| POETRY CURRENTS | |
WE SHOULD REMEMBER OUR BOMBS
The headline reads, “Pentagon Rethinks Use of Cluster Bombs: Thousands of Unexploded Bomblets Impede Military Movement, Kill Civilians.” The Wall Street Journal article goes on to explain how the U.S. military has come to believe that using cluster bombs, which release as many as 900 small bomblets that may not explode on impact, is detrimental to troops going into an area. How this makes parts of the battlefield too dangerous for our troops. Finally, how they may alter the way the bombs are constructed to blow up more efficiently (other countries already do this), or perhaps use them more judiciously. The article refers to the cluster bombs dropped recently in Iraq and Afghanistan but does not mention Laos.
If it is true that Americans don’t know history and are short on geography then it won’t hurt to remind you that Laos still holds the record for the most bombed place on earth. Being Vietnam’s neighbor meant that all during the years of the “American War,” our pilots had standing orders to drop any bombs left after their sorties into Vietnam on Laos, while returning to their bases. This was done because of Vietnam’s use of Laos in moving provisions and troops along the Ho Chi Minh Trail. Forty years later children and farmers are still regularly blown up when discovering unexploded ordnance. This is the reason we should stop using them -- far beyond the Pentagon’s arrogant revelation. As citizens we should remember our bombs.
MY SPRING VACATION IN LAOS
This brings us to my visit to Laos in March of this year. From the airplane descending into Laos you see a paradise, a landscape of steep green jungle threaded by the Mekong River catching the sun. As an American traveling to Laos on the verge of yet another war, I wondered how I would be received. As a poet, is it enough for me to show that not all Americans are warmongers?
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“The shoes I dropped off four or five months ago must have been fixed by now, no?”
“Are these the shoes?” The shoe-mender pulled a pair out of one of the wooden boxes.
“Oh, yes. What was the price we agreed upon?”
The shoe-mender had a hard time repeating the amount. Something seemed to be blocking his vocal cords, seeing the young man with only one leg. He could no longer restrain his curiosity and blurted out, “Excuse me for asking, but what happened to your leg?”
“Oh, I volunteered for the front in Boh Taen, I got hit by enemy shrapnel and lost a leg...”
The shoe-mender’s jaw dropped. It was an honor to meet a real ex-combatant, for until then he had only heard about the fighters on the radio. He was moved by this man’s bravery and dedication to the country, and did not know what to say. Meanwhile, the car that had brought the man was waiting with the engine running, so the shoe-mender simply concluded, “Oh, really? Then I won’t charge you. It’s free.”
The owner thanked him and returned to the car. The shoe-mender followed him with his eyes until the car disappeared. He felt greatly relieved because he had finally made his contribution.This passage, the end of “Contribution” from Mother’s Beloved, is representative of the collection’s simple stories with a message. Besides its story of how even the lowest members of society can show their patriotism, this story conveys people’s humanity to me as reader, in spite of the fact that like most Americans I’ve had the idea of “Bad Communists” drummed into my head. I suppose my take on the story is also simple, and the idea that our leaders are corrupted by their power is no great leap forward in philosophy. Still in meeting poet to poet one can’t help but be reminded, we are all similar, we are all people.
THE LAO EPIC
It was during this meeting that I learned of the work of Douangdeuane’s father, Maha Sila Viravong and his translation of the epic Lao poem the Thao Cheuang. In 1942, while exiled in Bangkok for his part in the resistance to French occupation of Laos, Viravong came upon the original palm leaf manuscript, a 300-leaf set inscribed in ancient Lao script. The manuscript had been captured and taken to Bangkok in a war that took place in the 1700’s.
It was long thought that the Thao Cheuang was lost to history. It contains much of the early history of Laos. Finding it would be the equivalent of stumbling on to Beowulf. Imagine finding Beowulf: how it would instantly change our knowledge of old English history. Although Viravong translated the work into modern Thai, it would be another 40-plus years before it would see publication in modern Lao script. It was only through the extraordinary efforts of his daughter that the book was finally published.
The work awaits translation into English -- any takers? You can reach the Dokked Publishing Company at dokked@veetoo.net.
MY READING IN LAOS
Douangdeuane set up a reading for me with the students of Bounthanh Phonyphichit’s creative writing class. She invited local poets, and Sengphouxray Inthavikham of the Ministry of Culture did amazing on-the-spot translations of my poems into Lao and of the Lao poems into English. We ate sticky rice and had coffee. Douangdeuane’s sister Dara Kanlaya performed a call-and-response poem that is recited at temple festivals -- it had the feel of a rap. Dao Vieng ButNakho sang his hilarious poems and had us all laughing.
To share the experience with you, let me close with Sengphouxray Inthavikham’s poem, “Not to be Rainfall all the Town.”
The rain is moving the season.For more information on the literature of Laos you can write to Sengphouxray Inthavikham at the Ministry of Information and Culture, Sengphouxray@yahoo.com. Here are a few Web links on Lao literature:
No rainfall on the earth of reason.
Rain flying away as a bird.
Strange dry places in the rain.
Rivers all Tom happy.
Here is blocked from Heaven.
Rain’s moving not to come.
A person’s crying RAIN!
No rainfall makes me pain!
Waiting rain coming down!
If rainfall would be found!
- “Prose, poetry & performance” by Peter Koret at Lan-xang.com
- Laos arts & literature at Canada’s Cultural Profiles Project
- Lao literature at SEAsite Laos (Northern Illinois University)
