Le Hung Tien
Born on May 31, 1981, in Ninh Thuan province, Le Hung Tien is the member of Vietnamese Musicians Association since 2007; member of Vietnamese Writers’ Association since 2014. Currently he is a lecturer at University of Da Nang. His published literary works include ‘Forever green, the tree of life (music) 2002; Dedication to a dream (music) 2006; Virtual portrait (poetry) 2007; Fantasy night (Epic) 2011. He has many other literary works to be printed and many co-printed.
Poetry concept
I write poetry to wake up sperms about the essence existence of human. Whether these sperms have a lot of life energy, or what are their dying quality, requiring self-awareness of what our world will be like in a changing environment with many incidents.
Poetry is the same, like the desert battle that experienced many journeys of fighting and survival of the sperms to bring the human life of creative essence. That creativity needs to change the mindset and paradigm so that can bring healthy, effective sperms and always adapt to the new existence of the new era…
Pursuing poetry
It’s just that I want the sperms to be always healthy, full of energy and live with many aspirations, including ambitions to conquer new creation in the human essence, that’s why I write poetry to nurture them, but not pursuing anything for poetry.
Lonely days go up in price
Soulless empty moments
I burn every no-digit step
Loneliness begins to go up in price
Many street meals from the hostel
Many clothes from no-digit services
Big cups of milk coffee are also many from the night storm
Eyes of the street desire the sound of traffic
Moving in memory
Amidst the voice of students, it still lacks myself
I’m struggling for the day stopping grow up
Just pretending to make the night smaller
But loneliness still goes up to a market price
***
I destroy myself
Among the noise of silence
I stir clouds in other eyes
Poems that can’t speak
The form of memory
The wheel can’t eat time
Pendulum hungers seasons of creative ideas
Sometimes the top blinks
Burning the hill from an illusion space
Poems die unintentionally due to oblivion
I look for them
Taking the effort to release it free
But the sun has set in front of the West
I destroy myself
Self-destroying poems from new breaths of the earth
The world is opening in flying others
***
Another realm
Tearing the night and sticking it in the hole of the sun
Exhibition before impossible dawn
Day and night amaurornis molt time
Reducing every idea
Reducing every word
Stealing the reducing season in another realm
The sandwich is stuffed the phone full of word-meat
Mosquito-coffee cups and book- eateries
Eyes chew wearily in digital transformation
Red peppers and persimmons in menorrhagia season
Bombs, grenades, guns boom full of money-flowers
The digital eyes drowned in the dry seasons
Exhibition before impossible dawn
The body is not used to with the breathing speed from a closed area of the low low low land
The sun is still galloping on the rise
Every idea
Every word
Consciousness from another another another realm
***
Da Lat* waves its wings
The roads stretch ideas of flying clouds
Sloping hills cannot make the mountainous chest bigger
The layers without night spot the flickering light-flowers
And bright days pour light into wet eyes
I quietly enter the memory market
Remembering in old days, lips owed a sun-kiss
The face of the reddish man is lost leisurely
The horse hooves come back without the waving of the dawn
Now I’m back to what gained and lost
The grass steps dive into the deep green
Putting a lot of effort for accumulation foolishness
Time pours into an impure glass jar
I am now. And old Da Lat
Two contexts of nice memory seasons
This side, empty moments beat the mountainous chest
On the other side, an immense memory punctures a hole in the sky
***
Reincarnated words
Time is dilated
I burn myself through the night
Precarious words survive
The words struggle living for each other
The words are burned in painful deaths
The words lament in their herd
And the words sometimes foreseen their fates
It’s all just dilation of time
When the spindle manages its dream
The epiphany words are from 4 to 5 o’clock sooner or later
The sun does not dare to pour pink on the path of grass
I also don’t know the way back to the remembering eyes
Angels and monsters abandon outside the semantic corridor
It’s all just dilation of time
When time continues to dilate
Releasing is a crime of imagination fellowship
My body is also haunted by words
Immersed in product piles without time
Every time the dawn comes to the field
I plow the harvest of poetry
The words begin to be reborn
Asking for the sun to rise at the horizontal direction
There is no way that grass comes back to the wind
And I start to feel deserted among time of dilation.
______________________
(Translated into English by Khanh Phuong)
*Dalat or Da Lat is the capital city of Lam Dong province, Vietnam
