Tribute to Phạm Chi Lan VHNT trên net
Tin Buồn Theo tin của Da Màu, nhà văn Phạm Chi Lan, Trang VHNT là tiền thân của trang Tin Văn này. Lúc đầu, Gấu đóng góp bài vở, sau được PCL dành riêng một mảnh đất, mỗi tuần PCL upload bài vở một lần, sau chị cho hẳn Gấu một account, tự biên tự diễn. Nhà văn Phạm Chi Lan qua đời 22.09.2009
Nhà văn Phạm Chi Lan, thành viên sáng lập và chủ biên của Văn Học Nghệ Thuật Liên Mạng, tạp chí văn học điện tử đầu tiên của Việt Nam, vừa qua đời 5 giờ sáng nay 21 tháng 9 2009 tại Dallas Texas, hưởng dương 47 tuổi. Bạn hữu thuộc nhóm Ô Thước,Cầu Khỉ, Da Màu, và các tác giả thân hữu xin chia buồn cùng nhà văn Nguyên Nhi và gia đình. Mong linh hồn Phạm Chi Lan an nghỉ đời đời. Lưu Ý: Thành viên nhóm Ô Thước kính mời quý bạn ghé thăm trang Văn Học Nghệ Thuật và để lại đôi dòng tưởng niệm Phạm Chi Lan: http://vanhocnghethuat.org Danh sách thành viên nhóm Ô Thước & Cầu Khỉ Phạm Chi Lan* ♦ Trương Nguyễn Thi Thanh* ♦ Lư Ngọc Dung* ♦ Đỗ Danh Đôn ♦ Nguyễn Tiến Dũng ♦ Phùng Nguyễn ♦ Nguyễn Phước Nguyên ♦ Đinh Trường Chinh ♦ Nguyễn Sung ♦ Hoàng Hải Việt ♦ Trần Thái Vân ♦ Hồ Như (Tuyết Phương) ♦ Nguyễn Phúc Đan Thanh ♦ Ngô Thanh Vân ♦ Vân Hà ♦ Tôn Nữ Diệu Thanh ♦ Thu Hồng ♦ Dũng Vũ ♦ Phạm Thiện Mạc ♦ Phạm Thế Định ♦ Phan Lê Vũ ♦ Phan Lê Dũng ♦ Stephen Jones ♦ Tố Vinh ♦ Trịnh Thanh Thủy ♦ Thúy Oanh ♦ Lê Tạo (Đoàn Nhã Văn) ♦ Nguyễn Tư Phương ♦ Nguyễn Vy Khanh ♦ Trần Hoài Thư ♦ Lương Thư Trung ♦ Nguyễn Tấn Hưng ♦ Bùi Thanh Liêm ♦ Trần Minh Tiến (Đông A) ♦ Nguyễn Kỳ Phong ♦ Nguyễn Đăng Tuấn ♦ Đức Thuần ♦ Thảo Hương ♦ Ian Bùi (Bùi Trọng Nghĩa) ♦ Đinh Yên Thảo ♦ Thận Nhiên ♦ Hoài Ngọc ♦ Nguyên Nhi ♦ Hoàng Thu Thuyền ♦ Khải Minh ♦ Lilian Nguyễn ♦ Diễm Tú ♦ Trần Hữu Hoàng ♦ Trần Hải San ♦ Nguyễn Gia Tú ♦ Huỳnh Ngọc Phước ♦ Y Khanh ♦ Đan Thanh ♦ Phạm Hoàng Đan ♦ Ngọc Quỳnh ♦ Hoàng Tường Anh ♦ Khải Minh ♦ Hoàng Ngọc Tuấn ♦ Hòang Đình Bình ♦ Trầm ♦ Phương Ái Đoàn ♦ Nguyễn Đức Tùng ♦ Vũ Thái Hòa ♦ Vũ Tiến Dũng ♦ Nguyễn Bình Thường ♦ Lê Chung ♦ Đồng Vọng (Ly Lan) ♦ Hoàng Thị Bích Ngọc ♦ Nguyễn Đăng Nghiệp ♦ Nguyễn Xuân Thiệp ♦ Bạch Cúc & Phạm Tiến ♦ Trần Duy Trác ♦ Lộc Quy (Cỏ Nhớ) ♦ Tiên Anh ♦ Trương Quỳnh Hoa ♦ Nguyệt Trinh ♦ Dạ Thảo ♦ Tôn Thất Phương ♦ Trần Lộc ♦ Quỳnh Như ♦ Châu Nguyễn ♦ Dương Hùng * Đã qua đời Danh Sách Thi Văn Hữu góp lời phân ưu (chưa đầy đủ) Nguyễn Mộng Giác ♦ Nguyễn Xuân Hoàng ♦ Khánh Trường ♦ Cao Xuân Huy ♦ Trần Vũ ♦ Phạm Thị Ngọc ♦ Nguyễn Quí Đức ♦ Đỗ Kh. ♦ Nguyễn Thị Ngọc Nhung ♦ Phan Xuân Sinh ♦ Rừng ♦ Bùi Vĩnh Phúc ♦ Trịnh Y Thư ♦ Trần Doãn Nho ♦ Trần Trung Đạo ♦ Nguyễn Xuân Thiệp ♦ Song Vinh ♦ Nguyễn Thị Thảo An ♦ Lâm Chương ♦ Đức Phổ ♦ Vũ Đình Trường ♦ Tô Thùy Yên ♦ Phạm Ngọc ♦ Phan Ni Tấn ♦ Nhật Nguyễn ♦ Nguyễn Trung Hối ♦ Nguyễn Trung Dũng ♦ Mạch Nha ♦ Cổ Ngư ♦ Hải Phương ♦ Hà Nguyên Du ♦ Hoàng Xuân Sơn ♦ Hoài Dzang Duy ♦ Dung Krall ♦ Du Tử Lê ♦ Ngự Thuyết ♦ Trúc Chi ♦ Mai Kim Ngọc ♦ Hoàng Thị Bích Ti ♦ Trần Nghi Hoàng ♦ Sương Mai ♦ Lê An Thế ♦ Nguyễn Lương Vỵ ♦ Cung Tích Biền ♦ Âu thị Phục An ♦ Thường Quán ♦ Đặng Thơ Thơ ♦ Đỗ Lê Anhdao ♦ Lưu Diệu Vân ♦ Lê Đình Nhất Lang ♦ Đinh Từ Bích Thúy ♦ Trần Thiện Huy ♦ vi lãng ♦ Nguyễn Việt Hùng (còn tiếp) Dưới đây là toàn văn bản tin của báo Người Việt Boston: Và cũng tinh thần mở rộng và khai phóng đó, Văn Học Nghệ Thuật với nòng cốt là nhóm Ô Thước đã thu hút một số lượng thành viên đông đảo và một số người đọc rất cao trong giai đoạn internet đang bắt đầu đặt bước chân vững chắc trong sinh hoạt người Việt. Nhà văn Phạm Chi Lan ra đi khi tuổi còn trẻ và để lại nhiều tiếc thương trong lòng độc giả và bạn bè. *  Trang VHNT là tiền thân của trang Tin Văn này. Lúc đầu, Gấu đóng góp bài vở, sau được PCL dành riêng một mảnh đất, mỗi tuần PCL upload bài vở một lần, sau chị cho hẳn Gấu một account, tự biên tự diễn. Theo như Gấu được biết, trang VHNT sống nhờ lòng hảo tâm của một cơ quan, nơi PCL là nhân viên của họ. Sau, đổi chủ, chủ mới đòi cái tên Sao Mai, do đó, lại phải trở về với cái tên đầu tiên, là Lone Star. Thấy phiền chị Lan quá, thế là Gấu ra ở riêng, cho tới bây giờ. NQT Tribute to PCL & VHNT  Văn Cao & TCS 1987
PHỤ TRƯƠNG VHNT ÐẶC BIỆT - April 7, 2001
VHNT, số đặc biệt tưởng niệm TCS, khi ông vừa mất, 7 April, 2001 In Memory of a Troubadour "Living this life Requires but the heart. You know for what, my love? For the wind -- to sweep it away..." - Trinh Cong Son (1939-2001) The year was 1974. The war was intensifying even though, or perhaps because, US troops had all but withdrawn completely from Vietnam. It was a turbulent time, a crazy time. An increasing number of refugees had steadily been streaming South from Central Vietnam where the fighting had escalated in preparation for the final Big Push. Conflicting news, depressing news was everywhere. Everyone was tense. I was a student at the Hong-Bang Academy in Saigon. Prepubescent, pre-occupied with more than just schoolwork and friends, and not so naive anymore after the deaths of my uncle and a cousin (who was barely seventeen when he marched off to die.) Nevertheless, I was a normal kid -- a happy kid, all things considered. One day our school organized a field trip to one of the refugee camps that had been hastily set up outside Saigon. The weeks prior we had collected several truckloads of food and supply for the refugees -- everything from rice and instant noodle to sleeping mats and mosquito nets. For a young boy who rarely got a chance to get away from the safety of the capitol, it was an exciting event. We'd made hospital trips to visit wounded soldiers before, but seeing civilian sufferings face-to-face made the war seem even closer and ever more real. For the first time in my life I saw a tent city, with thousands of people crammed into it. (Little did I know then that only a few months later I would be living in one myself!) I remember the haggard look on the faces of the women, the wild staring eyes of the children, the skinny old men, the bare feet, the mud, the smell, the dust, the flies... My classmates and I were considered "kids" and thus were not given a lot of responsibilities. My job was to pass out drinks to the 11th and 12th graders who ran the operation, and to keep the water coolers always filled. But I watched the elder students go about their work -- organizing, worrying, laughing, sweating... -- with total awe and respect. But the most poignant and memorable moment came during lunch break, and it came quite unexpectedly. Sitting atop one of the camions, our student council president, a senior, took out a guitar and began to sing. We all stopped what we were doing and started to gather around his truck to listen. His voice was sweet but full of pain, his playing clear and warm. Soon the music began to drift above the tent tops like a floating lullaby. "A tear for a child aslumber in peace A tear for a stream that nurtures her weeds A tear for an earth so barren and scarred A tear for a race so displaced and scared..." It was a song by Trinh Cong Son, one that I had heard on the radio before but didn't pay much attention to. "A Tear For My Homeland" [*] was its name. And for a small while everything seemed to come to a standstill; even the dust settled and the flies stopped buzzing. I still can see the image in my mind as though it was only yesterday: An eighteen-year old, in his white-and-blue school uniform, strumming and singing what was at the time considered "anti-war" music. But no one protested. No one moved. "A tear for a cloud asleep on the hill A tear for a tree that silently fell A tear for a man whose coarse blood's run dry The tears of our land are coursing inside..." "Oh, the tears of my heart They're tearing apart the time of our lives Oh, the tears in my soul They beckon me on and on through the night..." The sun beat down on our humble convoy. The heat rose up to meet the still, blue sky. The song, cool as a blade, slowly knifed its way into one's subconscious and then left it quietly bleeding at the end. "A tear for the birds who forests have fled A tear for the night all covered with death A tear for you, love, your pain to relieve A tear without name -- this homeland I give." It was one of Son's many war-time ballads that had made him both a well-loved public icon and a loathed enemy of the Saigon regime during those dark and fateful years. No matter. His songs always spoke directly to the commoners -- and never with even a trace of pretension. They sometimes were bitter, yes, but always filled with human compassion, even in the face of utter hopelessness and despair. Those qualities have, perhaps more subliminally than real, had some influence on my own artistic and musical style years later -- one never knows for sure. But probably the greatest debt I owe to this lonely poet/songwriter is not something of the aesthetic realm, but rather an unconditional love for humanity and a sense of humility and grace. And for that I feel thankful. Farewell then, my friend, though we never have met; I hope there is peace wherever you are. And to him that day on top of the camion with a guitar (and whose name I didn't even know to forget) I dedicate this requiem for the finest troubadour Vietnam has ever had. April 09, 2001 - Phôi Pha, tưởng niệm TCS Run away, away to the past -- and from your fears. In a way, the love that you cast away was The last defense for your tears You're away, a song for a while -- farewell, sing I. In a way, the love that you hide away deep inside Will conquer the years. The curse that you wear, The curtain you tear, The cross that you bear! No one dares to answer your prayers (When no one believes, no one cares) Come away, my love, come away and face your fears. In a way, your battle is past -- I'll comfort and cast away all your tears. 4'2001 ianbui | |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
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