The summer of 1965 came early. Our Literature class of class 6 graduated amid the sound of sirens and the rumbling of anti-aircraft artillery. Just four years ago, on a bright, sunny autumn day, we first met in the large lecture hall on Le Thanh Tong Street in a festive atmosphere filled with dreams of peaceful days. Now, all of us were far away. Last year, two-thirds of the class had graduated early to go to the front to do wartime work. There were 12 people left in our class, including Diep Minh Tuyen, Lu Huy Nguyen, Huu Nhuan, Hoang Lai Giang, Ma Giang Lan, Nguyen Trong Dinh... and me.
One rainy afternoon in June, we finished defending our graduation theses. Me Tri dormitory was deserted. Principal Nguyen Nhu Kon Tum came down by jeep to encourage us. After the defense, Dinh and I sat on the steps quietly sharing our thoughts about our first day in life. Two months earlier, Dinh had been informed that he would be taking a special job, we guessed that he would be going to the South to work as a front-line reporter. Dinh and I returned to his hometown on the other side of Hong River, a village with bright red cotton flowers and lush green corn fields. Dinh returned to his hometown to say goodbye to his grandmother who was over 80 years old, but then everything was temporarily suspended and we waited again. In early July of that year, the students of the Faculty of Literature graduated with their teachers to do fieldwork at the front line of Zone IV. We set off on a hot summer afternoon. Our group included Nguyen Trong Dinh, Lu Huy Nguyen, Ma Giang Lan and me. We didn't have bicycles so we formed a group to walk. The group that went ahead by bicycle included Huu Nhuan, Hoang Lai Giang... We arrived in Ninh Binh at night during a US air raid. Cluster bombs exploded continuously, artillery fire turned the sky red, the bridge collapsed, we crossed the river by bamboo boat and then walked 60 kilometers, sleeping in a coffee forest for a while, Nguyen Trong Dinh walked very well, Ma Giang Lan and I often lagged behind. Crossing Ham Rong bridge, there was another bombing. We entered Ma Giang Lan's house in Nam Ngan at dawn. On the first day in Thanh Hoa town, we met the teachers and were assigned to the team of Nguyen Kim Dinh and Do Hong Chung. In the group were also Nguyen Van Khoa, Chu Xuan Dien, Hong Sam and Le Huy Anh from class 7. That very morning, US planes bombed Thanh Hoa town very fiercely. We were only a few hundred meters from where the bombs fell. Nguyen Trong Dinh calmly smoked a cigarette and told me: "It's not certain that the bombs will hit." We were ordered to return to Do Len bridge, which was the main target of American aircraft attacks. After midnight the next day, we arrived at Do Len. The broken bridge had been repaired, so the American aircraft attacked fiercely. On a rainy night, we lay under the truck, while Mr. Dinh, Mr. Khoa and Dinh went to contact the local people. In a dead zone full of bomb craters, there was still stir-fried pho and guava leaf water. Perhaps later on, the poem "Guava leaf water" by Nguyen Trong Dinh also originated from the emotions of that rainy night. We stayed in Ha Ngoc commune for ten days. All night long, American aircraft roared. Understanding the personality of each person, Mr. Nguyen Kim Dinh assigned me the responsibility of collecting documents and writing a draft of the history of this resistance village. But to make it easier for people to understand and remember, Mr. Dinh and Mr. Chung decided to simultaneously interpret the history of this countryside in poetry. He chose Dinh to do this interesting and also difficult job. Thus, a "technology" with two "stages" was formed. I wrote prose and then immediately sent it to Dinh to turn into poetry. Being a very intelligent and emotional person, Dinh immediately understood the spirit of the lines I wrote. I will always remember the part about the shape and geography of Ha Ngoc commune. In ten minutes, Dinh wrote a very charming opening verse on a whole page of mine:
Ha Ngoc, my heroic homeland, Mountains on both sides stand tall and high, Rivers are green and murmuring, Where is a more beautiful place to go by boat?Just like that, the draft history of the commune was transformed by Dinh into 400 poetic verses rich in imagery and profound in art. The brothers in the group, who were all knowledgeable about poetry, highly praised Dinh. I remember one night when the people gathered in large numbers, under the dim light of an oil lamp, Nguyen Kim Dinh, on behalf of the group, read the history of this countryside in both prose and poetry until past midnight, making everyone so moved that no one wanted to go home. That autumn, we felt like it was endless. Returning from the front line, on peaceful afternoons without any progress, we often gathered at Xuan Dieu's house. Nguyen Trong Dinh, Huu Nhuan and his friends discussed poetry, newspapers, and war topics. Nguyen Trong Dinh began to collect his compositions at the age of 17. At that time, the draft of the song
Hometown guava juicealso formed but different from the original version later. I remember the opening sentence:
One night in the old forest, walking in the falling rain. A piece of raincoat could not cover the body. Water flowed through the lips, sipping each drop.Later, I was very upset because, in one of the times Nguyen Trong Dinh's poems was printed, an editor omitted the middle sentence, ruining the spirit of a good poem. Then we entered the real world! Dinh became a war correspondent for Nhan Dan newspaper, Huu Nhuan went to Van Nghe Weekly, Lu Huy Nguyen and Hoang Lai Giang went to Van Hoa publishing house... Ma Giang Lan and I stayed at school to become university teachers. October 10, 1965, the anniversary of the liberation of the capital, Dinh quietly sent me back to the mountains and forests to evacuate with the Faculty of Literature. During the years I was away from home, Dinh stayed in my small room in a deserted alley. Dinh wrote poetry continuously during his days as a resident reporter in Ha Bac. Every time we met, we were in a hurry, but instead of "tea and wine", Dinh often read me new poems. Dinh showed me the final draft of the poem "Nuoc vối que huong" in 1967. In the spring of the year of Mau Thin, Dinh asked me to come back to Hanoi to say goodbye before leaving. I did not make it in time. The farewell in my small room was recorded by Huu Nhuan on a reel-to-reel tape on Xuan Dieu's old tape recorder. The smile was still innocent, the words of farewell and messages to friends were still the same as always, but no one thought that was the time Dinh would leave forever. In late autumn of 1968, Dinh lay down on the banks of the Thu Bon River as a war reporter at the Da Nang front. The person who represented us to see Dinh off after returning from the battlefield and told us the story was a student of the Faculty of Literature - Mr. Tran Mai Hanh, now in charge of the Weekly News newspaper. Every time I remember Nguyen Trong Dinh, I still imagine him through the poem "Nuoc vối que huong". For many years, on my desk, there was a wooden paperweight with a picture of Pushkin and the poem: “And people will always remember my name.” It was a souvenir of Dinh’s last year of school. Later, everywhere, even on long trips, remembering friends, the homeland’s water was always a drop of water that forever permeated my heart, the memory of a journalist – a soldier – a poet – an honest and sincere friend.
