Saturday, December 9, 2006

Two Poems: by Li Po and Tu Fu

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.
Li Po (8th century Chinese poet)


Spring Day: Thinking of Li Po

Li Po's poetry: no match anywhere.
Soaring, his imagination always above others.
Clear, fresh like Yü Hsin.
Vigorous, free-flowing like Pao Chao.
North of River Wei: trees of spring.
East of the Yangtze: clouds of sundown.
When can we talk about literature again
Over a bottle of wine?
Tu Fu (8th century Chinese poet)

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