Remembering the Eastern Ranges

Li Bai was my first great love among the Tang poets.  It was an intense albeit brief affair.  I was swept away by the grandeur of his spirit.  I stumbled along with him upstream, transported by the pull of the moonlight, in search of the origin or elixir of God-only-knows what.   Not that I remember either of us finding anything of the sort, but every once in a while I feel drawn back to join him for another look.

Today is one of those days.  I've had a chance to reacquaint myself with some of Li Bai's great poems, as I've been preparing to record a podcast with my friend Steve Zhang about his work.  I decided to translate one of Li Bai's better known poems - long one of my favorites - as a way of reconnecting with my dear old friend, the 诗仙 or Immortal Poet.  For me this poem epitomizes the essence of his great spirit - a spontaneous lyric suffused with the deepest Daoist mystery.

* * * * *

Remembering the Eastern Ranges

Not facing

The eastern ranges

For so long

Where the roses abound

And pass through

Their bloom

The white clouds

Gather and disperse

Of their own volition

The bright moon

Declines over

A house unknown

Today I join with

The Duke's dancers

With a long sigh

Into the crowd

I'm submerged

Longing to reclaim

The eastern ranges

To throw open the gates

And sweep away

Those white clouds

    *  *  *  *  *

忆东山

不向东山久

蔷薇几度花

白云还自散

明月落谁家

我今携谢妓

长啸绝人群

欲报东山客

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