The Lonely Pass
by Nyugen Thi Hihn, the Lady of Thanh Quan (c.1796-)
translated from Vietnamese by Graeme Wilson
The sun was setting as I struggled
Up here to the Lonely Pass
Where, for a grip between bare rock,
Stunt trees and ragged grass
Struggle with the same dry fierceness
As, between their dry
Leaves, the few small flowers strain
For a smidgin of the sky.
Listening to the nightjars call,
I think I understand
The sadness in all exiles,
That need for a native land
Which, all around me, francolins
Repeatedly insist
In voices tired with homelessness
Must, known or not, exist.
I stand here halted. Suddenly
These things at which I stare,
Sky and mountain, once so loved,
Are seen as solely there
As images on whose half-truths
I need no more rely.
My native land is loneliness, My only need is I.
Wednesday, October 25, 2017
The Lonely Pass by Nyugen Thi Hihn
From The Spectator, 23 September 1989
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