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Ca Le Hien has lived for 10 years in half of the country, an independent and free country, while his homeland, the South, where he was born and raised, is still divided and engulfed in blood and fire. Living and working in the North, being attached to and loving the North as much as Ca Le Hien also misses and feels sorry for the suffering of his fellow countrymen in the South. His feelings and sense of responsibility for his homeland always urge him and call him back:
“The homeland is in turmoil
How can we live in peace?
Oh I long to hold a gun
Walk among the troops with friends
Waiting for the enemy in the heroic homeland
I am drunk on the scent of fallen leaves on the bamboo banks".
The life of traveling day and night from North to South was relieved when, following the Party's call, Ca Le Hien made a decision that could be said to be an important one in his life: he refused to be sent to do research abroad and submitted a request to the organization to be allowed to go back to the South. With this decision, he accepted to say goodbye to all the things that were closest to him: parents, siblings, friends, teachers, even his beloved fiancée, whose image he kept in his heart for many years.
Poet Le Anh Xuan, real name Ca Le Hien (1940-1968). He was a student, then a lecturer at the Faculty of History, Hanoi University of Science.
This is the written request that Hien sent to the organization, determined and eager to return to the South to participate in the fight:"Dangeryesnvohng and rulesunmarketablemindincubateI ambelchCVyesSouthohparticipate in resistanceunmarketablewith my fellow countrymen inyesy. Hiyesnow specialized cincubatewhat am iherng dyesmedicineLpoopch shuhthunmarketablegiohicdriveDyesilive Twineyeahng Dyesihohc Tdriveng hbelchp, but vyeseyelashesyesn Nam I havetogiherng dyesy science subjectsohsocialohicherVan, Shuh... In addition to my expertise, I have other skills.herability to participate in journalistic workyesc composes poetry. In addition to teaching workmoundc me ryest mustainnbelchc participate in work vyesliteratureohc nghyescollectyestliveeyelashesyesNam. I have thetogounmarketablenbyestccongestionwhereherng can dunmarketablen. Dangeryesnvohng and rulesunmarketablemindincubateI ambelchCVyeseyelashesyesn Nam, vyeslyesin my hometown". (Tyeah25-HOhSHey1429-Udepend onboardstainng nhyest Chính phincubate-Central-mlUhu tryesQustainc (III).
In the staff profile, in the family declaration section, Ca Le Hien also clearly stated:“TUmbrellaicohvbelchchUhACwetithallonlahBbuzzingi Xu-n Lan hiyesnDang hohcnam thcongestionthree Hohc viyesn Economyahi Thyesng Hheri (Chinastainc)".
With all that effort and determination, his proposal was accepted by the organization. After a period of hard training and marching on Phu Tho land, on December 22, 1964, Hien went to "B" with a new name, Le Lan Xuan, combining the words Le Hien and Xuan Lan - reversed to Lan Xuan; later on in the battlefield, he took the pen name Le Anh Xuan. As for this pen name, I guess it was probably the middle name of 3 people: Le of Le Hien, Anh of writer Anh Duc - Xuan Lan's real brother and the person who supported him on the path of literature and art from the very beginning and was greatly respected by him, and Xuan was definitely Xuan Lan's.
The march to the South was the first challenge for Ca Le Hien. If today, going from Hanoi to Ho Chi Minh City by air only takes 1 hour and 45 minutes, and by car it only takes 2 days and 2 nights, then at that time, the journey across Truong Son had to last 3 months, marching with heavy loads, climbing mountains and wading streams, eating rice wrapped in forest leaves, and the danger of death was always near. With a scholarly physique, his legs were numb and rheumatic, and the soles of his feet were cracked, but Ca Le Hien was determined to go to the end for the sake of his beloved South, going with the "spirit of Brother Troi" as Ca Le Hien later told Ms. Quyen:
“...Since I was in the North, I was absorbed in looking at the picture of Mr. Troi printed in the newspaper with all my love and admiration. Mr. Troi's example deeply moved me. A month later, I made a 3-month long march from North to South. I myself went with the strength of Mr. Troi. When I was too tired, climbing high mountains, Mr. Troi's image gave me more strength and I reached my destination!”(Literature and art of a time to remember - Bao Dinh Giang).
As soon as he arrived in the South, Ca Le Hien was subjected to a terrifying bombing and raid. He recounted this story in a letter to poet Che Lan Vien:“Lan dafirst to the Southoh, I chpoopright nowoht tryesbomb and phheri chyesy can sustainfour or five days in a row. There areyeswhounmarketabledeep bombyesin the small pond, you look after ityesy nhyesguitar playeryesc close inspection on the roadau but atliveoutsideyesy em ccongestionphheri tuliveprivatebelchng".
Literary critic Hoai Thanh (second from left) congratulates Ca Le Hien(4th from left) at the Literature and Arts Magazine Poetry Contest Award Ceremony, 1961(Photo: TL)
But Ca Le Hien quickly integrated into the heated atmosphere of fighting and immediately got to work. That was attending and writing about the first Congress of Southern Emulation Heroes and Soldiers, with the result being the birth of a collection of prose.“Giyes landt"Talking about the Southern Army Hero - Martyr Nguyen Van Tu.“Giyes landt"is one of the two best prose collections written about this Congress, published by the People's Army Publishing House in 1966.
It was also during this Congress that I recorded many stories about heroes and emulation soldiers of the armed forces to liberate the South, as living material for later poems such as:“Gyesp nhyesbrotherbuzzingng",“KhUmbrellangthatu nhUh liveMiyesn Nam",“Chahocahbrother, sisteryesng nguhi chiunmarketablen thang",“AhnhDustainc",“Older brotherstandwhoyesa Thahp Muhi",“ViaWarmp Bac" ...I also summarized the noble qualities of a liberation soldier, of which a shining point is the wonderful will to attack, which I recorded in my diary:“Chincubatelyesc: LihallontmoundctyesncUmbrellang vohi tinh thancahch myesng,achievedplhallonsat thép,achievedplhallonheadu thbuzzing,achievedplhallonheaduplacech tyesncUmbrellang, sacrifice cohntyesncUmbrellang, sacrifice andohitUhthunmarketabletyesncUmbrellang"(Le Anh Xuan's Diary - September 14, 1967).
Poet Le Anh Xuan's file (Ca Le Hien) No. 1429 - File of cadres going to B, Government Unification Committee, National Archives Center III.
And perhaps it was from that feeling that later, when I saw the image of the special forces soldier Nguyen Van Mao who heroically sacrificed his life in the battle at Tan Son Nhat airport, still in a shooting position, I was moved to write the immortal poem“Dahngstandng Viyest Nam",praising the great courage of the Liberation Army soldiers:
“...Blivei brother chunmarketabletrOhi nhUhng lohng dung cherm
Vãnstandngmomentumcoughahng ndriveSupeopleunmarketablencUmbrellang."
During the months of penetrating the battlefield in my hometown Ben Tre, I traveled day and night to every hamlet to learn about each real person and real event, diligently recording in my diary almost everything I encountered or heard to prepare materials for my compositions. Some of the songs I can mention are: "To Brother Tu" (ie heroic martyr Nguyen Van Tu), sending my love and praise for the exploits of the barefoot hero; The "Ferry Girl" praises the bravery and intelligence of the liaison girl on the An Hoa River, who, despite danger, cleverly changed her clothes so that the enemy could not recognize her figure; "The Old Guerrilla", a typical example of a brave and clever Southern guerrilla farmer who fought the enemy; "The Cotton-Growing Mother" who loved and silently took care of the martyrs' cemetery day and night; "Crossing the Bridge" is dedicated to 12 Ben Tre girls who used their shoulders to make a bridge for the soldiers to cross; "Bamboo Spikes" with the image of plants also participating in killing the enemy; "Coconut Leaf Torch" talks about a brave female teacher who dared to rush into the fire of napalm bombs to save children and sacrificed herself; "Cotton Troop Girl" (Ut Tiet) listened to the farmer's song and covered her ears, but took the enemy's police station with her bare hands; "Red Cotton" tells about a persistent, brave, and clever mother who hid cadres, was captured by the enemy and blinded in both eyes, but continued to participate in the fight and heroically sacrificed herself; “Fire on the River” is about a liaison named Tri, who bravely jumped onto an enemy ship, detonated explosives, burned the ship and himself... They were all ordinary but extremely heroic people.
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Le Anh Xuan (left) and Anh Duc. Photo courtesy
During nearly 4 years of fighting in the South, Ca Le Hien composed 37 poems printed in the collection “Hoa Dua” of about 100 pages, a poem “Epic of Nguyen Van Troi” with about 1,500 verses and a collection of prose “Giu dat” about the hero Nguyen Van Tu in Ben Tre. It was his poetry and prose that brought him into the ranks of famous contemporary artists and the country also recognized him with the title of Hero of the People's Armed Forces.
The more you read her poems, the more you enjoy reading them. The reader does not feel like reading a pre-written poem, but rather like listening to her confiding, evoking, with a passionate, clear, gentle, sincere voice, pouring deep into the heart and feelings. I have read and reread many times the poems Le Anh Xuan wrote when returning to fight in the South, especially during the time in Ben Tre. There are some poems I almost know by heart. Unfortunately, because of the limited space, I cannot record them all for everyone to read and enjoy. Well, let me just take out a few poems, although not the most outstanding, but each poem is a story filled with love:
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Red cotton Ben Tre coconut is green all year round Ham Luong River sings morning and evening Sing: Dear mother Mother's life is as beautiful as cotton.
Mother's house is a small house. Mother put small white flowers to worship Is it because mother misses the flag? When will you guys gather here?
On the altar incense smoke rises Does anyone know under the altar? Mother fosters cadres in the basement Mom hopes, mom hopes one day...
Oh homeland, long night of mourning The hounds lurked on the sidewalk But the heart of a mother in Ben Tre Is where the staff go home early in the morning.
Mother cooks rice and braises fish with one hand. Raising children, raising the movement Once the enemy stormed in. The meal has just been served, where to hide it?
Mother calmly pretended to blow on the fire Then bring the tray and place it in the middle of the altar. Mother whispered prayers The incense scent filled the ancestral altar.
Mother's vow: text me and I'll know Just pray for your peace Listen to the enemy fading away Holding the tray watching the children eat, the mother smiled.
Sleepless night, mother sits and watches Listen to the coconut leaves rustling outside the porch Startled with sharp pain in the heart I thought the enemy would raid at midnight.
That night...the rain poured down like a waterfall Husband just came back from a business trip Mother is happy mother closes the bamboo door Suddenly the enemy's guns rang out. Oh mother's heart is in turmoil! Ten years later, the mother lost her child again. The mother's body was recovered from the sandbank. At midnight, secretly buried a bundle of mats behind the house.
"My husband died but his grudge is not over yet. Now my son is dead, for whom? Old grudges come back to the present The West goes, America comes, a pack of wolves.
Mother sits on guard in the dark night Old wounds ache in waves Looking at the red cotton flowers Missing my deceased child, loving my current child.
Having children makes me feel young again Raising children - nurturing faith forever Mother sits guard in the dark night Hearing the rooster crow in the morning, the four sides gradually became light.
Oh spring, spring of uprising The sound of the wooden fish resounds, the fire burns near and far. Mom! Do you see? Windy coconut forest, Ham Luong roaring waves.
We opened the hatch and stood up. The villains trembled and surrendered. Mom! Do you see? Old revenge has been paid for husband and children.
But mother's eyes can no longer see One day, mother went to Mo Cay. Because the traitor confessed The enemy captured my mother and interrogated her for several days.
The enemy hit my mother, she yelled and cursed. Spray betel nut on the villains No confession, mother tried to endure the beating Old eyes were blinded by the enemy's attack for several days.
The night of the Dong Khoi uprising, I was so happy. Hit the bamboo gong, hit the hand too Blind eyes but mother's heart is still drunk Painful hand can not remember, long night can not forget.
I love my mother, her eyes look into the darkness. When dawn came, mother was blind. Mom! Sunshine The coconut trees on the ground are full of resentment.
Mother passed away, the grass on her grave is green Bomb crater water ripples coconut forest Mother lies in the wind and rain for years But the red cotton has not faded yet.” 12-1965 |
The mother grows cotton I met my mother at An Thoi cemetery. Mother gently digs and cultivates Mother sits among the rows of white daisies Mother's hair and the wind blew.
The place where mother used to sit was the foundation of the prison. The enemy shot and stabbed the bodies, piling them up into alcohol. Every night with the villagers Mother jumped over the fence to carry the body to bury.
The graves buried secretly No beer, not a single flower The cemetery is the mother's heart The resting place of heroes has a scent.
Today the enemy camp is no more. The sky is vast, the rice fields are golden ripe Mother sits among the rows of brilliant flowers Green spring grass cemetery.
Mother remembers the name of each grave Liberation Army Tomb next to the National Guard Oh, you guys are dead and lying there. But still in line like an army.
Mom said, how many times have there been jets? Bring bombs and shells to the cemetery Mother with villagers Several times put out napalm fire.
And today afternoon the cemetery is very beautiful The hero's grave is covered in bright gold sunshine Mother's cotton is not afraid of iron or steel Has grown high and fragrant all over the sky.
The flower that mother plants is her heart, oh mother! 11-1965 Fire on the River Sunset boat moored on the river bank Waiting for night to fall, cross the Co Chien River
Em Tri, the little liaison Agile man, black eyes, always smiling I was splashing water and playing. Startled fish jumping smell of alluvium Morning and afternoon like smoke A vast expanse of sky and water Barren like a green willow grove Reflection on the blue water, the waves are full of longing Ask me, I lost my father My father often crossed this river when he went to fight the French. Now fight America instead Again make contact to fight the oars Smooth clear night Clusters of yellow fireflies hang from the branches That's when the waves roar around The small boat sails proudly through the night That was before the bow of the boat Your shadow is engraved in the starry sky Her shoulders were drenched in the surging waves Silently I still watch in the late night My eyes see, my ears hear Each rolling wave, each floating raft of leaves Here American ships go back and forth Human blood is still there, human bodies are still here Old enemies and new enemies Compressed in the hand grenade you hold with both hands The motorboat still hums The gentle heart of a child still secretly wishes: "Peaceful boat docked on the river Then I'm so happy, what could be happier? Crossing the dangerous river without fear I can overcome bombs and bullets, I can go through waves Suddenly a headlight Like a sword flashing in my eyes Red bullets surrounded the boat Hand holding the gun, her chest heaving -“Even if I die in the middle of the river "As long as you are alive, I am happy" The enemy ship has just arrived. I, Tri, have stood up in the sky. Her voice soars like the roaring waves Clear as the sound of birds hopping from branch to branch: -"Uncle Ho, I sacrificed!" Then she quickly rushed over to the train. The river was red with fire, the boat was rocking Co Chien waves roar endlessly My dear! Are you happy? The river bottom is full of sunken enemy corpses, I hear you? You stay, I go. After killing the American invaders, I came back to visit you. I'll stay in Co Chien. Homeland, the waves lull me to sleep all year round Peaceful boat has reached shore From afar, I still see the shadow of a child in the stream Shining fire on the river. 10-1967 |
To be honest, when reading and copying Hien's poems about Ben Tre, my eyes were blurred with emotion many times. Each poem is a touching story, a true heroic example of real people and real events, not fictional. I also think that these are not stories that only exist in Ben Tre when the homeland of the South was still engulfed in blood and fire.
I still keep copying:
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The ferry girl I am an eighteen year old liaison On the An Hoa River, ferrymen ferry people day and night. Sunny at noon, rainy in the afternoon My ferry still connects two banks of green coconut trees.
One new dawn I took the protesters across the river. Why did the enemy shoot and stop? Why do you not hesitate to cross the river?
I heard bullets whizzing past my head But I still stand tall in the sky The enemy shot the oars and broke them in two. Let go of the oars and I will swim quickly with the beam.
Crossing the river, the ferry still crosses the river Find me, the enemy will not find me Your shirt seems to have magic How many ferry trips have passed, how many colors have your clothes? Golden rice, golden as stars Green rice, green like the color of your hair Fire red like blood in the heart Brave heart overcomes enemy When black, the color of the war zone shirt When I wore my beloved school uniform Like purple flowers in the afternoon sky Faithful to the shirt, pure in the soul.
On the river guns still crackle My boat still surfs the waves on both sides Crowded with people The "hairy" army rushed forward. After the boat was done, I quickly set up the pole. Her figure suddenly joined the army Hey you - spring swallow Join the thousands of heroes of the South Wave a ferry. 10-1965 |
Over the bridge
Why do you walk hesitantly? My shoulder is not as heavy as yours A night in the water We are less cold, you are more cold Oh dear liberator I miss you when you march early in the morning and late in the afternoon. His shoulder was covered with a purple gun. The road is wet with rain several times, brother! The cajuput tree root is bleeding profusely. I love you wading through the immense waters of Thap Muoi Go ahead, just cross the river. Don't worry about floating, I hear! My shoulder supports, my hand holds I hold tight, you can go in peace. Go ahead, just cross the river. On time to fire, I'm happy, I'm joyful Under the river, my chest beats with emotion. Twelve girls, twelve bridges The river surface reflects a sky of stars Your eyes sparkle, which star is more beautiful?
Marching heart suddenly restless Crossing the bridge, I miss your round shoulders. 10-1966 |
The old guerrilla
He is over sixty years old but still very healthy.
He talked very happily. His voice was filled with laughter.
All day he was shirtless, with a pack of cigarettes across his back.
His head was covered with a checkered scarf. His hand held a whittled spear.
The old man's life in the past, I can never tell all the suffering
Old as a dry leaf, hatred higher than the mountain.
At thirty or forty, he hung a red flag.
The drum beats continuously. It's that old man.
During the nine years of fighting the French, the old man had no "self-defense" skills.
After each victory, the old man sang a song.
Now he sits here, sharpening the spearhead.
Every time he heard an airplane, he swung his sharpened spear:
-"Despite the jet engine somersaulting, I'm not afraid.
Just a few broken areca trees that the Old Man was whittling to make a lamppost.
Then he told me the story of killing hornets.
The American's face was swollen. His laugh was very strong.
What about the story of building a fortress? The old man asked to fire artillery.
The children looked at him and laughed - "You have to wear glasses to aim a gun"
The story of the old man and his son, stretching the lead wire on the road.
Waiting for the evil cars to get caught in the rope and fall into the hole.
Listening to the story, I imagined the old man's hand holding a whittling spear.
Slap thigh jump on the road to catch the security guard near the police station.
He said he was old. Every time he went to war,
I only need a little: a few sips of white wine.
Seeing me looking at the house with clay pillars and beams
The old man nodded happily and then calmly explained:
"America dropped napalm bombs on Lao to rule in that way"
"The leaves burned several times, but the pillars and beams did not burn."
I suddenly felt strange A small thatched house
Oh Vietnamese mud is stronger than American bombs.
I looked carefully at the house Then looked at the old man sitting there:
The spear flashed in the distant sky, and the long white beard trembled.
1-1966
And there are many more poems, each of which is a mirror of the heroic fighting of the sons of the heroic Southern land. Among them, we cannot fail to mention the immortal poem “Vietnam’s Posture” depicting the image of the simple yet heroic Vietnamese liberation soldier, depicting the image of Vietnam, the heroic country of the century; a poem that has brought his name into the brilliant pages of modern Vietnamese literature.
Vietnamese posture
“He fell down on the Tan Son Nhat runway.
But he forced himself to stand up and lean his gun on the helicopter wreckage.
And he died in a standing shooting position.
His blood sprayed in a rainbow of bullets.
Suddenly seeing him, the enemy panicked and surrendered.
A guy fell at his feet to avoid bullets.
Because you are dead, but courage
Still standing properly firing attack.
What is your name my love?
He stood silent as a bronze wall.
Like the sandals under his feet stepping on so many American corpses
But still a simple, bright color.
Not a picture, not a line of address
He left nothing for himself before he left.
Leaving only the Vietnamese posture carved into the century:
He is a soldier of the Liberation Army.
Your name has become the name of the country
Oh Liberation Army!
From his standing posture in the middle of Tan Son Nhat runway
The Fatherland flies up into the immense spring.
5-1968
But Ca Le Hien was still not satisfied with the poems he had written, he still felt the need to be present in the midst of the fierce battle to be able to say more wonderful things about the Vietnamese people and the country of Vietnam. This is his short letter to Vien Phuong, with extremely earnest words asking to go to the front:
“We have come down here, we cannot return empty-handed. Please let us go on a short trip, a very short trip, just a few days to get a feel for the battlefield, then we will return to base. Without going down to the remote areas, we cannot possibly have a good work about this historic general offensive. We will still stay here, and wait for you to send someone to pick us up.”
Her wish was granted, and she eagerly shouldered her backpack and set off. But no one expected that this would be a fateful trip. She died a few days later, and her poetry journey had to stop with many creative plans still cherished. That was the time she went to the battlefield to participate in the second phase of the Mau Than General Offensive. In her backpack was still intact her diary, which she wrote regularly from the moment she set foot on the North until May 24, 1968, the day she died, at the young age of 28.
Upon hearing of his death, his fiancée - Xuan Lan, who was in Hanoi at that time, expressed her feelings with the following lines of poetry:
A life
Nineteen years old, I met him again
No time to think, as if there was nothing left to think about.
Besides a feeling of excitement and surprise
Want to see you, want to be with you
No, not exactly.
Because your eyes seem to invite:
“Come to me. Come to me.”
We both came.
Very short and very long
Everything seemed to stop.
Heaven and earth as if they never existed
We came together like that
Simple, sacred, overflowing like ocean waves
Joy, love, happiness filled
Both of them were radiant as never before.
Like that...and just like that
Because we are too young, too thirsty
Life today, for tomorrow
Without a word, but the eyes gave:
wait for each other
Two days later
You and I, each in a far away place
I fly north, you fly south
The road I take is wide open.
In peace, I was raised to be a man.
Each year passes slowly
Each month and year is filled with love and longing!
In my anxiety, I long to wait
I still live, have lived like millions of people are living
But the heart still echoes calling people:
“Where are you? Where are you?”
On the way to the South, he went through fire and bullets.
Hunger, cold, sickness, disease
Life and death are just around the corner
You just go and still live days like that
Still with teammates guns in hand
Together we draw glorious pages of history
Let's write burning poems together
Praise people, praise life.
He still kept moving forward.
Keep going like that, you just keep going
Until my heart stops beating
A life is only twenty-eight years.
But why is it worth living like the person who lived?
And he was lying deep underground
Dedicated to the peaceful Fatherland:
All life
A brain
One heart.
Xuan Lan(Hanoi December 1968, received news of his death on May 24, 1968).
And for decades since the country was liberated, every year, on Tet and the anniversary of Ca Le Hien's death, even though she had her own family, Xuan Lan always had the most beautiful bouquets of flowers to place in front of Hien's grave with silent, silent tears...
Author:Nguyen Long Trao
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