Tao for Travelers: Lilacs in Seoul

Spring has come to Seoul. The showy glory of the cherry blossoms has been washed away by the rain. In their place, the quieter thrill of lilacs is everywhere. Lilacs unfurl their petals slowly, to the colors lightens, like the arrival of the dawn. The heady scent fills the air, especially when the sun heats on the flowers. I have so many memories attached to the blooming of the lilacs that I am thrilled by each and every shrub or tree I see. 

Just to mention a few of the associations. Louisa May Alcott wrote a book called Under the Lilacs. It is a book about finding a home. At the center of the story is house with a lilac that hangs over the porch. I had a house with lilac at the door. Walt Whitman"s famous poem -- When Lilacs Last by the Dooryard Bloom'd -- was seared into my consciousness when I read it one spring.

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When lilacs last in the dooryard bloom’d,

And the great star early droop’d in the western sky in the night,

I mourn’d, and yet shall mourn with ever-returning spring.

Ever-returning spring, trinity sure to me you bring,

Lilac blooming perennial and drooping star in the west,

And thought of him I love.

I couldn't help but think of time. My own version was:

Last year in the bowl of trees I did not know of now.

Perhaps my surprise is in contrast to Whitman's certainty -- two faces of the process of looking back.

This spring in Seoul -- far from my own lilacs but among lilacs nonetheless -- seems a metaphor for continuity and change, and this in a city that that is emblematic of both. I was smelling some lilacs the other day and a man stopped and looked at me. He seemed to be searching for a word, then said, with triumph, "Lilacs!" Short pause. Then, "Smell good!" I nodded vigorously. He finished with, "Now write a poem!" and walked away. 

I thought it was a surprising assignment from a passerby, but maybe he sensed my adoration of the flower. 

So here is my poem: