Poem by Tu Mo (Vietnam, 1900-1976)
THE MANDARINS GOT THEIR RAISE
You'd think all these mandarins, big shots,
small shots, with their fat checks, would be rolling
in gravy, but no! They're hard up, too, it seems,
like any petty official.
Grimacing, grumbling, they draft a petition
to claim that they're hungry and hurting
for cash. They tighten their belts, but still
can barely afford to feed wife and kids.
Then where will they get the money
for car repairs, for champagnes and wines
to feast the grandees who happen
to visit their homes?
And where will their wives get money
for rubies, diamonds, trinkets of gold,
damasks, silks, and costly gowns
to grace their charming bodies?
And money for buying houses and land?
And security for old age?
And legacies for their children
to guard against future want?
Such a pity the mandarins suffer so!
The State, of course, must raise their pay.
Poor mandarins, they just want to be happy,
they want to live like kings.
The mandarins got their raise, so did the people:
raised taxes, levies, tolls.
Who cares if the loincloth is more shredded?
Who measures the common misery?
Magnificent salaries, lavish raises,
but no sympathy for the masses. All right:
You've got your raise. Now just stop squeezing
the vise around us. That's all we beg.
(Translated by Nguyen Ngoc Bich)
source: K. Washburn and J.S. Major, eds., World Poetry. New York, USA: Norton,
1998. pp. 1133-4.
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