User:CharlieHuang/Literature

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This page contains a selection of my current best works in literature. Includes essays, poetry and other forms. It changes from time to time. To view all my published works, go here: Journal of Charlie Huang. Some are quite long (I've written longer in my university dissertations), so I tend to be very detailed and expansive in my writing.

Poetry

Here, I will post some of my poetry that I wrote. I've written a lot during January 2006 (reasons below), which includes Tang poetry, Song verse, English poetry and other poetic forms.

Note that you should have your Chinese encoding turned on to read the characters. Even if you can't read Chinese, it is better than staring at little boxes...

A Ditty on Grey Clouds

A poem I wrote during a depressive episode

This feeling, I've felt before,

This sensation, I've sensed before,

Someone, tell me to where the grey clouds drift,

So I may ride them into the sun.

Though I see those dark clouds,

That shield my gaze from the light,

I will tear away the clouds,

Wind and rain I'll fight.

These mists, have shrouded me before,

This wind, has blown against me before,

Someone, take me to where the grey clouds die,

So I may fade away with them.

Though I know no one can take me there,

Whenever I look to the sky,

My heart is wrenched from this body,

Soul and mind will fly.

I once thought of death,

I once thought of life,

Strife! Strife! Strife!

Those ravens call, the crows roost,

At least they have company.

For I am all alone,

Like a solitary orchid,

C G# C G# E D,

With the weeds all around me.

To die in your sleep,

Is the greatest joy,

To die knowing,

Is the greatest sadness.

All we want is to fly with the clouds,

Is that too much to ask?

To be chained to the ground,

Is a fate worse than death.

When intoxicated by music,

When moved by art,

We forget we exist,

We forget our sorrows.

We forget there's a past,

We forget there's a tomorrow.

I want to forget myself,

But who can die for their art and music?

Who...

《斷背行》 The Brokeback Song

This poem is adapted from Bai Juyi's Pipa Xing 《琵琶行》 or The Lute Song. It is inspired by the film, Brokeback Mountain, which has moved me deeply. This poem involves me, my friend Tina-pin and character Ennis from the film in a made-up scenario, that is adapted from Bai Juyi's real-life one in his original poem. This is an English translated adaptation, so the style, metre and rhyme is not used, except for the same amount of lines and structure.

By Eton Riverside one evening I was bidding my friend Tina goodbye:

In the oak leaves and silver reeds autumn stroked gently.

I, the host, alighted; my guest was already aboard the boat;

We poured the sake and began to drink, but some music was missing,

And the drinking brought us no smiles — in the dark we prepared to part;

Saw only the remote river waters covered in moonlight glow.

Suddenly, across the light ripples we heard a guitar's sound —

I forgot to go home and Tina stayed her exit.

We sought to find the origin of the music and asked the player's name:

The guitar notes stopped dead, and hesitantly, he tried to answer.

We drew our ships alongside each other and invited him onboard.

"More sake! Bring back the lights! We'll start a feast tonight!"

We called and persuaded him a hundred times before he would rise and come,

Still half-concealing his face in the shadows of his instrument that he carried.

He twisted the tuning pegs and strummed the strings with four or five notes;

Even before the tune came there was passion in the sound.

String after string he strummed and plucked, note upon note he told his thoughts;

He seemed to say he missed his lover all his life long.

With a lowered brow he grasped his fingers, thrumming on and on:

He told of all the painful feelings that were overflowing his heart.

He lightly plucked, slowly picked, swiped and attacked the strings;

First it was "You Were a Friend of Mine", then "The Wings".

The big strings strummed violently, like a gathering thunder;

The thin strings caressed gently, like a secret whisper.

Strummed violently, caressed gently, note merged with note,

Like beads, big and small, falling in a Ming vase.

Crisp like the calling of doves hidden among the groves,

Deep like the low rumble of a running brook churning over the falls...

The churning waters froze still, the strings ceased too:

As the strings froze and ceased the tune died away.

Next he played a hidden grief — painful regret was born,

And this time the silences were more powerful than the notes.

A white postcard stamped 'deceased' sent from the frontier,

Then a secret shirt, hidden away for many a year.

At the song's coda, from the guitar he drew the last breath:

The six strings made one sound, as of a ripped open heart...

There was silence on the starboard and quiet in the port:

We saw only the blue moon, white in the heart of the river.

Silently he put the plectrum back upon the strings,

Smoothed out his jacket, then rose with dignity in his face.

He told us his tale: "as a young boy, he came from Wyoming;

His home had been at the foot of Brokeback Mountain.

At middle-age he went to work in the mountains herding sheep,

And there he met his love, who kissed him on his cheek.

Each time they meet, even the weather would stop;

Each time they embraced, the horses and sheep stood still.

But they separated, each married and had children:

Yet he always thought of the passion on the Mountain.

A postcard then came, from his lover's fine hand;

Delight and passion as they embraced in the street.

Those were the years of joy and laughter, the next decade too;

Autumn moon and spring air came and passed unheeded.

But secrets only brought pain and regret between them.

Nights passed, dawns broke, their relationship turned critical.

With family commitments, they could only see each other once a year or so...

No longer was he married but now divorced, and missing his friend —

On a fateful meeting, his friend cried that he can't quit him.

Then for three or four months, no news or meetings,

Until he received a postcard of shock and suffering,

His lover has died through injustice and hate.

And at his friend’s house, he discovered his lost shirt, stained with blood,

Lovingly covered by his friend's shirt, tears criss-crossed his face."

Listening to his guitar had made me sigh already,

But to hear his story only moved me more deeply.

Both of us at the worlds end, aimless, disappointed and sad,

Meeting now: why didn't we know each other before?

Your pain, my friend, has hit the chords of my heart,

Like a childish child, hurting by hitting the wooden blocks randomly.

And in Birmingham, there's no music or company here,

No sound of strings or flutes that will deliver me cheer.

I always wonder when I will meet my true love,

But as the old bamboo turns yellow, I sit lonely in my hut.

In such a place, from morning to night, what is there to hear or do?

I strum my Qin, yet I only wish there was company.

By the spring river sakura trees, and on moonlit autumn nights,

I often have recited poetry and classics at trees and at the walls.

Of course, there are the boatmen and the clubs of the town,

Like the babbles of fools or the howling of dogs, too tedious to hear.

But tonight, when I heard you, playing on your guitar and lamenting,

It was like the sound of the gods' music in my ears.

Ennis! Don't go! Please sit, play a tune and tell another woe:

I will write a poem for you, a "Brokeback Song" .

Moved by these words of mine, he stood for a moment,

Then sat and tore at the strings, drawing a rush of sound,

Sadder, more painful than the tunes he had played before:

Me and Tina hearing it tried to hide our tears.

And who of us both, do you suppose, cried the most?

This citizen of Brum — wet is my black coat!

《蝶戀花》 Butterfly Falls in Love with the Flower

This is a Song Verse. The metre is called 'dielian-hua': 7, 4, 5, 7 and 7 syllables per stanza. The theme is the same as the one above.

Ennis and Jack embracing,

Lovingly touch,

Caressing and such.

Difficult to part again,

As they get soaked in the rain.

Throw out the worries and lies,

You’re left with love,

Like two turtle doves.

If only fate were not blind,

A place in heaven they’ll find.

Essays

These essays are written about things which I admire or praise in my current life.

【湖氏瑟撫樂况】 The Manifestations of Seth Lakeman’s Music

This is an essay on the music of Seth Lakeman (湖瑟撫), who I admire very highly. It's rather long (almost 6,000 words), but it describes my interperatation of his music. Mind you, it will require you to have listened to some or all of his music to understand as I constantly illustrate my points using his songs. I also use a lot of Chinese terms and references, so be aware. I partially adapted this essay from a Chinese one called Xishan Qinkuang, which was written in the 18th century. It describes the music of the Qin zither, which I play. I've incoporated that and other sources into it, and turned it into my own.

湖氏瑟撫樂況目 十五條 List of the Manifestations: 15 terms

和 清 亮 遠 澹
恬 古 雅 騷 宏
竒 輕 重 遲 速

有序 Preface

In the autumn of our majesty, Queen Elizabeth II’s 54th year of reign, I happened to glance at a particular television programme on a lonely cold night. The programme turned out to be the Mercury Music Prize award ceremony. I, myself a musician and an academic of musical arts, decided to watch it. I have never watched the previous ones before, but chose to see this one, not only because I have decided to open my ears to a variety of music genres to develop my ability to appreciate them well ever since my musical enlightenment when I discovered the great music of the Qin, but also because I wish to examine the current quality of music that this country has to offer ever since I grew tired of its recent descent into meaningless chants of fools of the past few years, and also because I quite admired the winners of last year’s award; Franz Ferdinand. I have not listened to much music of this country for the past few years as I had occupied myself with listening to music of other genres and cultures, namely traditional Chinese music, Japanese popular and a bit of this and that. I honestly never thought that that night, of all nights, will lead me into another stage of enlightenment. From then on, I have a responding ear to listen to anything that is played my way. In order for a person to be able to fully appreciate all music (and thus, be justified to scrutinising them), one must listen to all genres of music, and regularly. If not, then one will be blinded (or should I say deafened?) or ‘brainwashed’ by one music only, thus leading them to judge other musics on that standard alone, instead of judging music objectively. Much so, I have experienced this lack of responsive taste from others myself; where one person said to my face that Qin music was ‘boring’. But I thought no wonder! They have been only listening to Canto-pop and nothing else for the whole of their lives! How could they appreciate the harmonies of the Chinese ancients or the lyricism of the Western Classics? Thus, I sigh. I did not want to end up like these musically deaf, culturally ignorant and artistically disabled hollow shells of human civilisation; I want to be an artistically respondent individual who can judge music and art objectively with a justifiable faculty. So, why and how did I gain this insight that night? What happened that made my heart leap from its arteries and veins, causing me to almost forget the taste of food and wine like Confucius did when he heard the, now lost, music of Shao? It indeed caught me by surprise. About halfway through, a fine young gentleman graced the stage which caught my initial attention. Who was this fine dandy? I must admit, he was the best looking of the line-up! Of course, “fine words and a pretentious manner are seldom that of the Good” as Confucius said. Looking good doesn’t mean your music will be good. So I sat there sipping my tea with my Rich Tea biscuit, ready to dunk, as he raised his violin and bow and prepared to play his piece. As soon as he bowed the first note, I almost lost the biscuit in my tea! A string of wondrous sounds glided through the speakers of my television, causing me to pause my current activities and stare straight at the screen. I do not over exaggerate when I say I was totally transfixed and mesmerised by the gentleman’s playing that I lost all concepts and consciousness of space and time! The fiddling was swift and the chords were fine; harmonious music filled the air. There were no other instruments to distract the music, no fancy ornamentations, no artificial enjambment. The whole unit of man and instrument was embodied by this single man on this very stage. As I thought that it could not get better than this, a voice of the Heavens was projected out of his lungs. It was fine, just like the music; it was no embellished style or silly whimsical school-syllabus non-sense; it was true and grounded to his soul, not removed by convention or poncy X-Factor musings. It was pure music. It was the first time I almost cried at listening to a piece of music. Far removed from the mundane, it transcended everything; it totally lifted my soul to the highest plane. Then at the climax, the music was exquisite. I relished every second, nay, nano-second of his playing. And when he pulled the last final breath of his piece, the audience cheered, but for a second, I was still transfixed. What have I just heard? I was totally dazzled, but my mind caught up with time before I took a deep breath in and then fished out my disintegrated biscuit in my cup of cold tea. That was the best piece of music I have heard. And that remained to this day. I prayed and hoped that he will get the award. Happiness turned to disappointment when he was refused this honour. But that was of secondary importance; to me, the most important thing was I heard this gentleman’s music, and that I found it exhilarating. The next day, I sought his music album, but it was sold out in all my local shops. I eventually got his album a week later and listened to it to see if his music was consistent; it was. And from then on, I achieved my enlightenment in listening to all music; no matter if I like or hate them. Now, I, here, will write an essay about this gentleman’s music. This structure follows an ancient style of recording the manifestations of music, headed under in about a dozen words or so describing each musical texture. Manifestations are like themes, concepts, or moods describing the music of a said instrument, but here I utilise it to describe this gentleman’s music.

So, who, might you ask, was that fine young gentleman I had the pleasure of listening to? His name is Mr Seth Lakeman of Dartmoor, Devon; the new Laureate of Music.

一曰和 One is called “Harmonious”

That which is harmonious, is the most basic and fundamental manifestation of sound of all music. It is the originator of all other manifestations and is the one that is heard often in many musics. That being said, harmony cannot be achieved without effort and thought, for it requires attention to achieve a good harmonious sound. The ancients say that; tuning must be harmonious, instrument must be harmonious, strings must be harmonious, fingers must be harmonious, and heart must be harmonious. So to achieve great harmony, one must tune the strings properly, have a good instrument, have good technique and most importantly, have a steady heart. To have a steady heart, that is to be our inner soul, our psyche, our will, our intention. For the ancients used music to cultivate the heart, to rectify the mind, to suppress unwanted desires and aggression, and to bring harmony to the world. So basic is this that music created with this in mind transcends its mundane form and reaches the highest state; it becomes truly harmonious music. If this isn’t observed, if musicians create music only for profit, then the music will only be created with profit in mind, and so the music will be only about profit and nothing else. This contaminates the power of a melody and renders it to a music of the lowest form; it is music, but it is a music which achieves nothing. As the preface of the Poetical Essay in Praise of Brokeback Mountain says, “to create art for material wealth, meaning is lost; to create art for praise, clarity is lost; to create art for the ‘sake’ of just doing it, beauty is lost; to create art with apathy; structure is lost.” So how does Mr Lakeman achieve this harmonious sound in his music? There are three things that are important: bringing the fingering and the strings into unison, bringing the strings and the notes into unison, bringing the notes and the will into unison. After those are implicated, the sound is fundamentally harmonious. For it to now achieve audible harmony, there are a few clues to finding it. The most important is the use of secondary notes. Playing two certain notes at the same time, creating chords is the very basic of harmonious play; like high and low, like light and dark, like Yin and Yang. We see this evident is most musics, and especially so in that of Mr Lakeman’s “Kitty Jay”, “The Bold Knight” and “Blood Upon Copper”. Sounding two tones lifts the primary tone up, creating harmonics and overtones and good timbre. With discussion of timbre, we can say that it indicates how harmonious a melody can be. As far as this manifestation is concerned, “Blood Upon Copper” rates as one of the most harmonious pieces in Mr Lakeman’s repertoire.

一曰清 One is called “Clear”

That which is clear, is often slow. In order to achieve clarity within the notes, to hear the music clearly, it must be played slowly. Each note is relished, one after the other. Mr Lakeman does this well in parts of “Farewell My Love” where each note is played as individual connecting pearls of a jewelled necklace, interlaced with double notes; like coloured gems alternating between the white spheres. In order for clarity to be carried out, there mostly would not be other notes played with the main note (that will be considered a manifestation of harmonious sound); thus, we can say that “Farewell my Love” possesses ‘middle clarity’; which is the majority of most solo instrumental music in the world. However, it is much closer to ‘utmost clarity’ in that the harmonious sounds do not interfere much with the base notes, which are played each with firmness. Clarity needs accuracy as well as timing of the beats to create the best clear sound. We have “Cape Clear”, which is mostly composed of clear sounds (as the name suggests), with some double notes thrown in to add texture. This is the piece that most fully embodies the manifestation of clarity, as each note is clearly expressed with the utmost profound sound that pokes at our hearts with each piercing note. Of course, clear can often be found in faster pieces, but it is difficult not to find chaos instead. But there is one in the repertoire of Mr Lakeman, and that is in “Kitty Jay”. The section which this occurs in is the climax of the piece where the high notes hop off the low drone of the lower tones and stabs through the heart like a sharpened knife. Where most of it (when comparing to this manifestation) is composed of chaotic sounds, this part is the most clear and which remains in the mind long after. Another piece that manifests clear sounds most noticeably is that of “Lady of the Sea”. The manifestation of clear sounds is one that we can recognise instantly and can hum to with accuracy.

一曰亮 One is called “Bright”

That which is bright, tends to encompass clarity within itself. Being bright, it represents a sound which is uplifting. Whereas clear sounds require that the notes be separated individually to distinguish each note, brightness does not require it to be so. But what can one feel when one hears sounds of brightness? The ancients say that, ‘when the sound breaks, the will and intention does not break but continue.’ So, when we suddenly stop playing, or there are pauses, the flow of the piece continues and doesn’t stop, instead the power of the notes previous carries the silence and the will to the next note. The feeling of hearing brightness is like that of glancing at the reflection of a full moon in the clear still springs of Erquan. That is the manifestation of brightness. In Mr Lakeman’s playing, we can hear this in his “Lady of the Sea” where the notes break from each other, but the will clearly continues, hopping between each tone and sound. The melody is uplifting as well, and it is firm in the low registers, which is important in brightness. We have the grandeur of complementary tones which excel the music further until the very end of the piece, supported by the voice of our gentleman.

一曰遠 One is called “Distant”

That which is distant, is also called ‘remote’. Distance also encompasses slowness and embodies silence. In order for a piece to be distant, the music must be removed from the player and listener, like being far away, unable to grasp with our hands. Distance is achieved not through breathing [timing/rhythm] like slowness is, but achieved through our spirit within ourselves or within the musician. To remove ourselves from the music we must raise our spirit to a higher plane, detached from this-worldly matters and ascend to other-worldly matters. But how do we reach this profound state? We must use the spirit to lead the will and it will take off to a distant place. One must not mistake this manifestation for slowness or tranquillity. So, which of Mr Lakeman’s melodies exceed in this aspect of manifestations? We see it much in his first album as a principal performer: The Punch Bowl. “It’s All Your World” gives this impression of removal of between musician and listener, and music and listener; especially the beginning of the piece. We hear it in the next piece as well, “Send Yourself Away”, which pushes the listener further, whilst the musician in silent tongue discourses with someone other than the listener. We see this a lot in ancient Chinese tunes about friendship, like “Yi Guren” [Remembering an Old Friend]. Another piece that possesses this manifestation is “Garden of Grace”. The music is so removed from a earthy plane that it transcends the human psyche. These pieces truly encompass the manifestation of distance.

一曰澹 One is called “Pure”

That which is pure, is also known as ‘tasteless’, ‘plain’ or ‘quiet’. To achieve a pure tone, emotion must be removed from the music; it must be plain, simple and unadorned. It must be tasteless as water or bread and must be plain like un-dyed silk or a blank sheet of paper. It is difficult to achieve this manifestation, because musicians instinctively want to add flavour and decoration to their music. Pure sounds cannot or should not be able to be danced or sung to. But that is an extreme. There must also not be any other instruments playing together with the principal instrument. It must be clear like a spring, white as a rock. The listener on listening should feel as they are floating away from their bodies, and be removed from this world. The music should fill their hearts and cause them to lose direction of where they want to go. This is the manifestation of a pure sound. The music of pure tones should seem like it was played in a secluded house in the mountains, amidst the orchids under a stone window covered by the pine trees. The sound should echo in the stark emptiness of the room, and reverberate in the void. Mr Lakeman does not have a piece which is absolutely pure in tone. The closest piece is “Cape Clear”; for it to be truly pure, the sound of the church organ must be removed as well as other ornamentation. There are also one or two pieces that come close to pure, like “The Ballard of Josie” and “Image of Love” but they contain some flavour and taste and emotion in them that renders them not suitable for this category of manifestation of music. Pure sounds can mostly be produced easily on instruments which have a solo purpose and tradition of seclusion away from the world, like the Qin.

一曰恬 One is called “Tranquil”

That which is tranquil, is also called ‘silent’ or ‘carefree’. Tranquil is similar to pure sounds, but different in that it has ‘taste’; taste here referring to ‘charm’ or ‘rhyme’ of a piece of music. Whereas pure sounds lack emotion, tranquillity possesses it in good amounts of it. How should this be expressed? Tranquil tones are difficult to create, but pure tones are difficult to arrive at. In order to achieve tranquillity we must first arrive at purity. Tranquil sounds should contain ornamentation as well as emotion that is best restrained. Once tranquillity is found, the sound should not descent to the plainness of purity. Once you arrive at the gentle carefree emotion, it should not extend to anything beyond (like joy or happiness). It should not be uncontrolled or chaotic. The feeling should be of the character of a gentleman, and be filled with the virtue of cultivation. It must not sound grand or broad in tone. That which possesses this manifestation are “Look Outside Your Window”, “Fight For Favour”, “The Ballard of Josie”, “Image of Love”, “The White Hare” and “The Band of Gold”. All these pieces can potentially be considered pure, but they possess flavour and emotion that will suit them in this manifestation. Tranquil also must have a gentle feel to it, it must not enter the realms of sadness (like “Cape Clear” or “Farewell My Love”). Tranquillity requires control of the music collective, not too emotional, yet not too restraint. The sound should be natural and carefree without excessive effort to add more to it. “Fight For Favour” contains these in equal measure. Not too quiet, not too loud, adequate flavour and emotion, restraint ornamentation. The feeling is like a gentle breeze brushing your face, or the afternoon sun stroking the maples. It should be a calming feeling, not an anxious one. That is true tranquillity.

一曰古 One is called “Ancient”

That which is ancient, is that which transcends ‘popular’ sounds. The ancients distinguish between ‘proper sound’ and ‘discord sound’. That which is proper sound follows mode and scale; that which is discord sound does not. For music to be ancient, it must also contain harmonious elegance. The sound must not compete with the ears. For if the sound competes with the ears, then one will know it is a popular sound; if the sound is plain and brings the heart together, then one will know it is an ancient sound. The Xishan Qinkuang says, ‘when vulgar sound cannot enter and when one is imbued with great elegance, the tone will not compete to charm, instead it would become ancient. … The fingering will not descend into the popular sounds, its tone will be wide, abundant, gentle and colossal; rid of any petty affection and empowered with elegance of antiquity. A small room will be transformed into a valley hidden in the high mountains, listening to the cold stream and the murmuring wind under the old trees; one is far away from the mundane world with a liberated mind.’ This manifestation requires the musician to transcend popular style and ascend to a higher plane of musicality. To achieve ancient sounds, one must penetrate deep into purity as well as immerse themselves in the music. That isn’t to say to completely remove your self from reality and enter the experimental grounds, but to elevate the music to be a higher form of music that can be distinguished from the so-called popular sounds. In this way, the music will become ancient. Some of Mr Lakeman’s music comes close to the manifestation of antiquity; one such is “Blood Upon Copper”, which transcends popularity, and enters a state of complete elegance with tone and sound, devoid of much modelled airs of modernism. Another piece which can be considered ancient is the beginning theme of “Take No Rogues” which removes itself from mundane affections. “Send Yourself Away” also ebbs away from popularity and keeps counsel in simplicity, imbedding the melody with space and room, to broaden out the expanse of the piece into ancient sounds.

一曰雅 One is called “Elegant”

That which is elegant, is also ‘beauty’. The ancients say that, poetry and literature has airs of elegance; music has grandeur of elegance. Ancient sounds sink, whilst elegant sounds rise. Thus, it has a reverberating quality to it in the emptiness. The sound should sound new and refreshing. To create a bunched up sound, that will create an elegance removed from mode and scale. To create a truly elegant sound is not naturally apparent. One must cultivate stillness, silence and purity. Utilising the instruments, one should realise this within their hearts and know without knowing. When one hears it, they will know it is elegant. That is how to return to great elegance. Evidently, we need to distinguish between elegance and what is ‘common’ [and boorish]. If the music is competing and the playing is mere extravagance, then that is common; if the fingering is over-exaggerated and too heavy, like the noisiness of a marketplace, then that is common; if the fingers are crooked and perform unnecessary gymnastics, then that is common; if the sound obtained is too severe, then that is common; when pressing on the strings the too hard so that it ‘enters the wood’, then that is common; if the finger techniques are not stylised, then that is common; if the mood of the piece floats about unaided, then that is common; all these are common and boorish connotations. They are difficult to correct. But id one remembers the four manifestations of silence, distance, purity and remoteness, then one will be on the right path of elegant music and achieve the greatest of elegance. Elegant sounds must not only stir the ear, but also stir the heart. “The White Hare” exemplifies the sound of elegance; the melody is kept clear and simple without falling into common sounds, the music isn’t competing with the mood or flow of the piece. There is no extravagance or over bearing of the main feeling of the melody. It is simply elegant in all aspects. Other pieces close to elegance include “The Setting of the Sun”, most of “The Riflemen of War”, the opening of “April Eyes”, much of “How Much” and the main gist of “Kitty Jay”.

一曰騷 One is called “Sorrowful”

That which is sorrowful, is imbued with deep emotion and sentiment. Sorrowful sounds do not need to be pure or clear. The main importance is place on the relationship between musician and listener. Mostly, sorrowful sounds are private affairs, thus close to the manifestation of distance, but it can also be close to heaviness. There are three layers to this manifestation; one is ‘true sorrow’, two is ‘attached or close sorrow’, three is ‘intimate sorrow’. True sorrow stems from music which is not about people, it is about our relation with the environment, a musician’s anguish over something which the listener cannot comprehend, thus removed from the listener. Attached or close sorrow stems from music which is about longing or injustice, about unfounded love, privation and deprivation and pain of failure. Intimate sorrow stems from music which is about relations or friends close to the musician’s heart, the deep feelings of companionship lost, directed at the listener, as if lamenting to them. We see a lot of sorrowful pieces in Mr Lakeman’s repertoire. One so obvious is “Kitty Jay” which is attached sorrow, and also “The Bold Knight”, “Henry Clark” and to a certain extent, “John Lomas”. Pieces with true sorrow are “Cape Clear”, “The Storm” and “The Setting of the Sun”. Piece with intimate sorrow includes “Garden of Grace”, “Farewell my Love” and “It’s All Your World”.

一曰宏 One is called “Grand”

That which is grand, is also ‘mighty’, ‘strong’, ‘firm’, ‘broad’, ‘imposing’ or ‘great’. The music should be expansive, create the feeling of freedom. A small room should seem like a gorge, a small fountain in the garden should seem like a huge waterfall. The small pond should feel like a vast ocean, the small mound of earth should feel like a towering mountain. If the tune is not big, then it will not be ancient; first we must imbue it with vastness and strength. But the sound must not be overwhelming, or it will be difficult to listen to. For the sound to be grand, we must use slides and glides, slurs and glissando in the music. These will give the feeling of going from low to high, from one mile to several thousands of miles. Just as the painter, Zhou Bing wrote in his book, An Introduction to Landscape Painting; that a 3 inch high painted mountain is the equivalent of 7,000 feet in the real world, and that one brushstroke was equal to 100 miles. In music, it is just the same. Slides and slurs can create grandeur and space in a piece of music. Making the sound grand will lead to it sounding old, which will lead it to sounding ancient. But one must complement the grandeur with minuet sounds to balance the composition out. Grandeur also encompasses strength and firmness. To achieve these, one must first understand that accuracy is key. The fingers stop at the correct positions abruptly with confidence, and must press on the strings so they ‘enter the wood’ [connect solidly]. The little finger is difficult to have strength and firmness as it is weak. The sound should be like metal on rock, crisp and clear. There should be no vagueness in technique or sound. The sound is refreshing and the tone ample and sleek. One should feel uplifted and free to roam across the nine-marshes, or traverse the high peaks of the lofty mountains, or sail across the flat oceans and seas, or explore the lust and green forests under the blue sky. That is the manifestation of grandeur. So, in Mr Lakeman’s repertoire we hear a few pieces of grandeur. One such is “The Charmer” with its gliding vocals and broad use of tone. “The Setting of the Sun” also creates grandeur by the assembly of tones that give it a vast feeling of nature and warmth. This also is evident in “1643”, “Ye Mariners All” and “John Lomas”. “Kitty Jay” is also very expansive in its musicality and opening of emotion and feeling.

一曰竒 One is called “Queer”

That which is queer, is known as ‘strange’. Queer sounds developed over a thousand years ago and are evident in many musics. It expresses the profoundness of music, the sound of the unusual and the tone of the strange. It leads people to develop a feeling that is equally unforgettable and questions the music. The ancients say that the sound of strange music is like that of flying in the sky on a clear day; like swaying through clouds above a hot spring’s mists. It is like listening to the call of the cranes and the cries of the birds, chanting of the pines and wailing of the wind. It is a manifestation which can be difficult to achieve. So how can a queer sound be distinguished? First, strange sounds have use of slurs and sudden changes. Second, they tend to have a fixed pattern or motif that continues from low to high then back down again, and vice versa. Third, the sound is mostly concentrated, often in a repeating pattern or verse. “The Bold Knight” is clearly a manifestation of queer; as is “Kitty Jay”. They both exemplify the feelings of profoundness and can cause a brow to be raised. These two pieces, especially the first one, best describe the manifestation in detail.

一曰輕 One is called “Light”

That which is neither light nor heavy, is called the ‘harmonious middle’. Whenever a melody begins, we mostly start from this, then it changes to light or heavy. But sometimes we enter straight into light or heavy. That which is light, sounds secluded when slow, but fluttering when normal. The sound must not float, it must have grounding. It must also be clear and distinct. Most of the melodies of traditional folk are considered light. This manifestation gives feelings of freedom of inhibitions and understatement. We experience these in melodies like “Scrumpy’s Set” which is simple and free of complicated emotions which define the manifestation of heaviness. This sound is relaxing and the tempo does not change it. It is difficult to achieve lightness if the speed is too fast. Thus it remains that it remains relative to the mood of the melody to be slow or normal in speed. Of course, we also see this more in “The Punch Bowl” where there is not too much showmanship, but plain deliverance of sound and tone; simplistically inter-woven between them is the voice and the other tones of the instruments. But surely, those who manifest purity, clarity, tranquillity and distance also embody lightness? Yes, but only for purity does “Image of Love” hold this lightness. One must not get mixed up between emotionless and tastelessness [music which does not hold emotion as the most important]. We see also that “April Eyes”, at least for the beginning tune, the lightness holds true. There is much taste in the tune, unlike the plainness of “Scrumpy’s Set”. “Send Yourself Away” is slightly light, but it possesses some tastefulness, with its colours and textures. “The Riflemen of War” has a bit of lightness in it, but too much emotion to render it ‘proper lightness’ like the others. But “The Band of Gold” though sounding anything but common, is of course is tranquil, but also heart-lightening. It holds not only tranquillity but also lightness.

一曰重 One is called “Heavy”

That which is heavy, can sound chaotic and unwelcoming; but true heaviness is not overwhelming. When the music manifests heavy, the sounds are gathered and piled one on the other, or the playing of the instruments is played harder. The ear should not notice this. The ancients say, ‘pluck the strings as you mean to break them; press on the strings until they enter the wood’. The tone is firmly grounded and not floating. But it must not sink down to the bottom; this deadens the sound. In order to achieve heaviness, the sound must not scatter, the fingers must not go into disarray, the music must not be chaotic. The feeling is like ascending up a tall and steep mountainside, like traversing a great flowing river, like fighting against a hurricane, like carrying a heavy load on your back. Every second must not have a pause; thus, heaviness must not manifest silence, distance, tranquillity or purity. Those that manifest this in Mr Lakeman’s repertoire include the obvious “Kitty Jay”, which is an ensemble of sounds. The beginnings of “1643” and “The Storm”; and then “The Bold Knight” also possesses this quality of burden (as we may call it) that presses on our hearts. Heaviness in a slow piece of music is very rare, but for Mr Lakeman, “Cape Clear” comes very close. Another noteworthy manifestation of heaviness is that of emotion (and anger); that is best heard in “Garden of Grace” and parts of “How Much”. If the heart feels like rock and metal, then that is the manifestation of heaviness.

一曰遲 One is called “Slow”

The ancients used music to cultivate themselves; this music was called the great music of harmony. They called the sounds of this music ‘sounds of rarity’. Before the beginning of the music, there is always a pause, a silence. Then the fingers are lowered and the music begins. It begins either slowly or fast. That which is slow, is also called ‘late’. That is, seeming to be late, but really very slow. This manifestation requires timing and concentration of the spirit. A slow sound can be clear and can be pure; it can transmit the feelings of sorrow, or the feelings of peace. The feeling should be that of the sound of a quiet mountain in the autumn, a moon illuminating a woody green forest, the wind through the pines from a far off distance, the cold moisture over the sleek rocks. It should encompass an feeling of not cold when it’s day, not hot when it’s night. To achieve this, the fingers must be ample yet soft. The notes must be played with relished passion but not move sluggishly. The playing must not be stagnant but moving and flowing freely like a gentle stream. One can tell slowness by listening to it fairly easily without further explanation. “Image of Love”, “Send Yourself Away”, “Cape Clear” most obvious, “The Ballard of Josie” and “The White Hare”. One could say that “Farewell my Love” fits into this manifestation, but it does not so tightly. After hearing the next piece “Blood Upon Copper” on the next track after it, the will is dragged towards normal harmonious play. But not hearing that, it still possesses an air which is not slow, but perceived-slow. One must not think that tranquil piece is intrinsically slow. It all depends upon the intention of the melody.

一曰速 One is called “Fast”

That which is fast, is also known as ‘galloping’, ‘quick’ or ‘rapid’. As we have said, every Yin has its Yang; thus slow has its fast. But being fast does not intrinsically mean heavy, just as slow does not intrinsically mean light. There are two versions of fast; one is a minor fast, two is a major fast. That which is minor is purely on how quick one plays; the playing requires the notes to be tight; if the fingers do not hurt, then the speed will reach an elegant point. Achieving this, the feeling is like that off clouds racing across the sky, or the flowing of water. That which is major is purely how rapid one plays with solidarity; it is important to be rapid but not chaotic, it should be leisurely and not tensioned; the feeling should be that of the eagle flying under a waterfall. This version requires the will to control and achieve. The intention of minor is to create charm; the intention of major is to create profoundness. In Mr Lakeman’s works, that which manifests fast are few, but distinct. “Kitty Jay” expresses minor fastness. It is the fastest piece in his current repertoire. The other is “The Bold Knight” which possesses major fastness. Other less distinctive melodies include most of “The Charmer” and “Lady of the Sea” which hold minor and major fastness respectively.

亂曰 After word

Since hearing these wonderful sounds manifested by Mr Lakeman’s expert hands and voice, I thus sigh at the fact that there is truly good music being made. A musician’s duty is to fill the room with sound that relishes the ears and cultivates the mind. How many other musicians can achieve the essentials of rites and music? As Confucius says, rites and music join people together and bring harmony to the world. I now have my zither in hand, for if in all chance the people realises the power of great music, then I will bring harmony to the world with my friends of rites and music.

ER II 55, April 21

【斷背山賦】 A Poetical Essay in Praise of Brokeback Mountain

This is a poetical essay I wrote in praise of the film Brokeback Mountain. Poet’s notes: The poetical genre of the ‘fu’ 〔賦〕 or poetical essay stems from centuries of Chinese poetical influence, history and development. Unlike most Chinese poetical forms, like Tang Poem and Song Verse, poetical essays do not have a strict form to stick to (i.e. metre, etc). Thus, a poetical essay is generally very long, and is often used to describe in detail themes and topics close to the poet’s heart. A poetical essay does not necessary need to rhyme. This poetical essay on Brokeback Mountain is loosely based on Xi Kang’s 嵇康 Qin Fu 【琴賦】, or Poetical Essay in Praise of the Qin, which was written just under 1900 years ago. Xi Kang has a preface, followed by an uninterrupted poetical essay on the Qin, in which he goes into extreme detail describing the Qin’s beauty, using a lot of metaphor and utilising images of nature to the utmost, using many words to describe scenes of mountains and rivers. In this poetical essay, the poet uses similar devices to portray the emotion and plot of the film. He keeps the line length and structure close to the style, using an even number of lines. The use of ‘songs’ is also apparent, when he uses the English ‘oh’ in place of the Chinese ‘xi’ 「兮」 (a sigh). The intention is not to recreate the story, but to recapture the emotion as well as examine the significance between love and the relation between men; and to praise the film’s success in conveying utmost beauty and elegance.

有序 Preface

It was a cold winters seventh day of the 12th month in the Yiyou 「乙酉」 year of 4702. Considering it was the opening day of an artistic theatrical show, I travelled to the city to view it. It was only after seeing it did I realise its significance and its splendour, its beauty and its passion. For an artistic theatrical show about the love between gentlemen, there are few. And for it to be respected and humanistically appreciated, there are even fewer. And so I sigh. This is a piece of art that is utmost high, a rare gem that glistens in a bed of dark rugged rocks. But for those who cannot appreciate it, where is their humanity? There are those who criticise on behalf of decadent traditions; there are those who criticise because of ignorance and prejudices; there are those who criticise even though they have not seen it; and there are those who criticise because they were told to criticise by their peers. For any artistic representation, the emotion is utmost important. To deepen our understanding of our humanity is one of the aims of artistic endeavour. For to create art for material wealth, meaning is lost; to create art for praise, clarity is lost; to create art for the ‘sake’ of just doing it, beauty is lost; to create art with apathy; structure is lost. In order to appreciate this art, one must be open minded, to let our hearts touch the meaning and significance, like the dragonfly touching the water. And for this piece of art, nothing is superfluous or forced. It is a masterpiece of Li An and the actors. Thus I write this poetical essay.

其辭曰 Thus is dictated

Oh from the dim darkness of the night, the cold air rises to the Heavens, oh the reminiscence of stars disappear, as the warm glow of light seeps through the horizons. Oh the insects lie in sleeping dormant, the desert plains begins to open, oh the sands start to stir and glitter, the shimmer of the hidden sun slowly envelops. Oh calm is this wondrous landscape, as the ground begins to become bright, oh like a stage covered in silk, the cactus’ salute the rising sun. Oh shrubs and leaves mellow in its rays, whilst the road absorbs its life, oh the mountains push it further into the azure-blue, so it gains its full might.

And the form of this mountain, with its undulating peaks and meandering valleys, low lying abysses and high reaching summits, have flat plains and steep cliffs that are broad. Called by the earth gods as Brokeback Mountain, it is cold with its icy peaks, is hot with its desert touching base, and is warm with its foliage gathered slopes. The worms and insects wiggle out of their nests, the sparrows and eagles awake from their roost, the deer and goats rise from their slumber, the fish of the streams surface from the depths. Like a sudden wind the silence is broken, the clouds being their journeys, the sun beings its travel across the sky, the creatures begin their breakfast.

The grinding sound of chariot approaches, skimming across the brown sea, as bushes wave its welcome, dust clouds salute with a spray. Stops and a mature gentleman alights, his hair of fair golden grace, eyes of lapis blue, robes of lightly dyed cotton. And to the courtyard of huts he waits, as the great carriages rumble by. As the great brightness reaches its peak, an old carriage pulls up, with rusty wheels and tired days, driver remarks of the vulgate tongue. The young gentleman disembarks, fair tea-coloured hair, brows of deep thought, eyes of the highest heavenly blue, brows of deep thinking, in robes of pure blue cotton. And there these two fellows of fate; meditate in unison under the wind, yet no words are exchanged, they only gaze at each other; yet they do not realise, that this meeting is destiny. The wind blows fresh air, and cools the young gentleman’s shaving blade, as he gazes at the mature gentleman’s reflection, upon his carriage mirror, until a large general returns to his post, and greets them with host. To the mountains they must go, to herd the cloudy sheep across, but done in secrecy for the general’s greed, no fires upon the mountain top. Accepted this expedition they do, and outside the hut they do the formalities, greet each other in initiation, then to the wine-house they go, they then talk of their lives, and softly think of what is to come. And so they prepare, and count all the sheep, on horses and with stock they set off, to the great slopes of the mountain.

On the mountain of lust green, they guide their sheep across, as the sheep flow through the land, like a moving river of white. With swirling clouds and mists, thundering rain and freezing snow, hurricane hails and drought-like heat. They traverse gapping crevices and small gaps, slippery slopes and rough terrain, crooked outcrops and dangerous precipices, wide valleys and tiny gorges. Towering slopes and little mounds, death-defying ridges and collapsed ravens, peaks that rise and fall, valleys that twist and turn. And on these cracks and crevices, shoots and sprouts cling to life, trees and bushes hold with might, rocks and boulders roll and bounce. Waterfalls cascade from high cliffs, rivers that cut through soft rock, streams that emerge and gather, dew that add the shine to leaves. The grizzly bear do frighten the mules and horses, and scatter the food and stock over the rocky ground, as our mature gentleman goes to collect them, he returns to the site of residence at night. Then in the morning they hunt down stags, to feast upon at their lost stock. To the left the green lush forests, to the right the sparkling streams and rivers, to the front the great bold mountain, to the back the dry plains of the desert, to the above the old blue sky, to the below the tents of our friends. Our young one stares at the fire beyond the deep valley of the night, and spots his companion’s resting site; wonders if his friend is sleeping well, with his thoughtful kind eyes.

And out here their dialogue is only with the sheep, until they face each other and speak; they begin to pour each others heart out, and discuss the Heavens and talk about the Earth. Out of all the time in all-under-Heaven, the longest they have ever spoken. Of the five Confucian relationships, of ruler to subject, of father to son, of husband to wife, of elder brother to younger brother, of friend to friend, the relationship between friends is the most basic. From these small utterances and murmurs, comes heart-felt companionship and ease, like the inevitable union between tree and vine, or the fundamental relation between night and day. The sound of the mouth-organ pierces the silent, whilst his song echoes across the void. The sleek pines and broad conifers, reach their arms to shelter our gentlemen from loneliness. The long days go by and by, whilst the nights drift off and off. In this landscape of beauty and solace, nothing is at conflict, everything is as it should be, like the fact that humans are carefree. And there they stay under Heaven’s eyes, as the mature gentleman slumbers under the stars. But though the caring moon watches over him, the bitter cold ice begins to shroud him, consuming like the flood of a broken dam, uncomfortable like the fall of a thousand rocks on top of a plant. The young gentleman beckons his fellow in his tent, and there the mature gentleman takes his roost. But as the stars gaze at our friends, their fate is revealed by the rising steam.

When all the sheep are asleep, cuddled mountain goats and deer, worms and millipedes entangle, crows and eagles snuggle up together. Our fine young gentleman holds onto the mature gentleman’s hand, as they create the warmth to chase out the cold. Then they awake from their slumbers confused, like a drunken fool who had too many. But at this instant the young man gently graces, upon our mature man’s icy cheeks. Their breathe melts their hearts of ice, their touch rekindles their passion, their eyes reopen their locked up love, their ears accept their overdue freedom. And so they embrace and unite under the stars, as their cries echo through the trees and the mountains. Within the deadness of the dark night, comes life and light from the passion between them.

The mountain awakes from its deep slumber, the life of the hills return to their duties. Our gentlemen rise from their beds, dazed and confused of their activities of last night. Their thoughts bewildered, their hearts pounding. Denial only brings them deeply closer even more, to question their true feelings for one and each other. They sit among the grassy slopes, and stare at the beautiful sight. And soon the come to a phrase of exchange, apologetic and alone they find comfort in each other, as they gently kiss next to the fire, lovingly hug each other. And in the mornings they dance across the moss and grass, but the General spies on them in rage. The term is nearly over, as the snowy veil covers the hillocks, and in the moment of playfulness, they hit each other through accident, but that turns to aggression, a blooded nose spills blood on their robes. So at the end their time is cut short, they begin to part and return to the world of dust. But our mature gentleman’s robe was missing, left on the mountain as they prepared to leave. As the young gentleman bids farewell in his carriage, our gentleman watches him grace away into the horizon; and as he began to make his way home, he dropped his bags and wept at his going. The clear blue skies comforted him; the dark brown earth soothed him. The fate of these two gentlemen, are sealed by the Heavens.

After that moment in the mountains, our old friend returns home to the north, and there he continues his previous duties, and at noon he is wed. The girl of brown hair; is innocent and graceful. And from there they frolic, and are happy together, they bore two beautiful maidens, as the spring and autumns run. Yet even on this situation, he hides his dormant secret; whilst uniting with his wife, there are traces of his past love. And as the seasons drift by, the cracks begin to show; though he tries to continue his life, he cannot keep company with others. But what became of our young friend? He’d returned to the mountain a year after. And there he was turned away, as the general knew of his and his friend’s relationship back then. So he went to the open spaces, and competed in competitions. There he rode the horses and the bulls, and spots a beauty too. With one night of romance, they soon become one. And he receives a child, as everything turns bland. These two gentlemen, far from each other, yet they still hold onto their memories and feelings, that they left behind long ago. Angry and agitated, confused and aggressive; the cords of romance still tugs strongly, as they begin to think of each other.

But soon the wild goose delivers news, from our young man to our old friend. So he accepts this invitation, and waits for his friend’s arrival. And soon the rumble of the carriage approaches, as he runs out arms wide open to greet him; but this embrace turns to passionate kiss, to this their feelings are at risk. Soft and loving are their embrace, rough and caring are their union; our old friend’s feelings are clearly expressed, as our young friend is intoxicated by its force. But from the wings of the house, his wife so painfully sees their love, depressed she recedes back within, in confusion and in sadness she cries. From then they stay at the inn, and unite their bodies from within; for four years they had not seen each other, and so the future is unknown. They now return to the mountain, and find they were a match made in Heaven; they laugh and lament at their life, smile and frown at their secrets. Who could have foreseen, that they will be doves in a tree? As the wintry stream flows by, what becomes of this relationship they sigh? Return to the mountain hut? Be a couple in love? Not such says our old friend, for things are more complicated than they seem. Society’s full of injustice and ignorance, and of prejudice and hidden hate.

He lamented: “In younger years oh in my home town, two men in love oh were captured and caught. Their jades were tied oh and to the ditches they were dragged, they were dragged oh till they bled to their deaths. This horrendous torture oh a crime of hatred, my father committed oh as he forced me to watch.”

Their eyes lowered as they lamented, on their fate if they were discovered. This raging emotion and feelings, would only consume them more. And so they part again, but will meet sometime in the future. But as his wife secretly weeps, will he give her his consul? Their relationship crumbles, and they then are judged to separate. His love for his eldest daughter still remains; and with his funds keeps her afloat. Whilst his marriage has died, his young friend is besides. He now has steady employment, at his father-in-laws business. Though the murmurs of meaningless chatter through the towns, make our friends worry only slightly.

Upon hearing the news of his old friend’s separation, our young gentleman rides south to meet him, singing and whistling happy tunes, as he prepares to be with his love. But the old friend has limited time with his daughters, and so cannot be with him. Our young one flees the scene, distraught and with tears in his eyes. If his friend won’t comfort him, then who in the world would? If the sakura won’t keep its blooms, then who will catch them? Unsatisfied he rides further south, to the country of haze to please his tastes. Alas these feelings of our friends; do pull the strings of our kind hearts. Yet the pain remains after these situations, and though their lives grow, like a stunned tree in the snow, are they trees of pine or maples? But after such a phrase, they still enjoy each others company; they go once or twice a year, to the mountain where they first met.

The years drift by, like an unhindered river, or a falling boulder, or roots of a tree out of a rock, or the gliding eagle about to capture its prey, or the dying old man. They equal over ten plus five, but the emotions are still strong, our old friend finds a beauty, but saddens his daughter. With their families they do have a feast, but at our old friend’s company does he reveal his beast. His old wife knew and confronts him, shocked and angry he leaves at haste; then drowns his sorrows violently, bruised and battered painfully. The leaves are beginning to fall, the flowers start to wither. And as the two head off to the slopes, a fate is foreboding.

Elegance is our gentlemen on this mountain top, graceful are our friends as their suppressions are dropped. Would it not be good to flee this world? Like carefree wondering spirits at nature’s door. The bold pine stands in the freezing gales, yet it stays firm and still; the fishes swimming in dark waters, yet they have their own fill. Unsurpassable beauty we are all in, does not the gods want us to be in happiness? As this meeting draws near to the close, our old friend discloses a hidden secret. They cannot see each other for more than six months, enough for sprouts to grow into adults. Such situations are unsatisfactory for our young one, missing each other as the days pass by. How can this relation continue its current pace, when we all have problems we must face? Should we flee to the south? Or run to the cold north? Or escape to the hot east? Or gallop to the rainy west? Such ideas are hardly ideal when it is already painful to go, continue as we are even sorrowful is it so. And in his arms does our old friend cry, our young friend only wishes to know how to quit him. It is because they are human that they are here; if they look down deeper there is nothing to fear. So they bid adieu as the carriage slowly travels, in the final glances love is unravelled.

And then one morning, at the call of the rooster, our old gentleman goes to collect his letters, and there he finds a heart-breaking revelation. The postcard stamped with ‘deceased’, the ink black with starkness. He reaches for his correspondence, to talk to his friend’s wife. She says that he died in an accident, but what really happened was realised in his mind: He died in agony through murder and hate, but they couldn’t be together until it was too late. Where now does his body go? T’was burnt into ashes to return to the earth. One part stayed with his wife, the other to his elders; but his friend’s last wish was to return to Brokeback Mountain, and so he pilgrims to the elder’s house. There he goes to his dead friend’s room, and opens the window to welcome the sad spring. Yet there he finds something shocking, of painful memories and sorrow; his blood stained robe that he lost first time on the mountain, lovingly covered by his friend’s own robe. His friend had kept them together for all these years, and cherished them like treasures of priceless gold. He grasped them lightly, and held them tightly; his tears fell silently, as he absorbed their scent chokingly. And so he keeps them, and leaves this sorrowed ground. Could not get his ashes, but he did get his love’s token. There he goes to return to the mountain, and there he lives in his hut alone.

Then one day his daughter comes, and bids his father’s welcome. She is to be married to a kind young fellow; that she had met for a year or so. Our loving father wishes to know, whether this fellow loves her truly so; and yes he does says she, ever deeply and lovingly. Will he go to his daughter’s marriage? He thinks of what his old friend said; to not regret the things in life, to always cherish our time in this world. And so our daughter’s frown turns to delight, as her father decides to fulfil his love’s promise. And so she goes off in happiness; that her father still cares about her ever more. Yet she left her robes behind, and our friend tries to call her back, but she has disappeared into the dust, so he folds them lovingly away. Then he opens his wardrobe and places them in, and there on the door was a very special thing. His old robe now covers his love’s robe, that now he so cherishes; next to that a small picture, of their place of their first meeting. And now as he gazes with tears in his eyes, he says “Jack I swear”, as he closes the doors, he laid his life bare. The grassy plains slowly ripple by, as a cold wind gently blows a deep sigh.

亂曰 The after word is thus

Oh when will such an injustice ever end? Oh love is not limited so how can it offend? Oh look into your hearts for solace and guidance. Oh if you cannot then it’s better to stay silent. Oh for who can ever stop the greatest force in this plain? Oh the source of all hatred comes from those that bring pain!

Copyright Charlie Huang © 2005, 2006