Li Po
Date of Birth: ca. 701 A.D.
Date of Death: ca. 762 A.D.
This is a Chinese name. The family name is Li.
Li Bai (Li Pai; Chinese: 李白; pinyin: Lǐ Bái; Wade–Giles: Li Pai), also known as Li Bo (or Li Po; pinyin: Lǐ Bó; Wade–Giles: Li Po) was a Chinese poet. He was part of the group of Chinese scholars called the "Eight Immortals of the Wine Cup" in a poem by fellow poet Du Fu. Li Po is often regarded, along with Du Fu, as one of the two greatest poets in China's literary history. Approximately 1,100 of his poems remain today. The first translations in a Western language were published in 1862 by Marquis d'Hervey de Saint-Denys in his Poésies de l'Époque des Thang. The English-speaking world was introduced to Li Po's works by a Herbert Allen Giles publication History of Chinese Literature (1901) and through the liberal, but poetically influential, translations of Japanese versions of his poems made by Ezra Pound.
Li Po is best known for the extravagant imagination and striking Taoist imagery in his poetry, as well as for his great love for liquor. Like Du Fu, he spent much of his life travelling, although in his case it was because his wealth allowed him to, rather than because his poverty forced him. He is said, famously but untruly, to have drowned in the Yangtze River, having fallen from his boat while drunkenly trying to embrace the reflection of the moon.
“From the east a spring breeze is touching us,passing by,And so in the goblet in the green winetiny ripples are formed.The blossoms stolen by the whirlare falling to the earth.My fair girl will be drunken soonwith her blushed cheeks.Beside the blue pavilion the peach tree -Do you know, how long it will bloom?It’s a trembling shine, a dream:it cheats us and steals away.Rise and dance!The sun is fading!Who never was full of demanding liveand crazy in his young dayswill vainly - when the hairis white - sigh and wail.”
“No one understands now. Those who couldhear a song this deeply vanished long ago.”
“When the hunter sets traps only for rabbits, tigers and dragons are left uncaught.”
“The birds have vanished into the sky and now the last cloud drains away. We sit together the mountain and me, until only the mountain remains.”
“To wash and rinse our souls of their age-old sorrows,We drained a hundred jugs of wine.A splendid night it was . . . .In the clear moonlight we were loath to go to bed,But at last drunkenness overtook us;And we laid ourselves down on the empty mountain,The earth for pillow, and the great heaven for coverlet”
“He who neglects to drink of the spring of experience is likely to die of thirst in the desert of ignorance.”
“You ask why I make my home in the mountain forest,and I smile, and am silent,and even my soul remains quiet:it lives in the other worldwhich no one owns.The peach trees blossom,The water flows.”
“A pity it is evening, yetI do love the water of this springseeing how clear it is, how clean;rays of sunset gleam on it,lighting up its ripples, making itone with those who travelthe roads; I turn and facethe moon; sing it a song, thenlisten to the sound of the windamongst the pines.”
“Amongst the flowers Iam alone with my pot of winedrinking by myself; then liftingmy cup I asked the moonto drink with me, its reflectionand mine in the wine cup, justthe three of us; then I sighfor the moon cannot drink,and my shadow goes emptily alongwith me never saying a word;with no other friends here, I canbut use these two for company;in the time of happiness, Itoo must be happy with allaround me; I sit and singand it is as if the moonaccompanies me; then if Idance, it is my shadow thatdances along with me; whilestill not drunk, I am gladto make the moon and my shadowinto friends, but then whenI have drunk too much, weall part; yet these arefriends I can always count onthese who have no emotionwhatsoever; I hope that one daywe three will meet again,deep in the Milky Way.”
“Green mountains rise to the north;white water rolls past the eastern city.Once it has been uprooted,the tumbleweed travels forever.Drifting clouds like a wanderer's mind;sunset, like the heart of your old friend.We turn, pause, look back and wave,Even our ponies look back and whine.”
“On Drinking Alone by Moonlight Here are flowers and here is wine,But where’s a friend with me to joinHand in hand and heart to heartIn one full cup before we part?Rather than to drink alone,I’ll make bold to ask the moonTo condescend to lend her faceThe hour and the scene to grace.Lo, she answers, and she bringsMy shadow on her silver wings;That makes three, and we shall be.I ween, a merry companyThe modest moon declines the cup,But shadow promptly takes it up,And when I dance my shadow fleetKeeps measure with my flying feet.But though the moon declines to tippleShe dances in yon shining ripple,And when I sing, my festive song,The echoes of the moon prolong.Say, when shall we next meet together?Surely not in cloudy weather,For you my boon companions dearCome only when the sky is clear.”
“We sit together, the mountain and me, until only the mountain remains.”