 | The works of Li Po, the Chinese poet |  |
II. PART II
POEMS BY OTHER POETS
CONCERNING LI PO
The following poems by Tu Fu and others are but a
few of many such collected by Wang Chi and appended
to his edition of Li Po's Complete Works. These poems
are not only beautiful in themselves but are of a peculiar
interest in that they give a glimpse into the charming
circle of poets by whom Li Po was surrounded and esteemed
so highly.
[OMITTED]
125. THE EIGHT IMMORTALS OF THE WINECUP
As on a reeling ship.
Should he, blear-eyed, tumble into a well,
He would lie in the bottom fast asleep.
Ju-yang Prince must have three jugfuls
Ere he goes up to court.
How copiously his royal mouth waters
As a brewer's cart passes by!
It's a pity, he mournfully admits,
That he is not the lord of the Wine Spring.
Our Minister Li squanders at the rate
Of ten thousand pence per day.
He inhales like a great whale,
Gulping one hundred rivers;
And with a cup in his hand insists,
He loves the sage and avoids the wise.
Tsung-Chi, a handsome youth fastidious,
Disdains the rabble,
And turns his gaze toward the blue heaven,
Holding his beloved bowl—
Radiant is he like a tree of jade
That stands against the breeze.
Su Chin, the religious, cleanses his soul
Before his painted Buddha,
But his long rites must needs be interrupted
As oft he loves to go on a spree.
As for Li Po, give him a jugful,
He will write one hundred poems.
On a city-street of Chang-an;
And though his sovereign calls
Will not board the imperial barge.
"Please your Majesty," says he,
"I am a god of wine."
Chang Hsu is a caligrapher of renown,
Three cups makes him the master.
He throws off his cap, baring his pate
Unceremoniously before princes,
And wields his inspired brush—lo!
Wreaths of cloud roll on the paper.
Chao Sui, another immortal, elate
After full five jugfuls,
Is eloquent with heroic speech,
The wonder of all the feasting hall.
The Wine Spring, located in the western part of Kansu, is said to have possessed a natural fountain of wine.
The sage and the wise. See No. 126.
[OMITTED]
126. THE EX-MINISTER
From the empire's ministry.
Loving the sage, still I sip
The soothing cup of wine.
Who flocked at the front of my gate—
How many of them have come
This morning, I pray?
A book called "Facts about Poets" says: "In the latter part of the Kai-yuan Era (A.D. 713-742) the prime minister, Li Shih-chi, had an enviable reputation for his simplicity and rugged uprightness. Li Ling-fu hated him, and by slander and intrigue caused his retirement. All those at the court knew the innocence of Shih-chi, but the emperor neglected to consult him. Fretting under this mistreatment, Shih-chi drank wine daily and also made poems." Of which this is a specimen. He describes the solitude and ease of his private life.
By "avoiding the wise" is meant vacating one's official position in order to make way for the wise and talented. The phrase, first used by Shih Ching of the Han dynasty in his petition for his release from the office of the premier, had become a stock pretext for the retiring official. On the other hand, the thick wine was called the wise, and the clear wine the sage. Hence, there is in this poem a play on words with a subtle irony, of a kind much relished by the literary Chinese.
[OMITTED]
127. A VISIT TO FAN WITH LI PO
That ring at times like Ying-kao's masterly lines.
I, too, a sojourner of Tung Meng,
Love him as a younger brother loves the elder.
Drunk, we sleep both under one cover at night;
And in daytime we go together hand in hand.
Now longing for a place of quiet company,
We come to visit you on the city's northside.
Your little boy waits on us so handsomely,
Joy leaps in our hearts as we enter your gate.
What solitude! We hear only the chilly mallets,
And see the clouds bivouac before the old city wall.
Having always sung the ode of the sweet citron,
Who cares to seek for the soup of the water-herbs?
You desire not the debasement of official life,
But remain untrammeled like the blue, boundless sea.
This poem was written in the earlier days of their friendship when Li Po and Tu Fu were both in Shantung. Tung Meng is a district in that province.
[OMITTED]
128. PARTING WITH LI PO ON THE TUNG-TING
LAKE
On the autumn waters of the Tung-ting, that stretch afar to the horizon.
And while talking together of our good old time at the metropolis of gold,
We turn to the northern sky and gaze at the stars of the Ursa Major, our eyes filled with tears.
The metropolis of gold is the capital of the empire, Chang-an, where both Li Po and Chia Chi had spent their more prosperous days.
[OMITTED]
129. AN INVITATION TO LI PO
White is the dew, and desolate the garden arbor.
I heard the wind whisper to the leaves on the tree-top,
And longed to see some friend, a man of learning and valor,
With whom I could discourse over the past and the present,
When suddenly who should come but you, Honorable Li.
I clapped my hands at your enchanting utterances;
We talked metaphysics; we bubbled with laughter.
You expounded the vicissitudes of the past dynasties,
And made visible the exploits of kings and conquerors.
You go a thousand miles and more, a pilgrim.
Under your sleeve there is a dagger,
And in your pocket a collection of poems.
Your eyes shine like luminous orbs of heaven
When you recite your incomparable songs and odes.
You sip wine and twang your lute strings
When the winter's breath congeals the crystaline frost.
All things long stored in my heart.
Situated on the north side of Mount Sung.
One sees the bright moon rise over the peak,
And the chaste beams silver the transparent stream.
The clouds scatter, and the house is quiet;
The passing wind bears the aroma of pine and cassia.
If you will deign to make a visit thither with me,
I will not forget the honor for a thousand years.
Tsui Tsung-chi, the handsome man and the fourth of the Immortals in Tu Fu's poem. He was a good friend of Li Po, and there are a number of poems extant, that were written by the latter to him. See the Introduction.
Mount Sung, one of the five sacred mountains, is to the southeast of Honan-fu, Honan.
[OMITTED]
130. TO LI PO ON A SPRING DAY
In fancy's realm you soar alone.
Yours is the delicacy of Yui,
And Pao's rare virility.
Now on the north of the Wei River
I see the trees under the vernal sky
While you wander beneath the sunset clouds
Far down in Chiang-tung.
When shall we by a cask of wine once more
Argue minutely on versification?
[OMITTED]
131. TO LI PO
Poor man, for your feigned madness
The world would have you die.
But my heart dotes on your gifted soul
For the thousand poems of your nimble wit,
For the one wine-cup—your penury's balm.
So to your old place of reading in Mount Kuang
Come back, O white-headed one! It is time.
Written possibly after the incarceration of Li Po at Kiu-kiang and while the death sentence was hanging over his white head.
[OMITTED]
132. THE GRAVE OF LI PO
There is Li Po's mound
Amid the endless plains of grass
That stretch to the cloud-patched sky.
Alas! here under the fallow field
The bones of him lie whose writing once
Startled heavens and shook the earth.
Of all poets, unfortunate as they be,
There is none wretcheder, Master, than you.
| The works of Li Po, the Chinese poet | |