Bản Tin Liên Hội Nhân Quyền Việt Nam ở Thụy Sĩ

Hát với Solidarność (1)

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O, Polska! Polska! My rebellious Polska,
In the depths of your misfortune, I know you have infinite bravery,
Just like those murdered, those who died, and our unknown defenders,
My memory of those times comes back vividly,
And gives me the life force, historic millennia
Give me the peace of mind to finish an indignant poem.
You, who until now never dared defend human feelings,
Come near! Come as close as you can!
Listen to the truth of what is happening today,
Don’t keep quiet about it; don’t turn your back on it;
Don’t lower your head, you accomplices.
ZOMO’s boots kick down doors,
The tumult of persecution, as if game were being pursued,
The furious crack of the whip and truncheon,
The grinding of teeth. The sobs of children,
The women’s cries of help for their husbands,
The shrill noise of assault tanks’ metal tracks
Ineluctably crushing.
O, the crystal limbs of innocent souls!
Your throat is blocked. You struggle. You cry out, exhausted,
You are strangled. There is laughter. Brutal !
While the showers of snow fall,
Oppressive, as in stormy weather,
Time stops. The Universe falls silent.
Yet, far off, shots crackle incessantly,
They come closer as night falls,
The night of Guernica... The night of Oradour... the night of Auschwitz,
After Czechoslavkia, and betrayed at Munich,
Follows the night of Poland.
Of this series of epoch-making tragic events,
We cannot allow ourselves to overlook any of them.
At Wujek, the enemy fired straight at our brother workers,
At Gdansk too, blood flowed as a result of Soviet bullets.
Mother from Polska! Let me dry your tears,
And share the deep wound which tears apart your heart.
I know well that I will die, once again,
With my head resting on the shoulders of my beloved brothers.
The ever-lasting fervour of Fraternity,
Reflecting the glowing halo of the Sun of truth,
Will crystallise in the bourgeoning conscience
Which will dissolve the layer of icy black blood
On the shores of the Baltic.
The blood of the innocent, victims of red fascism,
The fatal night during a state of siege, under curfew,
Is reflected by the faces of a people in mourning.
Young soldier of Polska, don’t you hear them ?
Drop by drop, with each note of his Preludes,
Chopin pours out his warm tears,
The tears of a human Love which overflowed from his heart,
They sound like cries of pain from a lost bird with a broken wing!
Also, the cheerful, familiar little brook,
Does its bubbling take on a plaintive note
When the Chopin Express approaches the mining area,
The funereal siren song replaces the tolling of the death knell,
O, Heavens! Criminal atrocities touch even You
Committed by a pack of murderers, traitors to their homeland!
Brother of Polska, don’t you remember?
How many shining mirrors...
Poland belongs to the children worthy of the nation,
Warsaw signed the defeat of the Bolshevik army;
At the Vistula River they would be defeated once more.

On that night, in the depths of the infernal abyss,
Our faith grew. Life would prosper tomorrow,
We would return hand in hand to celebrate our reunion.
The ear of wheat, the rose: scents and beauties of the future,
Young children, no longer will you be on bended knee,
Waxing shoes,
No longer will life be lived without dignity.
No longer will Peace be depicted from behind barbed wire,
No more abject re-education camps and forced labour,
Nor the wall of shame,
A bridge of Tolerance will be re-established between men’s hearts.
Psychiatric hospitals
Will no longer preoccupy the consciences of intellectuals
Who dare to speak the truth about imperialism and its puppet subordinates.
Poets, writers, journalists,
No longer will we kow tow with our writings,
We will strengthen our will; we will increase it,
And not give up.

Sing with Poland, sing with Viêt Nam,
Sing with faith and in communion
To change the world.
Myriads of stars will accompany us along the way,
These sparks of fire, delicate but eternal, will long burn,
These attentive eyes seek to transmit to ours
Their unchanging distant glimmer,
Torturers may persecute us, exile us, kill us, murder us,
Impassive night persists in hate, injustice, mendacity,
But, already Poland’s spirit has strengthened,
By the prodigious dimensions of the cosmos, tremendously grandiose.
Let us pick up the dead leaves.
Painful ordeals!
We light the torch which illuminates our way,
After each fall
Our travelling companions, brothers, sisters, and friends find their feet again,
We support each other, we stick together,
No winter can prevent the deciduous branch’s shoots from springing forth
When the time for foliation comes,
And the Springtime of a cheerful humanity
Traces its dainty lotus-like footsteps,
And takes off gracefully.

May I have the pleasure of bringing a note of Hope,
To the choral march entitled: My Rebellious Polska,
Sing with Solidarność, I do not sing alone,
The cruel night will return, confronted by Dawn...
Christmas, ’81
Nguyên Hoàng Bảo Việt  

Original in Vietnamese: ‘’Hát Với Solidarność’’
Excerpt from Anthology of Poems ‘’Dấu Tích Phượng Hoàng‘’
French version by Mrs Hoàng Nguyên : ‘’Chanter avec Solidarność’’
Excerpt from Anthology ‘’L’Empreinte du Phénix’’
Publishers Bạn Văn Paris 2008. English translation by author
Polish version by Mrs Małgorzata Bąbelek (Gosia Babelek)


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