OLD MR. VỌNG
He never knows how old he is
He looks as black as a burned iron stick
He went to villages to catch shrimps
Wearing only a pair of breeches all the year round
He often sold cheaply fish and shrimps
To people more miserable than himself
Upon getting some money, he bought a phial of wine
And ate fresh onions and green bananas over sips of alcohol
Certain night when he just lay dead to the world from exhaustion
In what direction fish and shrimps were hiding
He suddenly felt he was shining bright
Bringing about a whole starry night
He always vaguely believes
His life will have something
Barefooted, bareheaded and wearing breeches
There, he’s again carrying away his bamboo shrimp pot...
Điền Trì 1988
Translated by Vũ Anh Tuấn
