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Ho Xuan Huong has three poems titled "Tự Tình". The "Tự Tình" poems by Ho Xuan Huong belong to the pure lyrical poetry genre, intense yet lacking mocking, sensual, and vulgar elements. After acts of jesting, sarcasm, and uproarious laughter, this passionate poetess returns to her own solitary realm. Even in these lines of sorrowful and resentful confessions, we recognize the talent and courage of an extraordinary woman. "Tự Tình 1" is one of her remarkable poems, part of the "Tự Tình" series representing the compassionate voice toward the fate of women.

The poem begins with a stirring sound:

“The rooster crows faintly at the bomb

Resentment gazes afar at all clusters”

The author’s choice of the sound “om” (rhyme) is truly unique. The “om” sound forms an echo in an arch-like space (even the sky under Xuan Huong’s eyes is just an arch) that stubbornly does not escape, perfectly matching the repressed and pent-up state of the lyrical character. The artistic space here is also quite special and conceals numerous mysteries. Where is the poetess that she hears "the rooster crow faintly at the bomb"? What or where is “at the bomb”? Many researchers find the term “bomb” unclear. “Literature 11” (Social Sciences Group) explains it as “at the stern of a boat where fishermen often raise chickens cooped in a pen.” Thus, there is a boat in the dark night, a plausible scenario as in many of Xuan Huong’s poems about her own fate often feature the image of a boat, even in "Tự Tình 3" there is a boat:

“A cake is sorrowful over a drifting fate

Amidst the river, discouraged by the drifting”

Xuan Huong’s fate is like a boat drifting in darkness. The “faint rooster crow” at the closing watch awakens a deep-seated agony that spreads torrentially wherever the sound reaches with “resentment” pouring out continuously. This is no longer a personal "resentment" but the deep regret and sorrow of unfortunate beauties in the society of that time.

The rooster's crow wakes the sorrow of the crimson fate, and then sorrow and suffering permeate every sound of the closing watch, regardless of whether it's metallic or wooden:

“The melancholy gong is not rung yet also knocks

The temple bell is not struck, why does it hum?”

Xuan Huong’s word choice is strangely transformative, with the gong being melancholy and the bell sorrowful. The author has internalized the external sounds, making it seem as though it’s the poetess’s heart speaking. The rooster crow that arouses poignant pain; the closing watch’s rooster crow startles the beauty, raising the sound of desolation into a dry sound: “knock”, and a heart-wrenching, sombre cry: “hum.” A lament of external scenes and inner feelings plays out in the closing watch. Yet, listening closely, we recognize the strong reverberation of this sorrowful harmony with harsh sounds (crow, resent, melancholy, cause...) and verbs (crow, knock, strike), turning the sorrowful harmony into a sad yet not weak melody, the sadness of a strong-willed wave. The voice of the heart seems to resist the harshness of worldly treatment and the cruelties of fate.

Moving on to the next two lines, the author directly reveals their heart:

“Once heard these sounds adding to melancholy

Then angered by fickle fate”

Not as distinctive as the previous two lines, but these reveal the true state of the poetess, a very human and womanly sadness of an expiring affinity. The artistic language remains skillful. The abstract (fate) becomes concrete (fickle mouth). Even in the challenge (rhyme constraint), Ho Xuan Huong still finds precise, emotionally charged imagery. Speaking of “fading into old age,” about “exhausted fate” what image could better capture it than “fickle mouth” like an overripe or rotten fruit. Indeed, Ho Xuan Huong’s romantic and marital paths were marred by misfortune. She married late, and both marriages were secondary and she soon became a widow.

Yet, Xuan Huong does not “lower herself,” still reaching out to potential “individuals” she could resonate with, calling for and challenging:

“Talented scholars, anyone who might visit

This body isn't willing to grow old yet”

The poetic turn is truly unexpected. Only Xuan Huong could muster the spiritual strength to lift herself from such numbing sorrow. The poetess turns to “talented scholars” (not looking up because it’s hard to find a scholar above Ho Xuan Huong) seeking the best parts of her own soul. Xuan Huong only resonates with “talented scholars,” not dropping like overripe fruit into the hands of just anyone. There's a yearning in that hopeless call. The poetess cries out, amplifying the solitude within like the rooster at the closing watch enhances the silence of the scene. Yet, Ho Xuan Huong still shows her mettle, the determination of a woman deeply aware of individuality and the right to live, ready to challenge her fate.

“This body isn't willing to grow old yet”

The rhyme "om" is dark. For Ho Xuan Huong, darkness equates to solitude, bleakness, widowhood, and aging. Xuan Huong resists this with fierce spirit. It seems behind the dark rhyme (tom), there's a smile, youthful and mischievous, challenging the cruel fate.

All three “Tự Tình” poems by Ho Xuan Huong are excellent, each in its own way. In the narrowly confined space of Tang poetry and challenging rhyme scheme, the poetess still freely expresses genuine and passionate emotions. The pure Vietnamese Nom verses, devoid of references, meld the external world and inner emotions in images and music. The profound impression of "Tự Tình 1" is that it showcases Ho Xuan Huong’s mettle, a talented woman with intense vitality not yielding to harsh and grim fate. The humanistic value of the poem is truly noble!