tháng riêng rét đài, tháng hai rét lộc
First-month cold for the calyx, second-month cold for the buds — the named colds of the northern spring.
All languages English Tiếng Việt
First-month cold for the calyx, second-month cold for the buds — the named colds of the northern spring.
The saint of bailing — agrees to every plan, attends none; "bùng kèo" (ditching the deal) elevated to sainthood.
The patron saint of tall tales — "chém gió" (slashing wind) is bragging into thin air, and this person holds the title belt.
The saint of sleep — capable of sleeping anywhere, anytime, through anything; the group's certified hibernation champion.
The saints provide for the simple — heaven's soft spot for the guileless.
The saint of bad luck — the friend misfortune follows personally: rain on their parade, out-of-stock on their order, red lights on their commute.
The saint of scrutiny — the commenter who finds the typo, the continuity error, the ex's like, the pixel out of place.
Breaking the cage and springing the coop — set free from confinement at last.
remote; off the beaten track; isolated
Deeply seconding those words — agreement at full weight.
Each body minds its own — every soul its own keeper.
A self not its own master — compelled along a road the heart never chose.
My body isn't worth much money — but for the weight of my love, thousands wouldn't buy it.
I am the porch broom — for you to wipe your feet on, dawn and dusk — servitude in a household image.
I am the crane atop the đình — longing to fly, and unable even to lift myself — grace pinned in place.
I am a fish inside the trap — no room left to thrash, and nowhere to turn — confinement complete.
I am a gilded couch and you a torn mat lost by the road — pray heaven send a great wind to spread the torn mat over the gold couch — mismatched love's impossible prayer.
I am the dragonfly's wing — perched when pleased, flown when sad — affection with no mooring.
I am a rose in bloom, married to a husband like a heap of dry straw — beauty bound to dullness.
I am a daisy on the hedgerow — passersby pinch the stamens, visitors snap the bloom — beauty exposed to every hand.
I am the đình's center post — dirty hands wipe on me, leprous hands wipe too — the used and unthanked.
I am the spiny water-caltrop — white within, black without; taste before you judge, and find me sweet — plainness pleading its hidden worth.
I am a well at the roadside — the refined wash their faces, the coarse wash their feet — one worth, two usages.
I am a burst of rain — one drop falls in the well, one in the flower garden; one lands in a mansion, one in the plowed field — a woman's fate scattered by chance.
I am a sliver of dried areca — the refined covet the thin, the coarse covet the thick — every taste claims its cut.
I am a duckweed leaf — upstream, downstream, wherever the current tips — a fate with no rudder of its own.
I am a bần fruit adrift — wind battering, waves tossing, with no shore to wash up on — the floating-fate lament.
I am the durian fruit — some call me foul, others call me delicious — no middle opinion exists.
I am a bolt of scarlet silk — prized in many quarters, loved in many more — the sought-after bride's verse.
I am a bolt of peach silk — fluttering in the open market, into whose hands I cannot say — beauty at the mercy of the buyer.
I am chili ripening on the plant — the brighter the skin, the hotter the heart within.
Married as the shared second wife — a shuttlecock everyone's head pushes through — polygamy from below.
A body through a hundred battles — veteran to the bone.
A body that makes its own life miserable — self-inflicted servitude to one's own habits.
The eel's lot doesn't mind a muddy eye — those born to the mud can't be precious about dirt.
A donkey's frame favors the load — the drudge who volunteers for heavier.
Collect much, remit little — the village-clerk's arithmetic, skimming between the taking and the passing on.
through day and night
Dangling like a squash blossom — tattered, drooping, coming apart.
A worthy wife spares her husband misfortunes; a devoted child eases the father's heart — the household's two great mercies.
"Extra ice" — café Vietnamese; its siblings "ít đá" (less ice) and "không đá" (no ice) complete the drink-tuning trio.
If you like it, scoot closer — fancy it? Then move; the modern shrug that desire owes action.
The ways of the state of Trịnh — wanton, licentious carryings-on, after the proverbially loose ancient kingdom.
"Ah, let it go" — the shrug that keeps Vietnam sane; not every battle deserves you.
The gentle "come on, don't be like that" — used to soothe someone sulking, soften an apology, or coax a yes out of a no.
Office resigned, return to the village — power set down where it was first picked up.
Better never to have known — for every measure of knowing, that measure of heartache.
"Welp, it's over" — the deadpan verdict when a small disaster completes itself before your eyes.
"Fine, okay then" — concession with a visible sigh; you've stopped arguing, not necessarily agreed.
Through the literature, broad in the histories — deeply and widely read.
empty vessels make the most sound
Each to their own delight — every pleasure legitimate to its own keeper.
Marry a wife for more than a face — the match is with character; complexion is weather.
Thăm ngàn — Vietnamized Thai 'tham-ngan' (ทำงาน): to work, to grind; popularized by Thai-drama fandom.
Rising in office and swelling in fortune — the double blessing of the ambitious.
Fragrant as a jackfruit segment — praise for skin sweet and golden.
love means whipping, hate means giving sweetness and gentleness
Loving a husband means bending with him — swallow the bitter, savor the salt-warm; a wife's shared weather.
Loving her child she scrimps dawn to dusk — rice bundled in a shirt-corner, porridge wrapped in taro leaf.
The bow-wounded bird flies high from any bent branch — once burned, forever wary.