friends with the past

Li Po was born just north of Afghanistan in Kyrgyzstan which I believe was mountainous country. I first discoverd him in Ezra Pound's Translations almost 40 years ago. Li Po was a wandering spirit that found both favor and disfavor with his emperor. Li Po's world was war, exile and beauty. At times he wrote from the far edges of the empire with his mind floating like a wide cloud which still touches me.

He understands some of the inherent sorrow of being in a distant land. He understand the strong bonding friendships of being on the edge of the empire overlooking "the thousands miles of dead grass." He gives me calm and his poetry has always been a sanctuary for both my mind and spirit.
And he was a fishermen.

Hard is the Journey


Gold vessels of fine wines,
Thousands a gallon,
Jade dishes of rare meats.
Costing more thousands,

I lay down my chopsticks down,
No more can banquet,
I draw my sword and stare
Wildly about me:

Ice bars my way to cross
The Yellow River,
Snows from dark skies to climb
The T’ai-hang mountains!

At peace I drop a hook
Into a brooklet,
At once I’m in a boat
But sailing sunward….

Hard is the journey,
Hard is the journey,
So many turnings,
And now where I am?

So when a breeze breaks waves,
Bringing fair weather,
I set a cloud for sails,
Cross the blue oceans!


Li Po

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