Chinoiserie

"Gather thy blossom, ere it be stolen"
Far away within the East,
a monarch kept his state,
and near him, just across the bridge,
there lived a prince (see plate).

The monarch had a daughter fair.
The prince in love was he.
"No, no, good man," the monarch said,
"My daughter stays with me."

But to her lover, she wrote:
"Gather thy blossom, ere it be stolen..."

Across the bridge the lovers fled.
The king pursued irate.
They hied them to a little boat
and sailed away (see plate).

Alas the stormy winds did blow,
as cruel as cruel could be.
They dashed the boat upon the rocks,
and drowned them in the sea.

But changed to birds by fairies kind,
their spirits rose elate.
And even now about the king,
they hover still (see plate).

Two birds flying high,
a Chinese vessel sailing by,
a bridge with three men, sometimes four,
a willow tree hanging o'er,
a Chinese temple, there it stands,
built upon the river sands,
an apple tree with apples on,
a crooked fence to end my song.

"Gather thy blossom, ere it be stolen."

I drink my mother's favorite tea
in a china cup of exquisite whiteness.

Since you want my opinion, here it is:
There was, in a corner of the world,
a wonder called the Summer Palace.
Build a dream with marble, jade, bronze, porcelain,
frame it in cedar,
cover it with precious stones,
drape it with silk,
varnish it, enamel it, gild it, paint it,
add gardens, pools, gushes of water and foam, swans, ibises, peacocks,
imagine a dazzling cavern of fantasy—
that was the Summer Palace.

The slow work of two generations
built this monument. For whom? For the people.
Artists, poets, and philosophers knew it.
They said: the Parthenon in Greece,
the Pyramids in Egypt,
the Colosseum in Rome,
Notre-Dame in Paris,
the Summer Palace in the Orient.
If one did not see it, one dreamed of it,
a frightening unknown masterpiece
glimpsed in the distance in some unknown twilight.

One day, two bandits arrived.
One plundered, the other burned.
More efficient than Elgin,
they left nothing behind.
One filled his pockets,
while the other filled his coffers;
and they returned home with their spoils,
arm in arm, laughing.

A dog snatched from the Summer Palace
was given to Queen Victoria,
who named her Looty.

Shattered lines of crazing on a porcelain cup.
The tea burns my lips.

My mother's favorite tea is called Tiegoonyum,
named after the Goddess of Mercy.

Expensive silk brocades traveled through Syria
to become the opulent robes of priests—
Italian luxury fashion, made in China!

Porcelain's secret formula
evaded Europe's alchemists,
so potters from Delft made do,
painting alien landscapes in cobalt blue—
strange, improbable temples, grotesque foliage,
and mountains like camel humps—
on soft clay glazed in white tin.
Now their work is kneaded
into their nation's soul.

In Paris, a Tang Dynasty pipa,
once gifted between emperors,
captivated Georges Vuitton.
He added his father's monogram
to its inlaid geometry
and printed the pattern on canvas
to carry imperial baggage.

Fast forward to fast fashion:
Copies of Valentino and Vuitton
pour out of sweatshop factories.
Blue and white toile—
cotton dressed as clay—
adorned with peonies and crested birds.
Anything your heart desires, you can own,
all made in China!
Even my own grandfather warned me not to buy.

My mother sang Chinese songs
when I was in her belly.
I never learned her mother tongue,
but in my own voice, I can sing Puccini...

...yòu xiāng yòu bái rén rén kuā...

In questa reggia,
or son mill'anni e mille,
un grido disperato risonò.
E quel grido,
traverso stirpe e stirpe
qui nell'anima mia si rifugiò!
Principessa Lou-Ling,
ava dolce e serena
che regnavi nel tuo cupo silenzio
in gioia pura,
e sfidasti inflessibile e sicura
l'aspro dominio,
oggi rivivi in me!