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Ho Xuan Huong -- Vietnam's Queen of Nom Poetry

Ho Xuan Huong (1772--1822) is the most unconventional, subversive, and brilliant poet in the Vietnamese classical tradition. Writing during the late Le Dynasty and early Nguyen Dynasty -- an era of rigid Confucian social hierarchy, where women were expected to be silent, obedient, and invisible...

By William Le, PA-C

Ho Xuan Huong — Vietnam’s Queen of Nom Poetry

The Most Audacious Poet in Vietnamese History

Ho Xuan Huong (1772—1822) is the most unconventional, subversive, and brilliant poet in the Vietnamese classical tradition. Writing during the late Le Dynasty and early Nguyen Dynasty — an era of rigid Confucian social hierarchy, where women were expected to be silent, obedient, and invisible — she produced poetry that was sexually charged, politically sharp, and philosophically profound. She mocked corrupt monks, skewered hypocritical scholars, championed women’s desires, and did it all with such masterful wordplay that her critics could never quite prove she was saying what everyone knew she was saying.

The modern poet Xuan Dieu dubbed her “Ba chua tho Nom” — “The Queen of Nom Poetry.” This title has endured because it is simply true. No one before or since has wielded the Vietnamese demotic script with such precision, humor, and devastating double meaning.

Her Life: What We Know

Biographical details about Ho Xuan Huong are scarce and debated. She was likely born around 1772 in or near Hanoi (then Thang Long). Her father, Ho Phi Dien, was a scholar. She received a literary education unusual for women of her era, becoming deeply learned in both Chinese classical literature and Vietnamese folk traditions.

She married at least twice, both times as a le (concubine/secondary wife) — a position of social inferiority that clearly shaped her fierce critique of the marriage system. Her first husband, an official, died early. Her second husband also died or the marriage ended unhappily. The experience of being a concubine — legally married yet socially subordinate, desired yet disposable — fuels some of her most powerful poems.

She was known in her lifetime as a witty, sharp-tongued woman who held her own in literary circles dominated by men. She exchanged poems with prominent male scholars and frequently bested them. She died around 1822, leaving behind a body of work that would only grow in stature over the centuries.

Chu Nom: The Script of the People

Ho Xuan Huong wrote primarily in chu Nom (Southern Script) — a writing system that adapted Chinese characters to represent Vietnamese spoken language. This was a deliberate and radical choice.

In her era, serious literature was written in chu Han (classical Chinese) — the language of the Confucian elite, of government, of scholarly prestige. Chu Nom was considered the vulgar script, the language of the common people, of women, of folk songs and popular stories.

By choosing to write in Nom, Ho Xuan Huong was making a statement: she was writing for the people, in the people’s language, about the people’s lives. She elevated Vietnamese vernacular poetry to heights that rivaled anything written in classical Chinese. In doing so, she helped establish the legitimacy of Vietnamese as a literary language — a contribution whose importance cannot be overstated.

Nghia Den / Nghia Bong: The Art of Double Meaning

The defining technique of Ho Xuan Huong’s poetry is noi lai — saying one thing while meaning another. Vietnamese literary criticism describes this as the interplay between:

  • Nghia den (literal meaning) — the surface level, the poem as a description of an object or scene.
  • Nghia bong (figurative/shadow meaning) — the hidden level, the poem as a statement about sex, society, power, or the human condition.

Her poems typically describe everyday objects or scenes — a fan, a jackfruit, a rice cake, a cave, a game of swinging — in language that is perfectly innocent on the surface. But every word, every image, every tonal play carries a second meaning that is unmistakably sexual, political, or both.

This double-layered structure is what makes her work so remarkable. She was not simply writing dirty jokes (though she was doing that too). She was using sexuality as a lens to expose social hypocrisy, gender inequality, and the absurdity of Confucian propriety. The double meaning is the message: in a society built on appearances, truth can only be spoken in code.

Vietnamese tonal language is uniquely suited to this technique. A single syllable can carry multiple meanings depending on tone, context, and the listener’s imagination. Ho Xuan Huong exploited this to the fullest, creating poems that operate simultaneously as innocent descriptions, erotic provocations, and social critiques.

Famous Poems: Vietnamese Text and English Translation

1. Banh Troi Nuoc (The Floating Rice Cake)

This is Ho Xuan Huong’s most widely taught poem, included in Vietnamese school curricula. On the surface, it describes a traditional dessert — banh troi, a white glutinous rice ball with a red sugar center, boiled in water.

Vietnamese:

Than em vua trang lai vua tron, Bay noi ba chim voi nuoc non. Ran nat mac dau tay ke nan, Ma em van giu tam long son.

English Translation:

My body is both white and round, Seven times floating, three times sinking in the waters of life. Whether firm or broken depends on the hands that mold me, But I still keep my heart of red.

Analysis: The nghia bong (hidden meaning) is unmistakable. The “body” is a woman’s body. “Seven times floating, three times sinking” describes the precarious, unpredictable fate of women in feudal society. “The hands that mold me” refers to the men and social forces that shape women’s destinies. And “tam long son” (heart of red/vermillion) means she retains her inner truth, her passion, her integrity — no matter what is done to her body.

This is feminism expressed through a rice cake. It is devastating and perfect.

2. Moi Trau (Offering Betel)

Betel and areca nut chewing is a deeply traditional Vietnamese custom, associated with hospitality, courtship, and marriage. The phrase “mieng trau la dau cau chuyen” (a piece of betel begins every conversation) is a Vietnamese saying.

Vietnamese:

Qua cau nho nho mieng trau hoi, Nay cua Xuan Huong moi quet roi. Co phai duyen nhau thi tham lai, Dung xanh nhu la, bac nhu voi.

English Translation:

A small areca nut, a piece of pungent betel, This is from Xuan Huong — freshly prepared. If we are truly destined for each other, let it redden, Don’t be green as a leaf, white as lime — faithless.

Analysis: Ho Xuan Huong uses the betel-offering ritual as a vehicle for a direct, bold declaration of desire. “Freshly prepared” emphasizes her personal involvement, her offering of herself. The last line uses the idioms “xanh nhu la” (green as a leaf) and “bac nhu voi” (white/fickle as lime) — meaning faithless, inconstant. She demands sincerity from her potential lover. The poem is remarkable for its female assertiveness in a culture that demanded female passivity.

3. Qua Mit (The Jackfruit)

Vietnamese:

Than em nhu qua mit tren cay, Vo no su si, mui no day. Quan tu co yeu thi dong coc, Xin dung man mo nhua ra tay.

English Translation:

My body is like a jackfruit on the tree, Its skin is rough, its flesh is thick. If you love me, gentleman, then drive in the stake, But please don’t fondle it — you’ll get sap on your hands.

Analysis: On the surface: practical advice about eating jackfruit (which requires cutting it open with a stick because the sap is sticky). Below the surface: a brazenly sexual invitation wrapped in a warning. “Drive in the stake” and “don’t fondle” carry unmistakable erotic double meanings. The poem asserts female sexual agency — the woman is the one setting the terms. The “gentleman” (quan tu — a Confucian term for a man of virtue) is being told, essentially: commit fully or don’t touch at all.

4. Thieu Nu Ngu Ngay (Young Woman Sleeping in Daytime)

Vietnamese:

Mua he hay hay gio nom dong, Thieu nu nam choi qua giac nong. Luoc truc long cai tren mai toc, Yem dao tre xuong duoi nuong long. Doi go Bong Dao suong con ngam, Mot lach Dao Nguyen suoi chua thong. Quan tu dung dang di chang dut, Di thi cung do, o khong xong.

English Translation:

A summer breeze blows lazily from the east, A young girl naps, deep in her afternoon sleep. Her bamboo comb hangs loosely in her hair, Her pink halter has slipped down below her breast. The twin hills of Bong Dao still hold the dew, The stream to Peach Blossom Spring has not yet opened. A gentleman lingers, unable to leave, To go would be awkward, to stay impossible.

Analysis: This is one of Ho Xuan Huong’s most famous and most analyzed poems. “Doi go Bong Dao” (the twin hills of Peach Island) and “Mot lach Dao Nguyen” (the stream to Peach Blossom Spring) are geographical allusions that serve as anatomical metaphors — the allusion to Tao Yuanming’s Peach Blossom Spring (a hidden paradise) adds layers of literary meaning. The final couplet captures the gentleman’s sexual tension with comic precision: he is paralyzed between desire and propriety. The poem mocks Confucian restraint while celebrating the female body.

5. Tu Tinh II (Self-Lament II / Confession II)

This poem is one of Ho Xuan Huong’s most personal and emotionally raw works, expressing the anguish of a woman who has been denied love and fulfillment.

Vietnamese:

Dem khuya vang vang trong canh don, Tro cai hong nhan voi nuoc non. Chen ruou huong dua say lai tinh, Vang trang bong xe khuyet chua tron. Xien ngang mat dat, reu tung dam, Dam toac chan may, da may hon. Ngan noi xuan di xuan lai lai, Manh tinh san se ti con con!

English Translation:

Deep in the night, the watch-drum echoes, urging on, Here stands this faded beauty, alone before the world. A cup of wine — fragrance leads to drunkenness, then sobriety again, The moon tilts sideways, waning, never full. Moss thrusts itself sideways across the earth in clumps, Rocks jab upward, piercing the foot of the clouds. How weary I am of spring going, spring coming again, This small piece of love, divided and shared — how tiny it has become!

Analysis: This is the cry of a concubine — a woman who gets only a fraction of love, a “manh tinh san se ti con con” (a scrap of love, divided and shared until almost nothing remains). The image of the moon “waning, never full” represents her unfulfilled life. But the poem is not just self-pity: the images of moss “thrusting sideways” and rocks “jabbing upward” suggest a fierce, irrepressible life force. Even in despair, Ho Xuan Huong’s language rebels.

6. Danh Du (The Swing)

Vietnamese:

Bon cot khen ai kheo kheo trong, Nguoi thi len danh ke ngoi trong. Trai co goi hac khom khom cat, Gai uon lung ong ngua ngua long. Bon manh quan hong bay phap phoi, Hai hang cham cuc doi dong dong. Choi xuan da biet xuan hay chua, Co cho xuan di roi lai mong.

English Translation:

Four posts — who planted them so cleverly? One person swings, another watches. The boy arches like a crane, bending his back, The girl curves like a wasp’s waist, opening her body upward. Four flaps of crimson cloth flutter in the wind, Two rows of tiny golden bells ring in matching pairs. Playing in spring — do you know what spring means yet? Don’t let spring pass and then look back with longing.

Analysis: The swing game is a traditional Tet (New Year) activity. But every line carries erotic double meaning through body imagery (arching, curving, opening), paired objects (bells ringing together), and the final question about whether you truly “know” spring (youth/sexuality). The poem celebrates physical pleasure and warns against wasting youth — a carpe diem message delivered through the body.

7. De Den Sam Nghi Dong (At the Temple of Sam Nghi Dong)

Sam Nghi Dong was a Chinese general who invaded Vietnam and was defeated. His temple stood as a monument to a failed conqueror.

Vietnamese:

Ghe mat trong nhan thay bang treo, Kia den Thai thu dung cheo leo. Mu ao rang thi uy lai lam, Ngang tang mot goc cung linh dieu. Vi day doi phan lam trai duoc, Thi su anh hung ha bay nhieu.

English Translation:

Glancing up, I see the sign hanging there, Look — the temple of the governor perched precariously. His hat and robes may still look imposing, But leaning to one side, they seem rather absurd. If I could change my fate and become a man, I’d show what real heroism looks like.

Analysis: This is one of Ho Xuan Huong’s most overtly political poems. She mocks the Chinese general’s pretensions while simultaneously protesting gender inequality. The final couplet is extraordinary for its time: a woman openly stating that she could be a better hero than a man. This is not veiled or coded — it is a direct challenge to patriarchal power.

8. Vinh Cai Quat (Ode to the Fan)

Vietnamese:

Mot lo sau sau may cung vua, Duyen em dinh dang tu bao gio. Chanh ra ba goc da con thieu, Khep lai hai ben thit van thua. Mat mat anh hung khi tat gio, Che dau quan tu luc sa mua. Nang niu uom hoi nguoi trong truong, Phi phach trong long da suong chua?

English Translation:

A hole so deep, any size will fit, My charm has been clinging since who knows when. Spread open to three corners — still not enough skin, Closed to two sides — still too much flesh. It cools the face of heroes when the wind dies, It shields the head of gentlemen when rain falls. Caressing and teasing, she asks the one inside the curtain: Flapping in your lap — are you satisfied yet?

Analysis: This poem describes a folding fan. Every single line also describes something else entirely. The poem is a masterclass in sustained double entendre — Ho Xuan Huong maintains perfect innocence on the surface while every word pulses with erotic suggestion. “Heroes” and “gentlemen” (quan tu) are the Confucian ideal being brought low by desire. The final question is both playful and devastating.

9. Oc Nhoi (The Snail)

Vietnamese:

Bac me sinh ra phan oc nhoi, Dem ngay lan loc dam co hoi. Quan tu co thuong thi boc yem, Xin dung ngo ngoay lo tron toi.

English Translation:

My parents brought me into the world as a snail, Day and night I tumble through the foul-smelling grass. If you love me, gentleman, then peel off my bodice, But please don’t poke around in my hole.

Analysis: The surface meaning: instructions for eating a stuffed snail (a Vietnamese delicacy). The nghia bong: unmistakable. The poem combines self-deprecation (“phan oc nhoi” — the fate of a snail), sexual assertiveness, and social commentary. The snail is also a metaphor for a woman of low social status — born into humble circumstances but still setting her own boundaries.

10. Khong Chong Ma Chua (Pregnant Without a Husband)

Vietnamese:

Ca ne cho nen su do dang, Noi niem chang co biet chang chang? Duyen thien chua thay nho dau doc, Phan lieu sao da nay net ngang? Cai nghia tram nam chang nho chua? Manh tinh mot khoi thiep xin mang. Quan bao mieng the loi chenh lech, Khong co, nhung ma co, moi ngoan!

English Translation:

Being too obliging has left things unfinished, Does he even know my sorrow, that man? The character for “heaven” has not yet grown a head-stroke, Yet the character for “willow” has already sprouted a cross-line? Does he remember the hundred-year promise? This bundle of love, let me carry it alone. Let the world talk with its uneven words — To have nothing, yet have something — now that takes skill!

Analysis: This poem defends an unmarried pregnant woman — a radical stance in feudal Vietnam. The wordplay in lines 3-4 uses Chinese characters: “thien” (heaven/天) gains a stroke to become “phu” (husband/夫), and “lieu” (了) gains a stroke to become “tu” (child/子) — meaning she has a child but no husband. The final line is magnificent defiance: “to have nothing yet have something — that’s real skill.” She transforms shame into pride.

11. Canh Thu (Autumn Scene)

Vietnamese:

Tung chom co nhon la mu suu, Dam am dan ga tuc tac chieu. Nho nuoc dao non chay ran rat, Ngon gio tren doi thoi pheu pheu.

English Translation:

Tufts of grass sharpen into pointed hats, The warm flock of chickens clucks through the afternoon. Mountain spring water runs with a murmuring sound, The hilltop wind blows in gentle puffs.

Analysis: On the surface, a tranquil autumn landscape. Beneath the surface, the pastoral imagery carries bodily suggestions through Ho Xuan Huong’s characteristic sound symbolism and shape imagery. The poem demonstrates that even her most seemingly innocent works reward close reading.

12. Det Cui (Weaving at Night)

Vietnamese:

Then chay tam bam suot dem thau, May ai da bi ca ngay dau. Coi truong phon phot so khi mac, Ke vay long thong buoc giai dau. Thoi nhanh thoi chat nghe phach phach, Dang thang dang doc mac tho dau. Xin chang dung co hieu lam y, Vui nay la vui thu canh nau.

English Translation:

The latch moves pit-a-pat all through the night, Working so long already from the start of day. The warp threads flutter lightly, almost loose, The weft threads dangle, threading through the heddle. Weaving fast, weaving tight — hear the clacking sound, Going straight, going deep — let it weave however it will. Please, gentleman, do not misunderstand my meaning, This joy is merely the joy of domestic craft.

Analysis: The final couplet is the poem’s coup de grace — Ho Xuan Huong pretends to warn against exactly the interpretation every reader has already made. “Don’t misunderstand” is itself a double meaning: it draws attention to the very thing she claims to deny. The whole poem is a performance of plausible deniability, and the last line’s innocence is its most provocative gesture.

Themes in Ho Xuan Huong’s Poetry

1. Feminism Before Feminism

Ho Xuan Huong wrote two centuries before the word “feminism” entered Vietnamese discourse, yet her poetry is profoundly feminist in its concerns:

  • Women’s sexual agency: Her poems repeatedly assert that women have desires, that these desires are natural and valid, and that women have the right to set the terms of sexual engagement.

  • Critique of concubinage: As a concubine herself, she knew firsthand the degradation of being a “secondary” wife. Her poems expose the cruelty of a system that divides women into categories of worth based on their relationship to men.

  • Women’s intelligence: By writing poetry that consistently outperformed her male contemporaries, she proved through action what her words argued: that women’s minds are equal to men’s.

  • Solidarity with marginalized women: She wrote with compassion about pregnant unmarried women, prostitutes, and wives of absent husbands — women whom Confucian society condemned.

2. Social Critique Through Humor

Ho Xuan Huong’s weapon of choice was laughter. She understood that mockery is more dangerous to power than direct confrontation:

  • She mocked corrupt Buddhist monks who preached abstinence while pursuing women.
  • She ridiculed pompous scholars who valued classical Chinese learning over human reality.
  • She satirized Chinese cultural imperialism (as in the Sam Nghi Dong poem).
  • She exposed Confucian hypocrisy — the gap between the ideal of the “gentleman” (quan tu) and the reality of men’s behavior.

Her humor is never cruel for its own sake. It serves a moral purpose: to puncture pretension and reveal truth.

3. Nature Imagery as Body, Body as Nature

Ho Xuan Huong dissolves the boundary between the human body and the natural world. Mountains are breasts. Streams are intimate spaces. Caves are bodies. Flowers are sexual organs. This is not merely clever metaphor — it reflects a worldview in which the human body is continuous with nature, not separate from or subordinate to it.

This stands in direct opposition to the Confucian view that the body must be disciplined, controlled, and subordinated to social propriety. Ho Xuan Huong’s nature-body fusion is a philosophical rebellion as much as an aesthetic one.

4. The Power of Language

Ho Xuan Huong’s poetry is ultimately about the power of language itself — its ability to mean two things at once, to reveal and conceal simultaneously, to speak truth while appearing to say nothing dangerous. In a society that denied women public voice, she found a way to speak publicly about the most intimate and controversial subjects while maintaining plausible deniability.

Her mastery of Vietnamese tonal wordplay, classical allusion, folk idiom, and structural parallelism represents the highest achievement of Nom poetry. She proved that the Vietnamese language — long considered inferior to Chinese for literary purposes — could produce literature of unsurpassed subtlety and power.

Why Her Work Is Still Relevant Today

Gender Equality

Ho Xuan Huong’s core concerns — women’s autonomy, sexual freedom, equal social standing, and freedom from male-defined roles — remain urgent in Vietnamese society and globally. Her poems about the pain of concubinage resonate with modern discussions of gender inequality in marriage and relationships. Her insistence on female pleasure and agency anticipates contemporary feminist discourse.

A 2024 academic paper titled “Ho Xuan Huong’s Nom Poetry and Its Significance to the Current Issues of Gender Equality” argues that her work remains directly relevant to ongoing struggles for women’s rights in Vietnam and East Asia.

The Politics of Language

Her choice to write in Nom rather than classical Chinese parallels modern debates about linguistic imperialism, cultural authenticity, and the value of vernacular expression. In an era of globalization and English-language dominance, her insistence on the beauty and power of her native language carries renewed significance.

Speaking Truth to Power

Her technique of using humor, indirection, and double meaning to critique authority is a model for artists and writers living under censorship or social pressure. She demonstrated that the most powerful social criticism often comes not from direct confrontation but from wit that makes the powerful laugh at themselves before they realize they are the target.

Body Positivity and Sexual Freedom

In an era still marked by shame and silence around women’s bodies and sexuality in many Asian cultures, Ho Xuan Huong’s unapologetic celebration of the female body and female desire remains radical and liberating.

Literary Innovation

Her poems continue to be studied as masterpieces of poetic technique. The interplay of nghia den and nghia bong is a literary achievement that has influenced subsequent generations of Vietnamese poets and remains a subject of scholarly analysis.

Ho Xuan Huong in Vietnamese Culture Today

  • Her poems are taught in Vietnamese schools at multiple levels, though teachers often face the awkward task of navigating the double meanings with their students.

  • The phrase “tho Ho Xuan Huong” (Ho Xuan Huong-style poetry) is used in Vietnamese to describe any statement with a clever double meaning.

  • Streets, schools, and cultural institutions across Vietnam bear her name.

  • John Balaban’s “Spring Essence: The Poetry of Ho Xuan Huong” (Copper Canyon Press, 2000) brought her work to international English-speaking audiences. The book presents her poems in a tri-graphic format: English translation, modern Vietnamese alphabet, and the original Nom calligraphy.

  • The Nom Foundation has digitized many of her original poems in their Nom script form, preserving this nearly extinct writing system.

  • Scholars continue to debate the authorship and authenticity of various poems attributed to her — a testament to her enduring cultural importance.

Conclusion

Ho Xuan Huong stands as one of the most remarkable figures in world literature. In an era and society that denied women virtually every form of public expression, she created a body of poetry that is simultaneously beautiful, funny, erotic, politically sharp, and philosophically profound. She weaponized the Vietnamese language’s tonal ambiguities to speak truths that could not be spoken directly. She championed women’s humanity in a system designed to deny it. And she did it all with such wit and craft that her work endures not as a historical curiosity but as living, breathing, relevant art.

Her poems ask the same questions today that they asked two centuries ago: Who has the right to speak about desire? Who controls women’s bodies? Why does society punish women for what it forgives in men? And how can art create space for truth in a world that rewards silence?

Two hundred years later, Ho Xuan Huong is still answering these questions — one double meaning at a time.

Sources: Wikipedia — Ho Xuan Huong; Poetry Foundation — Ho Xuan Huong; Nom Foundation — Ho Xuan Huong Digital Archive; John Balaban — Spring Essence: The Poetry of Ho Xuan Huong (Copper Canyon Press, 2000); ResearchGate — Ho Xuan Huong’s Nom Poetry and Gender Equality; SCIRP — Sense of Femininity in Ho Xuan Huong’s Poetry; Linh Dinh — Ho Xuan Huong (Poetry Foundation/Harriet); thivien.net — Vietnamese Poetry Archive.