Musings on Master's Poetry and Art
Traces of Previous Lives on the other hand,
records a part of the sad history in the 20th Century when the Poet’s
motherland, Au Lac, was involved in war. These poems are the condensed
mirrors that reflect the upheavals of the last 50 years in the 20th
Century. Master put “love” in the first part of the
poem collection and “war” in the second, symbolizing
humankind’s longing for love and peace. Master even recited
those poems of this volume Herself, which was made into CDs (Note
2). Thus, the world was given an introduction to the traditional
Aulacese art of reciting poems at a time when this delicate art
was going down to a point of extinction between the 20th and 21st
centuries. Through Her effort, this art is gaining a new life.
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Master’s life is colorful, even sensational.
The Poet’s heart is very soft and sensitive; that’s why Her
thoughts and emotions are deeper than those of ordinary people. She named
the next poem collection The Dream of a Butterfly and re-created the high
realm of Zhuang Zi through Her romantic style. It will be a great blessing
if readers can suddenly wake up from the cycle of rebirth and walk out
of the dream of life after reading these poems.
In this collection, the Poet invites readers to
enjoy verses that have the luxury of silk without going through the pain
of the silkworm when it was trapped in the cocoon; to enjoy the beauty
of the dance of the butterfly without being a furry worm first. Like a
seashell endures the pain of rubbing sands in order to make smooth and
shining pearls to beautify the world, the Poet endures all suffering alone
to make poems that decorate and comfort this long life.
An enlightened Saint who can teach the world through
art and talent must have both extraordinary beauty outside and supreme
spiritual realization inside.
The
chateau bowed low,
Welcoming the
stranger;
Dust from the royal carriages,
Brought tears!
History
is full of fantasized legends.
Where are they now?
Fragments of the old incense! Returning,
I tasted my tears...
Of grief for the transient mirage.
Alas! Through new and old times,
the world remains unchanged.
…….
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Sad footsteps of vicissitude,
On the aged melancholic pebbles...
The grass shone brightly like once the silhouette of a beauty,
And in the limpid water of the ancient lake,
The palace still echoed sounds of the sitar;
Played by gentle fingers of the Empress,
Scent of sandalwood diffused, in the still air.
O! Ancient King, In ecstasy he must have been!...
~ From “At the
Royal Palace in Siam,”
The Dream of a Butterfly
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