Zoot Sims apparently
once referred to alto saxophonist Stan Getz, as a “nice bunch of guys” to
describe his many personalities. The son
of Ukrainian Jewish parents, born and raised in NYC, Stan Getz music certainly
had many different musical personalities. I’m
listening to this lovely 1972 creation “Captain Marvel” that has him with an
all-star cast from that period, Chick Corea, Stanley Clarke, Airto Moreira and
Tony Williams. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Captain_Marvel_(album) What could have easily turned into fuz-ack
drivel with that cast at that time, feels broad but rooted. I never got to see Stan Getz perform though I
would have loved to. I feel connected to
him somehow regardless, as my mom had booked him a few times, at theatre where
she worked, when I was a punk, and couldn’t have cared less. His ashes were scattered in the sea near my
friend’s house at Marina Del Rey, in California. I’ll have to remember to make a bow and blow
the sea a kiss, next time I’m there . . .
I had the good fortune to meet two brothers from Ireland
last evening. They were here in Beijing
on business. Their company had perfected
a means of extracting hazardous chemicals from waste and there were discussions
about their prospects here in China.
We got talking about a matter I’d written about recently, the
role of Queen Elizabeth II in reconciliation between Great Britain and
Ireland. I’d discussed the how it was
remarkable that she shook hands with, for example, Martin McGuiness who’d all
but certainly given the orders to assassinate Lord Mountbatten, her uncle. They had a better story.
They described to me what it was to watch the Queen tour the
Republic of Ireland and visit Croke Park stadium the site of the infamous 1920
massacre, when British troops opened fire at a Gaelic football match killing
thirteen spectators and one player. They
described with great clarity how tense it was to watch her visit, for you and
the whole nation were all but certain that some hothead somewhere must
certainly be poised and ready to ruin the moment, tragically.
But no one did. And later that evening she gave a well regarded speech at Dublin
Castle concerning relations between Ireland and the United Kingdom, and
surprised everyone by opening her remarks in Gaelic: “A Uachtaráin, agus a chairde” “President and
friends.” My new friends described how
powerful it was to hear this.
I’d written for a number of days pushing the notion of
reconciliation in North Asia. I’d
suggested that Japan was stuck and unlikely to initiate something new and that,
in the current circumstance it was difficult to imagine innovation on the
matter coming from China. Might Korea,
perhaps drive something creative and disruptive on the question of
reconciliation? What I thought about
last evening and discussed with folks aloud, was: what might it be like for the
emperor of Japan, Akihito, the son of war-time emperor Hirohito, to come to
China, for example, and make a humble speech of reconciliation, speaking in
part, in Chinese.
I’m sure this is not the first time this juxtaposition has
been posed. I am certain there are a
slew of reasons why this could never, would never, should never come to
pass. I don’t care. There were certainly the same impasse between
Scylla and Charybdis when someone first suggested as much concerning Queen
Elizabeth II. People must have guffawed when it was first suggested that such an idea could be brought to pass. 羝羊触藩[1]
Both she and Emperor Akihito are of course, only
figureheads. But this gives them greater
fluidity and symbolism. I find it a
refreshing meditation and want to think about it some more, and have a look at
all the reasons why people must be saying it is impossible. I’ll return to this vision of a Chrysanthemum
Throne visit to the Middle Kingdom.
A few drinks later, the older of the two brothers spoke to
me in Gaelic. If memory serves, he used
to teach the subject and we bonded on this matter of being former
teachers. And I’ll say briefly that it
was beautiful to hear. I’ve heard people
conversing in Irish before, but I don’t know that I’ve ever had anyone address
me, and try to converse with me in the tongue.
I know I’ll seem like another predictable, lachrymose Irish American
here, but something about the cadence was familiar. I adore an Irish brogue, can do a passing
version myself, I imagine it when I read Joyce, I note the way the it has
shaped the New York accent, and the Boston accent and the Australian accent and
influenced American slang in hundred ways.
But as Joyce notes, this is all in another tongue, that of English, as
if it were always trying to burst out of the seams of this adopted, indeed
mandated, language. Hearing Gaelic spoken
calmly and clearly, it almost seemed as though the cadence and the rhythm were
all at peace.
I don’t know if life will afford me the time before my ashes are
scattered somewhere to actually learn Gaelic.
Chinese is, frankly, hard enough.
But perhaps I could make the effort to learn a few phrases like her
majesty did. I’ll note it as a ‘must-do’
for my next visit to Eire. Maybe we could entice
the honorable Akihito, to consider the same.
[1] dīyángchùfān: lit. billy goat's horns caught in the fence
(idiom from Book of Changes 易經｜易经); impossible to
advance or to retreat / without any way out of a dilemma / trapped / in an impossible
situation
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