Sixty verses through six eight-verse poems – Heartfelt verses

"Sixty" means 60 – publishing one's first poetry collection at the age of sixty. And then, at sixty, "crossing over" again… These are all unusual occurrences. But if we consider poetry as expression, the aesthetics of poetry as harmony, and the philosophy of poetry as experiential reflections on "heartache," then the "perspective" at age 60 is a choice that reflects "profoundly the ways of the world."

Youth is full of storms.
Brothers fighting in war, parents living in poverty.
It takes half a lifetime to talk about love.
How much misfortune and bad luck there is!
Their fate ended prematurely in their later years.
At sixty years old, he's back to rowing a boat.

(A self-composed poem)

Therefore, Bá Thành's poetry is the very essence of his 60 years of life: from joyful to sorrowful stories, from the past to the present, from the general to the specific, from his youthful days to the graying of his hair… There are so many things to explain the title "Sixty" of the poetry collection, where any search for "lyrical technique" is secondary. He is most concerned with the sincerity of emotion, with honestly expressing the thoughts, feelings, and the image and form of the lyrical subject.

In his student days, filled with unwavering faith, Nguyen Ba Thanh put aside his studies and joined his friends in answering the call of ideals, fighting for the independence and freedom of his homeland.

Not yet deployed to the front lines of conflict.
Suddenly, the sound of battlefield gunfire calling out names was heard.
...
Fold the leather-bound book.
Open the first page of life's textbook.
A backpack heavy with long journeys
Students sing marching songs in droves.

(Military Song)

Although his time in the military wasn't long, it was enough to preserve beautiful memories of a hot-tempered commander, of beloved comrades, and left his mark on his poetry of distant overseas lands, leaving behind many emotions: "Is that river the Eastern Volga? / The calm water lulls the banks to sleep / Unlike the Red River, the Lo River with its swirling red silt / The vast water waves crash strongly against both banks" (Military Training in the Desert); "Other lands have much wine and many flowers / Our homeland's blood stains the brown robes" (Ba-Cu Afternoons). And even from those tumultuous, fiery days, amidst the battle cries, Nguyen Ba Thanh's sensitive soul was filled with many thoughts and anxieties:

I held the AK rifle in my hand.
At the price of ten tons of rice.
...
I dream of visiting again next time.
I'll sell my AK rifle and buy a rice milling machine.
Selling radar equipment to build schools.
Selling Sam-3 missiles to build a thousand-bed hospital.
(Bamboo mills and airplanes, missiles)

Nguyen Ba Thanh's poetry is sentimental. Whether writing about the times or his family life, he always views life through the lens of humanity and righteousness. Therefore, alongside verses expressing concern for the times and the world, Nguyen Ba Thanh's sixty-year-old poems are filled with love and personal feelings. His poetry is a small "family museum," a world of thoughts and emotions connecting him to his blood relatives: his paternal grandparents, maternal grandparents, father, mother, siblings – some still alive, some deceased, wife and children – ex-wife, current wife, son, daughter-in-law, daughter, grandchildren, and even his in-laws…

To achieve the warm, harmonious happiness of his extended family today, Ba Thanh's small family once faced turmoil and breakdown. Those close to him, his dear friends, remember a turbulent period in his life through bitter and difficult experiences:

No money, and we have to part ways.
It's both bland, tasteless, spicy, and pungent.
A lifetime of hard work and toil.
In old age, they end up with nothing to begin with.
Neither a high-ranking official nor a nobleman.
No home, no wife, no ox, no plow.
(Breakup without money)

However, as the wounds, losses, and pain of separation faded, and the sun began to shine brighter each day, he remembered and wrote about his former life partner with deep sympathy and affection:

I remember when she lived with me.
Love and respect him like a husband.
A small room in Thanh Xuan
Raising chickens, raising pigs, mending and sewing clothes.
Watering vegetables and sweeping leaves constantly.
Spinning yarn, spinning thread, all day, all night.
(To my ex-wife)

It can be said that Bá Thành's poetry has captivated readers through the details and events of everyday life, "dirty and grimy," that are haunting and unforgettable.

As one of the "leading experts" on Che Lan Vien and the theory of poetic thought, he often offers insightful discussions on different types of thinking: introverted and extroverted, analogous and contrasting. Accordingly, if possible, I would tentatively call Ba Thanh's poetry introverted, its strength lying in its exploration of oppositions and contrasts. Along with this is a sensitivity to humor. It takes a very courageous person to dare to bring out their own ego, their individuality, to mock and ridicule… And especially to dare to use their own old-fashionedness, as well as that of their generation, to "compete" and respond to the youthful, progressive spirit of the younger generation of poets born in the 1980s of the 20th century.

His poems speak of the homeland.
Your poems talk about men and women.
His poems are inspired by both sides.
My poem is inspired by marital discord.
His poems contain promises and vows.
My poems are free to wander as they please, like butterflies and bees.
(Your poems and my poems)

Sixty is ten years past the age of "fifty, knowing one's destiny." Poetry by someone who has passed that significant milestone in life cannot be mere "play," even though many today "play with poetry." Reading Sixty, I tried to "use my own soul to understand the soul of the poet," but there are certainly many unspoken feelings and messages that I haven't fully grasped. Therefore, I ask those who are kindred spirits and confidants to open their hearts to receive a poetic voice uttered in the twilight years, like ginger that is both spicy and pungent, yet deeply heartfelt—one could say, the very soul of the poet himself:

It was only brought out when he was sixty years old.
Please allow me to confide in my friends.