“Winds of the Immortals, bones of the Tao.” -- Such is the standard phrase used to describe Li Po (aka Li Bai), the Tang dynasty Taoist poet who, along with his friend Tu Fu, is renowned as one of China’s most profound. Li Po, whose life spanned the years 701-762 CE, has also been called the “Banished Immortal” -- on account of being sent into exile, for political reasons, not just once but twice.

But he can also be thought of as being “exiled” in the sense (expressed here by translator David Hinton) of being a

“spirit moving through this world with an unearthly ease and freedom from attachment. But at the same time, he belongs to the earth in the most profound way, for he is also free of attachments to self, and that allows the self to blend easily into a weave of identification with the earth and its process of change: the earth perpetually moving beyond itself as the ten-thousand things unfold spontaneously, each according to its own nature.”

Li Po’s elegant short poems express, with ease and quiet playfulness, exactly this kind of freedom. Steeped in the imagery of the natural world, and the deep wisdom of a Taoist sage, they bring delight, in countless ways. Here are just a couple, to give you a sense of this poet’s work.

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Going To Visit Tao-T’ien Mountain’s Master
Of The Way Without Finding Him

A dog barks among the sounds of water.
Dew stains peach blossoms. In forests,

I sight a few deer, then at the creek,
hear nothing of midday temple bells.

Wild bamboo parts blue haze. A stream
hangs in flight beneath emerald peaks.

No one knows where you’ve gone. Still,
for rest, I’ve found two or three pines.

(translated by David Hinton)

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To Tu Fu From Shantang

You ask how I spend my time --
I nestle against a tree-trunk
and listen to autumn winds
in the pines all night and day.

Shantung wine can't get me drunk.
The local poets bore me.
My thoughts remain with you,
like the Wen River, endlessly flowing.

(translated by Sam Hamill)

***

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.

(translated by Sam Hamill)

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