Li Po (701-762) was probably the greatest Chinese poets of pre-modern times. It is generally agreed that he and Tu Fu raised in the shih form to its highest level of power and expressiveness; later poets at times approached but never surpassed them. Li Po's distinction lies in the fact that he brought an unparalleled grace and eloquence to his treatment of the traditional themes, a flow and grandeur that lift his work far above of mere imitation of the past. Another characteristic of his poetry is the air of playfulness, hyperbole and outright fantasy that infuses much of it. Li Po grew up in Szechwan in western China and later traveled extensively in the eastern and central regions. Around 742 he gained recognition from emperor Hsuan-tsung (Xuan Zong) and was appointed to a post in the Hanlin Academy, but a few years later he was exiled from the capital as a result of slanders. He fled south at the time of the rebellion in 755 and entered the service of Prince Yung. The Prince's downfall involved Li Po in a second exile, though he was eventually pardoned and resumed his life of wandering. --from the Columbia Book of Chinese Poetry DRINKING ALONE BY MOONLIGHT Three Poems [I] A cup of wine, under the flowering trees; I drink alone, for no friend is near. Raising my cup I beckon the bright moon, For he, with my shadow, will make three men. The moon, alas, is no drinker of wine; Listless, my shadow creeps about at my side. Yet with the moon as friend and the shadow as slave I must make merry before the Spring is spent. To the songs I sing the moon flickers her beams; In the dance I weave my shadow tangles and breaks. While we were sober, three shared the fun; Now we are drunk, each goes his way. May we long share our odd, inanimate feast, And meet at last on the Cloudy River of the sky.(i) [II] In the third month the town of Hsien-yang Is thick-spread with a carpet of fallen flowers. Who in Spring can bear to grieve alone? Who, sober, look on sights like these? Riches and Poverty, long or short life, By the Maker of Things are portioned and disposed; But a cup of wine levels life and death And a thousand things obstinately hard to prove. When I am drunk, I lose Heaven and Earth, Motionless-I cleave to my lonely bed. At last I forget that I exist at all, And at that moment my joy is great indeed. [III] If high heaven had no love for wine, There would not be a Wine Star in the sky. If Earth herself had no love for wine, 'There would not be a city called Wine Springs.(ii) Since Heaven and Earth both love wine, I can love wine, without shame before God. Clear wine was once called a Saint; (iii) Thick wine was once called "a Sage." (iii) Of Saint and Sage I have long quaffed deep, What need for me to study spirits and hsien? (iv) At the third cup I penetrate the Great Way; A full gallon-Nature and I are one ... But the things I feel when wine possesses my soul I will never tell to those who are not drunk. (i) The Milky Way. (ii) Ch'iu-ch'uan, in Kansuh. (iii) " History of Wei Dynasty " (Life of Hsu Mo): " A drunken visitor said, ' Clear wine I account a Saint: thick wine only a Sage.' " (iv) The lore of Rishi, Immortals. IN THE MOUNTAINS ON A SUMMER DAY Gently I stir a white feather fan, With open shirt sitting in a green wood. I take off my cap and hang it on a jutting atone; A wind from the pine-trees trickles on my bare head. WAKING FROM DRUNKENNESS ON A SPRING DAY "Life in the World is but a big dream; I will not spoil it by any labour or care." So saying, I was drunk all the day, Lying helpless at the porch in front of my door. When I woke up, I blinked at the garden-lawn; A lonely bird was singing amid the flowers. I asked myself, had the day been wet or fine? The Spring wind was telling the mango-bird. Moved by its song I soon began to sigh, And as wine was there I filled my own cup. Wildly singing I waited for the moon to rise; When my song was over, all my senses had gone. SELF-ABANDONMENT I sat drinking and did not notice the dusk, Till falling petals filled the folds of my dress. Drunken I rose and walked to the moonlit stream; The birds were gone, and men also few. SICK LEAVE [While Secretary to the Deputy-Assistant-Magistrate of Chou-chih, near Ch'ang-an, in A. D. 806] Propped on pillows, not attending to business; For two days I've lain behind locked doors. I begin to think that those who hold office Get no rest, except by falling ill! For restful thoughts one does not need space; The room where I lie is ten foot square. By the western eaves, above the bamboo-twigs, From my couch I see the White Mountain rise. But the clouds that hover on its far-distant peak Bring shame to a face that is buried in the World's dust. A FAREWELL TO SECRETARY SHU-YUN AT THE HSIEH TIAO VILLA IN HSUAN-CHOU Since yesterday had thrown me and bolt, Today has hurt my heart even more. The autumn wild geese have a long wing for escort As I face them from this villa, drinking my wine. The bones of great writers are your brushes, in the school of heaven, And I am Lesser Hsieh growing up by your side. We both are exalted to distant thought, Aspiring to the sky and the bright moon. But since water still flows, though we cut it with our swords, And sorrow return, though we drown them with wine, Since the world can in no way answer our craving, I will loosen my hair tomorrow and take to a fishing-boat. THE HARD ROAD Pure wine costs, for the golden cup, ten thousand coppers a flagon, And a jade plate of dainty food calls for million coins. I fling aside my food-sticks and cup, I cannot eat nor drink... I pull out my dagger, I peer four ways in vain. I would cross the Yellow River, but ice chokes the ferry; I would climb the Tai-hang Mountains, but the sky is blind with snow.. I would sit and poise a fishing-pole, lazy by a brook -- But I suddenly dream of riding a boat, sailing for the sun... Journeying is hard, Journeying is hard. There are many turnings -- Which am I to follow?... I will mount a long wind some day and break the heavy waves And set my cloudy sail straight and bridge the deep, deep sea. BRINGING IN THE WINE See how the Yellow River's water move out of heaven. Entering the ocean, never to return. See how lovely locks in bright mirrors in high chambers, Though silken-black at morning, have changed by night to snow. ... Oh, let a man of spirit venture where he pleases And never tip his golden cup empty towards the moon! Since heaven gave the talent, let it be employed! Spin a thousand of pieces of silver, all of them come back! Cook a sheep, kill a cow, whet the appetite, And make me, of three hundred bowls, one long drink! ... To the old master, Tsen, And the young scholar, Tan-chiu, Bring in the wine! Let your cups never rest! Let me sing you a song! Let your ears attend! What are bell and drum, rare dishes and treasure? Let me be forever drunk and never come to reason! Sober men of olden days and sages are forgotten, And only the great drinkers are famous for all time. ... Prince Chen paid at a banquet in the Palace of Perfection Ten thousand coins for a cask of wine, with many a laugh and quip. Why say, my host, that your money is gone? Go and buy wine and we'll drink it together! My flower-dappled horse, My furs worth a thousand, Hand them to the boy to exchange for good wine, And we'll drown away the woes of ten thousand generation! PARTING AT A WINE-SHOP IN NAN-KING A wind, bringing willow-cotton, sweetens the shop, And a girl from Wu, pouring wine, urges me to share it. With my comrades of the city who are here to see me off; And as each of them drains his cup, I say to him in parting, Oh, go and ask this river running to the east If it can travel farther than a friend's love! TZU-YEH SONG Chang-an -- one slip of moon; in ten thousand houses, the sound of falling mallets. Autumn winds keep on blowing, all things make me think of Jade Pass! When will they put down the barbarians and my good man come home from his far campaign? SPRING NIGHT IN LO-YANG HEARING A FLUTE In what house, the jade flute that sends these dark notes drifting, scattering on the spring wind that fills Lo-yang? Tonight if we should hear the willow-breaking song, who could help but long for the gardens of home? ON CLIMBING IN NAN-KING TO THE TERRACE OF PHOENIXES Phoenixes that play here once, so that the place was named for them, Have abandoned it now to this desolated river; The paths of Wu Palace are crooked with weeds; The garments of Chin are ancient dust. ...Like this green horizon halving the Three Peaks, Like this Island of White Egrets dividing the river, A cloud has risen between the Light of Heaven and me, To hide his city from my melancholy heart. SHE SPINS SILK Far up river in Szechuan, waters rise as spring winds roar. How can I dare to meet her now, to brave the dangerous gorge? The grass grows green in the valley below where silk worms silently spin. Her hands work threads that never end, dawn to dusk when the cuckoo sings. TAKING LEAVE OF A FRIEND Blue mountains to the north of the walls, White river winding about them; Here we must make separation And go out through a thousand miles of dead grass. Mind like a floating wide cloud, Sunset like the parting of old acquaintances Who bow over their clasped hands at a distance. Our horses neigh to each others as we are departing. CONFESSIONAL There was wine in a cup of gold and a girl of fifteen from Wu, her eyebrows painted dark and with slippers of red brocade. If her conversation was poor, how beautifully she could sing! Together we dined and drank until she settled in my arms. Behind her curtains embroidered with lotuses, how could I refuse the temptation of her advances? LAZY MAN'S SONG [A. D. 811] I HAVE got patronage, but am too lazy to use it; I have got land, but am too lazy to farm it. My house leaks; I am too lazy to mend it. My clothes are torn; I am too lazy to darn them. I have got wine, but am too lazy to drink; So it's just the same as if my cellar were empty. I have got a harp, but am too lazy to play; So it's just the same as if it had no strings. My wife tells me there is no more bread in the house; I want to bake, but am too lazy to grind. My friends and relatives write me long letters; I should like to read them, but they're such a bother to open. I have always been told that Chi Shu-yeh* Passed his whole life in absolute idleness. But he played the harp and sometimes transmuted metals, So even he was not so lazy as I. * Also known as Chi K'ang. A famous Quietist. WINTER NIGHT [Written during his retirement in 812] MY house is poor; those that I love have left me; My body is sick; I cannot join the feast. There is not a living soul before my eyes As I lie alone locked in my cottage room. My broken lamp burns with a feeble flame; My tattered curtains are crooked and do not meet. " Tsek, tsek " on the door-step and window-sill Again I hear the new snow fall. As I grow older, gradually I sleep less; I wake at midnight and sit up straight in bed. If I had not learned the "art of sitting and forgetting," * How could I bear this utter loneliness? Stiff and stark my body cleaves to the earth; Unimpeded my soul yields to Change** So has it been for four hateful years, Through one thousand and three hundred nights! * Yen Hui told Confucius that he had acquired the " art of sitting and forgetting." Asked what that meant. Yen Hui replied, "I have learnt to discard my body and obliterate my intelligence; to abandon matter and be impervious to sense-perception. By this method I become one with the All-Pervading." - Chuang Tzu, chap. vi. ** "Change" is the principle of endless mutation that governs the Universe. POEMS IN DEPRESSION, AT WEI VILLAGE [A.D. 812] [1] I HUG my pillow and do not speak a word; In my empty room no sound stirs. Who knows that, all day a-bed, I am not ill and am not even asleep? [2] TURNED to jade are the boy's rosy cheeks; To his sick temples the frost of winter clings. . . Do not wonder that my body sinks to decay; Though my limbs are old, my heart is older yet. THE PINE-TREES IN THE COURTYARD [A. D. 820] Below the hall The pine-trees grow in front of the steps, Irregularly scattered, - not in ordered lines. Some are tall and some are low: The tallest of them is six roods high; The lowest but ten feet. They are like wild things Anil no one knows who planted them, They touch the walls of my blue-tiled house; Their roots are sunk in the terrace of white sand. Morning and evening they are visited by the wind and moon; Rain or fine,-they are free from dust and mud. In the gales of autumn they whisper a vague tune; From the suns of summer they yield a cool shade. At the height of spring the fine evening rain Fills their leaves with a load of hanging pearls. At the year's end the time of great snow Stamps their branches with a fret of glittering jade. Of the Four Seasons each has its own mood; Among all the trees none is like another. Last year, when they heard I had bought this house, Neighbours mocked and the World called me mad- That a whole family of twice ten souls Should move house for the sake of a few pines! Now that I have come to them, what have they given me? They have only loosened the buckles of my care. Yet even so, they are "profitable friends,"* And fill my need of "converse with wise men." Yet when I consider how, still a man of the world, In belt and cap I scurry through dirt and dust, From time to time my heart twinges with shame That I am not fit to be master of my pines! See " Analects of Confucius " 4 and 5, where three kinds of "profitable friends " and three kinds of "profitable pleasure" are described; the third of the latter being "plenty of intelligent companions." AUTUMN RIVER SONG The moon shimmers in green water. White herons fly through the moonlight. The young man hears a girl gathering water-chestnuts: into the night, singing, they paddle home together. CLEARING AT DAWN The fields are chill, the sparse rain has stopped; The colours of Spring teem on every side. With leaping fish the blue pond is full; With singing thrushes the green boughs droop. The flowers of the field have dabbled their powdered cheeks; The mountain grasses are bent level at the waist. By the bamboo stream the last fragment of cloud Blown by the wind slowly scatters away. THE JEWEL STAIRS' GRIEVANCE The jewelled steps are already quite white with dew, It is so late that the dew soaks my gauze stockings, And I let down the crystal curtain And watch the moon through the clear autumn. tr. Ezra Pound, who adds the following: NOTE: Jewel stairs, therefore a palace. Grievance, therefore there is something to complain of. Gauze stockings, therefore a court lady, not a servant who complains. Clear autumn, therefore he has no excuse on account of the weather. Also she has come early, for the dew has not merely whitened the stairs, but has soaked her stockings. The poem is especially prized because she utters no direct reproach.) THE RIVER-MERCHANT'S WIFE: A LETTER While my hair was still cut straight across my forehead I played about the front gate, pulling flowers. You came by on bamboo stilts, playing horse, You walked about my seat, playing with blue plums. And we went on living in the village of Chokan: Two small people, without dislike or suspicion. At fourteen I married My Lord you. I never laughed, being bashful. Lowering my head, I looked at the wall. Called to, a thousand times, I never looked back. At fifteen I stopped scowling, I desired my dust to be mingled with yours Forever and forever and forever. Why should I climb the look out? At sixteen you departed, You went into far Ku-to-en, by the river of swirling eddies, And you have been gone five months. The monkeys make sorrowful noise overhead. You dragged your feet when you went out. By the gate now, the moss is grown, the different mosses, Too deep to clear them away! The leaves fall early this autumn, in wind. The paired butterflies are already yellow with August Over the grass in the West garden; They hurt me. I grow older. If you are coming down through the narrows of the river Kiang, Please let me know beforehand, And I will come out to meet you As far as Cho-fu-Sa. TWO SWALLOWS Two swallows, and two swallows... always, the swallows fly in couples. When they see a tower of jade, or a lacquered pavilion, one never perches there without the other. When they find a balustrade of marble, or a gilded window, they never separate. Once there were two swallows... When the girder of cedar which sheltered their nest took fire, the two birds sought refuge in a palace of the king of Wu, but the palace of the king of Wu burned down and the male and little ones burned too. When she returned, the female sat contemplating the ruins. This story saddens me infinitely. ADDRESSED TO YÜAN TAN-CH'IU My friend is lodging high in the Eastern Range, Dearly loving the beauty of valleys and hills. At green spring he lies in the empty woods, And is still asleep when the sun shines on high, A pine-tree wind dusts his sleeves and coat; A pebbly stream cleans his heart and ears. I envy you who far from strife and talk Are high-propped on a pillow of grey mist. THE TWO FLUTES One evening, on the bank of a river, as I breathed the perfume of the flowers, the wind brought me the sound of a distant flute. That I might answer it I cut a willow branch and the song of my flute trilled out into the enchanted night. Since that evening, every day at the hour when the country goes to sleep, the little birds hear two unknown birds calling to each other. They do not know who the singers are, but nevertheless, they understand the song. MOUNTAIN DRINKING SONG To drown the ancient sorrows, We drank a hundred jugs of wine there in the beautiful night. We couldn't go to bed with the moon so bright. The finally the wine overcame us and we lay down on the empty mountain-- the earth for a pillow, and a blanket made of heaven. DEPARTURE BY BAI DI CHENG (WHITE IMPERIAL CITY) AT DAWN In the bright dawn cloud I left by the Cheng A thousand li to Jiangling Only takes a day And I heard Incessant cry of monkeys from the banks My light barge has passed countless folds of hills.