Moon

Li Bo

Short Coverage
Li Bo/ Li Po/ Li Bai strolling.
[Source – Wikipedia]

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“Drinking Alone under the Moon,” by Li Bo

                       Translation by Paul Rouzer  

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Among the flowers, a single jug of wine;

I drink alone. No one close to me.

I raise my cup, invite the bright moon;

facing my shadow, together we make three.

The moon doesn’t know how to drink;

and my shadow can only follow my body.

But for a time I make moon and shadow my companions;

taking one’s pleasure must last until spring.

I sing — the moon wavers back and forth.

I dance — my shadow flickers and scatters.

When I’m sober we take pleasure together.

When I’m drunk, we each go our own ways.

I make an oath to journey forever free of feelings,

making an appointment with them to meet in the Milky Way afar.


Li Bo overwhelms one with the powerful yet simple use of imagery in this particular poem. You’ll see him walking alone, with a pot of wine, the moon shining above and his shadow dancing along. Loneliness is what drives him, hope is what is hidden. Maybe he laments for the dead past or he cries to see the uncertain future, but he is definitely, truly in the present. The moon, his shadow, his two close friends, vouch for it.


Read more about the poem and the translator’s take on it here. For the poem’s literal translation, click here.

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Moon, Moon, Moon, Moonlight

Cheers, dear moon!”
[Source – Pixabay]

In the search of a moon Haiku poem, I found how beautifully a 21st century poet addressed to his favourite classic poet –

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… lifting my cup, 

I asked the moon

to drink with me …

Li Po

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And if Li Po had

got the moon in his mitts

what would he have done with it?

Cid Corman

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Today, I decided, I will stay with these words and leave rest of the search for tomorrow.

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Moon was its usual self,

I was the one, lost and fuzzy,

Moonlight still showed the way.

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The Moon Talks

The moon’s blushing.
[Image from Pixabay]

In its stillness the moon shines poetically and travels through the same old route and reaches the very many hearts of its listeners.  

I believe in your dreams, your smiles and tears.  

The wavy mountains make a marvellous backdrop for the moon to become brighter, where it meets the eyes of a lone survivor.

I walk along; I follow wherever you go.  

Amongst the twinkling stars, the moon beams broadly and warmly at the free souls, the little ones.

Yes, you can do magic and hide me in your lotus fists.  

Deep, true brush strokes attempts to take the moon’s magic and pour it in a canvas.

I blush, yes, all the while.  

The night sky and the blue ocean together carry the moon’s palanquin, rhythmically and lovingly they move.

I take their colours and they take mine.    

A curtain draws, a window opens up and someone, in the serene peaceful moonlight, says a prayer.

And I say amen.

– Moon

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A Seeming

Flash Fiction

That I am and that I am not is a seeming. Life is a seeming just like its partner, death.

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A beautiful sunrise/ sunset… a beautiful seeming.
[Source – Pixabay]

Rosaline, sitting on the branch of a huge tree, was collecting the passing clouds. Though friends with the clouds, she didn’t like to see them at night, maybe because she also collected stars.

The day-night cycle confused her. Grandma’s solution “you’ll understand it once you become a big girl” didn’t help Rosaline at all.

And so she started living in different worlds – the-bright-blue-sky-world, the-mischievous-cloudy-world, the-paper-boat-rainy-world, the-sparkling-starry-world, the-moon-pie-world, the-ghostly-pitch-black-world…

Two worlds sometimes merged into one and formed something unique.

Whichever world Rosaline was in, she was always excited to live it fully. Happily, she always announced early in the morning “today I’ll be in the-mischievous-cloudy-world’ or ‘give way to Rosaline, the-moon-pie-world awaits her.”

Lost in her myriad worlds, she lived madly. She even recorded her visits to these wonderful worlds.

She was proud to be the youngest and the oldest member of her family, youngest by age and oldest by the many visits she made to these worlds.

On her 92nd visit to the crunchy-autumn-leaves-world, she died. She fell from a huge tree.

Her last words were, “Grandma, you need to plus 22 more worlds to break my record”.

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A crunchy-autumn-leaves-world.
[Source – Pixabay]

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The Moon Is Singing White Light

Perhaps it is better to know the world after you know yourself completely. When the fog will disappear and the pain will die out, you’ll see what you’ll see. It will be real and true. You can float blissfully only after you have drowned, till the depth pushes you back and alive. It is not the misty wind or the world that shakes me but my ideas. Everyone is quiet outside but the moon is singing white light. Until I say ‘see you later’ to the world and tap my mind twice, my soul will stand separately on the hill.
I touched my shadow and folded it and I have hidden it in the pocket. Don’t panic. Though I am running but I am looking for something…I am looking for a silent room with green grass and a tree to sit under it. I’ll unfold things without judging then.

Moon!

Poem

[Image by Heiko Stein from Pixabay]

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Radiant spot

A lover’s thought

Behind the leaves

Who weaves?

Open eyes gaze at you

I turn, can still see you

Moon Shadowy Moon

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The radiant moon always shines in the darkness to guide, to listen, to dance and sing, always in the mood for love.
Image by Jagriti Rumi.

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A weekly dose of stories! Get the posts from the Chiming Stories in your inbox and read it when you can. Subscribe now, it is free!


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