The summer of 1965 came early. Our Literature class of class 6 graduated amid the sound of sirens and the rumble of anti-aircraft artillery. Just four years ago, on a bright sunny autumn day, we first met in the large lecture hall on Le Thanh Tong Street in a festive atmosphere with many dreams of peaceful days. Now, all of us are far away. Last year, two-thirds of the class graduated early to go to the front to do wartime work. There were 12 people left in our class, including Diep Minh Tuyen, Lu Huy Nguyen, Huu Nhuan, Hoang Lai Giang, Ma Giang Lan, Nguyen Trong Dinh... and me.
One rainy afternoon in June, we finished defending our graduation thesis. Me Tri dormitory was deserted. Principal Nguyen Nhu Kon Tum drove a Jeep down to the place to encourage us. After the defense, Dinh and I sat on the steps quietly sharing with each other our feelings about our first day in life. Two months earlier, Dinh had been informed that he would be taking a special job, we guessed that he would be working as a front-line reporter in the South. Dinh and I returned to his hometown on the other side of Hong River, a village with bright red cotton flowers and lush green corn fields. Dinh returned to his hometown to say goodbye to his grandmother who was over 80 years old, but then everything was temporarily suspended and we waited again. In early July of that year, the graduating students of the Faculty of Literature and their teachers went on a field trip to the front line of Zone IV. We set off on a hot summer afternoon. Our group included Nguyen Trong Dinh, Lu Huy Nguyen, Ma Giang Lan and me. We didn’t have bicycles so we formed a group to walk. The group that went ahead by bicycle included Huu Nhuan, Hoang Lai Giang... We arrived in Ninh Binh at night during a bombing raid by American planes. Cluster bombs exploded continuously, artillery fire turned the sky red, the bridge collapsed, we crossed the river by bamboo boat and then walked 60 kilometers, sleeping in a coffee forest for a while, Nguyen Trong Dinh walked very well, Ma Giang Lan and I sometimes fell behind. Crossing Ham Rong bridge, there was another bombing raid. We entered Ma Giang Lan's house in Nam Ngan at dawn. On the first day in Thanh Hoa town, we met the teachers and were assigned to the team of Nguyen Kim Dinh and Do Hong Chung. The group also included Nguyen Van Khoa, Chu Xuan Dien, Hong Sam and Le Huy Anh from class 7. That very morning, American planes bombed Thanh Hoa town very fiercely. We were only a few hundred meters from where the bombs fell. Nguyen Trong Dinh calmly smoked a cigarette and told me: "It's not certain that the bombs will hit." We were ordered to return to Do Len bridge, which was the main target of American aircraft attacks. After midnight the next day, we arrived at Do Len. The broken bridge had been repaired, so the American aircraft attacked fiercely. On a rainy night, we slept under the truck, while Mr. Dinh, Mr. Khoa and Dinh went to contact the local people. In a dead zone full of bomb craters, there was still stir-fried pho and guava juice. Perhaps later on, the poem "Guava juice of the homeland" by Nguyen Trong Dinh also originated from the emotions of that rainy night. We stayed in Ha Ngoc commune for ten days. All night long, American aircraft roared. Understanding the personality of each person, Mr. Nguyen Kim Dinh assigned me the responsibility of collecting documents and writing a draft of the history of this resistance village. But to make it easier for people to understand and remember, Mr. Dinh and Mr. Chung decided to simultaneously interpret the history of this countryside in poetry. He chose Dinh to do this interesting and also difficult job. Thus, a "technology" with two "stages" was formed. I wrote prose and then immediately sent it to Dinh to write into poetry. Being a very intelligent and emotional person, Dinh immediately understood the spirit of the lines I wrote. I will always remember the part about the shape and geography of Ha Ngoc commune. In ten minutes, Dinh wrote a very charming opening verse on a whole page of mine:
Ha Ngoc, my heroic homeland, Mountains on both sides stand tall and high, Rivers are green and murmuring, Where is a more beautiful place to go by boat?Just like that, the draft history of the commune was transformed by Dinh into 400 poetic verses rich in imagery and profound in art. The men in the group who were all knowledgeable about poetry praised Dinh highly. I remember one night when a large number of people gathered, under the dim light of an oil lamp, Nguyen Kim Dinh, on behalf of the group, read the history of this countryside in both prose and poetry until past midnight, making everyone so moved that no one wanted to go home. That autumn, we felt like it was endless. Returning from the front line, on peaceful afternoons without any progress, we often gathered at Xuan Dieu's house. Nguyen Trong Dinh, Huu Nhuan and his friends discussed poetry, newspapers, and war topics. Nguyen Trong Dinh began to collect his compositions at the age of 17. At that time, the draft of the song
Hometown wateralso formed but different from the original version later. I remember the opening sentence:
One night in the old forest, walking in the falling rain. A piece of raincoat could not cover the body. Water flowed through the lips, sipping each small drop.Later, I was very upset because, in one of the times Nguyen Trong Dinh's poems was printed, an editor omitted the middle sentence, ruining the spirit of a good poem. Then we entered the real world! Dinh became a war correspondent for Nhan Dan newspaper, Huu Nhuan went to Van Nghe weekly, Lu Huy Nguyen and Hoang Lai Giang went to Van Hoa publishing house... Ma Giang Lan and I stayed at school to become university teachers. October 10, 1965, the anniversary of the liberation of the capital, Dinh quietly sent me back to the Faculty of Literature to evacuate to the mountains and forests. During the years I was away from home, Dinh stayed in my small room in a deserted alley. Dinh wrote poetry continuously during his days as a resident reporter in Ha Bac. Every time we met, we were in a hurry, but instead of "tea and wine", Dinh often read me new poems. Dinh showed me the final draft of the poem "Nuoc vối que huong" in 1967. In the spring of the year of Mau Thin, Dinh asked me to come back to Hanoi to say goodbye before leaving. I did not return in time. The farewell in my small room was recorded by Huu Nhuan on a reel tape on Xuan Dieu's old tape recorder. The smile was still innocent, the words of farewell and messages to friends were still the same as in previous years, but no one thought that this was the time Dinh would leave forever. In late autumn of 1968, Dinh lay down on the banks of the Thu Bon River as a war correspondent at the Da Nang front. The person who represented us to see Dinh off after returning from the battlefield and told us the story was a student of the Faculty of Literature - Mr. Tran Mai Hanh, now in charge of the Weekly News newspaper. Every time I remember Nguyen Trong Dinh, I still imagine him through the poem "Nuoc vối que huong". On my desk for many years there was a wooden paperweight with a picture of Pushkin and the poem: “And people will always remember my name”. It was a souvenir of Dinh’s last year of school. Later, everywhere, even on long trips, remembering friends, the homeland’s water was always a drop of water that forever permeated my heart, the memory of a journalist – a soldier – a poet – an honest and sincere friend.
