The scholar at the corner of the market

Every spring, the poem “The Scholar” by Vu Dinh Lien with the image of a dignified and respectable old scholar comes to mind. I always respect scholars because I believe that the words they write are all from their heart and soul. They are the words of a saint.

But it seems that respectability only remains in memory when life develops and practical hobbies no longer have room for scholars to practice. Some hang up their pens, others smash their inkstones.

Five years ago, when I went to the market with my friends in my hometown, what caught my attention and touched me the most was a humble hut at the end of the market. An old scholar sat solemnly beside a bamboo bed, in front of him was an inkstone and a row of brushes neatly arranged, behind him were calligraphy and paintings fluttering in the spring breeze. He must have sat like that for an hour, but there were no customers. Only curious children stopped to look, but they were immediately dragged away by adults with the urging words: “Go quickly or the ink will stain you!” The words were like salt in the wound, but the scholar still persisted in that corner of the market.

I know he is not from my hometown. He comes from Thanh Hoa city. Before that, he was a teacher at an art school. Passion, and perhaps also a sense of responsibility, urged him to be present in many places. Markets, temple gates, sometimes in a village school yard. I did not think of any great mission that made him move everywhere in a turban, a four-panel dress, wooden clogs and a toolbox. I simply assumed that he had a passion.

But clearly his passion cost him a considerable amount of money. His personal passion is like the bees that contribute honey to life, at least helping children born in the digital age know that there are Confucian scholars and the holy writings, even though they are dragged away by their parents.

The revival of traditional culture is the primary responsibility of the cultural sector, but also of all of us. Craft artisans, ca tru singers, bamboo flute artists, or simply like that simple scholar, each person is a colored thread that makes up the brocade.

A few days ago, I went back to my hometown to go to the market and waited to see if the "scholar" was still patiently staying at the corner of the market. I smiled because the old tent was still there, but the face of the scholar was no longer thoughtful, it was still silent. Many people in the countryside were excited about the couplets or the calligraphy, sometimes just random words that he wrote. Some people, some people, personally put money on the plate on the table to thank him.

I used to think that the ancient scholars gave out calligraphy in order to live in the spring atmosphere, hoping to bring joy to those who asked for calligraphy. In the humble corner of the rural market today, I saw that image after several years of perseverance of the scholar.

The parallel sentences and calligraphy fluttering in the spring breeze on the sidewalks and at the market corners are really coming back to life. I hummed the lines from the poem “The Scholar”: Every year the peach blossoms bloom/ I see the old scholar again... with pleasure. If Vu Dinh Lien were still alive, he wouldn’t have to write those sorrowful lines: The scholar still sits there/ No one passing by notices/ Yellow leaves fall on the paper/ Outside, a fine rain is flying...

Happiness

Source: https://baothanhhoa.vn/ong-do-o-goc-cho-phien-236561.htm