Thoughts on Reading an Old Chinese AnthologyAuthor(s): Ho Chi MinhSource: boundary 2, Vol. 23, No. 3 (Autumn, 1996), p. 247Published by: Duke University PressStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/303652 .

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Bradbury / New Translations from Ho Chi Minh's "Prison Diary" 247

Evening Tableau

The roses blossom and languish, Blossom and languish unconsciously. But their perfume permeates our cells, Eloquent with the world's grievances.

Thoughts on Reading an Old Chinese Anthology

The ancients loved to wax poetic On such topics as were picturesque and/or sublime. But in our time poetry must have nerves of steel And poets discharge their lyric duties on the front line.

Autumn Night

A guard stands armed and ready just outside our room, Poised beneath the scudding clouds that bear away the moon. Once again the bedbugs, relentless armies of the night, Take to the field as once again mosquitoes take their flight. My tattered dreams are shot with woes, but so it goes. As this unmerited year comes to an autumnal close, How it yearns, my heart, to take the long road home. Now, once again, with tears for ink, I write a prison poem.

Nightfall in the Mountains

The wind is a blade cutting its teeth on the stone. The cold is a spear wounding the tree to the bone. The bell of a temple hastens the traveler on. The piping of a herdboy beckons the buffalo home.

Climbing in the Mountains After Being Released from Prison

The clouds embrace the mountains, the mountains the clouds. The heart of the river is as clear as a mirror. Meandering among the summits of the Western Range, I gaze at southern skies and think of old friends.

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