HỒ XUÂN HƯƠNG TRADITION
“A Hermaphrodite”

____________________

Which squabble among twelve midwives
Caused them to throw your love-thing away?
To hell with that squeaking mouse.
To hell with that droning wasp.
Who knows if it’s smooth or bumpy?
Who can tell if it’s stem or bud?
Whatever it is, it must do.
You’ll never be called a slut.

HỒ XUÂN HƯƠNG TRADITION
“Ba Doi Gorge”
____________________

A gorge, a gorge, and yet, the same old gorge.
Praise to whoever has gouged out this scene:
A lurid cave with a stubby arch,
And rich green boulders covered with algae.
Now the stiff wind blows, shaking pine branches.
Dew-drops dripping from willow leaves.
You who are virtuous, or saintly, who hasn’t tried,
Even with weak knees, exhausted feet, to mount it?

HỒ XUÂN HƯƠNG TRADITION
[”My husband is useless”]

____________________

My husband is useless, Sisters. He gambles
All day long, goes berserk
When I complain. It is embarrassing
Even to talk about it. To settle his debts,
I’ll have to sell four or five baskets
Of threshed rice, kilos of cotton.
We’ll eat less. This bitter berry
I’ll suck without complaints, lest everyone laughs.
Confucian-trained, yet I live with a fool.
A dragon in a pool of mud.
A smart wife with a stupid husband.

HỒ XUÂN HƯƠNG TRADITION
[Untitled]

____________________

I married at fifteen. My husband complained
That I was too small, and wouldn’t lie with me.
Then I was eighteen, then I was twenty.
I was lying on the floor, he yanked me onto bed.
Love me once, then love me twice,
There’s only three legs left to the bed.
Whoever is going to my parents’ village,
Let them know that he and I are reconciled.

HỒ XUÂN HƯƠNG TRADITION - [“As a concubine, I get nothing”]

As a concubine, I get nothing. Although
As endowed as the mistress, I’m laid aside.
Each night she claims the bedroom, giving me
A straw mat, to lie alone in the outer room.
At dawn she yells, "Hey, servant, get up!”
I wake to slice sweet potatoes, chop water fern.
It’s all because my parents are poor.

That’s why I must slice potatoes, chop water fern.

HỒ XUÂN HƯƠNG TRADITION - “An Unplanned Pregnancy”

My giving in yielded this mess.
Don’t you realize my anguish?
Although destiny never raised its head,
There’s a stroke across the willow tree.*
It’s a century-long bond, remember?
This loveload I’ll be lugging.
Whatever the world’s opinions,
To have child, without husband,
Is a very nice feat.