Happy New Year! Chúc mừng năm mới!
One of the holiday songs I remember my family listening to at Tết when I was a teenager was Phạm Đình Chương’s “Springtime in Exile” (“Xuân tha hương,” 1956). Tết, or the lunar new year, is the most important holiday of the year for most ethnic Vietnamese, regardless of religion or regional origin. The holiday traditionally marks the start of spring, but I grew up in the US, so it usually came in the dead of winter. Nevertheless, I think “Springtime in Exile” resonated with my family because it expresses a migrant’s homesickness during Tết, something that refugees like us knew all too well. For my holiday post, I wanted to share my translation of the song.
Phạm Đình Chương was a songwriter from northern Vietnam who migrated south in 1954 when the country was partitioned by the Geneva Accords. The accords ended the First Indochina War/Resistance War, Vietnam’s war of independence against France, by dividing Vietnam temporarily into two zones. The communist Democratic Republic of Vietnam (DRV) regrouped its forces to the northern zone, and the French and the anticommunist State of Vietnam (soon to be renamed the Republic of Vietnam) withdrew its forces to the southern zone. The accords allowed civilians to migrate to the zone of their choice, and more than eight hundred thousand Vietnamese fled south as refugees, among them Phạm Đình Chương.
The great migration of 1954 is known primarily for its heavily Catholic character, as many Catholic villages and hamlets in the lower Red River delta moved south as intact communities. But another defining characteristic of the migration was the movement of musicians, artists, writers, and intellectuals who chafed under the cultural restrictions imposed by the DRV. They hoped to enjoy greater creative freedom in the southern zone. Yet escape from the DRV also meant leaving home, and émigré intellectuals composed beautiful songs, poems, novels, and memoirs that expressed their love for northern Vietnam. The holiday of Tết must have been especially poignant because Vietnamese people traditionally return to their natal village or hometown at Tết to celebrate the new year with their family. There is even a specific expression in Vietnamese to describe this custom: về quê ăn Tết, meaning “to return home to celebrate Tết.” The phrase evokes similar sentiments as the expression home for the holidays in English. Phạm Đình Chương’s “Springtime in Exile,” composed soon after the migration of 1954, captures the bittersweetness that northern émigrés felt when they celebrated what should have been the happiest day of the year far away from their home and loved ones and not knowing if they would ever be able to return.
The song’s narrator remembers the joy of celebrating Tết in his/her village in the north and the beautiful springtime blooms that brightened the landscape. It is customary to display seasonal flowers to celebrate the holiday, and the narrator recounts that his/her mother instructed him/her to care for the flowers. Those beautiful memories seem impossibly far away now that the narrator has migrated south as a refugee, and s/he aches with homesickness and longs to see his/her aging mother once again. In the chorus, the narrator fantasizes about a holiday homecoming. S/he follows a dark road towards the village and can see flower petals in the air and smell the incense that evokes Tết. But the narrator can’t quite make out his/her home in the darkness, and the quaint little village remains out of reach even in imagination.
I always found the gentle wistfulness of this song very touching. For my family, celebrating Tết away from our native land was part of the refugee condition just as it was for Phạm Đình Chương and other northern émigrés. Until the normalization of relations between the US and Vietnam in the 1990s, my parents didn’t know if they would ever see their cousins, aunts, and uncles again, and I never knew if I would ever meet those branches of the family at all. But unlike the narrator in “Springtime in Exile,” we didn’t merely miss our home and extended family. We also missed being in a place where Tết was a community holiday rather than a private one for just our family. Unlike our neighbors who got days off from work and school to celebrate Thanksgiving and Christmas, our holiday went unrecognized. In that sense, our nostalgia during Tết was about the refugee condition as well as being a cultural and ethnic minority in the US.
I have placed my translation of “Springtime in Exile” below the original song lyrics. I have also chosen my favorite period recording of “Springtime in Exile” from the Republic of Vietnam, performed by the singer Duy Trác. The software I am using does not allow for footnotes on some posts, so they appear below my translation but are not linked.
XUÂN THA HƯƠNG (1956)
Nhạc và lời của Phạm Đình Chương
Ngày xưa xuân thắm quê tôi
Bao nhánh hoa đời đẹp tươi
Mẹ tôi sai uốn cây cành
Vun tưới hoa mùa xinh xinh
Thời gian nay quá xa xăm
Tôi đã xa nhà đầm ấm
Sống bao xuân lạnh lẽo âm thầm
Hoa xưa dần qua biết bao kỳ đâm bông
Riêng ai buồn thương hắt hiu còn trông mong
Và xuân thay áo mấy mùa đợi chờ
Mắt huyên lệ rưng rưng, sầu héo đến bao giờ
Chiều nay lê bước phiêu du
Thầm nhớ xuân về làng cũ
Tình quê chan chứa trong lòng
Chua xót thay sầu tư hương
Đường đi xa lắc lê thê
Thèm khát khao ngày về quê
Để sống vui quê mẹ lúc xuân về
Điệp khúc:
Xuân tới muôn cánh hoa nở bay khắp nơi
Hương khói lan dưới mưa nhẹ rơi phơi phới
Chiều dâng sầu lâng trông đường về mịt mùng
Mây Tần ơi cho nhắn bao niềm thương
SPRINGTIME IN EXILE (1956)
Music and lyrics by Phạm Đình Chương
Original translation by Nu-Anh Tran
In bygone days, springtime beautified my native region,
Little branchlets bloomed with the lovely, fresh flowers of life.
My mother instructed me to arch the branches,
Mound the dirt,1 and water the lovely flowers of the season.
That time is now so far away,
I have left my sweet home
To endure many cold and silent springs.
The flowers of yesteryear have bloomed countless times since,
Yet there’s someone who still yearns wistfully and lovingly…
Spring has donned a new gown every season of waiting…
For how much longer will her maternal eyes brim with tears and [her heart] wither with sorrow?
This evening, as my wandering feet drag on the ground,
Silently remembering the return of spring to my old village,
My heart swells with the love of home.
How bitterly I ache with homesickness!
The road [I tread] is long, unending,
I long for the day when I can go back
And experience the joy of spring’s return to my natal region…
Chorus:
When spring arrives, numerous blossoming petals flutter everywhere,
The fragrance of incense spreads beneath the gently falling drizzle,
The darkness lifts and my sadness rises as I peer down the dim road towards my home.
Oh, clouds of Qin,2 let me send with you all my love.
1 vun (“mound the dirt”): Refers to the technique of hilling, in which dirt is piled up around the base of a plant to protect it from frost, loosen the soil, encourage growth, or promote the flow of water.
2 mây Tần (“clouds of Qin”): Reference to a poem from the famous writer and scholar-official Han Yu (Viet. Hàn Dũ) of the Tang dynasty in China. The emperor demoted Han Yu and sent him to a remote post. On his journey to his new assignment, Han Yu traveled through the Qinlin Mountains, and the clouds covering the peaks obscured his view of his home on the other side of the mountain range. In Vietnamese, “clouds of Qin” is a literary phrase referring to homesickness. For an analysis of Han Yu’s poem, see https://www.jstor.org/stable/26159339. For a translation of his poem that is not behind a paywall, see https://www.historymuseum.ca/cantoneseopera/opera66-e.shtml.
BEHIND THE TRANSLATION
The concept of quê is central to the song and incredibly difficult to render in English. Quê refers to the place where your family is from and has lived for many generations and usually where you were born. However, that place can be country, a region, or a specific locale. Quê is also emotionally evocative and more like the English word home than the more technical-sounding birthplace. But whereas home can refer to any place that you live, quê implies both origin and sentimental attachment. In the song, the narrator sings lovingly of his quê in northern Vietnam and laments the distance from his current residence in southern Vietnam, so I have chosen to translate the word as “native region.” But in a different song or poem, I might translate it as hometown, native village, motherland, homeland, or native land, depending on context.
I found the middle lines of the chorus difficult to translate. Hương khói refers to incense and incense smoke, but I was puzzled at the idea of incense smoke being present below with rain above it. Doesn’t smoke dissipate pretty quickly when it rains? I think the line refers to people burning incense and making offerings to their ancestors during Tết, and the smoke is spreading horizontally as an exceptionally light drizzle mists the area.
Chiều dâng, which literally means “the evening/afternoon rises,” refers to the lifting of darkness in the early morning hours. But I was uncertain about the meaning of sầu lâng as that phrase is rarely used. Sầu means sorrow or sadness, but lâng is found almost exclusive in the compound lâng lâng, meaning “buoyant,” “light,” or “cheerful.” I am not sure if the narrator’s sadness is diminishing or increasing as s/he tries to make out his/her home in the dark distance, so I have opted to stick close to the original and describe the sadness as rising up with the lifting of darkness.
THE TECHNICAL STUFF
My translation is based on the lyrics from period sheet music found here: https://hopamviet.vn/sheet/song/xuan-tha-huong/W8IUIOCD.html
The period recording by Duy Trác can be found here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1ypkhflfjt8
Image credit for cherry blossoms: https://www.nguonsinhthai.com/blogs/news/hoa-dao-y-nghia-cach-trong-cham-soc-dao-ra-hoa-dung-tet
Image credit for sheet music: https://vnguitar.net/threads/xuan-tha-huong-pham-dinh-chuong.3253/
Hương khói lan dưới mưa nhẹ – you’re right about this. The weather expresses nostalgia for the north – the time around Tết there would often be mưa phùn or a thick fog with light droplets. Thank you for the explanation of mây tần.