Written for the season of flamboyant flowers
She's gone, the flame tree blossoms ablaze high above.
Eyes red and swollen on a sunny afternoon.
Chewing on the cluster of flowers, they are not sour but bitter and astringent.
My steps faltered as I walked across the schoolyard.
The sunset was before me.
Behind them was the hastily locked door of the examination room.
The desks, chairs, and blackboards are covered in dust.
The crumpled piece of paper was thrown away at the end of the exam...
My seat is still over there.
Long streaks of sunlight were imprinted on the chair.
Every morning, the first time I arrived late.
His shoulders trembled, his hands were stained with oil...
She's gone! The cluster of red flamboyant flowers high above.
Keep burning with unspoken words.
The afternoon sun shone with a lingering sense of regret.
The prices of the past... Let's not even mention them! Summer is ending...
ORCHID
Every summer, when the flame trees burst into vibrant red blossoms in the schoolyard, countless emotions and old memories are stirred up. "Writing for the Flame Tree Blossom Season" by Dao Phong Lan is one such poem—gentle yet poignant, simple yet moving, evoking in the reader a feeling of wistfulness, regret, and an unnameable longing.
Right from the opening lines, the image of the flamboyant tree blossoms is hauntingly vivid:
She's gone, the flame tree blossoms ablaze high above.
Eyes red and swollen on a sunny afternoon.
The flame tree, often appearing during exam season and farewells, is a silent witness to feelings left unspoken. The image of "burning flame tree blossoms" evokes a vibrant, intense red. That red seems to sting the eyes of those left behind, blurring their vision. The sunlight shimmers on the eyelids of those standing in the empty schoolyard. A bitter feeling permeates every word:
Chewing on the cluster of flowers, they are not sour but bitter and astringent.
My steps faltered as I walked across the schoolyard.
When one bites into that cluster of flamboyant flowers, it's like feeling a part of a memory, seemingly sweet but turning bitter. Perhaps it's because of separation, because of unspoken words, or because every summer leaves empty spaces in the hearts of young people that the poet has such feelings.
The setting in the poem gradually expands from the schoolyard, the examination room, the blackboard, the chairs… All of it is like a familiar picture of student life, now covered with a layer of dust from separation and memories.
The desks, chairs, and blackboards are covered in dust.
The crumpled piece of paper was thrown away at the end of the exam…
Dust covers memories, dust covers time, but in the hearts of those who remain, everything remains intact, still present as if it were yesterday.
A small detail, but very beautiful and subtle:
My seat is still over there.
Long streaks of sunlight were imprinted on the chair...
That streak of sunlight is the trace of a lesson, an afternoon, a furtive glance, a touch of shyness… Now, only the sun remains, the chair, the empty space. That imprint is like a mark of presence, of an indelible memory. That “long streak of sunlight” is not just light, but also a shadow, a part of the memory of the person sitting and watching.
The poem continues to guide the reader through recollections, with a slow, gentle narrative voice that is deeply imbued with emotion:
Every morning, the first time I arrived late.
His shoulders trembled, his hands were stained with oil…
A seemingly insignificant, trivial memory, yet it became a thread that pulled people's hearts together. It was the image of a schoolgirl arriving late to school for the first time, panicked, confused, and dirty… But perhaps that very moment became a milestone, an indelible “scar” in the heart of the person who witnessed it.
The refrain "She's gone!" repeats, like a cry echoing in the emptiness. The flame tree high above still "burns with unspoken words," still radiant, still passionate, but the heart hasn't had time to express love, to reveal it, to grasp it. Summer comes, summer goes, and with it come regrets, "what ifs of the past...", unanswered questions.
And so the poem concludes with a sigh, a self-reflection:
The price back then…
Let's not talk about it! Summer is over...
An ellipsis, a pause like a moment of silence. The poet tells himself not to mention it again, but that very mention is a reminder. Summer has ended, the flowers have fallen, the person has gone, only a smoldering memory remains, only a season of red flamboyant flowers lingers in the heart of the one who stays, returning once a year, stirring up excitement, causing a pang of pain.
"Writing for the Flame Tree Blossom Season" by author Dao Phong Lan is not a long poem, nor does it contain flowery language or overly elaborate imagery. But it is precisely this simplicity that creates its moving impact.
Dao Phong Lan's poem is the shared voice of many generations of students, a story in which anyone who has experienced their school days can see themselves reflected. Each line is like a piece of memory, with afternoons, a schoolyard, a cluster of flamboyant flowers, a glance never dared to look, a word never dared to speak, a hand never held… All silently drift by, leaving only “a long streak of sunlight imprinted on the chair” and a nameless longing.
When reading the poem, no one can help but feel nostalgic. Nostalgic because they see a part of their own youth reflected in it. Nostalgic because of unfinished business, unfulfilled regrets. Nostalgic because they understand that every summer will pass, people will leave, but the flamboyant tree will continue to bloom every summer, still brightly reddening a corner of the schoolyard, still reminding those who remain of a time long gone.
"Writing for the Flame Tree Blossom Season" is not just a poem about one person or one love affair. It's a poem about the final days of high school, about exam season, about the sound of cicadas, about the dazzling sunlight... It's a poem about school days, the age of dreams, of hesitation, of pure and heartfelt emotions.
HOANG HUONGSource: https://baohaiduong.vn/rung-rung-mua-hoa-hoc-tro-411123.html
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