by Đoàn
Văn Cừ
WIn the morning
of New Year’s Day
The lights and the
candles are lit and are on display
My grandmother is
sitting in the sleeping basket
Helping me don the
new pretty red jacket.
My grandfather just
awakes for a little bit
And looks out far
into the front street
On the bulb of the
street lamp
One can see it is
drizzling, it is damp.
For a while the tiny
firecrackers on the curb’s top
Sporadically and
dully do they pop
The startled rooster,
whose cockscomb is crimson red,
Is hastily running
away, in fright, at his best
The Tet bamboo pole
stands in the walkway
Its reflection in
the pond is at play.
The ceramic bell
chimes are riding with the wind’s blowing
High and above in
the sky are they tinkling.
My grandfather then
passes away in time,
And my grandmother
then has also died,
Me? I am gradually
growing up
So I do not feel
the fun that much.
Now each time Tet
comes, the more I suffer,
I dearly miss what
it is of the rooster picture,
The red lucky envelope
with money to spend,
And the firecracker
strip which costs only three cents.
Translated from Vietnamese
into English
by Hương Cau Cao
Tân
on 18 July, 2019
in British Columbia, Canada