Ho Xuan Huong

(1772 - 1822 / Nghệ An Province)

Ho Xuan Huong Poems

1. Autumn Landscape 4/16/2010
2. Confession Iii 4/16/2010
3. Day And Night 4/16/2010
4. Day Sleeping Girl 4/16/2010
5. Floating Sweet Dumpling 5/2/2012
6. Lamenting Widow 5/2/2012
7. On Sharing A Husband 4/16/2010
8. Picking Flowers 4/16/2010
9. Snail 5/2/2012
10. Spring-Watching Pavilion 4/16/2010
11. Swinging 4/16/2010
12. The Cake That Drifts In Water 4/16/2010
13. The Fan 4/16/2010
14. The Jackfruit 1/13/2003
15. The Temple Of Fragrance 5/2/2012
16. Three-Mountain Pass 4/16/2010
17. To A Couple Of Students Who Were Teasing Her 4/16/2010
18. Viewing Cac-Co Cavern 4/16/2010
19. Wasps 5/2/2012
20. Water-Bailing 4/16/2010
21. Weaving At Night 4/16/2010

Comments about Ho Xuan Huong

  • Tony Nyen (11/25/2009 5:05:00 PM)

    On Sharing a Husband

    Screw the fate that makes you share a man.
    One cuddles under cotton blankets; the other's cold.
    Every now and then, well, maybe or maybe not,
    once or twice a month, oh, it's like nothing.
    You try to stick to it like a fly on rice
    but the rice is rotten. You slave like the maid,
    but without pay. If I had known how it would go
    I think I would have lived alone

    17 person liked.
    9 person did not like.
  • Tony Nyen (11/25/2009 5:05:00 PM)

    On Sharing a Husband

    Screw the fate that makes you share a man.
    One cuddles under cotton blankets; the other's cold.
    Every now and then, well, maybe or maybe not,
    once or twice a month, oh, it's like nothing.
    You try to stick to it like a fly on rice
    but the rice is rotten. You slave like the maid,
    but without pay. If I had known how it would go
    I think I would have lived alone

Best Poem of Ho Xuan Huong

The Jackfruit

I am like a jackfruit on the tree.
To taste you must plug me quick, while fresh:
the skin rough, the pulp thick, yes,
but oh, I warn you against touching --
the rich juice will gush and stain your hands


Translated by Nguyen Ngoc Bich


Anonymous submission.

Read the full of The Jackfruit

Autumn Landscape

Drop by drop rain slaps the banana leaves.
Praise whoever sketched this desolate scene:

the lush, dark canopies of the gnarled trees,
the long river, sliding smooth and white.

I lift my wine flask, drunk with rivers and hills.
My backpack, breathing moonlight, sags with poems.

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