A SONG IS MISSING

Something on the net reminded me of a lovely poem by Su Tungpo about exile. Which, for much of his life, he was in. As were most scholars serving the empire for over two millenia.
In fact, if an official was posted to his home area, to the eyes of history and many of his contemporaries it might like something quite suspicious was going on.

[Convenient pay-offs, leading to "convenient" pay-offs down the line.]

Basically the poem reads about the length of time spent far way, desolate places, and utter loneliness, sometimes letters from home, night time, sadness, and the image of the moon above a landscape of pines and frost.


Lyrics to the 'River City' tune .
Whatever that song was.
Unknown now.


An attempt at calligraphicating it.

The first three words of the poem.
Meh. My writing is mediocre.

江城子·乙卯正月二十日夜記夢
Dreams on the twentieth of the first month of Yi Mao.
蘇軾
By Su Shi (Su Tungpo)

十年生死兩茫茫，不思量，自難忘。
千里孤墳，無處話智涼。
仵使相逢應不識，塵滿面，雅如霜。

夜來幽夢忽還鄉，小軒窗，正梁發。
相顧無言，唯有淚千行。
料得年年腸斷處，明月夜，短松冰。


The poem is worth looking up. I'm not going to translate it, because like my calligraphy my translating abilities are not up to the task. In a sense we are all in exile.
Some of us from the abilities we wish we had.

It's tea time. I'm heading out for snackies.



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