I returned to the forest and slept soundly, resting my head on a rock.

Việt Nam•02/08/2023

08:20, 30/07/2023

“Oh, woodcutter! Old woodcutter/ The melodious song calls me back/ In this world of hardship, I still have a flask of wine/ To befriend you in the mountains and streams (...) And you still give me a sky full of flying clouds/ And the moon still shines brightly on my face/ Tomorrow you will go up the hill to chop wood/ I will return to the forest and sleep soundly on the rocks” (A playful poem).

Those were the last verses Hoàng Phủ Ngọc Tường recited while drinking with friends and watching the World Cup on that fateful night of June 14, 1998, before suffering a stroke. In the years that followed, confined to his sickbed, he may have continued writing poetry and reciting it with his family's help, but he no longer possessed that captivating, resonant voice. And, 25 years later, on July 24, 2023, he "returned to the forest, resting his head on rocks," an eternal sleep...

In modern literature, Hoang Phu Ngoc Tuong may not be at the forefront in terms of quantity, but he is at the forefront in terms of quality. He only managed to add his name to 20 works, but he is considered one of the most talented essayists, alongside Nguyen Tuan.

Writer Hoang Phu Ngoc Tuong. Photo: Le Duc Duc

As a writer, he is not the only one, but certainly the number one, the most prolific and best writer on the climate, land, rivers, mountains, nature, and people of Hue. It seems that his words are always imbued with the essence of Hue, deeply rooted in the Perfume River and Ngu Mountain (Many Flames, Who Named the River, Sad Epic, Fragrant Grassland, Flowers and Fruits Around Me, Valley of Despair, The House of Wanderers), sometimes even reaching Con Son, his hometown of Quang Tri (Green Childhood, Corridor of People and Wind), up to the summit of Bach Ma Mountain (The Mountain of Illusions), or the hardships, joys, and sorrows of his past in the war zone ("My Old Beauty," Dragonfly Song , Forest Life, Laughing Forest), but all are connected to the space, vegetation, and the consciousness of the people of Hue. He not only displayed a vast store of knowledge about human culture and life, not only insightful but also profoundly humanistic, capable of constructing symbols, mythologizing plants and flowers, giving them an enduring spiritual life with humanity. Hoang Phu's literary "tendency" belongs to the realm of emotions, to worldly pain, boundless sorrow, and a long, lingering trance spanning many lifetimes. He speaks of joy, but it is fleeting, existing only in concept, or briefly igniting like a moment of elation before quickly fading into the endless night.

Rarely has a generation/friendship been as profound as that of the talented individuals who were close friends and frequented the "House of Wanderers": Hoang Phu Ngoc Tuong, Trinh Cong Son, Ngo Kha, Dinh Cuong, Buu Y, especially the close connection between Hoang Phu and Trinh. Besides the memoir "Like a River from Source to Sea," which he wrote in the war zone in 1971, there are ten other memoirs written after Trinh's death (2001), meaning after he fell ill from a stroke (1998). He had to dictate them to his family, and these were later published as a collection titled "Trinh Cong Son - The Lyre of the Little Prince" (2005). Not only did he focus on Trinh, but through Trinh, he also sketched the portrait of an entire generation of intellectuals in the South: Ngo Kha, Tran Quang Long, Le Minh Truong, Dinh Cuong, Buu Y… Each had a different path and a different life journey, but they were all patriotic intellectuals. Even for himself, in the summer of 1966, Hoang Phu was the spark, the leading voice in the struggle movement of intellectuals and students in South Vietnam. If the Saigon regime hadn't declared him "outlawed" (captured and executed without trial), he might not have gone to the jungle to fight. Staying in the city, he was also a patriotic intellectual like his contemporaries.

Over the past few decades, countless dissertations, master's theses, and even doctoral dissertations have been written about him, and countless works and articles by professional writers and literary critics have expressed their sympathy for him. (And, I suddenly thought that it was time for a complete collection, a comprehensive view of him through public opinion!) Because Hoang Phu has found his own unique literary voice, unlike anyone else's. His literary voice is the spiritual essence of the people of Hue , the philosophical and aesthetic system, and the literary destiny of his life.

Hoang Phu was not only a talented writer but also possessed profound knowledge in many fields: philosophy, literature, culture, history, geography, religion, biology, etc. His descriptions of trees, flowers, and fruits could rival any doctoral dissertation in a specialized field. Of course, from the overflowing talent and lyricism in his essays, Hoang Phu also wrote poetry, though not much, but his poems can be ranked alongside the best authors of his time. Recently, while researching Hue literature, having the opportunity to reread his works, I fully understood the simple yet profound statement of Nguyen Tuan, the "foremost martial artist" of essay writing, made nearly half a century ago: "Hoang Phu Ngoc Tuong's essays have 'a lot of fire'."

He passed away 18 days after his wife, the poet Lam Thi My Da. That day, I, along with writers and poets Vo Que, Mai Van Hoan, Meggie Pham, and Le Vu Truong Giang, representing the Vietnam Writers Association branch in Hue, went to Ho Chi Minh City to attend the funeral and farewell ceremony for poet Lam Thi My Da. We saw that his health was almost completely depleted, like a lamp running out of oil. His granddaughter, Da Thi, said: "My dad is very weak! I thought he would go first, but unexpectedly it was my mother..." So, his passing was foretold, not just a few dozen days ago, but also 25 years ago, when he suffered a sudden stroke. The fate of human life is strange; everyone must eventually say goodbye to this world. Every farewell is sad, even if it was clearly foretold very early on, as in his case.

Now, no matter what I say, he's gone. Remembering those nights of drinking together, where the "appetizers" were sometimes just listening to his stories and reciting his poems, I write these lines respectfully, bowing my head to bid him farewell. I keep telling myself not to be sad, because everyone must leave sooner or later in life; for him, it was a peaceful departure, a release from decades of pain, but my heart still aches, a burning sadness, Tường!

Pham Phu Phong

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