'Lettering yeast' from the ground of Go Sanh

In Men Tram , journalist-poet Van Phi takes readers back to his hometown of Go Sanh, where each layer of broken pottery, each streak of alluvium and the breeze of Binh Dinh (now Gia Lai province) permeates every word he writes.

- Ảnh 1. — Cover of the memoir *Men Tram* (Literature Publishing House, 2025)

I still remember that year's voyage (a trip along the islands of the Central region organized by the Coast Guard), ten days drifting at sea, two brothers on the same ship, seasick, "sick" of our country.

It was during that trip that he wrote Blue Sea , a memoir imbued with salt air, where the color of soldiers' uniforms blends with the color of the sky, where the sound of waves, laughter, and singing of artists and marine soldiers become the sound of patriotism.

In each word, I recognized the image of those days, the east wind rustling, the sunlight pouring on the deck, the song rising in the middle of the ocean. All like a deep blue melody, both majestic and gentle, both mundane and sacred.

To me, Men t dam is not only a memory, a space of land and people, "carved" with words.

I mold shapes from clay, from wood, from emotions accumulated over the years, absorbed in the layers of bricks and stones of my homeland, so I understand that the hidden stream in Phi's words is also drawn from the deepest place of the earth, where love for the homeland settles into the fumes of memories.

In each page, I hear the echoes of the Go Sanh wind, the apricot branches calling for Tet, the birds calling for morning, the Tay Son martial arts, the t'rung and goong zithers, the h'mon melodies in the great forest and the quiet rhythm of life containing the soul of Binh Dinh land. Those sounds, to Phi, are not just scenery - but also breath, heartbeat, something that people who go far away always carry with them, even if they only remain in a line of words.

"From the small stage set up outdoors, the sound of the drums seemed to strike the hearts of the listeners, the sound was bustling and familiar . " Those words seemed to resonate from the memories of the land of Nau, where the sound of drums, martial arts, and instruments blended together, forming the cultural soul of Binh Dinh. For Van Phi, each sound of the homeland is not only the rhythm of life, but also the echo of memories, of people who have been attached to the land and profession their whole lives.

- Ảnh 2. — Journalist - poet Van Phi (left cover) at the archaeological site of Lo Cay Quang (part of the ancient pottery kiln relic cluster of Go Sanh). He is a member of the Vietnam Writers Association and the Vietnam Journalists Association; has published two collections of poetry: *Stranded Day* (2020), *Wandering Pottery* (2024)

Van Phi makes a living as a journalist, but he is rarely seen rushing and making noise among the news. He chooses for himself a quiet, humble corner, without glaring lights, a dark brown space, as quiet as his figure. However, in that quiet appearance hides a sensitive, kind and profound poet's soul.

He has published two collections of poems, Stranded Day and Wandering Pottery , leaving a unique mark in the hearts of readers. His poetry, like his prose, hides a wandering quality but is imbued with the rustic soul of the countryside, rough, rustic, and simple like pottery, like soil that has been buried in wind and rain. From that poetic vein, he moved to writing as a natural transition: still an observer of life, but deeper, quieter, like the sound of the earth breathing under people's feet.

He doesn’t write about famous people, doesn’t chase after noise. He chooses to look at small things, simple faces, quiet but bright human fates, like a small fire that still burns steadily in a country kitchen. He writes mostly about the beauty of everyday life, as if he wants to preserve it, as if he’s afraid that in today’s fast-paced and pragmatic life, that beauty will gradually disappear. Therefore, his words always contain a secret pity, a quiet regret - as if he’s touching memories, afraid that they will break, disappear with the wind.

Reading him, I remember Bui Xuan Phai, the painter who painted old street corners, not to beautify them, but to hold on to the lost beauty. Van Phi is the same. He writes as a way to preserve, to preserve the breath of the countryside, to preserve the light of people's hearts, to preserve the seemingly small things that turn out to be the most lasting and heavy in the soul.

Dark Men : when words are baked by the fire of life

In Men tăm , readers encounter a whole portrait of Binh Dinh: the mai flower grower in An Nhon, who spends his life waiting for flowers to bloom as if waiting for something good. Mother Thien in Con Chim, a small woman who carries the whole river to make a living while still keeping a gentle smile. Martial artist Nam Hanh, who lights the flame of martial arts in the midst of a changing world. Le An, the "lovely wanderer" who is romantic and kind. And Diep Chi Huy, a wandering musician whose lute plays with the wind, living freely and deeply like the romantic sounds he creates.

Those people, in Phi's writings, appear like reliefs not carved from stone but from words, not sparkling on the outside, but shining from within: the light of labor, of honesty, of humanity.

And as clay produces pottery, his words are also baked by the fire of life.

In Phi’s writing, I see the smell of kitchen smoke, the salty taste of the sea breeze, the moisture of baked earth, the earth that has transformed into pottery and preserved many layers of human memories. It is a writing that is not pretentious, not ostentatious, but shines in the true light – the light of kind hearts.

He was born on the land of Go Sanh, where ancient bricks still smolder with sediment, where memories and the present intertwine like ceramic glaze that has not yet cooled. In the heart of that land, broken pieces of ceramic still hide in the depths, like grains of memory that quietly shine. I believe that the essence of that land has seeped into his blood, so that each word carries the breath of his homeland: simple but durable, imbued with the breath of the land, full of the soul of the homeland.

Men Tram is not a collection of essays that exaggerate great things. Each article by Van Phi is a calm breath, exuding the incense scent of village wine and baked earth that permeates deeply and warmly, like the heavy and endless vein of the homeland. Like the alluvial stream that flows quietly under the broken glaze of Go Sanh pottery, the more it settles, the clearer it becomes, carrying with it fragments of the culture and fate of the people of the land of Nau. And I believe that the alluvial stream still nourishes the land of the Con River day and night, the enamel of Van Phi's writing will remain, quietly spreading, warm and real like the sound of the distant Tuong drum that still resonates in people's hearts...

Source: https://thanhnien.vn/men-chu-tu-long-dat-go-sanh-185251114095824386.htm