng really worthy of the patriarchal robe. We can
see here what a new outlook Huineng has succeeded in
opening to the traditional Indian Zen. In him we do not
recognize anything of Buddhism as far as phraseology
goes, which means that he opened up his own way of
presenting the truth of Zen after his original and
creative experience. Prior to him, the Zen experience
only had some borrowings, either in wording or in
method, to express itself. To say “You are the Buddha”,
or “The Buddha is living in you”, is too stale, too flat,
because too abstract and too conceptual. They contain
deep truth but are not concrete nor vivifying enough to
rouse our dormant souls from insensibility.
Hence his unusual freshness in the way he handled the
problem.
(Copied from Dr. Suzuki‘s “Essays in Zen Buddhism”)
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2. Đến đi vó ngựa mơ hồ
Đến đi vó ngựa mơ hồ
Dấu rêu còn đọng trên bờ mi xanh
Arrival or departure from vague hoofprints
Do the vague hoofprints mark an arrival or a departure.
When traces of moss still linger on her green eyelids?
Explanation
I had to think really hard to understand just these two lines.
It was all because the poem lacked a question mark.
Literally, these two verses are translated as,
Coming, going, vague hoofprints
Traces of moss linger on green eyelids.
With the question mark added, the first line becomes: “Can
you tell if the horseman is coming or going, just by looking
at the vague hoofprints on the ground?” Of course, without
more details, the answer would be a 50/50 guess.
But the second line says: “(When) the traces of moss
(representing tears of longing that have accumulated over
time) still linger on her green eyelids”. From this, it’s clear
that the horseman has left, leaving behind feelings of
longing for the one who stayed.
In “Dreaming the Mountain”, professor Nguyễn Bá Chung
and poet Martha Collins translate this poem as:
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347
Coming and going muffled horse hooves
Traces of moss gather on green eyelashes
Their translation might be accurate to the original words,
but the two sentences clearly are unrelated. Readers are
left wondering what the author is trying to convey.
In my opinion, a translator should not only understand the
words but also the author’s intent and convey that meaning
to the reader. On December 2, 2015, on the 250th
anniversary of Nguyễn Du‘s birth, the World Record Union
declared “Truyện Kiều” (The Tale of Kiều) a literary
masterpiece. If The Tale of Kiều is only translated literally
and not accurately in terms of meaning, how can we
appreciate its true beauty?
In a speech commemorating the death anniversary of
Nguyễn Du on December 8, 1924, scholar Phạm Quỳnh
declared, “A nation cannot be without a national flower,
and The Tale of Kiều is our national flower; a nation
cannot be without a national treasure, and The Tale of Kiều
is our national treasure; a nation cannot be without a
national soul, and The Tale of Kiều is our national soul”.
There’s a particularly beautiful verse in “Truyện Kiều”
(The Tale of Kiều) that I admire Nguyễn Du for writing.
It’s line 2242:
Dẫu lìa ngó ý, còn vương tơ lòng.
We know that when a lotus stem is broken, it doesn’t always
break completely. The fibers within the stem often remain
attached. Nguyễn Du used the image of the lotus stem to
describe the longing of Kiều. As for who she is longing for,
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
348
some say it’s Kim Trọng, while others argue it’s Thúc Sinh
or Từ Hải. But that’s not the main point here.
Yale University scholar Huỳnh Sanh Thông, in his book
“The Tale of Kiều”, translates this verse
“Dẫu lìa ngó ý, còn vương tơ long”
as:
Cut from her mind, it clung on to her heart.
I think this translation is accurate in terms of meaning but
it omits the words “ngó” (lotus stem) and “tơ (filaments).
So, if I were to translate this verse, I would say,
Although the lotus stem of her mind was cut, its filaments
of love clung on to her heart.
Perhaps the professor omits the lotus stem and its filaments
for the sake of brevity, as the meaning of the poem is more
important.
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3. Nghìn năm trước lên núi
Nghìn năm trước lên núi
Nghìn năm sau xuống lầu
Hạt cải tròn con mắt
Dấu chân người ở đâu?
A thousand years ago
A thousand years ago, I climbed those mountains.
A thousand years later, I descended these stairs.
The mustard seed’s eyes were wide opened:
“Where are your footprints?”
Explanation
Arriving and departing, leaving no footprint.
In the Avataṃsaka Sūtra (kinh Hoa Nghiêm in
Vietnamese), book 39, when Sudhana asked the
Bodhisattva Maitreya where he came from, the
Bodhisattva’s response was “The Bodhisattvas neither
come nor go; thus, they arrive. Without a place, without
attachment, without loss, without birth, without abiding,
without moving, without arising, without clinging, without
defilement, without karma, without retribution, without
arising, without ceasing, without being cut off, without
being permanent, thus, they arrive”.
Similarly, in the Diamond Sūtra (kinh Kim Cương in
Vietnamese), the Buddha told Subhuti: “O Subhuti, if
anyone says that the Tathāgata (i.e., the World-Honored
One) comes or goes, sits or lies down, that person does not
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350
understand the meaning of my words. Why is that? The
Tathāgata does not come from anywhere and does not go
anywhere; that is why he is called Tathāgata”.
To arrive without arriving, to depart without departing,
how can there be footprints left behind? Therefore, Thầy
gives eyes to a mustard seed, making the mustard seed
round its eyes in wonder and ask Thầy, “Where are your
footprints?”
It’s a very short poem, yet filled with Zen meaning!
The following story proves that knowledge of Buddhist
scriptures and philosophical concepts does not equate to
true spiritual realization.
Su Dongpo, after an all-night philosophical discussion
with Zen Master Zhaojue (
曌觉
) at Donglin Temple (on
Lushan), wrote this poem to boast about his “realization”:
溪聲便是廣長舌
山色豈非清淨身
夜來八萬四千偈
他日何如舉似人
Khê thanh tiện thị quảng trường thiệt,
Sơn sắc khởi phi thanh tịnh thân.
Dạ lai bát vạn tứ thiên kệ,
Tha nhật hà như cử tự nhân
The sound of the stream is the wide and long tongue of the
Dharma.
The color of the mountain is the pure color of the body of
the Tathāgata.
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351
Last night, I recited eighty-four thousand verses.
How will I ever explain (my realization) to others
tomorrow?
In “Tô Đông Pha: Những phương trời viễn mộng” (Su
Dongpo: Celestial realms of distant dreams), Thầy
translates this poem into Vietnamese:
Suối reo vẫn Pháp âm bất tuyệt
Màu non kia Chân thể Như Lai
Đêm đó tám vạn bốn nghìn kệ
Ngày sau nói lại làm sao đây?
A short time later, having heard of Zen Master Yuquan
Chenghao‘s sharp wit, Su Dongpo disguised himself and
sought him out. When the Master asked for his name, Su
Dongpo replied:
- My name is Scale, because I can weigh all the monk elders
in the world.
The master shouted and asked:
- How much does this shout weigh?
Unable to answer, Su Dongpo was deeply impressed and
realized that his “realization” was far from complete.
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
352
4. Ta không buồn
Ta không buồn
có ai buồn hơn nữa?
Người không đi
sông núi có buồn đi?
Tia nắng mỏng soi mòn khung cửa
Để ưu phiền nhuộm trắng hàng mi
Ta lên bờ
nắng vỗ bờ róc rách
Gió ở đâu mà sông núi thì thầm?
Kìa bóng cỏ nghiêng mình che hạt cát
Ráng chiều xa, ai thấy mộ sương dầm?
I am filled with sorrow
I am filled with sorrow,
But can anyone’s sorrow be deeper?
If no one is willing to step forward,
Will the mountains and rivers weep?
A ray of sunlight creeps in, gnawing at the window frame,
Letting sorrow through to frost my eyebrows.
I step ashore,
Witnessing the sunlight gently splashing across the shore.
There’s no wind, yet I can hear the mountains and rivers
whisper.
And look, the grass leans down, its shadow shelters sand.
From the distant evening glow, does anyone see the grave,
soaked in dews?
Explanation
Before the sight of a suffering nation, who could be more
sorrowful than I?
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353
If no one is willing to step forward to save the country, will
the mountains and rivers weep?
In my quiet chamber, a ray of sunlight creeps in, wearing
away the window frame, allowing sorrow to frost my
eyebrows.
I leave the temple and go ashore, witnessing the sunlight
gently splashing across the shore. Without wind, but I hear
the mountains and rivers sigh, and see the shadow of grass
sheltering sand. But from the distant evening glow, does
anyone see the grave, soaked in dews?
When Thầy goes ashore, “the sunlight gently splashes
across the shore”. How can the sunlight splash across the
shore when only wind or waves can do that?
The next line literally means, “Why is there no wind but I
can hear the mountains and rivers whisper?”, I translate,
omitting the question mark: “There’s no wind, yet I can
hear the mountains and rivers whisper”.
The word “grains of sand” in the line “the grass leans
down, its shadow shelters sand” alludes to the plight of the
people under the Communist regime.
On June 3, 2001, the citizen monk Thích Tuệ Sỹ sent a
protest letter to the government. Here is a portion of it:
I am well aware that in the administrative procedures of
a bureaucratic apparatus made up of a large number of
officials who specialize in harassing and suppressing
the people, full of corruption, ..., the protest letter will
have to go through many levels before reaching the gate
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of the highest leaders, who always seek to evade their
responsibilities, only accepting what is praised as
glorious and great.
The poem ends with a question,
Ráng chiều xa, ai thấy mộ sương đầm?
From the distant evening glow, does anyone see the grave,
soaked in dews?
Because no one saw that dew-soaked grave, at the end of
August 2022, Thầy officially stepped out to assume the
position of Chief Secretary – Permanent Executive of the
Supreme Patriarch, Unified Buddhist Church of Vietnam.
Poet Tuấn Khanh explains in his essay “Thầy Tuệ Sỹ trong
vận mệnh Phật giáo Việt Nam” (Thầy Tuệ Sỹ’s place in the
history of Vietnamese Buddhism) as follows:
In late August 2022, Vietnam was abuzz with news about
the appearance of Most Venerable Thích Tuệ Sỹ,
officially taking the position of Chief Secretary -
Permanent Executive of the Supreme Patriarch. This
long-hidden enlightened master suddenly appeared at
the ceremony to receive the will, seal and inauguration
from the Fifth Patriarch Thích Quảng Độ, bringing joy
to those who truly love and are devoted to the freedom
of Buddhism in Vietnam.
However, many people mistakenly believe that Most
Venerable Thích Tuệ Sỹ’s current position is that of the
new Patriarch, which is the position of the overall leader
of the Unified Buddhist Church of Vietnam (UBCV). In
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
355
reality, when he accepted the will of Most Venerable
Thích Quảng Độ in 2020, Most Venerable Tuệ Sỹ
announced that after reorganizing the personnel and
leadership of the UBCV, when “conditions are
favorable”, he and the Church would hold a congress to
elect the Sixth Patriarch, the highest successor leader of
the Church. Currently, in layman’s terms, Most
Venerable Thích Tuệ Sỹ has the role of interim leader.
Anyone who has followed the struggle for the existence
of the UBCV since 1975 knows what the phrase
“favorable conditions” means. Even Most Venerable
Thích Tuệ Sỹ’s ceremonies to receive the position of
Chief Secretary - Permanent Executive of the Supreme
Patriarch and to receive the Will, seal, and
inauguration... had to be carried out quietly and
announced only after a week. The purpose of this quiet
and unexpected announcement was to avoid the familiar
disturbances that have been happening for many years.
In his final days of illness, Most Venerable Thích Quảng
Độ realized the internal disorder caused by the various
branches of the UBCV having different agendas. Two
main branches caused internal disagreements: one was
to use the Church’s manpower for political struggle; the
other was to compromise with the government through
certain corrupt individuals within the Church. Taking
advantage of Most Venerable Thích Quảng Độ’s illness,
those who wanted to manipulate the UBCV forged and
issued Edicts, causing much conflict among the leaders
of the Sangha Council, both domestic and foreign.
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
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Initially, Most Venerable Thích Quảng Độ‘s intention
was to pass on the position of Sixth Patriarch to the Most
Venerable Tuệ Sỹ, but because he wanted everything to
be transparent and create internal unity, Most
Venerable Thích Tuệ Sỹ requested only to temporarily
take over the position, waiting for the time to elect the
new Sixth Patriarch.
The passing of the Most Venerable Thích Quảng Độ in
February 2020 created a series of undercurrents. Those
who wanted to eliminate the UBCV saw this as an
opportunity to finish off the thorn in their eye. At the
funeral of the Most Venerable Thích Quảng Độ, people
witnessed monks from the government side trying to
steal his ashes to bring them back to the government’s
temple to preserve and worship, as a tactic to unify all
Vietnamese Buddhism under the control of the state.
Immediately after that, there was also a hasty election
of the Sixth Patriarch in Bình Định province, aiming to
seize leadership. Fortunately, despite the UBCV being
tortured from all directions, the monks and disciples still
maintained their steadfast loyalty to the Will. All these
plots quickly faded away. Regarding these
abnormalities, Most Venerable Thích Không Tánh once
summarized with the phrase “The government wants to
nationalize the funeral of the Most Venerable Thích
Quảng Độ”.
It must be told like this to see that the UBCV, despite
being erased and denied, when its highest leader passed
away, most of the major state newspapers still received
orders to hastily publish defamatory and slanderous.
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Excerpt from the September 2022 announcement of the
Central Sangha Council of the Unified Buddhist Church of
Vietnam - the Supreme Patriarch:
Never before has Buddhism, under the guidance of
monks and nuns, with pagodas under state control,
failed to lead sentient beings towards peace but instead
pushed them into darkness, traps, and manipulation to
serve worldly power. The presence of the Most
Venerable Thích Tuệ Sỹ and the Unified Buddhist
Church of Vietnam is like a bell awakening people,
reminding us of the profound value of those who follow
the Buddha: “The Unified Buddhist Church of Vietnam
is not a secular association; therefore, it does not place
itself under the direction of any secular power, nor is it
a tool to protect the existence of any political trend or
any secular organization; it does not practice or
propagate the Dharma according to any ideological
orientation; it has only one single orientation: the
Tathāgata (TN: the World-Honored One) of Ten
Directions (TN: N, S, E, W, NE, SE, SW, NW, upwards
and downwards) and One Vehicle of Nirvana; its only
ultimate goal is liberation”.
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5. Lon sữa bò nằm im bên chợ
Lon sữa bò nằm im bên chợ
Con chó lạc
đến vỗ nhịp
trời mưa
Tôi lang thang
đi tìm cọng cỏ
Nó nhìn tôi
vô tư
An empty milk can
An empty milk can lies still by the side of a street market.
A stray dog
Comes tapping the can to the rhythm
Of the rain.
I wander,
Searching for a blade of grass.
The dog looks at me
With innocent eyes.
Explanation
A stray dog comes tapping the can to the rhythm with the
rain and looks at me with innocent eyes. Tapping the can
to the rhythm of the rain simply means that the dog enjoys
the rain. But does the dog’s innocent look convey any
meaning? Does the dog know why I am searching for a
blade of grass?
The answer to these questions is the answer to this famous
koan given by Zen Master Zhaozhou (778-897).
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A monk asked the master, “Does a dog have Buddha-
nature?”
The master replied, “Wú!” (
無
, Vô, Nothing).
“Nothing” means not, but this “nothing” doesn’t mean
there isn’t and certainly doesn’t mean there is. This koan
is placed at the beginning of the Wumen Guan, compiled
and commentated by Zen Master Wumen Huikai (1183-
1260) who attained enlightenment after studying this koan
of “Nothing” for six consecutive years.
In the first case of his collection of 48 koan cases in Wumen
Guan, Wumen Huikai encourages his disciples to study this
koan, drawing on his own experience of attaining
enlightenment through its contemplation:
Arouse your entire body with its three hundred and sixty
bones and joints and its eighty-four thousand pores of
the skin; summon up a spirit of great doubt and
concentrate on this word “Wú!” (
無
, Vô, Nothing).
Carry it continuously day and night. Do not form a
nihilistic conception of vacancy, or a relative
conception of “has” or “has not.”
It will be just as if you swallow a red-hot iron ball, which
you cannot spit out even if you try.
All the illusory ideas and delusive thoughts accumulated
up to the present will be exterminated, and when the time
comes, internal and external will be spontaneously
united. You will know this, but for yourself only, like a
dumb man who has had a dream.
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Then all of a sudden, an explosive conversion will occur,
and you will astonish the heavens and shake the earth.
It will be as if you snatch away a great warrior’s sword
and hold it in your hand. Meeting the Buddhas, you kill
the Buddhas; meeting the Patriarchs, you kill the
Patriarchs. On the brink of life and death, you command
perfect freedom; among the six realms of existence 38
and four modes of birth 39, you enjoy a merry and playful
samadhi.
Now, I want to ask you again, “How will you carry it
out?”
Employ every ounce of your energy to work on this koan
“Wú!”
(
無
, Vô, Nothing). If you hold on without
interruption, behold; a single spark and the holy candle
is illuminated!
38 Six Realms of Existence:
Deva Realm: Heavenly beings, gods.
Asura Realm: Titans, demigods.
Human Realm: Humans.
Animal Realm: Animals.
Preta Realm: Hungry ghosts.
Naraka Realm: Hell realms.
39 Four modes of birth:
Jalābuja: Born from a womb, such as humans.
Aṇḍaja: Born from an egg, such as birds and reptiles.
Saṃsedaja: Born from moisture, such as insects.
Opapātika: Spontaneous appearance, without a birth process, such as
deities and ghosts.
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Excerpted from “Wumen Guan – The Barrier that has no
Gate”, compiled and edited by Paul Lynch, 6th Edition,
published by Before Thought Publications, 2010.
The specific Zen Master Zhaozhou‘s koan about the dog
and Buddha-nature is a classic example of how Zen
masters use seemingly simple questions to probe the depths
of consciousness.
Nāgārjuna explains the term “Śūnyatā” (Nothingness) in
essence as follows: “All phenomena and dharmas are
formed through dependent origination, they do not exist
independently, or have substantial self-nature. Therefore,
all phenomena and dharmas are ultimately nothing or, in
other words, are merely nominal”.
In simpler term, Nāgārjuna is saying that everything we
perceive is like a wave in the ocean. Waves appear to be
solid, but they are really just temporary formations of
water. Similarly, all things in the universe are temporary
formations that arise from a combination of causes and
conditions. They don’t have a permanent, unchanging
essence. This concept of Nothingness is a central tenet of
Mahāyāna Buddhism.
The poem connects a personal observation (a dog enjoying
the rain by tapping to the rhythm of the rain) to a profound
Zen concept (the dog looks at me with such innocence, i.e.,
the nature of existence and enlightenment). It highlights the
use of koans in Zen practice to challenge conventional
thinking and facilitate a deeper understanding of reality.
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6. Thuyền ra khơi có mấy tầng
tâm sự
Thuyền ra khơi, có mấy tầng tâm sự?
Nắng long lanh, bóng nước vọt đầu ghềnh
A ship sets sail
A ship sets sail, how many decks of feelings does it have?
The sun sparkles, water shadows leap over the rapids.
Explanation
Only Thầy could think of transforming the ship’s deck into
a space for profound conversation. The “decks of feelings”
suggest the layered emotions and memories that make up
our inner worlds. The question posed implies that the
depths of human emotion are vast and intricate, much like
the many levels of a ship.
The “rapids” could signify challenges or obstacles that life
presents. The poem suggests that just as the water shadows
can leap over the rapids, even though the water cannot, our
emotions, too, can be guided and controlled.
Let’s listen to Thầy’s profound and heartfelt conversation
in the article “Thuyền ngược bến không” (The boat drifting
against the empty wharf):
During the war, a group of friends went to the
mountains. In peacetime, another group went to the sea.
The nation suddenly returned to the myth of opening up
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the country 40. The children who followed their mother,
had once despised their siblings, and left for the
mountains. After a while, the children who had followed
their mother to the mountains now returned to the city.
And other siblings, frightened, hurriedly fled, seeking
the sea.
40 Thầy alludes to the Vietnamese myth that 50 sons followed their
mother Âu Cơ to the mountains and the other 50 sons followed their
father Lạc Long Quân to the sea:
Âu Cơ was a beautiful young immortal who lived high in the snow-
capped mountains. She traveled to help those who suffered from
illnesses since she was very skillful in medicine and had a sympathetic
heart. One day, a monster suddenly appeared before her while she was
on her travels. It frightened her, so she transformed into a crane to fly
away. Lạc Long Quân, the dragon king from the sea, passed by and
saw the crane in danger. He grabbed a nearby rock and killed the
monster with it. When Âu Cơ stopped flying to see the very person
that saved her, she turned back into an immortal and instantly fell in
love with her savior. She soon bore an egg sac, from which hatched a
hundred children. However, despite their love for each other, Âu Cơ
had always desired to be in the mountains again and Lạc Long Quân,
too, yearned for the sea. They separated, each taking 50 children. Âu
Cơ settled in the snow-covered mountains, which is now the northern
part of Vietnam.
“Âu Cơ”. Wikipedia, Wikimedia Foundation, 8 September 2024
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Âu_Cơ
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7. Trời cuối thu se lạnh
Trời cuối thu se lạnh
Chó giỡn nắng bên hè
Nắng chợt tắt
Buồn lê thê
In the chilly late autumn
In the chilly late autumn,
A dog plays with its shadow on the terrace.
Suddenly the sunlight disappears,
And the dog’s sorrow lengthens.
Explanation
The unique aspect of this poem lies in the juxtaposition of
the long shadow cast by the sun, which provides
amusement for the dog, and the subsequent long, lingering
sadness when the shadow abruptly disappears. The poet
has effectively substituted the long shadow with the long
sadness.
However, it’s important to note that the shadow is merely
an illusion, not a tangible entity. The dog, believing it to be
real, becomes deeply saddened by its disappearance.
The poem may be seen as a reflection of the human
condition, where we often find ourselves attached to things
that are ultimately impermanent.
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8. Lời rao trong ngõ hẻm
Lời rao trong ngõ hẻm:
Đồng hồ điện!
Cầu dao!
Công tắc!
Những lời rao chợt đến chợt đi
Một trăm năm mưa nắng ra gì
Cánh phượng đỏ đầu hè, ai nhặt?
The street cries
The street cries resounded in the alley:
Electric meter!
Circuit breaker!
Light switch!
The vendors’ cries fill the air, coming and going.
Where are these cries in a century of rain and sunshine?
Who will pick up the fallen scarlet poinciana petal at the
beginning of the sidewalk?
Explanation
Referring to the final verse of this poem,
Cánh phượng đỏ đầu hè, ai nhặt?
the phrase “đầu hè” means either “beginning of the
sidewalk” or “early summer”.
In “Dreaming the Mountain”, professor Nguyễn Bá Chung
and poet Martha Collins interpret it as “early summer”
and translates the verse as:
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Who picks the poinciana in early summer?
However, based on the verb “nhặt” (to pick up from the
ground), I believe it refers to the beginning of a sidewalk,
or terrace.
Where do these cries go after a hundred years of rain and
sunshine? I believe Thầy’s interpretation of the poem’s
meaning is that the cries in the poem are like fallen
poinciana flowers: once vibrant and noticeable, they are
eventually forgotten and discarded. The image of someone
picking up and discarding the flowers symbolizes the
impermanence and eventual fading of these cries.
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9. Nghe luyến tiếc như sao trời mơ
ngủ
Nghe luyến tiếc như sao trời mơ ngủ
Đêm mênh mông để lạc lối phù sinh
Ánh điện đường vẫn nhìn trơ cửa sổ
Ngày mai đi ta vẽ lại bình minh
A deep nostalgia
A deep nostalgia, like slumbering stars,
In the vast night, people stumble, lost in this transient
world.
As the streetlights stare blankly at the windows,
I will paint a new dawn tomorrow.
Explanation
The streetlights are personified as passive observers,
“staring blankly at the windows”. This imagery suggests a
sense of detachment and indifference to the human society.
It’s as if the streetlights, though illuminating the night, are
oblivious to the emotions and experiences of the people
they illuminate.
This contrast between the active, emotional state of the
people and the passive, mechanical nature of the
streetlights emphasizes the loneliness and isolation often
felt in a bustling, impersonal world.
Comparing the poet’s feeling to distant, slumbering stars,
and the image of the streetlights staring at the window
suggests a sense of isolation and the transience of life.
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In spite of this deep nostalgia, the final line introduces a
hopeful note, suggesting a desire for a fresh start and a new
beginning for his country. The poem clearly expresses
Thầy’s love for his homeland.
Let’s read a passage that Thầy writes in the preface for his
book, “Huyền thoại Duy-ma-cật” (The Legend of
Vimalakīrti):
Even on peaceful days, the temple remains quiet.
Whether in war or peace, life is like waves rising and
falling in a dreamlike ocean. The humble, solitary, and
serene atmosphere of the temple is like withered grass,
a witness to the impermanence of the world.
Whenever I saw the flag flying on trains traveling
between the North and South, or the South and Central
regions, whether in wartime or peacetime, my feelings
about the temple remained the same. Suddenly, I felt
inspired to write a couplet for the temple, although I
knew the temple would be hesitant to display it for
visitors:
Vượt Trường Sơn nghìn dặm Bắc Nam, nhìn nắng đọng
sân chùa, khách có biết mấy lần dâu biển?
Ngắm sông bạc một màu chung thủy, lắng chuông ngân
đầu cỏ, người không hay một thoáng Vô vi?
Crossing the Trường Sơn mountains, a thousand miles
between North and South, looking at the sunlight settling
on the temple courtyard, do visitors know how
intangible this world changes?
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Gazing at the silver river, a constant color from
beginning to end, listening to the bell’s chime
reverberating over the grass leaves, don’t people realize
how frivolous this fleeting life is?
Rereading my own couplet, I suddenly remembered a
poem by the Tang Dynasty poet Li Shangyin titled “
登
山
” (Đăng sơn, Climbing the Mountain):
終日昏昏醉夢間
忽聞春盡強登山
因過竹院逢僧話
偷得浮生半日閒
Chung nhật hôn hôn túy mộng gian,
Hốt văn xuân tận cưỡng đăng sơn.
Nhân quá trúc viện phùng tăng thoại;
Thâu đắc phù sinh bán nhật nhân.
All day long, I’ve been as hazy and indistinct as a
drunkard in a dream,
Suddenly realizing that spring is almost over, I force
myself to go mountain climbing.
Passing by the bamboo grove of a temple, I meet a monk
and we chat.
Then I realize I’ve stolen half a day in this fleeting life!
The poet’s inspiration often arises from the mundane
aspects of daily life, amidst the hustle and bustle; living
in that world, he feels as if he’s drifting in a drunken
dream. When he realizes that spring is ending or about
to end, he hastily seeks out a patch of green in the
mountains, meaning he seeks a bit of tranquility and
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release for his mind to compensate for the days spent
tirelessly striving for fame and fortune:
Mùi phú quý nhữ làng xa mã;
Bã vinh hoa lừa gã công khanh.
Giấc Nam kha khéo bất bình
Bừng con mắt dậy thấy mình tay không
(Cung oán ngâm khúc) 41
The scene of wealth tempts noble society people;
The dregs of glory deceive government bureaucrats.
Illusory dreams cause resentment,
Awakening only to find oneself empty-handed.
(The lament of an odalisque)
Passing by the bamboo grove, he happens to meet a
monk; they stop and chat. After a while, the poet
suddenly feels like he has gained half a day of leisure in
his turbulent life. There is a realm called “beyond the
world”, where Taoist priests, Zen masters, and hermits
live carefree, forgetting about time and all the busy
struggles of the world.
41 “Cung oán ngâm khúc” (The lament of an odalisque) is a poem by
Nguyễn Gia Thiều (1741-1798), written in Nôm script, consisting of
356 verses.
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10. Để trong góc tim một quả xoài
Để trong góc tim một quả xoài
Khi buồn vớ vẩn lấy ra nhai
Hỏi người năm cũ đi đâu hết?
Còn lại mình ta trên cõi này
Anh vẽ hình tôi, quên nửa hình
Nửa nằm quán trọ, nửa linh đinh
Nửa trên thiên giới, quần tiên hội
Nửa thức đêm dài, ôi u minh
I keep a mango
In a corner of my heart, I keep a mango.
In moments of gloom, a sweet memory to chew.
Where are they now, those friends of a bygone era?
In this world, I’m left alone.
You drew my portrait, but forgot the other half,
Half in a tavern, half in despair,
Or half in celestial realms, where fairies convene,
And half in sleepless, long nights, oh, so dark and drear.
Explanation
In the first stanza, when feeling aimlessly sad, the poet
takes out a mango to chew, probably because mangoes are
sweet, symbolizing a comforting memory, as he feels he is
left alone by his friends.
In the second stanza, is that forgotten half, the unfinished
part, the wandering soul staying up all night in this dark
realm, the person left alone by his friend in the first stanza?
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11. Lặng lẽ nằm im dưới đáy mồ
Lặng lẽ nằm im dưới đáy mồ
Không trăng không sao mộng vẩn vơ
Tại sao người chết, tình không chết?
Quay mấy vòng đời, môi vẫn khô
Quietly lying still at the bottom of a grave
Quietly lying still at the bottom of a grave,
No moon, no stars, only futile wondering:
Why does love endure when life succumbs to death?
Having gone through several turns of life, my lips remain
dry.
Explanation
The first two lines create a vivid image of a person lying in
a grave, surrounded by darkness and solitude, no longer
able to see the moon or stars. Yet, a profound question
lingers: why does love endure when life succumbs to
death?
“Through several turns of life” alludes to traversing
multiple lifetimes, while “lips remain dry” suggests a
persistent thirst, or in other words, an enduring love. How
profound!
Why does love persist after death? Of course, no one can
answer this question. Nonetheless, the word “love” here,
for us, might signify romantic love; but for Thầy, it was a
love for his homeland, a love as patriotism. This love
compelled him to stay in Vietnam in the war aftermath, to
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373
face imprisonment, and ultimately, the death penalty. This
love compelled him to return to Vietnam, even though the
Japanese doctor warned him that, with his refusal of
cancer treatment in Japan, he might have only 6 months to
live.
But perhaps Thầy isn’t speaking solely of his own
experience. Perhaps he’s addressing love in a more
universal sense, including romantic love. After all, how
many people find peace in death? Most linger, filled with
attachment and regret.
The poem, therefore, I believe, conveys both the personal
experience of Thầy and the universal human experience of
love, loss, and the afterlife.
But sharing the themes of love, loss, and the afterlife with
more profound and eloquent exploration, particularly for
Vietnamese people enduring the hardships of the
Communist regime, are these verses by poet Viên Linh,
Trinh nữ trầm oan nổi giữa dòng
Thân băng ngàn hải lý về sông
Xung quanh không một người than khóc
Chỉ cá trùng dương theo hộ tang.
(Thủy mộ quan)
A virgin, drown in a sea of grievance, floats on the current
Her icy body travels thousands of miles back to the river
Surrounded by no one to mourn
Only ocean fish accompany her funeral
(The underwater graveyard gate)
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12. Một hai ba
Một hai ba
những ngày quên lãng
Tôi vùi đầu trong lớp khói mù
Khói và bụi
chen nhau thành tư tưởng
Nhưng bụi đường lêu lỏng bến thâm u
One, two, three
One, two, three,
Days of oblivion,
When I buried my head in a haze of smoke.
Smoke and dust
Crammed together in my thoughts,
Yet the road dust loitered in the dark and ominous wharf.
Explanation
If you just bury your head in cigarette smoke all day, your
thoughts are clouded and unproductive. In this poem, Thầy
criticized those lacking ambition.
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13. Bỏ mặc đàn bò đôi mắt tình
diệu vợi
Bỏ mặc đàn bò đôi mắt tình diệu vợi
Ta lên trời, làm Chúa Cả Hư Vô
Nhìn xuống dưới mặt đất dày khói thuốc
Loài người buồn cho chút nắng hong khô
Abandoning the herd
Abandoning the herd, their eyes filled with profound
tenderness,
I ascend to the heavens, becoming the Lord of the Void.
Gazing down upon the smoke-laden Earth,
Humanity yearns for a sliver of sunlight to dry their tears.
Explanation
Thầy laments, highlighting the irony:
Even the cow can convey affection, though it has no words.
But humans, selfish and destructive, consumed by
cigarettes, pollute the Earth with smoke. And then they
refuse to accept their consequences, complaining that they
can’t find a sunny spot to dry their tears.
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14. Giữa Thiên đường rong chơi lêu
lỏng
Giữa Thiên đường rong chơi lêu lổng
Cõi vĩnh hằng mờ nhạt rong rêu
Ta đi xuống quậy trần hoàn nổi sóng
Đốt mặt trời vô hạn cô liêu
Roamed aimlessly through Paradise
I have roamed aimlessly through Paradise.
This eternal realm, a fuzzy, mossy place for me.
I descend to stir the earth into tumultuous waves,
And set the boundless sun ablaze in solitude.
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15. Con trâu trắng thẫn thờ góc
phố
Con trâu trắng thẫn thờ góc phố
Nỗi hoài hương nhơi mãi nhúm trăng mòn
Đám sẻ lạnh gật gù trên mái đỏ
Sương chiều rơi có thấy lạnh nhiều hơn?
Một chuỗi rắn rình mò trong hẻm nhỏ
Không bụi đường đâu có chỗ đi hoang?
A white buffalo stands dazed
A white buffalo stands dazed on the street corner,
Chewing on the nostalgia of the fading moon.
A flock of sparrows shivers, perched on the red roof,
Does the evening mist make them feel colder?
A den of snakes lurks in the narrow alleyway,
Without the dusty road, where can they slither?
Explanation
The three animals described have three different worries:
The buffalo misses home, chewing grass absentmindedly, a
flock of sparrows shivers, perching on the cold roof, and a
den of snakes lurks in the alleyway, wanting to roam freely.
The underlying message seems to be a reflection on the
Vietnamese people’s attitude, after the significant political
change of April 30, 1975, longing for democracy, but doing
nothing. They only chew grass on homesickness, like the
cow, stand in the cold and perch rather than actively find
a warmer place, like the sparrows, or pray for dust on the
road before daring to go, like the snakes.
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16. Bứt cọng cỏ
Bứt cọng cỏ
Đo bóng thời gian
Dài mênh mang
I pluck a blade of grass
I pluck a blade of grass,
To measure its shadow over time.
How immensely long it grows!
Explanation
Here’s another paradox in this poem: a blade of grass
should be very short, yet when measuring its shadow over
time, Thầy finds it incredibly long. And this is the Zen
meaning of the poem.
The difference between “form” (the physical body of the
grass, which is short) and “function” (measuring its
shadow over time, which is long) is wonderfully expressed
by Thầy through a single blade of grass.
However, how can one differentiate between form and
function when the deep understanding of Zen is wordless
and Zen enlightenment completely transcends form?
The following story taken from Dr. Daisetz Suzuki‘s
“Essays in Zen Buddhism”, explores the duality of “form”
and “function”, and the ultimate beyond-word realization
of non-duality through the silent dialogue.
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The case between Guishan Lingyou (771-853) and
Yangshan Huiji (807-883), was more intellectual and to
that extent more intelligible than mere calling and
responding.
Yangshan was the chief disciple of Guishan, and one of
the peculiar features of this school was to demonstrate
the truth of Zen concordantly both by the master and
disciple. They once went out picking tea-leaves.
- Picking tea-leaves all day, I hear only your voice and
do not see your body; manifest your original body and
let me see it, Guishan said to Yangshan.
Yangshan shook the tea-plant, without saying.
- You have only got its function, you have not got the
form, said Guishan.
- Master, how with you then? Yangshan said.
The master kept quiet for a while, whereupon the
disciple said:
- O master, you have got only the form, you have not got
the function.
- You will be spared of my twenty blows, concluded the
master.
In Buddhist ontology three conceptions are
distinguished, as was referred to previously: form,
appearance, and function. “Form” corresponds to the
idea of mass or being, “appearance” to that of form, and
“function” to that of force. Every reality is regarded by
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Buddhist philosophers as analyzable into these three
notions. Sometimes, however, the second conception,
“appearance”, is absorbed in that of “form”. Without
functioning no objects exist, but functioning cannot take
place without something functioning. The two ideas,
according to Buddhist philosophers, are thus
inseparable for our understanding of the universe. But
Guishan and Yangshan were not metaphysicians and
would not argue on the subject. The one shook the tree
and the other stood still.
For the question to show one’s original form, Yangshan
shook the tree-plant to allow the form to speak for itself,
but Guishan only saw the function in his disciple’s action,
while Guishan, when asked by his disciple to show the
form, kept quiet to allow the form to speak for itself, but
Yangshan only saw the form, not the function, in his non-
action. Their action and non-action in silence, although
still do not satisfactorily answer the question, are a
testament to the limitations of words in conveying the true
essence of their original forms.
The “original form” referred in this story by Guishan is
the same as the “original face before birth” that was asked
by the Sixth Patriarch Huineng (see pages 341-3 and 465)
or the “meaning of the First Patriarch Bodhidharma’s
coming from the West” in the fifth case in Wumen Guan
(see pages 199, 359 and 387).
In Wumen Guan, Wumen’s following comment is the reply
to those seeking the answer to Guishan‘s question, “Even
if your eloquence flows like a river, it is of no use. Even if
you can expound the whole body of the sūtras, it is of no
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avail. If you can respond to it fittingly, you will give life to
those who have been dead, and put to death those who have
been alive”.
Dr. Daisetz Suzuki, in “Essays in Zen Buddhism”, alludes
that this question “points directly at the face of an intrinsic
and mysterious truth within the Buddhist system. It
addresses this most critical question: What is the essence
of the Buddha’s Way in the understanding of the meaning
of the First Patriarch’s coming from the west?”
Below is a collection of famous answers to the above
question. These answers, while seemingly unrelated or
even nonsensical, are designed to provoke thought and
challenge the seeker to find their own answers. They are
often used in Zen practice to help students break through
their conceptual understanding and experience a direct
realization of reality. In short, each one is a koan.
Zhaozhou Congshen: “The oak tree in the front yard”.
Another time, Zhaozhou said: “It is the leg of the chair”.
When asked “That is what it is, isn’t it?”, Zhaozhou
replied: “If that is what it is, you may remove it and take it
with you”.
Xianglin Chengyuan: “Sitting for a long time becomes
tiring”.
Damei Fachang: “There is no meaning at all”.
Lyangsan Yongwan: “Don’t talk nonsense”.
Chiupheng Puman: “What’s the point of asking someone
else?”
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Paoning Jenyang: “Like adding frost to snow”.
Tianhuang Daowu: “Your question is not to the point”.
When asked: “How shall I get it to the point?” “I will tell
you when I am dead” was the master’s answer.
Shitou Xiqian: “Ask the pillar standing there”.
Linji Yixuan: “If there’s an intention, it cannot be saved”.
Xuefeng Yicun: When asked this question while fixing a
fence, he shook the fence without saying anything.
Guishan Lingyou 42 raised his whisk, without saying
anything.
Shishuang Qingzhu: “If there was someone who fell to the
bottom of a thousand-foot well, and you could pull them up
without a single inch of rope, then I would answer you”.
The monk did not evidently take this very seriously, for he
said, “Lately, the venerable Chang of Hu-nan was given a
monastery to preside over, and he is also giving us all kinds
42 Guishan Lingyou raised his whisk in response to the question,
“What is the essence of the Buddha’s Way, as understood through the
First Patriarch Bodhidharma’s Western journey?”. This action
mirrored his disciple Yangshan Huiji’s gesture of shaking the tea
plant, page 379, yet Guishan criticized Yangshan for demonstrating
function rather than form.
Given the “nonsensical” koan-like silent responses of the Zen Masters
in this compilation, it’s evident that true understanding of the original
form, the original face before birth, the meaning of Bodhidharma’s
coming from the West or in short, the Buddha’s Way cannot be
conveyed through words or actions.
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of instruction on the subject”. Shishuang called a boy-
attendant and ordered him: “Take this corpse out”.
The boy-attendant, who later came to be known as
Yangshan Huiji, one of the most masterful minds in Zen,
afterwards asked Master Danyuan Yingzhen how to pull
someone up. The master replied, “You fool, who is down
the well?” Yangshan didn’t understand, so he went to ask
Guishan Lingyou. Guishan called, “Huiji”. Huiji replied,
“Yes, Master”. “There, he is out!”, Guishan said.
When Shuiliao asked Mazu Daoyi about the meaning of the
First Patriarch coming from the West, Mazu said: “Show
reverence”. Thinking Mazu expected him to pay homage,
Shuiliao bowed down, Mazu immediately kicked him over
the chest, sending him to the ground. This, however,
awakened Shuiliao to the realization of the truth of
Buddhism, for when he stood up on his feet, he declared
this, while clapping his hands and laughing loudly: “How
wonderful! How wonderful! A hundred thousand samadhis
and the most mysterious teachings – I know them all now
through and through as they are revealed at the tip of one
single hair”. Later, he said to his disciples, “Ever since I
took that kick from Master Ma, I haven’t stopped
laughing”.
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17. Cho xin chút hạt buồn thôi
Cho xin chút hạt buồn thôi
Để cho ngọn gió lên đồi rắc mưa
Gió qua ngõ phố mập mờ
Mưa rơi đâu đó mấy bờ cỏ lau
Nắng trưa phố cổ úa màu
Tôi đi qua mộng đồi cao giật mình
Grant me a handful of sorrow’s rain
Grant me a handful of sorrow’s rain,
So the wind can sprinkle it across the hillside.
But the wind only passes through gloomy streets,
Scattering the rain among the reeds.
As the old town’s colors fade beneath the midday sky,
I wake up from my dream, startled, having traversed the
hillside.
Explanation
Thầy requests a “handful of sorrow’s rain” to be scattered
across a hillside, suggesting a desire for the people on the
hillside would not be indifferent to the sorrowful situation
of their society. However, the wind, instead of carrying the
sorrow to the desired location, passes through gloomy
streets and disperses it among the reeds, emphasizing his
disappointment.
The poem concludes with the word “startled”. Perhaps
Thầy was startled because as he passed over the hillside,
he saw that the people there were not entirely indifferent
as he had thought? A touch of hope to end the poem!
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18. Lão già trên góc phố
Lão già trên góc phố
Quằn quại trời mưa dông
Áo lụa gầy hoa đỏ
Phù du rụng xuống dòng
An elderly man on a street corner
An elderly man on a street corner,
Writhing in the stormy downpour,
Wearing a threadbare silk shirt with red flowers,
Falling into the river, his life fleeting like mayflies.
Explanation
This moving poem contemplates the fragility of life and the
inevitability of death. It invites us to appreciate the beauty
of existence, even as we confront life’s challenges.
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19. Anh đi để trống cụm rừng
Anh đi để trống cụm rừng
Có con suối nhỏ canh chừng sao Mai
Bóng anh dẫm nát điện đài
You leave behind a ravaged forest
You leave behind a ravaged forest,
Where a small stream, guarding the Morning Star,
Detects your shadow trampling on the radio tower.
Explanation
In the poem “Nghìn năm trước lên núi” (A thousand years
ago), page 349, Thầy gave eyes to the mustard seed; in this
one, Thầy gave eyes to the stream.
The underlying meaning of this poem is the law of karma
in Buddhism: whatever seed you sow, you reap. No one
escapes this law.
Below is a Zen story, demonstrating that no one escapes
the law of karma.
Whenever Zen Master Baizhang Huaihai (720-814)
delivered a sermon, an old man was always there listening
with the monks. When they left, he left too. One day,
however, he remained behind. The Master asked.
- Who are you?
- I am not a man. In the past, in the time of Kashyapa
Buddha, I lived on this mountain (as a Zen priest). On one
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occasion a monk asked me, “Does a perfectly enlightened
person fall under the law of cause and effect?”, I answered,
“He does not”. Because of this answer, I fell into the state
of a fox for 500 lives. Now, I beg you, Master, please say a
turning word to release me from the body of a fox. Does a
perfectly enlightened person fall under the law of cause
and effect?
- The law of cause and effect cannot be mistaken, the
Master answered.
Upon hearing this, the old man immediately became deeply
enlightened.
- I have now been released from the body of the fox and will
be behind the mountain. I dare to make a request of the
Master. Please perform my funeral as you would for a
deceased priest, he said, making his bows.
The master ordered the monastic administrator to strike
the wooden fish to announce to the congregation that after
the meal there would be a funeral service for a deceased
priest. The monks wondered, saying, “All are healthy. No
one is sick in the infirmary. What’s this all about?”
After the meal, Baizhang led the monks to the foot of a rock
behind the mountain and with his staff poked out the dead
body of a fox. He then performed the ceremony of
cremation. That evening Baizhang ascended the rostrum in
the hall and told the monks the whole story.
Wumen Huikai (1183-1260) comments in his book
“Wumen Guan” (commonly known as The Gateless Gate,
refer to pages 199 and 359):
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If one doesn’t fall into karma, why was one condemned to
be a fox? If one doesn’t mistake karma, why was one able
to escape the fate of being a fox?
If his commentary does not confuse the reader enough, he
adds this verse:
Not falling, not obscuring,
Two faces, one die.
Not obscuring, not falling,
A thousand mistakes, ten thousand mistakes.
In “The Gateless Gate”, translated by Japanese Zen
Master Koun Yamada, Yamada explained:
As you know, a die has six faces and when you throw it,
sometimes a one appears, sometimes a four. Each time
a different face may appear, but the die is at all times
one and the same. Similarly, sometimes the form of a fox
appears, sometimes the form of a man, but the essential
nature is always one.
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20. Ôi nỗi buồn
Ôi nỗi buồn
Thần tiên vĩnh cửu
Nhớ luân hồi
cát bụi đỏ mắt ai
Oh, sadness
Oh, sadness,
You’re an eternal immortal.
Missing saṃsāra’s cycle of life and death,
Will sand and dust redden your eyes?
Explanation
Thầy’s assertion that sadness is an everlasting fairy,
beyond the cycle of rebirth, is both intriguing and
perplexing.
The poem’s last verses, “Nhớ luân hồi, cát bụi đỏ mắt ai”
literally mean “Missing saṃsāra’s cycle of life and death,
whose eyes are reddened by sand and dust?” indicating
that fairies also possess emotions. Therefore, I believe the
poem will be clearer by translating these two verses as:
Missing Saṃsāra’s cycle of life and death,
Will sand and dust redden your eyes?
The poem’s structure is also noteworthy, with the first two
lines establishing the overarching theme of sadness and the
final two lines exploring a specific manifestation of this
emotion in the context of saṃsāra. This creates a sense of
unity and coherence within the poem.
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21. Tiếng muỗi vo ve
Tiếng muỗi vo ve
Người giật mình tỉnh giấc
Ngoài xa kia
Ai đang đi?
Nước lũ tràn
Em nhỏ chết đuối
Tôi ngồi trên bờ
Vuốt ngọn cỏ mơ
By the sound of mosquitoes buzzing
By the sound of mosquitoes buzzing,
The sleeper is startled awake.
Out there,
Who is going?
The floodwaters rise,
The little child drowns.
I sit on the bank,
Stroking a calea leaf, wishing...
Explanation
In the last line, the plant “cỏ mơ” has the scientific name
calea zacatechichi, or simply calea. However, in
Vietnamese, “mơ” also means “wishing or dreaming”, so
I add “wishing...” to capture this dual meaning.
The first stanza effectively sets a scene of tranquility
disrupted by a sudden disturbance. The buzzing of
mosquitoes is used to evoke a sense of peacefulness that is
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abruptly shattered. The line “The sleeper is startled
awake” conveys the suddenness and intensity of the
disruption, suggesting a sense of vulnerability and
helplessness. The line, “Out there, who is going?” adds a
layer of mystery and intrigue, inviting the reader to ponder
the identity of the person on the move as well as his/her
intention. This line also creates a sense of anticipation and
suspense.
The second stanza of the poem paints a harrowing scene of
a child drowning in a flood. The imagery of the rising
floodwaters and the tragic fate of the child is emotionally
impactful and evokes a sense of sympathy and sorrow.
The final two lines,
Tôi ngồi trên bờ
Vuốt ngọn cỏ mơ
I sit on the bank,
Stroking a calea leaf, wishing...
create a stark contrast between the serenity of the natural
world and the tragedy that has occurred. The image of
Thầy stroking a “cỏ mơ” (calea leaf, but literally it means
wishing grass) suggests a sense of peace and
contemplation, while the word “wishing”, added to
capture the dual meaning of the word “cỏ mơ”, implies a
longing or desire for something better.
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22. Người hận ta
Người hận ta
Bỏ đi trong thiên hà mộng du
Bóng thiên nga bơ vơ
Nghìn năm sau
Trong lòng đất sâu
Thắm hạt mưa rào
Giọt máu đổi màu
Hating me
Hating me,
You’ve move to your sleepwalking galaxy,
Leaving behind the lonely swan’s shadow.
A thousand years later,
Deep within the earth,
Having absorbed raindrops,
Your blood turns a different color.
Explanation
Driven by your hatred, you’ve retreated into a self-created
fantasy. But time will prove, eons from now,
comprehension will draw, and your essence will undergo a
profound shift.
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23. Hoang vu
Hoang vu
Cồn cát cháy
Trăng mù
Hoang vu
Cồn cát
Trăng mù
Cỏ cây mộng mị
Cơ đồ nước non
In this abandoning land
In this abandoning land,
The sand dunes were burning,
The moon was obscuring.
In this abandoned land,
Burnt sand dunes,
Obscured moon.
Plants and trees now can only dream
Of the nation’s past.
Explanation
Before things become irrevocably late, if we still do
nothing to save it, plants and trees will only be able to
dream of the past glories of our nation.
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24. Người đi đâu bóng hình mòn
mỏi
Người đi đâu bóng hình mòn mỏi
Nẻo tới lui còn dấu nhạt mờ
Đường lịch sử
Bốn nghìn năm dợn sóng
Để người đi không hẹn bến bờ
Where have you gone?
Where have you gone that I await in vain,
Only faint imprints of your footsteps remain?
Despite our historical path
Of four thousand years of rippling waves,
You have gone without a promise to return.
Explanation
Despite our historical path
Of four thousand years of rippling waves,
You have gone without a promise to return.
In the above lines, Thầy criticizes those who have
abandoned their country in her time of need, choosing
personal comfort over national duty.
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25. Gió cao bong bóng vỡ
Gió cao bong bóng vỡ
Mây sương rải kín đồng
Thành phố không buồn ngủ
Khói vỗ bờ hư không
High winds burst the balloons
High winds burst the balloons,
Misty clouds drift across the fields,
In the city that never sleeps,
Smoke billows against the empty shore.
Explanation
The poem presents a vivid image of a city in turmoil. The
implication is that the city’s inhabitants, consumed by their
own selfish concerns, metaphorically by smoke, are
oblivious to the larger world and the potential
consequences of their actions.
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26. Đàn cò đứng gập ghềnh không
ngủ
Đàn cò đứng gập ghềnh không ngủ
Ngóng chân trời con mắt u linh
Chân trời sụp ngàn cây bóng rủ
Cổng luân hồi mở rộng bình minh
A flock of herons
A flock of herons stands unsteady, unable to sleep,
Gazing at the horizon with ghostly eyes.
At the horizon’s edge, trees cast long shadows,
The gate of reincarnation creaks open for the new dawn.
Explanation
The poem’s overall tone is one of mystery and
contemplation. The reader is left to ponder the deeper
meanings of the images and symbols presented.
Perhaps Thầy suggests that without spiritual practice, one
is trapped in a continuous cycle of life and death.
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27. Chờ dứt cơn mưa ta vô rừng
Chờ dứt cơn mưa ta vô rừng
Bồi hồi nghe khói lạnh rưng rưng
Ngàn lau quét nắng lùa lên tóc
Ảo ảnh vô thường, một thoáng chưng?
Waiting for the rain to cease
Waiting for the rain to cease, I enter the forest,
Trembling with cold, I feel the smoke rise.
Thousands of reeds brush sunlight through my hair,
Illusions are fleeting, but can they last even a moment?
Explanation
The image of the rain falling and evaporating, the reeds
swaying in the wind, and the illusions that come and go all
serve to remind us of the fleeting nature of existence.
The poem also includes some thought-provoking
philosophical musings on the nature of reality and the
meaning of life. The question of whether illusions can last
for even a moment is a particularly intriguing one, and it
invites the reader to consider the nature of perception and
the limits of human knowledge.
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28. Ơ kìa nắng đỏ hiên chùa
Ơ kìa, nắng đỏ hiên chùa
Trăng non rỏ máu qua mùa mãn tang
Áo thầy bạc thếch bụi đường
Khói rêu ố nhạt vách tường dựng kinh
Oh, look at the blazing red sun
Oh, look at the blazing red sun on the pagoda’s porch,
Where a bleeding young moon sheds tears through the
mourning season.
The monk’s robe is worn, faded and dust-kissed,
Yet he remains steadfast to erect scriptures at the smoky
and mossy walls.
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29. Người không vui ta đi về làm
ruộng
Người không vui, ta đi về làm ruộng
Gieo gió xuân chờ đợi mưa hè
Nghe cóc nhái gọi dồn khe suối
Biết khi nào phố chợ chắn bờ đê
If you are not happy
If you are not happy, I’ll return to farming,
Sowing spring winds and waiting for summer’s rain.
When frogs and toads chorus from the streams,
I know the market’s open, flooding the dike.
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30. Thao thức đêm khuya
Thao thức đêm khuya trộm bóng ma
Ẩn tình khách trọ, nến đâm hoa
Chồi mai trẩy lá, mùa xuân đợi
Đã quá mùa xuân ánh điện nhòa
Unable to sleep
Unable to sleep, the lodger steals glances at a ghostly
figure.
Sharing his secret emotions, the candle flickers.
The apricot bud sprouts leaves, awaiting spring,
But the spring has passed, and the streetlight dims.
Explanation
The lodger was so troubled that they couldn’t sleep and
began to hallucinate, seeing ghostly figures. In reality,
candle flickering was just the unusual shape of the candle
flame, a phenomenon often caused by insects flying into the
fire. The image of the candle flickering is used as a
metaphor for the lodger’s troubled mind, where even
simple things can take on a more sinister appearance. The
passage also includes a reference to the disappointment of
waiting for spring and seeing no results, further
emphasizing the theme of unfulfilled expectations.
Candle flickering is a phenomenon where the candle flame
flares up. This phenomenon mostly occurs when a firefly
flies into the flame, causing its body to burn. Until now,
entomologists have not been able to explain why fireflies
fly into the fire and self-immolate.
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31. Ơi người cắt cỏ ở bên sông
Ơi người cắt cỏ ở bên sông
Nước cuộn ngoài khơi có bận lòng?
Phấn liễu một thời run khóe mọng
Hương rừng mờ nhạt rải tầng không
Hey, grass cutter
Hey, grass cutter by the river,
Don’t you worry about the swirling water offshore?
Willow pollen, once quivering at the plump flower,
Now barely fills the forest air.
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32. Khói ơi bay thấp xuống đi
Khói ơi bay thấp xuống đi
Cho ta nắm lại chút gì thanh xuân
Ta đi trong cõi vĩnh hằng
Nhớ tàn cây nhỏ mấy lần rụng hoa
Smoke, descend lower
Smoke, descend lower.
Let me recapture a bit of my youth.
Walking in the eternal realm,
I remember many times its flowers have fallen from the
small tree.
Explanation
Smoke, descend lower so I may grasp you. But as no one
can grasp smoke, no one can grasp back the days of youth.
Composer Lê Mộng Nguyên, author of the famous 1949
song “Trăng mờ bên suối” (Dim moon by the stream),
shared his sentiments with his compatriots on April 19,
2008, at the Best Western Hotel in Falls Church, VA,
“Ngày ba mươi như cuộc thế thăng trầm
Muôn đời hận như dân Chàm đã chết
April thirtieth, like the ebb and flow of life,
The enduring hatred, as profound as the dead Champa.
Loyal to the covenant I have made with my conscience, I
shall share to the end of my exiled life: The day freedom is
restored, that day I will return to my homeland.”
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Volume 6:
Những điệp khúc cho dương cầm | Refrains for piano
Những điệp khúc cho
dương cầm
| Refrains for piano
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These are 23 short poems, named “Những điệp khúc cho
dương cầm” (Refrains for piano), that Thầy transformed
into 23 piano refrains by infusing them with music and Zen.
Time of composition: 2006
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1. Ta nhận chìm thời gian trong
khóe mắt
Ta nhận chìm thời gian trong khóe mắt
Rồi thời gian ửng đỏ đêm thiêng
Đêm chợt thành mùa đông huyễn hoặc
Cánh chim bạt ngàn từ quãng vô biên.
When I submerge time
I submerge time within my eyes’ corners,
Time reddens the sacred night.
Suddenly, the night transforms into a winter of illusion,
Between two rest notes beyond the summit, a bird soars
over an infinite interval.
Explanation
The word “quãng” in the final verse of the poem (“Cánh
chim bạt ngàn từ quãng vô biên”) is the key word of the
poem, to convert a poem to a refrain for piano. It’s not a
physical space, but the interval between two musical notes.
These musical notes are rest notes, as explained below.
In this volume, Thầy also uses the word “quãng” in poem
number 15 (“quãng im lặng thời gian nặng hạt”) and poem
number 20 (quãng im lặng nghe mùi đất thở). In these
poems, “quãng im lặng” means the interval between two
rest notes. In this poem, although Thầy did not specify, it’s
also the interval between two rest notes because it aligns
with the musical metaphor and the passage of time from the
night into winter myths, suggesting a sense of both
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Nothingness and Endlessness. It’s the sound of silence, or
the soundless sound, as discovered by Toyo 43.
43 This anecdote is recounted, with minor modifications, in the book
“101 Zen stories”, written by Zen master Mujū in the 13th century,
and compiled by Nyogen Senzaki in 1919.
The master of Kennin temple was Takeda Mokurai. He had a little
protégé named Toyo who was only twelve years old. Toyo saw the
older disciples visit the master’s room each morning and evening to
receive instruction in sanzen (TN: a private interview between student
and Zen master). Toyo wished to do sanzen also.
“Wait a while”, said Mokurai. “You are too young”.
But the child insisted, so the teacher finally consented.
In the evening, little Toyo went at the proper time to the threshold of
Mokurai’s sanzen room. He struck the gong to announce his presence,
bowed respectfully three times outside the door, and went to sit before
the master in respectful silence.
“You can hear the sound of two hands when they clap together,” said
Mokurai. “Now show me the sound of one hand”. Toyo bowed and
went back to his room.
From his window he could hear a geisha singing. “Ah, I have it!” he
proclaimed. He came immediately. When Mokurai asked him to
illustrate the sound of one hand, Toyo sang the song of the geisha.
“No. That is not the sound of one hand”, said Mokurai.
Thinking that such music might interrupt, Toyo moved his abode to a
quiet place. He meditated again. He happened to hear the sound of
water dripping. “I have it”, imagined Toyo. When he next appeared
before his teacher, he imitated dripping water. “That is the sound of
dripping water, but not the sound of one hand. Meditate again”, said
Mokurai.
In vain, Toyo meditated, trying to hear the sound of one hand. He
heard the sighing of the wind. But the sound was rejected.
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In “Refrains pour piano”, Mrs. Dominique de Miscault,
translates this poem into French as follows:
J’ai tenté de noyer le temps tout au fond de mon oeil
La nuit sacrée en a rougi
Aussitôt la nuit se métamorphose
En hiver de tous les mythes
Au-delà des sommets, un oiseau plane
Entre deux notes, l’intervalle est infini
I sink time deep into the eyes
The sacred night blushes red
Immediately, the night screen transforms
Into the winter of legend
Outside the high mountain peak, a bird flies
Between two musical notes, the distance is endless.
For more than ten times Toyo visited Mokurai with different sounds.
All were wrong.
One year passed.
Mokurai became anxious, “What happened to the boy? He has not
come for a year”.
So, he went to his room and found him outside it, sitting under a tree,
silent, his body vibrating with some unknown sound. Mokurai sat
there waiting. Hours and hours passed. Finally, when the sun was
setting, he called, “Toyo?”
The boy opened his eyes and said, “I have transcended all sounds until
I could collect no more. So, this is it”.
Mokurai confirmed, “Yes, you have got it!”
Conclusively, what is the sound of one-hand clapping? It is the
soundless sound of the True Dharma, that you hear with your pure
heart and no-mind, not your ears.
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In the last line, “between two musical notes, the distance is
endless”, the distance between two musical notes is the
distance of time, correct with the meaning of the poem.
In Dreaming the Mountain, professor Nguyễn Bá Chung
and poet Martha Collins translate this poem as follows:
I sink time in the corners of my time
Time reddens the sacred night
Suddenly night is a winter myth
Immense wings from endless space.
Endless space or boundless space, a Zen context, refers to
a limitless, empty space that is not merely physical but also
metaphysical, but it is not a time interval. The translators
do not only miss the mark, the time interval, but also the
musical notes in the poem.
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2. Từ đó ta trở về Thiên giới
Từ đó ta trở về Thiên giới,
Một màu xanh mù tỏa Vô biên.
Bóng sao đêm dài vời vợi;
Thật hay hư, chiều nhỏ ưu phiền.
Chiều như thế, cung trầm khắc khoải.
Rát đầu tay nốt nhạc triền miên.
Ôm dấu lặng, nhịp đàn đứt vội.
Anh ở đâu, khói lụa ngoài hiên?
I return to the heavenly realm
I return to the heavenly realm,
Where endless skies shimmer in a misty blue.
As the faint glow of stars paints the long night,
Will this evening be drowned in my sorrows?
Twilight descends, a melancholic melody fills the air,
The endless note burns my fingertips.
The rhythm abruptly stops when I reach a rest note,
As silken smoke fills the balcony, where are you?
Explanation
In this poem, Thầy describes how a pianist with a sorrowful
heart, no matter how splendid the heavenly realm might be,
can only experience the pain of their fingertips.
When the rest note sounds, the rhythm of the music abruptly
stops. At that moment, the heart becomes calm, allowing us
to see the source of the pianist’s sorrow: “Where are
you?”.
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A rest (or rest note) is a moment of silence. It is just as
necessary as any other musical note.
It’s truly an interesting and creative surprise to find
musical notes incorporated into poetry!
Sometimes, rests are more necessary and carry a more
profound meaning than other notes, as in the Vietnamese
song “Hồn tử sĩ” (Souls of the Dead Soldiers), the
American “Taps”, or the British “The Last Post”.
“Hồn tử sĩ” (originally titled “Hát giang trường hận”,
Forever Resentment of River Hát) was composed by Lưu
Hữu Phước around 1942-1943 when he visited the Hát
River, where the Trưng sisters drowned themselves in 43
AD. The bugle call for this song was used by the South
Vietnamese government for military funerals and memorial
services for fallen soldiers. After the reunification of
Vietnam, it was officially used nationwide.
There are several legends concerning the origin of “Taps”,
but the most widely circulated one states that a Union Army
infantry officer, whose name often is given as Captain
Robert Ellicombe, first ordered “Taps” performed at the
funeral of his son, a Confederate soldier killed during the
Peninsula Campaign. This apocryphal story claims that
Ellicombe found the tune in the pocket of his son’s clothing
and performed it to honor his memory.
“The Last Post”, composed around the 1790s, is one of
about 20 songs that the British military would sing and
play at the end of the day before soldiers went to sleep. The
song was adapted and used in military funerals and
memorial services around the 1850s.
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3. Trên dấu thăng
Trên dấu thăng âm đàn trĩu nặng
Khóe môi in dấu hận nghìn trùng
Âm đàn đó chìm sâu ảo vọng
Nhịp tim ngừng trống trải thời gian.
Thời gian ngưng mặt trời vết bỏng
Vẫn thời gian sợi khói buông chùng
Anh đi mãi thềm rêu vơi mỏng
Bởi nắng mòn cỏ dại ven sông.
On a sharp note
On a sharp note, the piano sound collapses on itself,
A bitter taste lingers on the corners of my lips.
These piano sounds, lost in illusion’s depths,
Stop my heartbeat in the Emptiness of time.
As time itself withers, the sun reveals a burning wound,
The color of time appears like a wisp of smoke.
Your prolonged absence has left the moss on the steps
thinner,
Just like wild grass worn by sunlight on the riverside.
Explanation
In this piece, Thầy uses the sharp note to portray a moment
in the music when time stands still, and the color of time
becomes like languid smoke.
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4. Ta bay theo đốm lửa lập lòe
Ta bay theo đốm lửa lập lòe
Chập chờn trên hoang mạc mùa hè
Khung trời nghiêng xuống nửa
Bên rèm nhung đôi mắt đỏ hoe
Thăm thẳm chòm sao Chức nữ
Heo hút đường về.
I fly, following the flickering flame
I fly, following the flickering flame,
Wandering through a summer desolate desert.
As the tilting sky seems to sway,
Behind velvet curtains, eyes well up, reddened.
The Lyra constellation, so deep and far,
How abysmal is the way back!
Explanation
The poem evokes a sense of isolation, loss, and yearning.
• Isolation: The character is alone in a vast, desolate
landscape, physically and emotionally.
• Loss: The imagery of the flickering flame suggests a loss
of direction, rather than a guiding light, while the tilting
sky creates a sense of disorientation.
• Yearning: The reference to the Lyra constellation, a
distant and unattainable goal, and his desire to fly back,
both evoke a sense of yearning.
This is Thầy’s feeling, heavy with despair, and powerless
to change the nation’s destiny.
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5. Chiều tôi về
Chiều tôi về
Em tô màu vàng ố
Màu bụi đường khô quạnh bóng trăng
Đường ngã màu bóng trăng vò võ
Em có chờ rêu sạm trong đêm?
In the evening when I return
In the evening when I return,
You paint your face ochre,
The road dust mirrors the moon’s parched glow,
The road turns to the color of the desolate moon’s
shadow.
Will you wait for the dark moss in the cloak of night?
Explanation
Returning to the old city where all the roads turn a
yellowish hue, and even his lover has an ochre face, then
he’d probably already know the answer to the question
“Will you wait for the dark moss in the cloak of night?”.
Thầy’s “lover” here refers to his homeland. So why does
his homeland turn its back like this? Because “the young
generation is educated to forget the past”, as in the letter
Thầy wrote to young postulant monks in Thừa Thiên - Huế
on October 28, 2003:
You grow up in a peaceful era, but you are thrown into
a directionless society. Homeland and religion are
beloved terms but have become empty. The highly
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revered Buddhist monks, who once awakened the
conscience of humanity before the brutal war, who held
firm to the ship of religion in the hearts of the people;
now only shadows remain, and oblivion.
The young generation is educated to forget the past.
Many of you do not know what the Unified Buddhist
Church of Vietnam is; what it has done and contributed
to the cause of culture, education, and national peace,
in the most difficult periods of the nation’s history and
religion. A past that is only like yesterday, whose legacy
still exists but has been hastily rejected. A legacy
accumulated over centuries, with countless thoughts
through countless sorrows and sufferings, with the
blood and tears of countless monks and Buddhists; those
who built that legacy with their vows and strength, some
were executed by tyranny, some endured years of
imprisonment and humiliation.
Living or dying, honor or disgrace, do not disturb the
minds of those who know how to live and die worthily of
human dignity, and who are not ashamed of the noble
virtues of an ordained.
An ordained person, with each step, ascends towards a
sublime and expansive realm. Their mind and body
remain detached from the mundane world, unyielding to
its false values, and unbowed to any force or coercion.
A little bit of fame, a little bit of worldly gain, a little bit
of peace of mind; these are only small, trivial, and
deceptive values, which even many worldly people
willingly discard to preserve their honor. Do not
boastfully protect the Dharma, but in reality, only hold
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onto temples and pagodas as a hiding place for the
devils, as a gathering place for the dregs of society. Do
not loudly call for the transmission of the Dharma and
the explanation of the sūtras, but in reality, borrow the
words of the Buddha to flatter kings and officials, to beg
for a little leftover favor from the secular world, to buy
fame and sell rank.
In the past, when kings and lords forced monks to bow
their heads and accept the titles of the court to become
their servants, the ancestors were ready to place their
heads before sharp swords, upholding the integrity of
the ordained, following in the footsteps of the fearless
and selfless Noble Disciples...
Endure the world but do not let the dark power of the
world command you. Conform to the world but do not
drown yourself in the whirlpool of the world’s filth. You
must cultivate for yourselves an unshakeable faith; a
courageous and fearless virtue; strive to cultivate
wisdom through study, thought, and practice to see
clearly the true and false appearances, to see and know
clearly where you are and where you are going; do not
close your eyes and recklessly follow the magnificent but
inwardly fragile carriage that is rushing down a long,
directionless slope...
I pray that you have enough courage to walk on your
own feet, to see with your own eyes; to self-determine
your own direction.
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6. Màu tối mù lan vách đá
Màu tối mù lan vách đá
Nhớ mênh mông đôi mắt giã từ
Rồi đi biệt
Để hờn trên đỉnh gió
Ta ở đâu?
Cánh mỏng phù du.
As darkness veils the stone walls
As darkness shroudss the stone walls,
I deeply miss the look of her eyes when we said goodbye.
But I did not come back,
Leaving bitterness on the wind crest.
Where am I now,
With paper-thin wings of a mayfly?
Explanation
A mayfly is a small insect with delicate wings that often
rests on the surface of water and only lives for a few hours.
The passage compares the teacher’s ability to leave to that
of a mayfly. Both are limited in their ability to travel far
due to their fragile nature.
The phrase “leaving bitterness on the wind crest” means
that the wind would blow the bitterness away. Therefore,
this verse implies that he leaves, but not out of bitterness.
The final line, “Where am I now, with paper-thin wings of
a mayfly?”, suggests that there is often more to a situation
than meets the eye.
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7. Chung trà đã lịm khói
Chung trà đã lịm khói
Hàng chữ vẫn nối dài
Thế sự chùm hoa dại
Ủ mờ con mắt cay.
The steam in a cup of tea
The steam in my teacup has dissipated,
Yet lines of words endlessly proliferate.
The world’s current affairs, like wildflowers,
Are smoke in my eyes.
Explanation
These are his heartfelt words:
The world’s current affairs, like wildflowers,
Are smoke in the eyes.
Indeed, on June 3rd, 2001, the citizen Thích Tuệ Sỹ, in his
protest letter to the Supreme People’s Procuracy of
Vietnam, wrote:
The arbitrary and selective application of the law, by
law enforcement agencies, not only adversely affects the
lives of individuals but also creates a power base for
bureaucratic evils, corruption, and abuse of power,
which our people have had to endure for half a century.
Therefore, with the conscience of a human being, with
the duty of a citizen in a country, I feel it is necessary to
point out these evils.
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8. Công nương bỏ quên chút hờn
trên dấu lặng
Công nương bỏ quên chút hờn trên dấu lặng
Chuỗi cadence ray rứt ngón tay
Ấn sâu xuống ưu phiền trên phím trắng
Nửa phím cung chõi nhịp lưu đày.
The princess drops her resentment
The princess drops her resentment into the rest note.
The rhythmic sequence of cadences strains her fingers.
She presses her grief onto the white keys,
Playing a half step against the rhythm of exile.
Explanation
Again, another interesting point in Thầy’s poetry: To drop
resentment into a rest note, so when one strikes the rest
note, his/her fingers ache.
In this poem, Thầy uses a musical term, “nửa phím cung
đàn”, which I translate as half step, following the advice of
musician Huân Cung. In music, a half step is the smallest
interval between two adjacent notes, such as E and F or A
sharp and B. These notes are so close together that there
are no other notes between them on a piano keyboard.
Thầy also uses a French word, cadence. Cadence comes
from the Latin word “cadere”, meaning to fall. Initially,
cadence referred to falling tones, often at the end of a
musical phrase, but now it means a rhythmic flow of
sounds.
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In his essay, “Theo dấu lặng nghe điệp khúc dương cầm
của thầy Tuệ Sỹ” (Following the rest note to listen to Thầy
Tuệ Sỹ’s refrains for piano), writer Huỳnh Kim Quang
wrote:
In everyday life, with the continuous actions of the
stream of thoughts passing through body, speech, and
mind, people are swept up in the whirlwind of delusional
dreams. Therefore, moments of pause, release, and
stillness are extremely necessary and beneficial. These
are the silences in the music of life.
Indeed, have you ever taken the time to savor the
moments of absolute silence that occur so unexpectedly
amidst the tumultuous torrents of sound and melody? If
you have ever experienced this incredibly magical
moment, you probably feel like you are swimming in an
infinite space where there is only mysterious joy in the
absence of all human suffering and defilement.
The life of a Zen master is an endless moment of
peaceful, carefree, and transcendent silences amidst a
life of suffering and pain. Thầy Thích Tuệ Sỹ was such a
Zen master.
In Thầy’s pair of bright eyes, the endless stream of birth
and death is merely a faint shadow behind the flickering
flame of awakened wisdom, allowing one to look deeply
into it and realize that it is nothing but an illusion.
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9. Đôi mắt cay
Đôi mắt cay phím đen phím trắng
Đen trắng đuổi nhau thành ảo tượng
Trên tận cùng điểm lặng tròn xoe
Ta gửi đó ưu phiền năm tháng.
My piquant eyes
My piquant eyes are dazzled by the black and white piano
keys.
These black and white keys chase each other in an endless
mirage.
On the topmost key, there’s a round rest note.
In it, I confide my year-after-year melancholy.
Explanation
Thầy deposits his sorrow in a note of silence. This note, a
perfect, round rest, perches atop the illusionary keyboard.
Poet Phùng Quán, renowned for his poem “Lời mẹ dặn”
(Motherly advice), expressed a similar sentiment:
Có những phút ngã lòng
Tôi vịn câu thơ mà đứng dậy
In moments of despair,
I find solace in the lines of a poem to stand up.
The poet suggests that poetry serves as a lifeline, a means
to rise above sorrow. By crafting verses, one can alleviate
the weight of despair.
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10. Cửa kín chòm mây cuốn nẻo xa
Cửa kín, chòm mây cuốn nẻo xa.
Ngu ngơ đếm chữ, mắt hoa nhòa.
Tay buồn vuốt mãi tờ hương rã;
Phảng phất mưa qua mấy cụm nhà.
Clouds swirl in the distance
As clouds swirl in the distance, behind closed doors,
My blurry eyes vaguely struggle to count the words.
My grieving fingers caress the frail leaf,
A light rain gently whispers over a few houses.
Explanation
Reading this poem, unlike the others by Thầy, is like
viewing a Chinese ink wash painting. The simple touches,
like the distant swirling clouds and the gentle rain
whispering over a few houses, depict a melancholic scene.
However, a painting cannot fully capture the beauty of the
poem, especially with the repeated use of the words “ngu
ngơ” (vaguely) and “phảng phất” (gently). No translations
can describe such beauty when it creates a soft flowing
rhythm in the repetition of the “ng” sound in “ngu ngơ”
and the “ph” sound in “phảng phất”.
On the background of the ink wash painting is a fairy
sitting and reading a book, leisurely turning each frail leaf.
This suggests a deep connection to nature and a desire for
peace and tranquility. The use of sensory imagery and
poetic devices creates a powerful and evocative reading
experience.
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11. Ve mùa hạ chợt về thành phố
Ve mùa hạ chợt về thành phố
Khóm cây già che nắng hoang lương
Đám bụi trắng cuốn lên đầu ngõ
Trên phím đàn lặng lẽ tàn hương
Tiếng ve dội lăn tăn nốt nhỏ
Khóc mùa hè mà khô cả đại dương.
Cicadas’ song
A sudden burst of the cicadas’ song heralds the return of
summer,
A grove of ancient trees offers a cool summer refuge,
White dust swirls at the alley’s entrance,
The lingering scent of incense quietly fades on my piano,
The incessant cicadas’ melody echoes, rippling on cue
notes.
The cicada’s summer cry dries up the ocean.
Explanation
In the second last verse “Tiếng ve dội lăn tăn nốt nhỏ”,
literally it means “The cicadas’ sound ripples in tiny
notes”, the term “nốt nhỏ” is also a musical term (cue
note), so, I translate it as “The incessant cicadas’ melody
echoes, rippling on cue notes”.
Thầy transforms the cicadas’ song into a mournful cry.
Although it’s just a gentle ripple of tiny notes, or cue notes,
it can dry up the entire ocean.
How heartbreaking!
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In “Refrains pour piano”, Mrs. Dominique de Miscault
translates:
Soudain l’été a surgi
Les cigales chantent sur la ville
Un bouquet de vieux arbres
Protège du soleil torride
La poussière blanche s’enroule au bout de la ruelle
Le “silence” est parfumé
Le chant des cigales ondule légèrement
Je pleure l’été qui assèche l’océan.
Suddenly, summer has arrived
The cicada’s song resounds through the city
A cluster of ancient trees
Provides shade from the scorching sun
White dust swirls at the alley’s end
A “silent” note emits a fragrant scent
The cicadas’ sound vibrates gently
I weep for the summer that dries up the ocean.
The translator’s choice, le “silence” est parfumé, to put
“silence” in quotation marks and connect it to “a fragrant
scent” is a very clever detail. I did not see that the word
“lặng lẽ” (quietly or silently) in the poem can be connected
to the musical silent note. It shows the translator’s subtlety
in conveying the deep meaning of the poem.
However, there are three translation errors:
“Tiếng ve dội lăn tăn nốt nhỏ” translated as “Le chant des
cigales ondule légèrement” (The cicadas’ sound vibrates
gently): this translation omits the crucial element of “nốt
nhỏ” (cue notes), losing the musical subtlety of the poem.
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
424
“Tiếng ve (dội lăn tăn nốt nhỏ) khóc” translated as “Je
pleure” (I cry): This is a rather serious error, completely
changing the subject of the poem from the cicadas’ cry to
the poet’s cry.
“Tiếng ve khóc (mùa hè) mà khô cả đại dương” translated
as “Je pleure l’été qui assèche l’océan” (I cry for the
summer that dries up the ocean): This translation changes
the subject performing the action from the cicadas’ cries
drying up the ocean into the summer’s heat drying up the
ocean, losing the profound symbolic meaning of the
original poem.
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12. Đạo sĩ soi hình bên suối
Đạo sĩ soi hình bên suối
Quên đâu con mắt giữa đêm
Vội bước gập ghềnh khe núi
Vơi mòn triền đá chân chim.
A Taoist priest gazes at his reflection
A Taoist priest gazes at his reflection in the stream,
Forgetting his inner eyes in the night.
He hastily wanders through rugged mountain clefts,
Hoping to wear away the rocky cliff with a bird’s feet.
Explanation
A Taoist priest looks at his reflection in the stream, trying
to see his self-image. However, by forgetting his inner eyes,
he doesn’t see it. What he might see in the stream is only a
perception of himself that has been distorted. He does not
see the nature’s scene and he does not hear the nature’s
call. Therefore, he hastens to continue his journey, through
rugged mountain clefts, with a bird’s feet.
The inner eye refers to his spiritual insight, the ability to
see beyond the surface of things. The rugged mountain
clefts symbolize the arduous path of spiritual cultivation.
The bird’s feet highlight the fragility and limitations of the
physical body.
In the book “Tô Đông Pha: Những phương trời viễn mộng”
(Su Dongpo: Celestial realms of distant dreams), Thầy uses
his spiritual eye to look at Lushan:
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Lushan is majestic, floating, but mysterious. The heart
of the mountain hides thousands of years of unspoken
stories; the heart of the mountain harbors silent lives;
bodies as thin as cranes and bamboo, souls as cold as
winter ashes. The mountain is silent, allowing the wind
to howl, the clouds to swirl, and waterfalls to cascade
from the highest peaks.
Lushan resonates with a vast realm of poetry. The realm
of poetry is filled with layers of miraculous metaphors.
Ordinary travelers, whose boats dock at Poyang or
Xunyang, only see it as a beautiful land covered in mist
and fog; they only see it as a sky in the twilight, then the
strange sun, then the twilight. How can they see and
hear the melancholic feelings within? Whether
melancholic or furious, Lushan has countless forms. The
imperial hats of Taoist priests, the tattered robes of
monks; here, the Taoist temples chant the Huang-t’ing
Sūtra, there, the pagodas’ morning bell sounds. These
images and sounds, from century to century, have fallen
into the long dream of human history; there are
competitions of courage against time that take place in
coldness and solitude. Day and night, torturing body
and mind, standing alone, terrified, on a solitary bridge,
crossing the abyss of life and death.
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13. Ô hay dây đàn chợt đứt
Ô hay, dây đàn chợt đứt
Bóng ma đêm như thật
Cắn đầu ngón tay giá băng
Điệp khúc lắng trầm trong mắt
Rồi phím đàn lơi lỏng
Chùm âm thanh rời, ngón tay rát bỏng
Chợt nghe nguyệt quế thoảng hương
Điệp khúc chậm dần theo dấu lặng
The piano string snaps
Alas! The piano string snaps,
The night’s phantom seems so real.
Biting my ice-cold fingertip,
A haunting melody lingers in my eyes.
Then the keys turn slack,
The chord discords, my fingertips burn.
Suddenly, a sweet laurel fragrance fills the room,
The chorus slows, following the rest notes.
Explanation
The poem’s beauty lies in its ability to capture the complex
emotions following a moment of musical loss.
In this poem, the musician undergoes two extraordinary
experiences:
1) Điệp khúc lắng trầm trong mắt
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A haunting melody lingers in my eyes.
It’s extraordinary that the melody lingers in his eyes,
rather than his ears;
2) Chợt nghe nguyệt quế thoảng hương
literally means the musician hears, instead of smells, the
fragrance of the laurel. I choose to translate this verse as
A sweet fragrance of laurel fills the room.
Sweetness is one of at least five basic tastes detected by the
tongue’s taste buds. Humans cannot directly smell
sweetness, as our olfactory receptors are not designed to
detect sugar molecules. However, certain scents can be
associated with sweetness, such as the aroma of ripe fruits
or baked goods. This association is learned through
experience and can contribute to our perception of
sweetness. In another word, it’s olfactory hallucinations.
Readers should understand that the slack keys, discordant
chords, and burning fingertips are only illusory
perceptions experienced by the musician.
In this soundless world, the laurel fragrance could be a
tangible scent that wafts through the air or could be just
another hallucination, in addition to the slack keys,
discordant chords, and burning fingertips, of the musician.
Fantasy and reality are indistinguishable.
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14. Đêm sụp xuống
Đêm sụp xuống
Bóng dồn một phương
Lạnh toát âm đàn xao động
Trái tim vỗ nhịp dị thường.
Ngoài biên cương
Cây cao chói đỏ
Chiến binh già cổ mộ
Nắng tắt chiến trường
Giọt máu quạnh hơi sương.
Night falls
As night falls,
Shadows gather in one corner,
Playing a chilling, restless melody,
Stirring an irregular rhythm in my heart.
Beyond the frontier,
Beneath towering, dazzling red trees,
An aged warrior sits by an ancient grave,
Watching the last rays of sunlight fade on the battlefield,
Where fog carries the scent of blood.
Explanation
In the city, shadows gather to play a melody, stirring
Thầy’s heart. Are they the shadows of the darkness or the
phantoms? The melody is silent, yet Thầy feels a piercing
cold from the vibrating sound and an irregular heartbeat.
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This piece describes night in two places: the city and the
battlefield. What is the difference? Nothing, in the city,
darkness gathers in one place, creating a piercingly cold
soundless sound that makes the heart beat irregularly; and
on the battlefield, the aged warrior sits beside an ancient
grave, beneath a tall, blood-red tree, watching the drops of
blood mingle with the sunset dew. Both imageries are vivid
and haunting, creating a sense of melancholy and
foreboding in the atmosphere of desolation and despair.
Recall Thầy’s words in the Introduction to the book, “Vô
Môn Quan” (Wumen Guan, The Gateless Gate), translated
by Professor Trần Tuấn Mẫn (see more details on page
199),
Here, the desert remained eternally solitary, swept by
the blistering winds of Nothingness. The meaning of life
and death continued to drift aimlessly in the void. Hearts
burned with fervent passion, yet could not consume the
terrifying dreams of Nothingness and annihilation. And
then, one day, when the time was right, laughter and
shouts would erupt, turning everyday life upside down.
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15. Một ngày chơi vơi đỉnh thác
Một ngày chơi vơi đỉnh thác
Nghe bồn chồn tiếng gọi hư không
Giai điệu nhỏ dồn lên đôi mắt
Mặt hồ im ánh nước chập chờn
Mặt hồ im, tảng màu man mác
Ảnh tượng mờ, một chút sương trong
Quãng im lặng thời gian nặng hạt
Tôi nghe đời trong tấu khúc Thiên hoang
Suspended atop a waterfall
A day suspended atop a waterfall,
Listening to the void’s restless call,
A faint melody lingers in my eyes.
The still lake mirrors the waterfall’s flickering shadows,
Its surface shimmers with a vast palette of blues.
A veil of mist shrouds the hazy landscape.
From the downpour of rests, in the moment between two
rests,
I hear life in this natural symphony’s melody.
Explanation
How can the poet hear these moments of silence when he
is adrift atop a waterfall, i.e., in a very noisy place?
It’s even stranger when he feels this soundless melody
filling up his eyes, instead of his ears:
Giai điệu nhỏ dồn lên đôi mắt
A faint melody lingers in my eyes.
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In Tô Đông Pha: Những phương trời viễn mộng” (Su
Dongpo: Celestial realms of distant dreams), Thầy
explains:
Those who study Zen, learn from suffering, from
illusion; they learn so that body and mind become like
cold, lifeless ashes. To learn like that is to learn to
torture oneself. The achievement of that learning is to let
go, to transform into Nothingness and become Stillness.
Letting go means not grasping, not being bound. It’s
also as carefree as a liberated and romantic poetic soul.
A Still mind is as calm as a still surface of water,
reflecting the entire external scene. An Empty mind,
containing Nothing, is as vast as the ocean, containing
all the stars and galaxies. Those who study Zen torture
their bodies to become thin, their minds to become cold,
and within that is an extraordinary efficacy. Those who
write poetry, whose lives are full of trials and
tribulations, also find a magical bitterness and saltiness
within. A lifetime of studying Zen is a lifetime of
torturing body and mind, of torturing oneself in
Nothingness and Stillness. That torture is, in fact, not
torture. Similarly, a lifetime of writing poetry is a
lifetime of suffering and turmoil, but it is not suffering
and turmoil. That magic, not having reached the highest
realm of poetry, how can one understand?...
So, that place of dreamy torture seems like it should be
terrifying, it makes even the land become a desert, with
scorching heat and chilling winds. And yet it’s
completely different. It is the Nothingness of
Nothingness and the Stillness of Stillness, the realm of
clouds and sky on a mountain peak.
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16. Phủi tay kinh nỗi đảo điên
Phủi tay kinh nỗi đảo điên
Tôi theo con kiến quanh triền đỉnh hoang.
Brushing my hands off
Brushing my hands, frightened by some dreadful
madness,
I follow an ant round a deserted peak.
Explanation
Just like an ant that flees when it senses danger, so too did
Thầy, fearing the upheaval, abandon everything and went
to cultivate the land in Vạn Giã (1975-1977).
Most Venerable Nguyên Siêu writes about this period in his
essay “Thượng tọa Tuệ Sỹ, Trí Siêu, những thiên tài lỗi
lạc” (Most Venerables Tuệ Sỹ, Trí Siêu, outstanding
geniuses), as follows:
From Nha Trang to Vạn Giã, a distance of about 60
kilometers, Thầy traveled on nighttime trains,
immersing himself in quiet contemplation. He became
less talkative than before. Sometimes, he would shut
himself in his room for a whole week without eating or
drinking. He would only consume sugar-lemon water or
plain water. Occasionally, he would be seen walking
outside. He had noticeably lost weight, but his face
always bore a quiet, sacred sorrow that was evident in
his eyes. It was as if he carried a secret, a deep-seated
sorrow that he couldn’t share with anyone.
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But following an ant round a peak will eventually return to
the same place, Thầy returned to Saigon in 1977.
In 1978, he was arrested for illegal residence, but in
reality, for his resistance to the government’s decision to
dissolve the Unified Buddhist Church of Vietnam (UBCV),
and subsequently imprisoned in a re-education camp, a
thinly veiled prison, until 1981.
His unwavering opposition to the regime’s attempts to
coerce the UBCV into joining the Fatherland Front
ultimately led to his arrest again in 1984. In a sham trial
held in September 1988, he was sentenced to death
alongside Venerable Thích Trí Siêu, also known as
Professor Lê Mạnh Thát.
Most Venerable Nguyên Siêu provides a powerful
indictment of the Communist regime in Vietnam about this
sentence in the abovementioned essay as follows:
Even faced with death, their unwavering faith in the
impermanence of all things remained unshaken. The
Communist regime, however, failed to recognize the true
nature of the Vietnamese people. The blood of the
martyrs had nourished the land, and the ideals of selfless
service would continue to inspire future generations.
The Communist regime’s obsession with power and
control led them to commit atrocities, such as the
execution of these two monks. By silencing its critics and
destroying cultural heritage, the regime created a
society devoid of intellectual and spiritual growth. The
death sentences of 1988 stand as a testament to the
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Communist regime’s crimes against humanity and its
disregard for the Buddhist faith.
Throughout the history of our nation and our religion,
through periods of both prosperity and decline, it can be
said that the era of Communist Vietnam is the first time
in thousands of years that Buddhist monks have faced
death sentences. This death sentence reveals a harsh
truth: under a socialist regime, Buddhism cannot exist,
or if it does, it is merely for show. The Communists do
not realize that from the very beginning, our ancestors
have partaken of the fruit of liberation offered by
Buddhism and have drunk from the pure stream of
compassion that is Buddhism. Yet today, their
descendants are uprooting the tree, digging out the
roots, and draining the spring, causing great turmoil.
People often say, “Con hơn cha là nhà có phước”
(When children surpass their parents, the family is
blessed). However, Vietnam is truly unfortunate, for the
Communist Party of Vietnam has overturned all social
order, morality, and rituals. They have destroyed the
foundations of our rituals, our dignity, and our culture
through oppression, terror, inhumanity, and the
destruction of all books from the South. The Communist
Party of Vietnam has stained the pages of Vietnamese
history.
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17. Hơi thở ngưng từ đáy biển sâu
Hơi thở ngưng từ đáy biển sâu
Mênh mông sắc ảo dậy muôn màu
Một trời sao nhỏ xoay khung cửa
Khoảnh khắc Thiên hà ánh hỏa châu.
At the bottom of the ocean
At the ocean’s bottom, my breath suspends.
Vast, illusory hues in myriad colors arise.
The starry sky pirouettes around the window frame.
In this moment, the sky is a galaxy of fireworks.
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18. Tiếng xe đùa ngoài ngõ
Tiếng xe đùa qua ngõ
Cành nguyệt quế rùng mình
Hương tan trên dấu lặng
Giai điệu tròn lung linh.
The sound of a car passing by
Hearing the sound of a car passing the alley,
The laurel branch trembles.
Its fragrance disperses on the rest note,
A sparkling, round rondo.
Explanation
A rondo is a structure of music that uses a recurring theme,
called a refrain. The refrain is interspersed with sections
of music called episodes. If the refrain is referred to as A,
and each episode is labeled B, C, and so forth, then a rondo
traditionally follows either a 5-part pattern (ABACA) or a
7-part pattern (ABACABA).
The passage is a poetic exploration of music and
symbolism. It suggests that the music is not just a series of
notes, but a complete and meaningful entity. The image of
the laurel branch shivering in response to the sound of a
car is evocative and suggests a deep connection between
nature, music, and human experiences.
The reference to the laurel wreath, associated with victory
and underscoring darkness and destruction, serves as a
counterpoint to the beauty and harmony of the music.
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19. Bóng cỏ rơi giật mình sửng sốt
Bóng cỏ rơi, giật mình sửng sốt
Mặt đất rung, Ma Quỷ rộn phương trời
Chút hơi thở mong manh trên dấu lặng
Đêm huyền vi, giai điệu không lời
Falling shadows of grass
Startled and stunned by falling shadows of grass,
The ground trembles, demons rage across the sky,
My breath, a fragile wisp, fades on rest notes,
Listening to a mute melody in this magical night.
Explanation
The phrase “giai điệu không lời” is often understood as
instrumental music, without vocals, but here there are
neither vocals nor instruments. It’s a mute piece of music.
It’s the sound of silence.
In Zen koans, there’s also one related to the sound of
silence. It’s the Japanese monk Takeda Mokurai‘s (1854-
1930) question: “What is the sound of one hand
clapping?” that we have seen in page 406.
Another story, a young monk asking Zen master Shoushan
Xingnian (926-993) to play a stringless tune. The master
was silent for a long time, then asked: “Do you hear it?”
“No, sir”, replied the young monk.
“Why didn’t you ask it to play louder?”, scolded the
master.
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20. Theo chân kiến
Theo chân kiến
luồn qua cụm cỏ
Bóng âm u
thế giới chập chùng
Quãng im lặng
nghe mùi đất thở
Following the trail of the ants
Following the ants’ trail,
I crept through the grass,
Darkness shrouds the world,
Its shadows undulating.
In silent moments between rest notes,
The earth’s breath fills the space.
Explanation
Just like in the poem number 15, “quãng im lặng”, literally
it means “silent passage”, is the distance between two rest
notes, making the poem a silent piece of music.
Similarly, in the poem number 13, the musician hears,
rather than smells, the fragrance of the laurel. Here, he
also hears the scent of the earth breathing. Therefore, I
translate this verse as “the earth’s breath fills the space”.
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The following is an excerpt from The Blue Cliff Record 44,
demonstrates how silence can be a powerful means of
communication:
As Subhuti was sitting in silent meditation in a cliffside
cave, the gods showered down flowers to praise him.
Subhuti said, “Flowers are showering down from the
sky in praise; whose is doing this?”
A god said, “I am Indra, king of the gods”.
Subhuti asked, “Why are you offering praise?”
Indra said, “I esteem your skill in expounding the
transcendence of wisdom”.
Subhuti said, “I have never spoken a single word about
wisdom; why are you offering praise?”
Indra said, “You have never spoken and I have never
heard. No speaking, no hearing, this is true wisdom”.
44 The Blue Cliff Record is a collection of one hundred koans, with
his additional verses, compiled by Zen master Xuedou Chongxian
(980-1052). About sixty years after Xuedou’s death, Yuanwu Keqin
(1063-1135) gave a series of talks elucidating the original anecdotes
and the verses of Xuedou’s collection. The anecdotes, Xuedou’s
verses, and Yuanwu’s introductions, remarks, and commentaries all
together form The Blue Cliff Record.
The Blue Cliff Record gained great popularity, so much so that Dahui
Zonggao (1089-1163), a disciple of Yuanwu, destroyed the printing
blocks because he observed that enthusiasm for eloquence was
hindering people from experiencing enlightenment on their own.
The text was reconstituted in 1302 by Zhang Mingyuan.
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21. Nỗi nhớ đó khát khao
Nỗi nhớ đó khát khao
luồn sợi tóc
Vòng tay ôm cuộn khói
bâng khuâng
Uống chưa cạn chén trà
sương móc
Trên đài cao
Em ngự mây tầng
Lên cao mãi đường mây
khép chặt
Để soi mòn ảo tượng
thiên chân.
Ồ, nguyệt quế!
trắng mờ đôi mắt
Ồ, sao Em?
sao ấn mãi cung đàn?
Giai điệu cổ
thoáng buồn
u uất
Xưa yêu Em
xao động trăng ngàn
A wave of nostalgia
A wave of nostalgia slips through my hair.
Lost in wistful contemplation,
I reach out to embrace the drifting smoke.
Though my cup of dew tea remains unfinished,
I find you reigning among the clouds,
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Soaring higher, the cloud path narrows.
To wear down the illusion of innocence.
Oh, laurel, its whiteness blurs my sight.
Oh, why you?
Why do you keep playing that same tune?
The ancient melody, tinged with sadness and gloom,
In bygone days when I loved you, stirred the forest
moons.
Explanation
They have showered you with praise, elevating you to
extraordinary heights. Yet, the illusions they weave may
eventually unravel, leaving you exposed. I see the
accolades they bestow upon you, but their dazzling
brilliance blinds me to the underlying realities that may lie
beneath.
Does the existence of millions of impoverished heroes in
this country indicate a systemic issue?
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22. Ta sống lại trên nỗi buồn ám
khói
Ta sống lại trên nỗi buồn ám khói
Vẫn yêu người từng khoảnh khắc chiêm bao
Từ nguyên sơ đã một lời không nói
Như trùng dương ngưng tụ ánh hoa đào
Nghe khúc điệu rộn ràng đôi cánh mỏi
Vì yêu người, ta vói bắt ngàn sao.
I resurrect
From the ashes of sorrow, I resurrect,
In my fleeting dreams, I still love you.
Unspoken since the beginning of time,
Like oceans condensing peach blossom’s light.
The vibrant symphony overwhelms my weary wings,
But for our love, I’d catch the stars.
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23. Giăng mộ cổ
Giăng mộ cổ mưa chiều hoen ngấn lệ
Bóng điêu tàn huyền sử đứng trơ vơ
Sương thấm lạnh làn vai hờn nguyệt quế
Ôm tượng đài yêu suốt cõi hoang sơ.
Ancient graves
This afternoon, rain, laden with tears, falls upon ancient
graves,
Where crumbled remnants of legends stand, shrouded in
loneliness.
As bone-chilling mist envelops my shoulders, I taste the
bitterness of the laurels.
Embracing the monuments, I feel a deep connection with
the wild universe.
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Volume 7:
Thiên lý độc hành | A thousand-mile solitary journey
Thiên lý độc hành
| A thousand-mile
solitary journey
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446
These 13 poems, named Thiên lý độc hành (A thousand-
mile solitary journey, Chuyến đi vạn dặm trong đơn độc)
are written about a Zen master’s solitary journey of ten
thousand miles, but this journey has no departing, only
returning. Why?
Time of composition: 2011-2012
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1. Ta về một cõi tâm không
Ta về một cõi tâm không
Vẫn nghe quá khứ ngập trong nắng tàn
Còn yêu một thuở đi hoang
Thu trong đáy mắt sao ngàn nửa khuya
I return to the realm of no-mind
I return to the realm of no-mind,
But memories of the past overflow in the twilight.
I still cherish the time I wandered free,
Autumn settled deep within my eyes, forest stars shone at
midnight.
Explanation
What realm is the realm of no-mind? If it’s called no-mind,
why does the heart still hold onto memories, as shown in
the verse “Vẫn nghe quá khứ ngập trong nắng tàn” (But
memories of the past still overflowing in the twilight)?
Furthermore, the 13 poems of “A thousand-mile solitary
journey” describe a solitary traveler’s journey of ten
thousand miles, yet they begin with “Ta về” (I return),
instead of “I depart”. Why does this journey have no
departing? How can one start a journey without
departing?
Perhaps we can find the answers in the paintings of “Ten
Ox-Herding Pictures” 45 which portray the journey of a
45 The Ten Ox-Herding pictures describe the Zen training path to
enlightenment using folk images, accompanied by poems and
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child searching for his ox. And once he finds it, he herds it,
sits on the ox’s back and plays a flute until both the child
and the ox transcend into one, so that he can return to the
marketplace as a free person. It seems that in Zen,
complete enlightenment is often described as a state of
freedom where the act of going and returning becomes
indistinguishable. Indeed, for a Zen master, there is no
distinction between going and returning, or, in other
words, between emptiness and existence.
Who can explain that there is no difference between going
and returning, or emptiness and existence better than
Fudaishi?
Fudaishi (497-569) was a layman Bodhisattva. He is
regarded as an incarnation of Maitreya Buddha (In China
and other East Asian countries, he is commonly portrayed
commentaries. They depict a child whose quest leads him to find,
train, and transform his mind, a process that is represented by
subduing the ox. Even though these images are presented in a
sequence, self-development and Zen practice do not go in a straight
line. It is more like a spiral, and one goes back to different previous
stages but with more understanding. You can see these pictures
adorning the walls of Zen temples in China, Korea, Japan and
Vietnam.
1) Searching for the ox
2) Seeing the footprints of the ox
3) Seeing the ox
4) Catching the ox
5) Herding the ox
6) Riding the ox home
7) The ox transcended
8) Both the ox and the child transcended
9) Returning to the origin, back to the source
10) Entering the marketplace, with bliss-bestowing hands
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as a cheerful, plump figure surrounded by playful
children). Below are two famous poems of his.
First poem:
空手把鋤頭
步行騎水牛
人從橋上過
橋流水不流
Không thủ bả sừ đầu
Bộ hành kỵ thủy ngưu
Nhân tùng kiều thượng quá
Kiều lưu thủy bất lưu.
Hand does not hold anything at all, but it is like holding the
handle of a hoe.
Walking on the ground, as if riding on the back of a water
buffalo.
People on the bridge passing back and forth,
The bridge flows, but water does not flow.
Too illogical, isn’t it? While it might seem counterintuitive,
true understanding often transcends the limitations of
language. To fully grasp certain aspects of the Buddha’s
teachings, we may need to go beyond the constraints of
language and thought, embracing a state of no-mind or the
mind of Nothingness.
Second poem:
有物先天地
無形本寂寥
Dreams on the peak of the Mountain
450
能為萬象主
不逐四時凋
Hữu vật tiên thiên địa
Vô hình bản tịch liêu
Năng vi vạn tượng chủ
Bất trục tứ thời điêu
That thing existed before heaven and earth,
It has no form and does not move,
But it controls everything else,
It does not wither or decay with the seasons.
What is that thing? It is the mind of Nothingness. This mind
is neither created nor destroyed, and even the concepts of
creation and destruction do not apply to it.
A monk asked Zen Master Dongshan Liangjie (807-869),
“What is a Buddha?” The Master replied: “Three pounds
of thorns”.
The monk was confused. He asked the Master to explain
further.
The Master replied: “Language is only a tool to express
things, don’t cling to the words and cause confusion and
delusion. For example, if you throw a stone at a dog, the
dog will chase the stone; but if you throw a stone at a lion,
the lion will chase the person who threw it. When engaging
in Zen dialogue, you should be like a lion, not like a dog”.
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2. Ta đi dẫm nắng bên đèo
Ta đi dẫm nắng bên đèo
Nghe đau hồn cỏ rủ theo bóng chiều
Nguyên sơ là dáng yêu kiều
Bỗng đâu đảo lộn tịch liêu bến bờ
Còn đây góc núi trơ vơ
Nghìn năm ta mãi đứng chờ đỉnh cao
Walking along a shaft of sunlight
Walking along a sunlit mountain pass,
I feel the pain of the grass, wilting in twilight.
Once pristine, the graceful mountain
Now lies desolate, its beauty marred.
Standing at a solitary corner of the mountain,
I wait forever for the peak to arrive.
Explanation
Walking on the grass, Thầy feels its soul in pain. He hears
the grass confide its tale of former grace, now wild and
forlorn. And he thinks of himself, standing at this
mountain’s edge for a thousand years.
What does he wait? The mountain’s peak.
This solitary journey of a thousand miles grows stranger
still, for he is prepared to wait for a thousand years for the
peak to come to him, rather than going to it. This attitude
echoes the no-mind perspective expressed in Fudaishi’s
above poems (page 448).
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3. Bên đèo khuất miễu cô hồn
Bên đèo khuất miễu cô hồn
Lưng trời ảo ảnh chập chờn hoa đăng
Cây già bóng tối bò lan
Tôi ôm cỏ dại mơ màng chiêm bao
Beneath the pass
A hidden ghost shrine lurks beneath the pass,
A phantom of flower lanterns shimmers in the sky.
Beneath the old trees, shadows creep and crawl,
I embrace the wild grass, lost in a dreamy reverie.
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4. Đã mấy nghìn năm đợi mỏi mòn
Đã mấy nghìn năm đợi mỏi mòn
Bóng người cô độc dẫm hoàng hôn
Bởi ta hồn đá phơi màu nắng
Ôm trọn bờ lau kín nỗi buồn
Thousands of years of weary waiting
The stone’s soul, exposed to sunlight’s flare,
Has waited for thousands of years in weariness,
For your lone shadow to step into the twilight.
It now hides its sorrow by embracing the reeds.
Explanation
Let’s review the monk’s journey through the first four
poems: Initially, he returns to his no-mind. Then, he walks
by the pass, waiting for the peak to arrive. At the pass, he
encounters a hidden ghost shrine, where he dreams of
shimmering lanterns in the sky and crawling shadows on
the ground. Here, a reed-embraced stone tells him that it
has been waiting for him for thousands of years.
It is common for reeds to embrace stones. But here, the
stone embraces the reeds. Such paradoxical situations
abound in Zen stories.
Vimalakīrti (see page 213), the man renowned for his
thunderous silence, once said he was ill because all beings
were ill.
According to the Vimalakīrti Sūtra, when Manjusri,
obeying the Buddha, visited the ill Vimalakīrti, he asked:
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- The World-Honored One countless times has made
solicitous inquiries concerning you. Layman, what is the
cause of this illness? Has it been with you long? And
how can it be cured?
- This illness of mine is born of ignorance and feelings
of attachment. Because all living beings are sick,
therefore I am sick. If all living beings are relieved of
sickness, then my sickness will be mended. Why?
Because the bodhisattva for the sake of living beings
enters the realm of birth and death, and because he is in
the realm of birth and death, he suffers illness. If living
beings can gain release from illness, then the
bodhisattva will no longer be ill, replied Vimalakīrti.
Can beauty arise from the Nothingness? Su Dongpo
composed a lyrical poem dedicated to his third wife, Wang
Zhaoyun. She was a woman of both beauty and talent who
accompanied him for 23 years, never leaving his side even
during times of slander, misfortune, and exile. Zhaoyun
passed away prematurely at the age of 34, while he was 61.
The poem reads as follows:
白髮蒼顏
正是維摩境界
空方丈散花何礙
朱唇箸點
更髻還生彩
Bạch phát thương nhan
Chính thị Duy Ma cảnh giới
Không phương trượng tán hoa hà ngại
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Chu thần trợ điểm
Cánh kế hoàn sinh thái
White hair and wrinkled face
Precisely the realm of Vimalakīrti.
In the empty room, flowers scatter without hindrance.
Lips painted red,
The hairdo becomes even more vibrant.
Su Dongpo compares her aging appearance to the realm
of Vimalakīrti, suggesting that true beauty comes from
within and is not diminished by physical aging, while the
imagery of flowers scattering in an empty room suggests
that beauty can arise from the Emptiness/Nothingness.
In his book “Tô Đông Pha: Những phương trời viễn mộng”
(Su Dongpo: Celestial realms of distant dreams), Thầy
explains Su’s poem as follows:
Grey hair and wrinkled skin are the realm of
Vimalakīrti. It is the realm of the most profound
dialogue, a realm of vast, silent, and wordless stillness
of the layman Vimalakīrti. It is also the realm of quiet
yet magnificent poetry. Vimalakīrti’s house is a square
space of one zhang (TN: 3.2 meters or 3.5 yards) each
side; it is an empty room, yet it contains three thousand
lion thrones; guests from three thousand worlds gather
to listen to Vimalakīrti’s unspoken word.
And there, a celestial maiden scattered heavenly
flowers, applauding the unspoken word; she also
applauded the spoken words. Was this celestial maiden
Zhaoyun? And was this realm of the unspoken word the
realm of his poetry?
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5. Từ thuở hồng hoang ta ở đâu
Từ thuở hồng hoang ta ở đâu
Quanh ta cây lá đã thay màu
Chợt nghe xao xuyến từng hơi thở
Thấp thoáng hồn ai trong khóm lau.
Where have I been since the beginning of
time
Where have I been since the beginning of time?
Surrounded by trees and leaves changing color,
I suddenly feel my breath quicken
As a soul within the reed bush catches my eye.
Explanation
I sense a deep love for his country in Thầy’s words here:
“Surrounded by trees and leaves changing color”. This is
a metaphor comparing the changing of seasons to the
changing of times.
“I suddenly feel my breath quicken”. The emphasis of the
phrase “breadth quickens” aims to convey the emotional
intensity of coming unexpected events.
“As I catch a glimpse of a soul within the reed bush”. This
line suggests a spark of hope even in challenging times. Is
this his hope for a miracle to unfold in his country?
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6. Trên đỉnh đèo cao bát ngát
trông
Trên đỉnh đèo cao bát ngát trông
Rừng, mây, xanh, ngất tạnh, vô cùng,
Từ ta trải áo đường mưa bụi
Tưởng thấy tiền thân trên bến không
Atop a high mountain pass
Atop a high mountain pass, the world unfolds:
Emerald forests, towering clouds, and a clear blue sky
stretching to the horizon.
Since I began my life as a wandering monk,
I thought I could glimpse my previous lives on the
enlightenment wharf.
Explanation
In this poem, Thầy uses a word that very few people know.
It’s “ngất tạnh”. This word was used by Nguyễn Du in
“The Tale of Kiều” to describe the moonlit night when
Kiều was taken away by Mã Giám Sinh to Lâm Tri, and she
remembered the night she swore eternal love with Kim
Trọng under the moon:
Dặm khuya ngất tạnh mù khơi
Thấy trăng mà thẹn những lời non sông
A road that stretched far off in hushed, still night:
She saw the moon, felt shame at her love vows.
(translated by Professor Huỳnh Sanh Thông)
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In a commentary on “The tale of Kiều” (published by Quốc
học Thư xã in 1953), the scholar Lê Văn Hòe explained:
“Ngất tạnh” means a clear, vast sky, suggesting a clear
and bright night.
The verse “Từ ta trải áo đường mưa bụi”, which I translate
as “Since I began my life as a wandering monk”, literally
means “Since I spread out my shirt on dusty roads”,
reminds me of the following response of Zen Master “Old
Zhao”, i.e., Zhaozhou .
A monk saw the Master sweeping the courtyard, he asked:
“Why is there dust in this pristine and serene monastery?”.
The Master replied: “There’s another grain of dust”.
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7. Khi về ngả nón chào nhau
Khi về ngả nón chào nhau
Bên đèo còn hẹn rừng lau đợi chờ
Trầm luân từ buổi ban sơ
Thân sau ta vẫn bơ vơ bụi đường
Hat off when we say goodbye
Hat off when we say goodbye,
Let’s make our next rendezvous at the reed forest.
Though suffering since the beginning of time,
In my next life, I still yearn to be a solitary wanderer.
Explanation
Most Venerable Hạnh Viên shared that on a late autumn
day in 2011, probably around the same time Thầy Tuệ Sỹ
wrote this poem, he received this email message from
Thầy:
“I wander aimlessly following the drifting clouds towards
an uncertain realm. Riverbanks, mountain caves,
everywhere is a place of burial. If fate still binds us
together, we’ll meet again, in this life or the next.”
And he signed his name as “Thị Ngạn Am vô trụ xứ” (A
person without a fixed abode at Thị Ngạn hermitage). Refer
to page 298, for explanation of the name “Thị Ngạn Am”.
Could this be the awaited rendezvous at the reed forest that
Thầy was referring to in this poem?
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8. Bóng tối sập mưa rừng tuôn
thác đổ
Bóng tối sập, mưa rừng tuôn thác đổ
Đường chênh vênh vách đá dọa nghiêng trời
Ta lầm lũi bóng ma tròn thế kỷ
Rủ nhau đi cùng tận cõi luân hồi
Khắp phố thị ngày xưa ta ruổi ngựa
Ngang qua đây ma quỷ khóc thành bầy
Lên hay xuống mắt mù theo nước lũ
Dẫm bàn chân lên cát sỏi cùng trôi
Rồi ngã xuống nghe suối tràn ngập máu
Thân là thân cỏ lá gập ghềnh xuôi
Chờ mưa tạnh ta trải trăng làm chiếu
Nghìn năm sau hoa trắng trổ trên đồi
The forest rain cascades down
Darkness falls, a cascade of forest rain descends.
The cliff’s precarious path threatens to tilt the sky.
We trudge along, with the ghosts trapped for centuries,
Together we journey towards the end of reincarnation’s
realm.
Once, on horseback, I wandered throughout this city,
Witnessing gangs of wailing ghosts passing by,
Blinded, floating up and down by the flood,
While treading on drifting sand and stones.
Then they fell down, their blood inundating the stream.
Their bodies, like herbaceous plants, were tossed and
tuned.
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Waiting for the rain to subside, I spread the moonlight out
for my sleeping mat.
A thousand years later, when I wake up, white flowers
will be blooming on this hill.
Explanation
Dear Thầy, we too yearn to witness this: The wailing
ghosts’ bodies are swept away by the flood.
In my translation, I’ve combined the first two lines of the
third and final stanza with the second stanza, allowing the
story of Thầy witnessing the wailing ghosts to conclude
with their bodies being tossed and turned in the flood.
The remaining two verses form the final stanza to express
Thầy’s desire for peace in the world. These verses have
been widely quoted and admired by our critics, seen as
reflecting Thầy’s divine nature:
Chờ mưa tạnh ta trải trăng làm chiếu
Nghìn năm sau hoa trắng trổ trên đồi
Waiting for the rain to subside, I spread the moonlight out
for my sleeping mat
A thousand years later, when I wake up, white flowers will
bloom on this hill
But for this wish to become reality, there is another wish:
that the ghosts’ bodies will be swept away by the flood.
Why do our critics ignore this?
In my translation I add “when I wake up”, as I believe Thầy
wants to see white flowers blooming on the hill.
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9. Gởi lại tình yêu ngọn cỏ rừng
Gởi lại tình yêu ngọn cỏ rừng
Tôi về phố thị bởi tình chung
Trao đời hương nhụy phơi hồn đá
Thăm thẳm mù khơi sương mấy từng
A blade of forest grass
I leave behind a blade of forest grass, a token of my love.
To honor my homeland, I must return to my city.
I bare my heart, offering my sweet nectar to the world,
Lost in the depths of mist, where layers of fog obscure the
unknown.
Explanation
Although bound by a deep connection to the mountains and
rivers, he must return to the city, leaving behind a blade of
forest grass as a token of his love. It is a sacrifice made for
a higher purpose.
Returning to the city, he vows to dedicate his life to making
a difference in the world. He knows this journey will be
arduous, as he ventures into the depths of mist and fog.
Only by understanding the depth of his poetry, can one
truly appreciate his compassion.
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10. Một thời thân đá cuội
Một thời thân đá cuội
Nắng chảy dọc theo suối
Cọng lau già trầm ngâm
Hỏi người bao nhiêu tuổi
Once I was a pebble
Once, as a pebble,
I witnessed sunlight flowing along the stream.
An old reed pensively asked,
“How old are you?”
Explanation
“Once I was a pebble” is often used to convey a sense of
humility, but in this poem, Thầy might intend it to represent
one of his previous lives, although it seems impossible, as
he has declared it a witness to our history. The old reed,
upon seeing this, asked in surprise: “How old are you?”
In “Thơ Tuệ Sỹ – Tiếng gọi của những đêm dài heo hút”
(Tuệ Sỹ’s poetry – the call of long and desolate nights),
Most Venerable Phước An supports Thầy’s position:
“Some people argue that Tuệ Sỹ should have spent his
time on his professional pursuits, such as writing
literature, poetry, or translations, instead of wasting
over twenty years on endeavors that yielded no personal
benefit. I believe this argument is entirely incorrect. In
fact, those who make such claims are merely trying to
protect their own weaknesses.”
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11. Bước đi nghe cỏ động
Bước đi nghe cỏ động
Đi mãi thành tâm không
Hun hút rừng như mộng
Tồn sinh rụng cánh hồng
The grass stirs
With each of the first few steps, the grass stirs
Walking on, the mind becomes still
Deep in the forest, as in a deep dream
Survival sheds its rose petals.
Explanation
When one first starts walking on the grass, one hears it
rustling. But after walking on it for a long time, one doesn’t
hear it anymore. To dwell in the deep forest, one must let
go of lofty dreams, or rose petals, a reference to the word
“cánh hồng” in “The Tale of Kiều”.
Cánh hồng bay bổng tuyệt vời
Đã mòn con mắt phương trời đăm đăm
After the eagle vanished into space,
She kept her eyes fast set on heaven’s edge.
(Translated by Professor Huỳnh Sanh Thông in “The Tale
of Kiều”)
“Cánh hồng” in these verses refers to Từ Hải, a
nonconformist who chafes against societal norms and the
oppressive rule of the authorities. Scholar Đào Duy Anh,
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in “Tự điển Truyện Kiều” (Dictionary of the Tale of Kiều),
explains that “cánh hồng” is the wings of the eagle, a type
of bird that flies far away, symbolizing a noble and
courageous man.
The poem’s mention of stirring grass reminds me of a story
about a flapping flag.
The Sixth Patriarch Huineng (638-713), after leaving the
Fifth Patriarch Hongren, lived a secluded life with hunters
in the mountains. One day he thought that it was time for
him to go out in the world. He was now thirty-nine years
old. He came to Fahsing temple in Guangzhou and
happened upon Abbot Yin-tsung giving a lecture on the
Nirvana Sūtra.
He saw some monks arguing on the flapping flag; one of
them said, “The flag is flapping”. Against this, it was
remarked by another monk that “The flag is an unanimated
object; therefore, it is the wind that is moving by itself”.
The discussion grew quite animated when Huineng
interrupted with the remark, “It is neither wind nor flag but
your own mind that flaps”. This at once put a stop to the
heated argument.
So conclusive and authoritative! This was the beginning of
Huineng‘s career as Zen master. His teachings were direct
and profound, attracting thousands of devoted followers.
Unlike many religious leaders, he didn’t actively seek
converts. His influence was centered on his home province
in the south, with the Paolin monastery at Caoxi serving as
his headquarters.
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12. Thân tiếp theo thân ngày tiếp
ngày
Thân tiếp theo thân ngày tiếp ngày
Mù trông dư ảnh lá rừng bay
Dõi theo lối cũ bên triền đá
Sao vẫn còn in dấu lạc loài
Life after life, day after day
Life after life, day after day,
Blindly gazing afterimage of flying forest leaves.
Along the old path beside the rocky slope,
Why do the lost imprints of my past journeys still remain?
Explanation
“Dư ảnh” (afterimage) is the phenomenon of an image
lingering in the eye.
There’s only one more poem left in the collection of “A
thousand-mile solitary journey”, yet why does the traveler
feel lost? Why do the lost imprints of his past journeys still
remain along the old path? The old path is where the
traveler went through in his previous life, isn’t it?
Finally, could it be that “A thousand-mile solitary
journey” is just wandering in a maze, with no way out? The
answer is no, if one knows how to transcend beyond the
physical realm.
What is transcend beyond the physical realm? One
evening, Zen master Mazu Daoyi and his three disciples,
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Xitang Zhizang, Baizhang Huaihai, and Nanquan Puyuan,
were enjoying the moonlight.
“What should we do now?”, Mazu asked.
Zhizang replied: “This is the time for offerings”.
Huaihai answered: “This is the time to cultivate”.
Only Nanquan waved his sleeve and left.
Mazu said: “The teachings go to Zhizang, meditation goes
to Huaihai, only Nanquan transcends all things”.
“What should we do now?” is a koan, as there is no resting
time for Zen students. Each student’s response reflects
their own understanding of the koan. Xitang Zhizang’s
response emphasizes ritual, Baizhang Huaihai’s response
focuses on discipline, while Nanquan Puyuan’s response
suggests a more profound understanding of the moment,
transcending beyond the physical realm.
Below is another story involving Nanquan Puyuan.
On another day, Nanquan and the monks were working
outside. Zhaozhou stayed behind in the temple to watch the
fire. Zhaozhou suddenly shouted, “Fire! Fire!” Everyone
rushed back and ran into the meditation hall. Seeing this,
Zhaozhou slammed the door shut and said:
“If you can say it, I’ll open the door”.
No one knew what to say. Nanquan threw the key through
the window into the room for Zhaozhou. Zhaozhou then
opened the door.
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13. Khi về anh nhớ cài quai nón
Khi về anh nhớ cài quai nón
Mưa lạnh đèo cao không cõi người
Fasten your hat strap
Fasten your hat strap when you return,
As cold rains on high passes are harsh for humans.
Explanation
The 13 poems of “A thousand-mile solitary journey” begin
with the words “I return” (I return to the realm of no-mind)
and end with “you return” (Fasten your hat strap when you
return). A peculiar journey because there is only returning,
no departing! Why is there only returning and no
departing? Because this collection of poems describes a
thousand-mile solitary journey to find enlightenment.
In the Śūraṅgama Sūtra (kinh Lăng Nghiêm in
Vietnamese), Ananda asked the Buddha,
- What is the root of suffering?
- It is your six senses, replied the Buddha.
- What is the root of enlightenment? asked again Ananda.
- It is also your six senses, replied the Buddha.
These six senses are the eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, and
mind. It is precisely from these six senses that both
suffering and enlightenment arise.
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Therefore, the thousand-mile solitary journey is only about
returning, not departing.
On November 24, 2023, Thầy passed away, leaving this
world. In his will, besides his wish for a simple funeral and
the cremation of his physical body, with the ashes scattered
in the Pacific Ocean to become part of the clouds, he also
left behind eight words:
“Hư không hữu tận, Ngã nguyện vô cùng” (The void has
limits, (but) my vows are limitless).
This is an excerpt from the Ten Directions Prayer:
The void has its limits,
My vows are limitless
I pray for all sentient and insentient beings,
That they may all attain enlightenment.
In these eight words, Thầy did not explicitly state what his
vows were. I believe this is his secret second will.
In Śrīmālādevī Sūtra, Mrs. Śrīmālā made three great vows:
1) To help all sentient beings attain everlasting peace.
2) To tirelessly teach the Dharma to all sentient beings.
3) To sacrifice her life to protect the True Dharma.
Just like Mrs. Śrīmālā‘s second vow, Thầy tirelessly taught
the Dharma and translated scriptures to all sentient beings,
even in the face of the Communist party’s oppression and
health concerns.
And like Mrs. Śrīmālā‘s third vow, Thầy accepted to be
executed, resolutely protecting the Unified Buddhist
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Church of Vietnam to uphold the True Dharma, not
allowing it to be merged with the so-called Vietnam
Buddhist Sangha 46. In Buddhism, Sangha refers to the
monastic communities. Therefore, to call a Church a
Sangha is a deceptive use of language, a sleigh of hand.
Because this Church is affiliated with the Communist
party’s Vietnamese Fatherland Front, Thầy, during his
lifetime, referred to it as the “Front Church”.
Compared to Mrs. Śrīmālā’s three great vows, Thầy was
unable to fulfill his first vow in this life, as Vietnamese
people continue to suffer under the inhumane Communist
regime. Often, what one cannot accomplish in this lifetime,
one vows to accomplish in the next. Therefore, I believe
these are Thầy’s three great vows, his secret second will.
46 Writer Trần Trung Đạo offers the following description of this
Sangha in “Kỷ yếu tri ân Hòa thượng Thích Tuệ Sỹ”
(Commemorative Volume Honoring the Most Venerable Thích Tuệ
Sỹ):
“The Vietnam Buddhist Sangha (VBS) has the motto “Dharma,
Nation, and Socialism”. With this dependent status, VBS is entirely
subordinate to the Communist party. To put it simply, if the
Communist party exists, the VBS exists; if the Communist party falls,
the VBS falls.
History of Buddhism has shown that in any era and any place, when
Buddhist monks and nuns, the leaders of Buddhism, compromise with
the ruling class, become entangled in the pursuit of fame, fortune, and
power, and exploit the suffering and misfortune of people, that
Buddhist church no longer represents the compassionate teachings of
the Buddha but has been corrupted into a tool of the ruling regime.”
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About the author
Mr. TERRY LEE is a former senior Mathematics teacher
in New Zealand and Australia. He is the author of 6
Mathematics textbooks for year 11 and 12 students,
including the best-seller seventh edition book “Advanced
Mathematics – A complete HSC Mathematics Extension 2
course.”
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Index
Ananda, 214, 223, 468
Angelou, Maya, 126
Avataṃsaka Sūtra, 139, 294, 349
Baizhang Huaihai, 201, 202, 324,
326, 340, 386, 387, 467
Blue Cliff Record, 440
Bodhidharma, 200, 342, 344, 380
Bùi Giáng, 31, 35, 37, 121, 263,
264, 265
Caoxi, 200, 465
Châu Thạch, 77
Collins, Martha. See Nguyễn Bá
Chung
Cung oán ngâm khúc, 370
Dajian Huineng, 206, 234, 341,
342, 343, 344, 345, 380, 465
Daman Hongren, 342, 343, 465
Diamond Sūtra, 183, 297, 342,
349
Đỗ Hồng Ngọc, 24, 138, 164
Dongshan Liangjie, 450
Du Fu, 236, 237, 238, 289
Duy Lam, 124
Fudaishi, 323, 448, 451
Già Lam, 119, 255, 288
Guishan Lingyou, 206, 379, 380,
382, 383
Hạnh Viên, 459
Heart Sūtra, 221, 222, 225
Hồ Chí Minh trail, 84, 86
Huân Cung, 20, 418
Huyền Quang, 229
Huỳnh Kim Quang, 419
Huỳnh Sanh Thông, 114, 121,
125, 261, 348, 457, 464
Khuông Việt, 119, 244
Kiều, 114, 121, 125, 126, 193,
260, 261, 262, 264, 323, 347,
348, 449, 457, 458, 464, 465
Kumārajīva, 247, 258
Lá bối, 259, 260, 261, 262
Lê Lợi, 86
Lê Mộng Nguyên, 402
Lê Thị Ý, 42
Li Bai, 114, 289
Li Shangyin, 368
Lokeśvara, 101, 212, 227
Lục Vân Tiên, 125
Mahākāśyapa, 214, 245, 300
Maitreya, 201, 349, 448
Mãn Giác, 268
Manjusri, 214, 219, 453
Mao Zedong, 189
Mật Thể, 58
Maudgalyāyana, 214
Mazu Daoyi, 233, 324, 340, 341,
383, 466, 467
Middle Way, 221, 222, 230, 242,
244, 247, 250, 288
Miscault, Dominique, 407, 423
Mokurai, 406, 407
Mokurai, Takeda, 438
Montenegro, Maria, 224
Nāgārjuna, 47, 190, 191, 222,
224, 230, 247, 248, 249, 250
Nanquan Puyuan, 467
Nanyue Huairang, 340, 341
Nanyue Huizhong, 206
New Economic Zones, 123, 156
Ngô Tất Tố, 269
Nguyễn Bá Chung, 127, 346, 365
Nguyễn Đạt, 298
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476
Nguyễn Đình Chiểu, 125
Nguyễn Du, 125, 236, 238, 260,
264, 274, 277, 347, 457
Nguyễn Gia Thiều, 370
Nguyên Giác, 140, 209, 211
Nguyên Hiền, 161
Nguyễn Hiến Lê, 260, 291
Nguyễn Mạnh Trinh, 170, 172
Nguyễn Mộng Giác, 184
Nguyên Siêu, 55, 91, 98, 129,
130, 181, 242, 255, 258, 288,
303, 433, 434
Nhất Hạnh, 227
Phạm Công Thiện, 47, 50, 140,
146, 289
Phạm Duy, 42, 43
Phạm Quỳnh, 193, 347
Phạm Thế Mỹ, 42
Phẻ Xuân Bạch, 20, 247
Phùng Quán, 420
Phước An, 106, 109, 116, 162,
283, 290, 463
Qingyuan Weixin, 58
Quách Tấn, 260, 290, 292
Quảng Độ, 256, 354, 355, 356
Śāriputra, 101, 207, 214, 253
Shishuang Qingzhu, 382, 383
Shoushan Xingnian, 438
Shuiliao, 383
Śrīmālā, 130, 161, 178, 234, 469
Subhuti, 349, 440
Sudhana, 139, 349
Śūraṅgama Sūtra, 468
Suzuki, Daisetz, 18, 165, 206,
301, 345, 378, 381
Tâm Nhiên, 115, 180
Tản Đà, 96
Ten Ox-Herding, 161, 447
Thị ngạn am, 298, 459
Toyo, 406, 407
Trần Bảo Toàn, 257
Trần Dần, 168
Trần Nhân Tông, 244, 320
Trần Trung Đạo, 36, 470
Trần Tuấn Mẫn, 199, 260, 430
Trí Hải, 261, 263, 264, 265
Trí Siêu, 17, 26, 98, 119, 255,
258, 433, 434
Trúc Lâm, 245, 320
Tuấn Khanh, 354, 473
Tuệ Trung, 234, 242, 243, 244,
245, 271
Unified Buddhist Church of
Vietnam, 17, 119, 255, 256,
310, 311, 315, 354, 357, 414,
434, 470
Vạn Giã, 77, 78, 79, 105, 106,
108, 116, 119, 123, 282, 290,
292, 433
Vạn Hạnh, 119
Viên Linh, 41, 42, 70, 72, 373
Vietnam Buddhist Sangha, 316,
470
Vietnamese Fatherland Front,
119, 470
Vimalakīrti, 101, 130, 161, 213,
214, 219, 233, 234, 245, 252,
253, 258, 367, 453, 454, 455
Vĩnh Hảo, 77, 131, 138, 151, 155
Vũ Đình Liên, 98
Wang Xizhi, 98, 289
Wikipedia, 90, 258, 363
Wumen Guan, 161, 199, 260,
359, 361, 380, 387, 430, 474
Wumen Huikai, 199, 359, 387
Xiangyan Zhixian, 200, 201
Xitang Zhizang, 467
Xuedou Chongxian, 440
Yangshan Huiji, 379, 380, 383
Yuquan Chenghao, 351
Zhaozhou Congshen, 358, 361,
381, 458, 467