Pham Tien Duat -- Translated by Nguyen Quang Thieu and Kevin Bowen

The Moon in Circles of Flame

Delayed-action bombs rip up the hilltop.
The sky is mottled in red circles of flame.
Through the explosions, I watch
the moon rise straight up from the crest of the hill.

Trees sway under the lightning’s flash.
By the guard station engineers
sit and rest. A young soldier sings.
He knows a young woman is listening in a nearby trench.

Shadowed in canvas, trucks tumble
down through the lightning. Over the hill
a moon burns red
in circling fires.

Friends, the engineers are deep and quiet men.
The smell of cordite hangs in the chords of their song.
The hail of the marble bombs will taper, the rain
of shrapnel on our helmets will grow weak.

Along the road all night I hear the whisper, whisper,
the soil’s veins merging, my country’s two halves joining.
I see the halo of the moon, my country
rising higher and higher through the circling fire.