KIPLING

Rudyard Kipling’s famous poem, "The Ballad of East & West" makes the observation that some things, people, cultures are so different they can never coexist. Still, they can be so formidable, the earth isn’t big enough for them avoid the collision. Yesterday was a day off and we went to Seoul, the big city.  Gyeongbokgung Palace is a sprawling complex of landscaped buildings, walls, gates and reflecting pools that sits at city center. Korean history stretches back 3,000 years, ripe with legends, kingdoms and heroes. Most recently, about a century before Columbus and Isabella plotted to capture the western hemisphere, the Joseon Dynasty came to power in Korea, building the most awesome, grand palace anybody had ever imagined. The central building is the King’s throne room: nothing inside but an elevated platform with a huge, padded chair. Behind that throne room in a smaller building, was a smaller, less audacious throne room for the Queen. Off to one side, near the south wall was a network of low, lavishly tiled buildings that looked like stables. Highly decorated stalls with low doors were concealed behind high walls and a labyrinth of passage ways. No surprise to learn, horses didn’t get that kind of attention. It was living quarters for the King’s favorite concubines. 

The dynasty flourished for over 500 years, into the 20th century. Koreans know their history and the castle is not only a national treasure but also a living museum, a cultural compass. How many North Americans can follow their lineage, a common legacy back 40 generations? When I look back, I lose the trail after 5 or 6 generations. For the sake of identity, what does it mean to be a Welch, Irish, French, English, Dutch hybrid? Everywhere you look here, there is imagery and symbolism, a documented pedigree going back millennia. 

Kipling was right in that, we are different. As for the world being not big enough, I don’t know. Times change and he might have second thoughts. After swimming the other day I walked outside, noticed a crowd seated in a small amphitheater between the pool entrance and the street. A stage was improvised with red carpet and curtains. In front of the stage was a table with four judges in formal dress. It looked to me like a local version of Korean Idol. I sat down and watched. Four young women in traditional costumes were drumming on tall drums. They were awesome; a little swing and sway, choreography and lots of loud, da-dum da-dum ad-dum. As they were moving their drums off, stage left, a dancer in long white dress, hair up in a bun with lots of combs and curled up, pointy toe shoes came on stage right. She had two big fans, made of huge feathers. The judges nodded and the M.C. introduced her in Korean. A few bars of flute and drums and the dance was on with sweeping, flowing, feathered fans and swooping footwork that covered the whole stage. When the music stopped, she bowed, judges leaned into their score cards and she disappeared behind a curtain. 

      The next act was a tall, thin, young man in tight pants and a white shirt, big glasses, short hair, with an acoustic guitar. The M.C. gave an introduction and the musician spoke to the audience for a moment. The crowd approved with applause. I noticed the harmonica holder around his neck just before he started into the intro. Everyone was smiling, even me. You can’t disguise, you can’t mistake Neil Young’s trademark song, Heart Of Gold. The guitar work was adequate, English lyrics were right on, harmonica was ok. voice was a little thin with understandable Korean accent. Somehow I embraced it until we got to the line, “and I’m growing old.” We struggled on right up to, “I’ve been to Hollywood, I’ve been to Redwood; I crossed the ocean for a heart of gold.” The audience loved it. I admired him for his pluck and all I could think was, what would Rudyard Kipling say? East and West have met here today but I don’t think the collision will wake anybody up.