In the Garden of the
Master of the Nets in old Suzhou
surrounded by the weight
of history
I'm contemplating as I
should in a place of meditation
the meaning of my life, when
my eyes begin to roam
across constructed
landscapes designed to mimic nature
a concept that is alien to
me
Feeling lost and lonely I
find a little courage
to practice a few phrases
like Nǐ hǎo and Xiè xie
with a group of local people who are strolling
in the garden
They don't reciprocate my
effort with a Hello or a Thank You
I guess it's not
surprising that the smiles from the gents
and the glances from the
ladies are the only answers I receive
It's just as hard for them
to speak their words in English
as it is for me to speak
mine in Chinese
Contemplation's tiring –
conversation's nonexistent -
I head off to a recital of
traditional opera music
a performance being held
in the hall just past the pond
I approach the two
musicians in the hope that they'll be friendly
and smile and say Nǐ hǎo as
best I'm able
the players seem to
understand so I extend the conversation
with a few gesticulations, point my finger,
wave my hand
After introductions are
completed to our mutual satisfaction
they perform a brief
recital of their Suzhou
a wonderful performance
that I'm privileged to see
When I thank them for
their music
they respond in precise English
that they say was taught to them by a foreign language teacher
they respond in precise English
that they say was taught to them by a foreign language teacher
a conversation teacher
from Australia
I return to contemplation
in the famous Suzhou
thinking of the things
that I have seen
Though the memory of this
garden and the music of the opera
is a treasure I can take back home with me
the sight of manmade
landscapes or the sound of opera music
can't replace the sight of
ghost gums
standing silent in the moonlight
standing silent in the moonlight
or the music that the rain plays
for the solo that the wind sings for the ballet of the leaves.
for the solo that the wind sings for the ballet of the leaves.
