Có một bài thơ viết về Nga Nhi'
A visionary with a twinkle in her eye,
A smile on her lips, a sway to her hips.
Born into a peculiar place at a topsy-turved time.
Into a world whose inhabitants endure an unenlightened existence,
Fooled by fouled conceptions of the forces and powers that surround them.
Where evasive energies transform everything encountered or experienced,
With a subtlety sensed only by the most symphonically symmetrical.
Into a place where people are boxed in, cowed and dominated by their appetites.
Beings who let themselves be corrupted then are complicit in the corruption of others.
A purist and an artist – forced to live among functionaries and fumblers.
She made a mockery of their manners and their mores
By always demanding More.
More colour.
More engagement.
More awareness.
More spontaneity.
More authenticity.
More life.
Standing at just over five feet small, she could still leap higher and see further than the tallest of us all.
Standing proud and singing loud, standing apart and standing out, standing right at the heart of it all.
Standing in front of a two by one and a half metre canvas chewing a paintbrush.
Standing on a tepid tram getting trampled and trod on by the minions of money.
Standing outside a closed restaurant at three in the morning imperiously demanding hotpot.
Standing alone in a snow-covered garden feeling those floating frozen flakes for the first time.
Standing on the banks of the Red River, filming the ghosts of bygone eras she might have rejected.
Standing onstage centre-stage but standing back from the harsh glare of the spotlight.
Standing proudly independent and standing her ground against the moguls of mindless mediocrity.
Standing on a rock on a cliff on the edge of the world, arms embracing the void, roaring in amazed delight.
Standing silently submitting to the sensations of the sublime as they surge through her soul.
Standing up to represent a generation full of promise, promised so much, breaking their own promises.
And when she stood, slightly frowning, one hand on her hip and the other mock-stroking her chin,
You knew her mind was sparking and sparkling in ways mere mortals could barely begin to decipher.
This is how I think about things she did who she was what she represented.
This is how I remember Nhi and how I want to share my memories
Of that most beautiful of beings so rudely stolen from us
How or why we may or do not ask…
In keeping with her visionary nature
I want to take you on a verbally visual tour,
But don’t take this as a post-dated retrospective.
These are moments that I replay again and again in my mind.
They are always alive and constantly refined.
So I ask you now to come with me
On a sort of spatial and temporal journey
Where I paint with excessive vocabulary
Sing with my sighs
And appeal to whatever
Sees from behind your eyes.
Can you see her as she concentrates on mixing colours,
Getting paint on her neck as she dances and sways,
Pointed paintbrush conducting an imaginary orchestra?
She bounces from foot to foot in time to an internal beat,
Filling massive canvases with intensely intimate and inimitable images.
She paints paints paints – frenetically, fastidiously, furiously –
Occasionally stepping back to contemplate the combinations of colours and shapes,
Then springing back into action, adding layer upon layer upon overlapping interwoven layer.
Recurring cats purr from behind twisted trees at the bases of exploding waterfalls
From which fish flip and flop onto the backs of giraffes with broken necks.
Vivid colours on grandiose scales with intricate patterns and subtle smearings,
See how she giggles self-consciously as she becomes aware of our far-away stare?
How she shakes her head, dismisses us from her mind and gets right up against the canvas again,
Squinting with one eye closed as she spreads more vibrant shades onto her incandescent canvas.
This is not painting by numbers.
This is not a past-time nor a hobby.
This is not painting to imitate or replicate.
This is not commissioned nor does it care about audience.
This is a response to the world as the artist perceives it.
This is an attempt at an explanation of both it and herself.
This is her current form of interpretation and realisation.
Can you see her sitting alone, immobile,
in the corner of the last carriage as it reveals
the skyscraping edifices of a Singapore skyline?
Picture big headphones, baggy raggedy clothes,
subtle smile curling the edges of her mouth
crinkling the corners of her eyes.
This is a quiet moment,
she is outside Vietnam
and Singapore is outside her.
She must ask herself ‘what am I doing here?’
I also wonder ‘what were you doing there?’.
All she can do is explore outer limits
riding from one end of the line and back
from terminal to terminal interminably.
Happy just to watch the world go by
to track the shifting patterns of the sky,
to contemplate without too much ‘why?’
Listening to Eminem she develops unique diction,
what thoughts did she ponder
as she wandered in wonder?
Can you imagine her as I first saw her?
Bouncing into a bar accompanied by a motley crew,
Flashing delighted smiles at any who look her way.
“Charlie man, I like that girl.”
Some mad energy emanates from this effervescent entity
I cannot but be bemused, bewitched, besotten
She teases TuTu, hugs Miho, whispers to Chau Anh, taunts Mami,
She invites me to join them in search of midnight hotpot.
On billowing waves of tequila we set sail for adventure
Until anchor is dropped at a shut shop.
An ‘open sesame’ from our aladdine heroine,
Opens its doors as so many people open their hearts
To this wilfully persistent soul.
Can you see her as she stands in a suburban garden
Outside a New Year’s Eve party in Dublin
Licking snowflakes from her paws
Like the cat who never even knew what cream was
But has finally tasted it.
Have you seen snow?
Have you known the muted silence
The incomparable serenity that accompanies it?
Can you imagine Nhi’s rapturous reaction?
Can you picture her on the banks of the Red River with full film crew?
Include in your image a swinging boom and a swaggering Bom!
Camera replaces paintbrush to render visions more intelligible.
Suffering more than most under a stifling sun she shows it least.
Steadfast in her task, as she expects of accomplices in artistry.
Painting, filming, recording, nothing ever a finished product,
For she is not industrial nor commercial.
Everything will always be incomplete,
Will always be a work in progress.
Because that’s how life is .
Can you see her onstage with Go Lim,
Her lithe bubbling shaking swaying form
Bouncing a-wailing jumping mi-aowing?
Always arriving late with familiar familial entourage.
Before she goes up she seems skittish and jittery,
Ever eschewing adoration or adulation.
Representing for us the energy of our generation.
Our need for more than negation and sublimation.
A celebration of the synergy of sound and sensation.
Once witnessed forever an object of intense admiration.
But no. Non! Finitude.
The Show is Over Now. Apologies folks.
Nothing there to see anymore. No new images shall be made.
I can’t believe she left us of her own volition or merely due to her body’s submission
We really have been denied any further sight of her. It was actually all just a vicious joke.
We who knew her must internalise the call to arms: wield pencils, paintbrushes, chisels, cameras.
Create ameliorate admire the sublime strive to bring alive our vision of the abstraction we call life,
That which has been so rudely denied our spectacular sprite, untainted sister, slightly batty aunty.
Our most magical muse. Our symbol of spontaneity. Our instigator of impersonal investigation.
Now all we can do is get on with living, try to fill that void she embraced more than most.
Ride in concentric circles forever examining the patterns of snowflakes for ourselves.
Now the big blue above is her canvas and it is she who prepares clouds for display.
She’s making voyeuristic movies about us all from somewhere not too far away,
Having a right old giggle at some of the stupid things we do with our lives.
She’s playing the triangle making a brand new band with the angels.
She lit up this world and it’s a darker place without her,
But I’ll always keep a spark of her in my heart.
This is farewell to the fairest of friends.
Rest thyself in a well-earned peace
I’m going to miss you forever.
Oh proud precocious pixie.
Here’s to you, Nhi. xx
A visionary with a twinkle in her eye,
A smile on her lips, a sway to her hips.
Born into a peculiar place at a topsy-turved time.
Into a world whose inhabitants endure an unenlightened existence,
Fooled by fouled conceptions of the forces and powers that surround them.
Where evasive energies transform everything encountered or experienced,
With a subtlety sensed only by the most symphonically symmetrical.
Into a place where people are boxed in, cowed and dominated by their appetites.
Beings who let themselves be corrupted then are complicit in the corruption of others.
A purist and an artist – forced to live among functionaries and fumblers.
She made a mockery of their manners and their mores
By always demanding More.
More colour.
More engagement.
More awareness.
More spontaneity.
More authenticity.
More life.
Standing at just over five feet small, she could still leap higher and see further than the tallest of us all.
Standing proud and singing loud, standing apart and standing out, standing right at the heart of it all.
Standing in front of a two by one and a half metre canvas chewing a paintbrush.
Standing on a tepid tram getting trampled and trod on by the minions of money.
Standing outside a closed restaurant at three in the morning imperiously demanding hotpot.
Standing alone in a snow-covered garden feeling those floating frozen flakes for the first time.
Standing on the banks of the Red River, filming the ghosts of bygone eras she might have rejected.
Standing onstage centre-stage but standing back from the harsh glare of the spotlight.
Standing proudly independent and standing her ground against the moguls of mindless mediocrity.
Standing on a rock on a cliff on the edge of the world, arms embracing the void, roaring in amazed delight.
Standing silently submitting to the sensations of the sublime as they surge through her soul.
Standing up to represent a generation full of promise, promised so much, breaking their own promises.
And when she stood, slightly frowning, one hand on her hip and the other mock-stroking her chin,
You knew her mind was sparking and sparkling in ways mere mortals could barely begin to decipher.
This is how I think about things she did who she was what she represented.
This is how I remember Nhi and how I want to share my memories
Of that most beautiful of beings so rudely stolen from us
How or why we may or do not ask…
In keeping with her visionary nature
I want to take you on a verbally visual tour,
But don’t take this as a post-dated retrospective.
These are moments that I replay again and again in my mind.
They are always alive and constantly refined.
So I ask you now to come with me
On a sort of spatial and temporal journey
Where I paint with excessive vocabulary
Sing with my sighs
And appeal to whatever
Sees from behind your eyes.
Can you see her as she concentrates on mixing colours,
Getting paint on her neck as she dances and sways,
Pointed paintbrush conducting an imaginary orchestra?
She bounces from foot to foot in time to an internal beat,
Filling massive canvases with intensely intimate and inimitable images.
She paints paints paints – frenetically, fastidiously, furiously –
Occasionally stepping back to contemplate the combinations of colours and shapes,
Then springing back into action, adding layer upon layer upon overlapping interwoven layer.
Recurring cats purr from behind twisted trees at the bases of exploding waterfalls
From which fish flip and flop onto the backs of giraffes with broken necks.
Vivid colours on grandiose scales with intricate patterns and subtle smearings,
See how she giggles self-consciously as she becomes aware of our far-away stare?
How she shakes her head, dismisses us from her mind and gets right up against the canvas again,
Squinting with one eye closed as she spreads more vibrant shades onto her incandescent canvas.
This is not painting by numbers.
This is not a past-time nor a hobby.
This is not painting to imitate or replicate.
This is not commissioned nor does it care about audience.
This is a response to the world as the artist perceives it.
This is an attempt at an explanation of both it and herself.
This is her current form of interpretation and realisation.
Can you see her sitting alone, immobile,
in the corner of the last carriage as it reveals
the skyscraping edifices of a Singapore skyline?
Picture big headphones, baggy raggedy clothes,
subtle smile curling the edges of her mouth
crinkling the corners of her eyes.
This is a quiet moment,
she is outside Vietnam
and Singapore is outside her.
She must ask herself ‘what am I doing here?’
I also wonder ‘what were you doing there?’.
All she can do is explore outer limits
riding from one end of the line and back
from terminal to terminal interminably.
Happy just to watch the world go by
to track the shifting patterns of the sky,
to contemplate without too much ‘why?’
Listening to Eminem she develops unique diction,
what thoughts did she ponder
as she wandered in wonder?
Can you imagine her as I first saw her?
Bouncing into a bar accompanied by a motley crew,
Flashing delighted smiles at any who look her way.
“Charlie man, I like that girl.”
Some mad energy emanates from this effervescent entity
I cannot but be bemused, bewitched, besotten
She teases TuTu, hugs Miho, whispers to Chau Anh, taunts Mami,
She invites me to join them in search of midnight hotpot.
On billowing waves of tequila we set sail for adventure
Until anchor is dropped at a shut shop.
An ‘open sesame’ from our aladdine heroine,
Opens its doors as so many people open their hearts
To this wilfully persistent soul.
Can you see her as she stands in a suburban garden
Outside a New Year’s Eve party in Dublin
Licking snowflakes from her paws
Like the cat who never even knew what cream was
But has finally tasted it.
Have you seen snow?
Have you known the muted silence
The incomparable serenity that accompanies it?
Can you imagine Nhi’s rapturous reaction?
Can you picture her on the banks of the Red River with full film crew?
Include in your image a swinging boom and a swaggering Bom!
Camera replaces paintbrush to render visions more intelligible.
Suffering more than most under a stifling sun she shows it least.
Steadfast in her task, as she expects of accomplices in artistry.
Painting, filming, recording, nothing ever a finished product,
For she is not industrial nor commercial.
Everything will always be incomplete,
Will always be a work in progress.
Because that’s how life is .
Can you see her onstage with Go Lim,
Her lithe bubbling shaking swaying form
Bouncing a-wailing jumping mi-aowing?
Always arriving late with familiar familial entourage.
Before she goes up she seems skittish and jittery,
Ever eschewing adoration or adulation.
Representing for us the energy of our generation.
Our need for more than negation and sublimation.
A celebration of the synergy of sound and sensation.
Once witnessed forever an object of intense admiration.
But no. Non! Finitude.
The Show is Over Now. Apologies folks.
Nothing there to see anymore. No new images shall be made.
I can’t believe she left us of her own volition or merely due to her body’s submission
We really have been denied any further sight of her. It was actually all just a vicious joke.
We who knew her must internalise the call to arms: wield pencils, paintbrushes, chisels, cameras.
Create ameliorate admire the sublime strive to bring alive our vision of the abstraction we call life,
That which has been so rudely denied our spectacular sprite, untainted sister, slightly batty aunty.
Our most magical muse. Our symbol of spontaneity. Our instigator of impersonal investigation.
Now all we can do is get on with living, try to fill that void she embraced more than most.
Ride in concentric circles forever examining the patterns of snowflakes for ourselves.
Now the big blue above is her canvas and it is she who prepares clouds for display.
She’s making voyeuristic movies about us all from somewhere not too far away,
Having a right old giggle at some of the stupid things we do with our lives.
She’s playing the triangle making a brand new band with the angels.
She lit up this world and it’s a darker place without her,
But I’ll always keep a spark of her in my heart.
This is farewell to the fairest of friends.
Rest thyself in a well-earned peace
I’m going to miss you forever.
Oh proud precocious pixie.
Here’s to you, Nhi. xx
Bản dịch tiếng Viêt của Trần Đán ( Boston)
Nhớ đến một nàng tiên tí hon
(pixie = xem Wikipedia, tiên tí hon, theo truyền thuyết xứ Ái nhĩ Lan)
Em tiên tri với đôi mắt sao đêm
đôi môi đùa bởn và đôi hông nhún nhẩy
em sinh ra ở một chốn dị ngợm vào một thời nhương nhiễu
giữa những cuộc sống mịt mù
những cuộc sống phỉnh phờ bởi những quyền lực vĩnh vờ
những âm vang mập mờ
chỉ phát hiện bởi những tâm hồn hòa âm cực nhạy
một chốn đói khỗ giam cầm người
nhũng nhiễu trói buộc người.
Tâm hồn em bay bổng cùng thanh khiết – lầy lội giữa lũ quan liêu bất tài
nực cười thay điệu bộ và giáo điều chúng
làm sao cầm chân được em?
Ta nghe em kêu gào: hãy bay bỗng lên cao hơn
màu sắc tuôn tràn hơn
hòa nhập sâu hơn
ý thức hơn
hồn nhiên hơn
trung thực hơn
sống cho tận cùng nhé!
Em nhỏ bé nhưng nhảy cao hơn và trông xa hơn hết thẩy chúng ta
cô đơn cất tiếng hát kiêu kỳ đi vào giữa trái tim người,
em, cây bút lông dày vò trước vãi bố
thân mảnh khảnh bị dập vùi trên chuyến xe bạc tiền
3 giờ sáng em đòi ăn cháo nóng
khu vườn hoang em ngắm cảnh tuyết rơi
em dạo chân trên Sông Hồng, thu ảnh thời xa xưa đáng sợ
trên sân khấu em tránh ngohn đèn chan chói
và mãi miết đi con đường em chọn, xa chốn phàm phu
em đứng bên bờ vực thẳm, ôm lấy đóa phù du
lặng yên một lần xao xuyến đến với
thế hệ em, thế hệ được hứa hẹn nhiều nhưng chằng có bao nhiêu.
Và khi em đứng dậy, tay chống nạnh và tay vuốt cầm mai mĩa
đấy là lúc em chìm trong ý nghĩ, làm sao bọn đời thường hiểu nổi
em là người như thế đấy
cho tôi một lần chia xẻ
về em một bông hoa đã ra đi quá sớm
ta mãi mãi không được biết vì sao và như thế nào…
Cho tôi một lần đưa bạn đến chốn tiên tri ấy.
Không, ta không đi ngược dòng thời gian đâu
mà luôn luôn hướng đến tương lai đầy biến đổi
vậy xin mời bạn theo tôi băng qua không và thời
vùi mình trong thứ ngôn ngữ hơi man di, nghe tôi
thở than, lầm bầm với những thứ vô hình, ẩn dấu.
Bạn kìa: em ấy đang chú tâm pha màu đấy
sơn nhoẹt nhòe trên cổ, em tung tăng
vung cọ như tay nhạc trưởng
chân miên man theo điệu nhạc tâm hồn
những tấm vãi bố sừng sững cũng phải cúi đầu khuất phục
để linh hồn em tuôn ra, một thể gì rất lạ
em say sưa vẽ - như kẻ điên, kẻ dại –
đôi lúc em dừng tay ngắm sắc màu,
chỉ một giây phút thôi, rồi em lại lạc vào say đắm
từng lớp từng lớp sơn dày đặc
nào là mèo hoang nấp sau cổ thụ trước thác nước
nào là cá tung tăng trên lưng hươi cao cổ gãy đôi
màu nối màu đang quyện nhau thật chặt.
Bỗng tiếng em nức nẻ, lũ chúng ta ngắm tranh thật ngớ ngẩn!
em lắc đầu, chắc lưỡi, rồi quay về với công việc
mắt nheo lại em định thần màu sắc
không đâu, em không vẽ theo con số
lại càng không vẽ cho qua thì giờ,
hay nhại chép
hay theo đặt cọc
mà vì em ngất ngây trước cuộc sống, mà vì em run cảm
Cuộc sống là gì? Tôi là ai?
Tôi hiểu được gì, sống ra sao?
Bạn thấy không em đang ngồi lặng lẽ
trên chuyến xe cuối cùng
đằng sau là các nhà chọc trời Singapore
hãy mườn tượng em đeo máy nghe khủng, mặc áo lùng thùng
nụ cười trên môi, nếp nhăn khóe mẳt
một phút tĩnh lặng
xa rồi Việt Nam
ngoài kia Singapore.
Có lẻ em tự hỏi, “Ta làm gì ở đây?”
và tôi cũng tự hỏi, “em làm gì ở đấy?”
Em chỉ muốn đến tận cùng sâu thẳm
đi suốt chiều dài của những chuyến xe
hạnh phúc nhìn thế gian bồng bềnh
bầu trời đổi sắc
mà không cần biết vì sao
nghe nhạc của Eminem em tìm ra ngôn ngữ mới
tôi không biết em nghĩ gì
khi kinh ngạc đầy bước chân.
Bạn có thể nào tưởng tượng ra em lúc tôi gặp em lần đầu?
Chính là lúc em bước vào một quán rượu, kéo theo sau
bầy du thử, em tươi cười với mọi người,
“Khoái con này mới chết!” tôi buột miệng
sức sống loạn cuồng toát từ trong em,
làm sao tôi không khỏi ngất ngất, ngây ngây,
em buông lời chọc ghẹo Tutu, hôn Miho, thủ thỉ với Châu Anh,
và thách đố Mami, rồi em rủ tôi đi tìm quán ăn đêm.
Sau những cơn tequilla mềm môi ta cùng thả hồn du mục
rồi trôi dạt đến một quán im lìm
“Hang thần ơi, mở đi thôi!,” em niệm câu thần chú (theo wikipedia câu “open sesame” là câu thần chú dùng để mở hang thần trong câu truyện cổ Ả rập Ali Baba và 40 Trộm)
và cứ như thế cánh cửa mở toang, như bao nhiêu trái tim
mở toang, đón em vào.
Bạn có thể nào tưởng tượng em lạc trong vườn hoa ngoại ô
mừng ngày đầu năm giữa Dublin
liếm tuyết lạnh trên tay em
như mèo chẳng bao giờ biết mùi kem
bây giờ được nếm kem?
Bạn có bao giờ nhìn thấy thuyết?
Bạn có cảm được sự tĩnh lặng
nỗi yên bình vô biên
và nỗi hân hoan của Nhí?
Bạn có thể tưởng tượng em trên bờ Sông Hồng với đội quay
(ghi chú: câu này người dịch chịu thua)
dàn máy quay thay cây cọ vẻ lên ước mơ,
trời nắng như thiêu nhưng em không một lời than vãn
phải kiên trì em tự nhũ, như em hằng khuyên bạn,
vẽ, quay phim, thu âm, những việc làm không dứt
tiền tài danh vọng em không màn
nên không tác phẩm nào ngả ngũ
tất cả vẫn miệt mài
chẳng khác gì sự sống.
Bạn thấy không mỗi khi em và Gỗ Lim trình diễn
thân em nhỏ nhắn nhưng tưng bừng sức sống
lúc vung văng vung vẫy, lúc não nùng ai oán
mười lần như một bọn em đến trể
trước khi lên sân khấu em rất thỏ đế
tránh xa lời trầm trồ và tiếng la ngưỡng mộ
em ôm lấy sức tràn đầy của tuổi chúng ta
tuổi không muốn nghe dối trá và ca tụng vớ vẫn
em chào mừng âm thanh đi vào xúc cảm
được ngắm em một lần là mãi mãi nhớ em.
Nhưng ơ kìa, thế là hết
màn đã hạ
vở tuồng đã kết.
mãi mãi chấm dứt
các bạn thông cảm
từ nay sẽ không còn hình ảnh gì mới được làm ra.
Tôi không thể ngờ rằng em đã quyết ra đi
hay vì sức yếu buông thả…
Từ nay ta sẽ không nhìn thấy em, ôi trò đùa độc ác!
Bạn ơi, chúng ta hãy làm theo lời trăn trối: gọt bút,
nắm lấy cọ, dụng cụ đẽo, máy quay phim
hãy sáng tạo, hãy nắm bắt cuộc sống trong muôn hình muôn vẽ
hãy tiếp tay em – giá vẽ tuyệt vời, người em tinh khiết, cô nàng hơi ngông,
em nguồn cảm hứng tuyệt diệu, là lòng ngây ngô, lời dục thám hiểm.
giờ đây ta vương vấn, cố lấp đầy khoản trống miên man
quanh quẩn mãi trong vòng tròn tuyết phủ
giờ đây trời xanh bức em vẽ
mây hiện như sắp đặt
ta hiện như trong phim em quay từ đâu đấy
tiếng diễu cợt những trò ta khờ dại
em vẫn trình diễn đấy với ban nhạc mới
toàn thiên thần, em là ánh sáng
không có em cuộc đời tăm tối
tôi giữ mãi tia sáng ấy trong tim
thôi giả từ người bạn thân thương
bạn ơi hãy nằm yên nghỉ
nỗi nhớ lòng tôi không nguôi
về một nàng tiên tí hon hiện rồi lại biến
đây là bài thơ cho em.
