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A Field of Inhumanity, by Lê Vĩnh Tài
Jul. 18th, 2021 09:35 amMy friend CE, who blogs over here, shared this breathtaking poem on Twitter:
Lê Vĩnh Tài | A FIELD OF INHUMANITY – BÀI TRƯỜNG CA VỀ CÁNH ĐỒNG BẤT NHÂN
It is very long and very intense, but as you read through it, you will see and hear how words and phrases and ideas, come up again and again in new contexts, like they do in a sestina, turned over and reinterpreted. Pain, rage, acquiescence, regret, bitterness, beauty, horror--clear eyes, clouded heart.
Here are a handful of the parts that jumped out at me:
When one has been bitten by a dog
Should one bite back
Especially when
It’s a little mad?
Yes. Then again probably no
...
Why do intellectuals refuse to sleep?
Even after they’ve taken in full
The thirty pieces of silver
...
Oh well, let your mind drift back into darkness
There, you can forget
...
While your wife and kids
Those who were fast enough
Escape to write down their life
Down where?
...
One half of the truth is not the truth
But half of the agony is half of the pain
And the poet’s blown up face
Gets blown up along with his beard
Except the poem couldn’t be blown up
Since it may possibly be, a choking hazard
...
I am also a poet
Not some kind of cathedral
It is very long and very intense, but as you read through it, you will see and hear how words and phrases and ideas, come up again and again in new contexts, like they do in a sestina, turned over and reinterpreted. Pain, rage, acquiescence, regret, bitterness, beauty, horror--clear eyes, clouded heart.
Here are a handful of the parts that jumped out at me:
When one has been bitten by a dog
Should one bite back
Especially when
It’s a little mad?
Yes. Then again probably no
...
Why do intellectuals refuse to sleep?
Even after they’ve taken in full
The thirty pieces of silver
...
Oh well, let your mind drift back into darkness
There, you can forget
...
While your wife and kids
Those who were fast enough
Escape to write down their life
Down where?
...
One half of the truth is not the truth
But half of the agony is half of the pain
And the poet’s blown up face
Gets blown up along with his beard
Except the poem couldn’t be blown up
Since it may possibly be, a choking hazard
...
I am also a poet
Not some kind of cathedral
