Mister Xie Fang Memorized and Recited My Poems , On a Random Day I Sent Him This Epistle
After Shangyin read one of his poems to me, he calmly rested his chin on his hands and said, “We have Beowulf, The Bhagavad-Gita, , the Bayajidda, the Sorrow at Parting of Chu Yuan, but there is nothing in the human canon that celebrates the miracle of peace. Instead, so much wailing over wars and passionate love.“
Not knowing how to answer, I sat down before the piano and played a piece. After a moment of silence, Shangyin jumped up from his wicker chair and bellowed so loud he could be heard in Guangzhou, “I see it now. Music is the language of peace. In it peace becomes the epic!”.
Then he read me another poem, this time about how to write poems.
晓用云添句， xiǎo yòng yún tiān jù，
寒将雪命篇。 hán jiāng;jiàng xuě mìng piān。
良辰多自感， liáng chén duō zì gǎn，
作者岂皆然。 zuò zhě qǐ jiē rán。
熟寝初同鹤， shú qǐn chū tóng;tòng hè，
含嘶欲并蝉。 hán sī yù bìng chán。
题时长不展， tí shí cháng;zhǎng bù zhǎn，
得处定应偏。 dé;děi;de chù;chǔ dìng yīng;yìng piān。
南浦无穷树， nán pǔ wú qióng shù，
西楼不住烟。 xī lóu bù zhù yān。
改成人寂寂， gǎi chéng rén jì jì，
寄与路绵绵。 jì yǔ lù mián mián。
星势寒垂地， xīng shì hán chuí dì;de，
河声晓上天。 hé shēng xiǎo shàng tiān。
夫君自有恨， fū jūn zì yǒu hèn，
聊借此中传。 liáo jiè cǐ zhōng zhuàn;chuán。
At daybreak I use the word ‘clouds’ in my lines
When cold, ‘Snow’ give my words a lift
Feelings appear at certain times
Shouldn’t it be this way for all scripts?
Peacefully, like a sleeping heron, I lie
Then, like a cicada, I am full of anguished cries
It takes so long to develop a theme
To be like no other is my ultimate scheme
On the southern bank there is no shortage of trees
Over the western pavilion, without end, the fog streams
Then a stillness and peace comes over me,
An unbroken flow of letters over distant roads
Indifferent, stars explode and fall to the ground
The sounds of the great Milky Way remain in heaven’s abode
If there are things a gentleman hates to do
Use words to express that too!
Reading by Mark Obama Ndesandjo
Musical Interlude: Chopin G Minor Ballade: Performed by Mark Obama Ndesandjo
The first of the four great ballades by Chopin, this work is one of my favorites. Often said to be inspired by Chopin’s Polish nationalism, it is much more. It has become a universal statement of beauty that speaks to the individual heart, of cannons smothered by flowers. The coda is one of the most challenging sections in Chopin’s writing, but what an amazing and diabolical dance it is.