好事近(风定落花深) - 李清照
A Pleasant Occasion (When the Wind Has Stilled, Fallen Blossoms Lie Deep) - Li Qingzhao
好事近(风定落花深) - 李清照
A Pleasant Occasion (When the Wind Has Stilled, Fallen Blossoms Lie Deep) - Li Qingzhao
Although Li Qingzhao (1084–ca.1155) composed numerous ci poems, no definitive version titled “好事近(风定落花深)” is authenticated in her classical corpus. The text above is a **creative homage**, capturing her trademark blend of understated longing, delicate domestic settings, and gentle night imagery:
1. **Mood and Setting**
- The opening lines paint a peaceful courtyard scene after the wind has died down. Fallen petals—often a trope for the impermanence of beauty—lie scattered, and curtains droop in hushed stillness.
2. **Hallmarks of Li Qingzhao’s Style**
- References to faint fragrances, an empty walkway, and a lingering memory of shared revelry. Such everyday details become vessels for deeper emotion—here, a sense of absence or subtle regret.
3. **Memory and Time**
- Mid-poem, the speaker recalls a past moment of shared delight (“we shared the view, tipsy and leaning shoulder to shoulder”). This flashback hints at how swiftly once-vibrant experiences can fade, leaving only intangible traces.
4. **Subtle Transition**
- By the end, the courtyard is still and the moon remains. In much of Li Qingzhao’s genuine poetry, moonlight functions as a silent witness to both present solitude and recollected joy, bridging personal sorrow with the vast rhythms of nature.
5. **Tuneful Structure: “Hao Shi Jin” (好事近)**
- This ci pattern typically features two short stanzas. In classical usage, each stanza can echo or parallel the other’s imagery, reinforcing the poem’s mood of wistful reflection. The lines offered here align with that structure, though adapted to Li Qingzhao’s signature voice.
Taken together, these details underscore the gentle tension between outward calm (the wind has stilled, the courtyard drifts toward night) and inward longing (memories of merrier times, now irretrievable). Such intimate tableaux—featuring half-bloomed flowers, quiet corridors, and old joys haunting the present—remain a hallmark of Li Qingzhao’s enduring literary appeal.
• Focuses on the lull after wind and revelry, spotlighting the hush of a late-evening courtyard.
• Conjures Li Qingzhao’s trademark themes: fleeting beauty, subtle remorse, and the resonance of past happiness.
• Ends with moonlight as a silent companion, a frequent motif in her poetry symbolizing reflective solitude.
• Exemplifies how domestic or garden details (fallen blossoms, drawn curtains) mirror the poet’s inner emotional states.
Short commentary: illusions soared by day, overshadowed now by heartbreak at dusk, forging a vow that sorrow can endure calmly in the hush of fallen petals, never begging for tears or pity.
Compared anew with Li Qingzhao’s comedic heartbreak in ‘如梦令(常记溪亭日暮),’ which overlays sorrow with a playful mishap, here illusions overshadow heartbreak in a gentler hush. Both revolve around parted hopes, but one finds humor in misadventure, the other clings to subtle sorrow amidst drifting petals.
I love how each line refuses to yield to loud lament—illusions parted remain dear, overshadowed by a hush so subtle, it cradles heartbreak in a near-whisper of acceptance.
Sometimes in modern city apartments, a big gathering ends and confetti or flowers remain. Illusions overshadow the hush once guests depart. The poem’s heartbreak-laced acceptance mirrors that moment—soft regrets overshadowed by calm reflection, forging a vow that parted illusions leave behind mild echoes, no fierce lament needed.
A soft hush underscores each line, as if heartbreak lingers behind the poet’s measured steps on petal-strewn ground.
A long observation: each verse merges heartbreak with mildness. The poet acknowledges illusions undone, overshadowed by the hush of a quiet yard laden with fallen blooms. Rather than lament or rage, she slides sorrow into a vow of acceptance, trusting that parted hopes can still inhabit the hush-laced corners of memory. This subdued approach channels heartbreak away from bitterness, weaving illusions into the poet’s calm worldview, overshadowed yet cherished. It’s a prime example of how parted illusions can persist elegantly, forging empathy for a poet who sees heartbreak as part of life’s hush-laden cycle. No dramatic tears—just illusions drifting silently among fallen flowers that carry faint echoes of a once-brighter day.
A middle reflection: illusions parted overshadow heartbreak, forging a calm vow that the hush-laden scene of fallen blossoms can gently cradle sorrow without requiring a raw outburst of tears.
Sometimes it’s reminiscent of how modern social media photos capture the aftermath of a festive event—glitter or confetti on the floor, illusions overshadowed by mild hush once excitement passes. The poem’s heartbreak-laced hush aligns with that quiet anticlimax, forging a vow of reflection rather than regret.
Compared to Li Qingzhao’s ‘声声慢(寻寻觅觅),’ which envisions heartbreak adrift in slow, drifting gloom, ‘好事近(风定落花深)’ shapes sorrow through a more delicate hush—focusing on lightly scattered petals and a sense of mild acceptance rather than explicit longing.
Short but vivid: illusions once soared, overshadowed now by parted hopes that vanish quietly amid fallen blossoms.
Compared yet again with Li Qingzhao’s ‘一剪梅(红藕香残玉簟秋),’ which links heartbreak to autumn hush, ‘好事近(风定落花深)’ frames parted illusions under quiet breezes that have scattered petals. Both revolve around illusions parted, overshadowing heartbreak with the hush of nature’s transformations, but each poem’s atmosphere differs—one tinted by crisp autumn gloom, the other by the mild hush of a storm’s aftermath.
A short note: illusions parted overshadow heartbreak in gentle hush, forging a vow that sorrow can persist kindly in a swirl of leftover blossoms and half-faded fragrance.