Frog Dance

Frog by Hoji Matsumoto (d. 1800)

Good old Aristophanes went and bit the dust.
His date of death has not survived, but now there’s only us.
Aphrodite’s temple is smashed and full of reeds,
Just the place for leaping in a warm spring breeze.

Brekekekex, koax, koax!
Brekekekex, koax, koax!

A prince’s lifestyle these days isn’t what it used to be,
Just hanging round till mummy dies and meeting bores for tea.
Take our word for it, girlies: If a frog hops on your bed,
Let him kiss you, and turn into a frog instead.

Brekekekex, koax, koax!
Brekekekex, koax, koax!

Hoji Matsumoto, late of Osaka town,
Painted an ao-gaeru with an enigmatic frown.
They wondered in Japan back then, and now in London too --
But we know what our friend meant, and we won’t tell you.

Brekekekex, koax, koax!
Brekekekex, koax, koax!

You’ve taken quite an interest since our troubles all began:
“Help save our poor amphibians! Their only hope is man.”
It’s not that we’re not grateful, but we don’t expect the worst:
We won’t die out completely, because you’ll go first.

Brekekekex, koax, koax!
Brekekekex, koax, koax!

Li Xiangting and the Shih Tzu

I don't know whether the British Museum has only recently started having concerts, or whether I just never paid attention before, but I was back there last night to hear a performance on the guqin, or Chinese zither, by the world-renowned player Li Xiangting. The guqin, like the rubab, was an instrument I'd heard played but never seen. Unfortunately, photography wasn't permitted during the concert. I wish I could show you the varied techniques that a guqin player uses, sometimes seeming to strike the strings like piano keys, sometimes strumming and sliding.

Before he began playing, Mr Li gave a brief talk (in Chinese, with the presenter translating) about the guqin's traditional relationship with painting and calligraphy. Later on we got to see this relationship in action. The artist Guo Le (who turned out to have been sitting next to me in the audience) joined Mr Li on stage. The presenter announced that Mr Guo would create a painting based on a theme chosen by the audience, while Mr Li improvised a tune on the guqin and xiao (bamboo flute). The subject we eventually chose was a Shih Tzu dog. This caused some difficulty at first, as neither musician, painter nor presenter had heard of the breed before. Fortunately, the production assistant found a picture online and projected it onto the overhead screen. Mr Guo produced a very characterful picture of the dog, while Mr Li came up with suitably bouncy accompanying music.

Most of the rest of the programme consisted of traditional music. I particularly liked Yi Guren ("Remembering an Old Friend"), a wistful composition from the early 19th century, and Jiu Kuang ("Wine Drunkenness"), a convincingly tipsy-sounding piece from the 15th century. There was also a contemporary composition, Jieshi ("Secluded Orchid in Jieshi Mode"), which the composer Raymond Yiu had based on the oldest surviving guqin tablature, from the sixth century. For this performance Mr Li was joined by members of the English Chamber Orchestra, who made modernist noises behind him while he played a conventional-sounding melody.

The only distraction from the music was a couple of mice who ran back and forth in front of the stage. The Gayer-Anderson Cat would not be pleased!

Tashi delek, Jig 'n' Jet

As some of you already know, I was not a fan of the great Wills 'n' Kate pageant. You might assume this is because I'm a cynic who wants to stop other people from having a little fairytale magic in their lives. Not at all. In fact, when I hear professional atheists sneering that religion is a "fairy tale," the first thing that occurs to me is that I can't trust anyone who hates fairy tales that much. It's just that when you live every day with the peccadilloes and extravagances of Britain's royal family, the viciousness and hypocrisy of its press, and the crass opportunism of its retailers, it's hard to suspend disbelief long enough to pretend that anything resembling a fairy tale is going on.

Now, however, we may have something worthy of the label. Tell me: is the quotation below from Hans Christian Andersen? Charles Perrault? Or from a parliamentary address given earlier today?

As King, it is now time for me to marry. After much thought I have decided that the wedding shall be later this year.

Now, many will have their own idea of what a queen should be like – that she should be uniquely beautiful, intelligent and graceful. I think with experience and time, one can grow into a dynamic person in any walk of life with the right effort. For the queen, what is most important is that at all times, as an individual she must be a good human being, and as queen, she must be unwavering in her commitment to serve the People and Country.

As my queen, I have found such a person and her name is Jetsun Pema. While she is young, she is warm and kind in heart and character. These qualities together with the wisdom that will come with age and experience will make her a great servant to the nation.

In fact, those are the words of Jigme Khesar Namgyel Wangchuck, the 31-year-old Druk Gyalpo ("dragon king") of the tiny Himalayan country of Bhutan, announcing his engagement to a 20-year-old student.



Jigme Khesar is an interesting king. So was his father, Jigme Singye Wangchuck, who in 2008 shocked his people by declaring an end to absolute monarchy, sending out a draft constitution for citizens' approval and ordering the country's first-ever parliamentary elections. Finally he abdicated in favour of his son, who has continued leading the country down a democratic path.

That's not to say the place is now a liberal paradise. There is widespread discrimination against the ethnic Nepalese minority, and all citizens are required by law to wear traditional dress (though apparently the law is only sporadically enforced). But it's hard to imagine many other absolute rulers voluntarily ceding power in this way. By all accounts, the king is extremely popular with his subjects. And really, doesn't this put a lump in your throat?:

This union does not mean that I am starting my own family. From the very day I received the Dhar Ngay-Nga [brightly-coloured scarves representing the five elements of water, earth, fire, wind and space] from the sacred Machhen [Buddhist religious leader, I think], the people of the 20 Dzongkhags [administrative districts] became my family. Such is the duty and privilege of all Kings of Bhutan. It is through this union, that I shall have a Queen who will support, and work with me, as I serve the People and Country.

Ms Pema (who coincidentally has the same name as the Dalai Lama's sister) actually has a connection to Britain, since she received part of her education at Regent's College in London. According to the palace, she enjoys painting and basketball.

The king asked the government not to make plans for a lavish wedding, saying he wanted one "in accordance with age-old tradition, to seek the blessings of our Guardian Deities." The traditional Bhutanese marriage ceremony, Wikipedia tells us, consists of the couple exchanging white scarves and drinking from the same cup. Afterwards, wedding guests may well feast on the national dish of ema datshi, a mixture of chillies and yak's cheese, served with the local red rice (which naturally grows that colour).

And the Bhutanese need not worry too much about post-royal-wedding letdown. Both polygamy and polyandry are legal in Bhutan -- the present king's father has four wives, all of them sisters -- so there's always the prospect of another on the horizon.

The wedding is planned for October. You can follow developments on Bridge to Bhutan, Bhutan Observer, Bhutan Journals and the king's official Facebook page (of course!).

Rubab and tabla

Today I went to the British Museum to hear a concert of traditional Afghan music by Homayun Sakhi and Yusuf Mahmoud. Mr Sakhi plays the rubab -- a double-chambered lute -- while Mr Mahmoud plays the better-known tabla.

Someone from the Aga Khan Music Initiative, which sponsored the concert, read out an introduction explaining the music we were about to hear. But to be honest, it was delivered in a monotone and I didn't pay much attention. So I'll just give you my impressions.

Each piece seemed to start with Mr Sakhi tuning his rubab. Eventually he would drift into playing a melody. Mr Mahmoud would listen for a few minutes, then give his drums a dusting of Johnson's Baby Powder and join in. The two of them would match and exchange rhythms, seeming to improvise on a central theme.

The result was magical. The rubab turned out to be a very versatile instrument, producing drones and percussive plucks at the same time. I've always loved the sound of the tabla, but had never seen it played. It was good to observe just how the smaller drum created the tuneful beats, while the larger drum pulsed like a heart under the music.

The pieces the duo played didn't vary as much internally as Western compositions can. Each piece maintained the same mood throughout, and was based on one or two melodic phrases -- only the tempo and the octave changed. It's a cliche to call such music "hypnotic," but it really does have the power to take you in and sweep you along.

Perhaps the most enjoyable part of the performance, though, was seeing how the two players interacted with each other. At the beginning of one piece, Mr Mahmoud listened to the rubab's melody for much longer than usual, shaking his head as if to say, "No, I can't do anything with this," until Mr Sakhi hit on something that inspired him. As they played, the two looked at each other constantly, picking up cues from one another and sometimes grinning from sheer delight.







(The camera didn't shake during that last picture; their hands really were moving that fast.)

Background Story 7 by Xu Bing

(Technical note: If you're one of the kind people who left a comment on my previous post, please know that I didn't delete it. It was Blogger's fault; you can read their explanation here. The post itself disappeared for a while and then returned, so I'm hoping the comments may eventually be restored too.)

Once again, the British Museum has a small but fascinating exhibition in Room 3. This time it's a lightbox installation by the contemporary Chinese artist Xu Bing. From the front, the work looks like a traditional landscape painting:



Go behind the box, though, and the graceful "brushstrokes" turn out to be the shadows of dead leaves and rubbish.



So far Mr Xu, unlike his fellow artist Ai Weiwei, has escaped persecution by the Chinese government, but the political overtones of this work are not hard to see. It must take a lot of courage to make art in China these days. It's disgraceful that Western artists, with their soft lives, have largely kept silent about the dangers their Chinese counterparts face.

The Ship's Cat

I can’t talk long. My duty’s never done:
Masts to be marked, untested rays of sun,
Spills to be sniffed at, lapped up or rejected,
Men to be watched, tribute to be collected --
The lump of pork, the scratch between the ears.
I may go up, if no one interferes,
To the place where I can see my whole domain.
They call it crow’s nest, liars. Still, I’ve lain
Nowhere with greater pleasure. It awakes
The kitten in me when the ocean shakes.
Its crests cry for the stalk, the pounce and more;
And fish with wings, the double traitors, soar.

Once I soared too, entranced. I must admit
Some fear at first; but after I had hit
The surface and endured the ghastly soaking,
My feline sense returned and I stopped choking.
There, all around me, every kind of fish,
And some for which I’d never known to wish,
Were mine for taking. Better still than that,
Who came to show me round but the Great Cat,
Bastet herself? But just as we were swimming
To the cove where roe and cream are ever brimming,
They pulled me up and laid me on the deck,
And then they put this bell around my neck.

Now the fools won’t give me peace. From down below
They hear me and come scrambling: “Kitty, no.”
But just you wait. I’ll show them who’s in charge.
Just let them want a wind to move this barge.
They’ll go without until they let me climb.
Have you got food or what? I’m out of time.

(Inspired by Henry Fielding's journal)

Critter ID needed

Woodlouse of some kind, possibly, a photo by Laura A. Brown on Flickr.

I photographed this creepy-crawly in the park today, thinking I'd check it out in my new insect guide when I got home. Except that nothing matches it, and on closer inspection I don't think it's an insect at all. It looks a bit like a woodlouse to me, but Google hasn't turned up any familiar-looking photos. (Is there a guide to the UK's terrestrial crustaceans out there?) Does anyone know what it could be?

Koinobori

Today is Children's Day in Japan, so I thought I'd share a picture of some koinobori ("carp streamers"), which are traditionally flown on this day. I photographed them at a kite festival in Harrow last month.

There's a traditional children's song about the koinobori, which you can hear in this wobbly but tuneful YouTube video:




According to Wikipedia, the lyrics are:


Higher than the roof-tops are the koinobori
The large Carp is the father
The smaller Carp are the children
They seem to be having fun swimming.


This year, of course, the occasion is bittersweet as we remember the children affected by the recent disasters in Japan.

Blackbirds feeding at man's feet

Blackbirds feeding at man's feet, a photo by Laura A. Brown on Flickr.

This scene, I think, sums up everything I like about the park across from my workplace.

(That's a fledgling blackbird and its father, by the way.)

Actually, I am saying he deserved it

In the days after 11 September 2001, I got used to hearing one particular phrase from the right-thinking people who surrounded me in London. I heard it from my parish's "justice 'n' peace" type priest, from a British civil servant I was working with (who, by the way, was supposed to be politically neutral on the job) and from every other friend, neighbour and journalist who embraced the anti-Americanism of the trendy British left. It went like this:

"I'm not saying anyone deserved this, but --"

(Yes, that does sound an awful lot like "I'm not a racist, but." And it has pretty much the same meaning.)

Well, I doubt any of those people are reading this blog, but just in case they are, allow me to edify them: this is what someone who "deserves it" looks like.

A couple more thoughts while I'm here:

1. It's possible that the government might feel the need to release photographs of bin Laden's body, to prove to his followers that he's really dead. I suppose I understand that, but I hope this time the British papers manage to restrain themselves from putting the photos all over their front pages, the way they did with Saddam Hussein's sons. Maybe Kate Middleton can lose a few more pounds and distract them.
   
2. Is it silly to say that I'm pleased for Christopher Hitchens that he lived to see this day?