From a pot of wine among the flowers,
I drank alone.
There was no one with me –
Till, raising my cup, I asked the bright moon,
To bring me, my shadow and make us three.
Alas, the moon was unable to drink,
And my shadow tagged me vacantly.
But still for a while I had these friends,
To cheer me through the end of spring.
I sang, the moon encouraged me;
I danced, my shadow tumbled after.
As long as I knew, we were boon companions,
And then I was drunk, and we lost one another…
Shall goodwill ever be secure?
I watch the long road of the river of stars.
Li Bai
Can you comprehend the divine tranquility, westerners?
I really liked the poem. I could relate to it remembering both drunken scenarios and times when I was alone before I even started drinking. I’ve always had an affinity for nature and the night sky, sometimes I think it was best when my love resided there.
Seems like a poem about inevitable solitude, and the games we play to feel less alone…and the way nature sometimes seems (mercifully) to be set up to help us play those games. It reminds me, too, of Wilson the soccer ball from that Tom Hanks movie.
IN any case, how we play these games defines us. So many things can substitute for wine and friends. And the poem ends with an anticipatory optimisim, a noble relationship the speaker has with the gaps in his knowledge.
What shook me is that this man actually, totally, lived his life in his art. His eyes are so delicate, so sensitive, that all he ever needed was to observe and enjoy. The peace and contentment inside of him was at such a level that it represents the highest culture man can ever acquire.
Another little one of his travel diaries:
Bitter Love
How beautiful she looks,
Opening the pearly casement;
And how quiet she leans,
How troubled her brow is!
You may see the tears now -
Bright on her cheek, but not the man she so bitterly loves.
What observation! What temperment! Poems like this makes life shine.