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“Across his shoulder is a bag stuffed with wind and moonlight, which is what the world calls poetry.”
― The Tale of Kiều
― The Tale of Kiều
“My gratitude is written on my bones. It will outlive me. They will find it in my grave.”
― The Song of Kieu: A New Lament
― The Song of Kieu: A New Lament
“But since this earth began,
cruel fate has cursed all women.
I look on Đạm Tiên's mossy tomb,
and see my own, in days to come.”
― The Tale of Kiều
cruel fate has cursed all women.
I look on Đạm Tiên's mossy tomb,
and see my own, in days to come.”
― The Tale of Kiều
“See the fierce power of a poem.
Learn how words can leap across the years.
She is my sister, though I am alive and she is dead.”
― The Tale of Kiều
Learn how words can leap across the years.
She is my sister, though I am alive and she is dead.”
― The Tale of Kiều
“She says: ‘We are cursed,
who are born beneath the peach blossom
and fated to work these green pavilions.
I thought I had escaped them,
but the breeze has blown me back.
To understand life is to know despair.
Genius and beauty are worthless:
they make heaven jealous.
I had filtered my springwater with alum:
it bubbles now with muck and mud.
The potter’s wheel torments all women:
it spins and spins, without throwing us off.
When I left home, I accepted my fate:
but why must destiny still hack away
at a rose already shredded?
Half my youth is gone too soon.
I’ll offer up the rest of it.
I’ll end my young days here.”
― The Tale of Kiều
who are born beneath the peach blossom
and fated to work these green pavilions.
I thought I had escaped them,
but the breeze has blown me back.
To understand life is to know despair.
Genius and beauty are worthless:
they make heaven jealous.
I had filtered my springwater with alum:
it bubbles now with muck and mud.
The potter’s wheel torments all women:
it spins and spins, without throwing us off.
When I left home, I accepted my fate:
but why must destiny still hack away
at a rose already shredded?
Half my youth is gone too soon.
I’ll offer up the rest of it.
I’ll end my young days here.”
― The Tale of Kiều
“Kiều says: 'Mother, I am just a girl
and I can never repay what you have done for me.
But in this unjust world,
clear water turns dirty
while the muck calls itself clean.
Though I live a hundred years
I will carry you all in my heart.”
― The Tale of Kiều
and I can never repay what you have done for me.
But in this unjust world,
clear water turns dirty
while the muck calls itself clean.
Though I live a hundred years
I will carry you all in my heart.”
― The Tale of Kiều
“How can a man's words be empty as the wind?”
― The Tale of Kiều
― The Tale of Kiều
“Her mother said: 'Are dreams such solid grounds that you will build thereon a tale of woe?”
― The Tale of Kiều
― The Tale of Kiều
“Liquid music pours out of that moon-bowl:
gentle consolation for a maimed soul.
Hoạn's heart is lulled by the lilting sound
and, just for a moment, her hard face softens.”
― The Tale of Kiều
gentle consolation for a maimed soul.
Hoạn's heart is lulled by the lilting sound
and, just for a moment, her hard face softens.”
― The Tale of Kiều
“When bright young boys encounter lovely young girls,
their mouths may be silent but their hearts run wild.
They live in that dangerous country
where the waking world meets dreams.”
―
their mouths may be silent but their hearts run wild.
They live in that dangerous country
where the waking world meets dreams.”
―
“I am nobody. I am a woman,' says Kiều.”
― The Tale of Kiều
― The Tale of Kiều
“They speak of the past and the future
and keep repeating the same tender words
as if they have an ocean of them.”
― The Tale of Kiều
and keep repeating the same tender words
as if they have an ocean of them.”
― The Tale of Kiều
“Losing your lover is a little death:
but she who thinks nothing of her own life
cares even less for the loss of love.
She is a raindrop. She does not mind whether she falls
into a mandarin's garden or a farmer's ditch.
She is a blade of young grass that feels grateful
for three months of spring rain.”
― The Tale of Kiều
but she who thinks nothing of her own life
cares even less for the loss of love.
She is a raindrop. She does not mind whether she falls
into a mandarin's garden or a farmer's ditch.
She is a blade of young grass that feels grateful
for three months of spring rain.”
― The Tale of Kiều
“He sees her eyebrow in the arc of the moon;”
― The Tale of Kiều
― The Tale of Kiều
