Humanistic Jiangnan Keywords (Includes CD)

Author: Liu Shilin, Editor-in-Chief
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2005-03-01
Features: "Where is Xizhou? Crossing the bridge by two oars." The desire to write a book about Jiangnan has lingered for quite some time. Every time I climb Qingliang Mountain, gaze at the splendid clouds of Meihuashan, or listen to the bustling market sounds of Qinhuai River, this longing becomes even more irresistible. Not to mention seeing the boatwomen's graceful movements creating ripples across the lake in Yangzhou's Slender West Lake, or hearing the artist's soft voice recite "The moon falls, crows cry, frost covers the sky" in Suzhou's Wanshi Garden, or imagining the "souls etched on the Three-Life Stone" scattered in Hangzhou's Duanqiao. This is a land that easily evokes leisurely sentiments, even a touch of desolation. A dilapidated courtyard might once have been the home of the noble Wang or Xie families, while a seemingly insignificant tomb on the mountain could be the resting place of a shocking tragedy. Among all the poetic details of living in Jiangnan, the feeling of returning home is certainly the most unbearable. Especially on moonlit nights or stormy evenings, stepping into an unfamiliar water town is bound to stir the sense of life's vicissitudes—like "Leaving home in youth, returning in age." Under the temptation of such emotions and scenery, a traveler might easily fall into a beautiful illusion, unable to discern which self—this one in the present moment or the one still toiling in the mortal world—is more real, whose voice and appearance are more tender and gentle.
However, after all, green mountains cannot stop the flow of time, just as Jiangnan beauties are inevitably bound by the fate of "youth fades with the spring's end." The withering of this poetic Jiangnan in the hustle and bustle of the mortal world seems like a sorrowful contract signed in a past life. For those fleeting passersby who witness this era, the intertwined emotions cannot be resolved with a poet's "I long to speak, but must suppress it." On one hand, there is the old moon that "wanders past the women's walls at midnight"; on the other, there is the moon-gazing person by the river who finds "all things changed upon passing the Changle Gate again." On one hand, the cries of selling osmanthus flowers and the clanging of osmanthus wine jars remain the same on the streets; on the other, the long-remembered streets of Changgan, Hengtang, and Nanpu in youth are long gone. On one hand, the drizzle in the yellow-rain season and the croaking of frogs in the reed ponds still arrive as promised; on the other, the people who once picked lotuses, washed silk, or farmed by day and read by night have long vanished. On one hand, the bamboo shoots, perch, water chestnuts, and lotus roots of spring and autumn still linger in memory; on the other, after sunset, there is no longer the hoarse storytelling of Cai Zhonglang by night, nor the old courtyards in fine weather, nor the lonely boats in stormy dusk, nor the singing of the young Xiao and Xiao sisters, nor the colors of spring fields and the candlelight of autumn courtyards, nor all the vibrant sights, sounds, and scents that once flourished in Jiangnan. If their existence cannot rise to eternity, then what else is worth preserving for the world?
For all things that exist in this world, Su Dongpo's Preface to the Northern River says it best: "If one views things from the perspective of constant change, then heaven and earth cannot even last for a moment; if one views them from the perspective of unchanging essence, then both things and I are endless." For the past things that have lost their physical forms, their existence and clarity can only be sustained through language and sound. To construct a living classical humanistic Jiangnan with a modern Chinese discourse is the highest ideal and practical force that encourages us to plan and implement the "Jiangnan Discourse." Just as (Tatsuo) would cry out in sorrow while sketching nature, walking through the beautiful Jiangnan landscape, we too hear a desperate plea, "Quick, show me!" Sometimes, this soft plea becomes a harsh command, urging us to abandon many other tasks and prioritize this endeavor. I remember Hegel once called ancient Greece the "spiritual homeland of all Europeans," and the beautiful Jiangnan can undoubtedly be seen as the spiritual homeland of the Chinese nation. Although this moist world, now under the spotlight of history and nostalgia, has largely been relegated to the realm of the past, the speaker themselves are living, breathing beings, and thus their narratives carry a modern humanistic significance rarely seen in other discourse spaces.
Let Jiangnan remain as she is, let her traverse time and space through discourse, and become an eternal spiritual homeland for the Chinese people. This is the goal and unwavering humanistic ideal that Jiangnan Discourse strives to achieve.