An evening with
Lee Poe (né Li Bai) the banished immortal
Forever longing for you
in the city of Cháng'ān
- Li Bai
Pouring myself a glass of sparkling white,
alone amid the flowering cyberscape,
seems proper as I sit with you tonight,
dear misread Chinese character. Escape
is what you sought, from each and every one
who loved you as mere name, but most of all
from self. I too am part-barbarian
as my white skin will tell. Eastward of east,
hearing a wanderer's song at evenfall,
I turn to you, child of a floating world
whose song struck heaven's soundproofed Jadegate Pass
from the metropolis of Everpeace:
Forever longing for you
in the city of Everpeace
Autumnal crickets cry from the well's rail that shines like gold,
light glaze of frost now leaves the mat all colored up with cold.
By the lone lamp that sheds no flick of light,
with longing's thread about to snap out loud,
hold back the curtains, see the moon and sigh:
my love - a flower beyond the edge of cloud.
And up above - the heavens' blue dark reign
and down below - the waters' clear swells stream
wide the sky, long the road - the soul flies forth in pain,
can't even clear the mountain pass in dream.
Forever, longing for you
will beat against the heart
your brush set down - the wind and rain went mad,
your poem finished - ghosts and gods would weep
as if the eons since earth split from sky
were laboring to give birth to one Li Bai.
But no. Guests scatter under a dark sky's moon.
The mountain empties like a waterfall.
Though ponds reflect the summer sunface, soon
all bamboo windows have to hum with fall.
Ancient and present meet in Yuefu tune
like lovers on the run in a dark meadow....
And I can only raise a glass to you
as once you poured a toast for moon and shadow
a thousand springs ago. Between mere me
and the springtime of you Green Lotus Lee
the world changed dynasties. Chang'an has fallen
right from the map. The characters are new.
Barbarians no longer have light hair
and the peach blossoms struggle to spread pollen
into a single heart. The ancient air
you played in has blown with your dust and vanished.
And I am sorry, dear Immortal, banished
out to the cold translators' Westernese,
for how they gnawed at you like fresh Chinese
Takeout. We did not apprehend your song,
the way you wrought tradition to its knees
with mastery of rhyme and season. Wrong
it was to pimp that River Merchant's Wife
in verse-free red light districts. Can I seize
music enough to give your musings' life,
lost in traducement? And what right have I
trespassing in your moonlit bedroom, caught
rummaging in your bookblessed dust, Li Bai -
Lee Poe, for what you were who now are not?
Like a drunkard breaking into a house, swearing
he heard the ospreys cry "Go on! Go on!"
But in a half-dead tongue, you more than speak,
you, revenant who shows me what we are
in your unspeakable Way of a fallen star
in whose Way-faring words, reflected, I view
the angels and beasts of our mere human heart -
and my translation has been lost in you.
Stab waters with a knife - they'll just flow faster.
Drink wine to quell the pain - and pain grows deep.
Man's life in this world gives your wish no answer.
Let's go. Right down the mind's Yangtze to sleep.
in the city of Cháng'ān
- Li Bai
Pouring myself a glass of sparkling white,
alone amid the flowering cyberscape,
seems proper as I sit with you tonight,
dear misread Chinese character. Escape
is what you sought, from each and every one
who loved you as mere name, but most of all
from self. I too am part-barbarian
as my white skin will tell. Eastward of east,
hearing a wanderer's song at evenfall,
I turn to you, child of a floating world
whose song struck heaven's soundproofed Jadegate Pass
from the metropolis of Everpeace:
Forever longing for you
in the city of Everpeace
Autumnal crickets cry from the well's rail that shines like gold,
light glaze of frost now leaves the mat all colored up with cold.
By the lone lamp that sheds no flick of light,
with longing's thread about to snap out loud,
hold back the curtains, see the moon and sigh:
my love - a flower beyond the edge of cloud.
And up above - the heavens' blue dark reign
and down below - the waters' clear swells stream
wide the sky, long the road - the soul flies forth in pain,
can't even clear the mountain pass in dream.
Forever, longing for you
will beat against the heart
your brush set down - the wind and rain went mad,
your poem finished - ghosts and gods would weep
as if the eons since earth split from sky
were laboring to give birth to one Li Bai.
But no. Guests scatter under a dark sky's moon.
The mountain empties like a waterfall.
Though ponds reflect the summer sunface, soon
all bamboo windows have to hum with fall.
Ancient and present meet in Yuefu tune
like lovers on the run in a dark meadow....
And I can only raise a glass to you
as once you poured a toast for moon and shadow
a thousand springs ago. Between mere me
and the springtime of you Green Lotus Lee
the world changed dynasties. Chang'an has fallen
right from the map. The characters are new.
Barbarians no longer have light hair
and the peach blossoms struggle to spread pollen
into a single heart. The ancient air
you played in has blown with your dust and vanished.
And I am sorry, dear Immortal, banished
out to the cold translators' Westernese,
for how they gnawed at you like fresh Chinese
Takeout. We did not apprehend your song,
the way you wrought tradition to its knees
with mastery of rhyme and season. Wrong
it was to pimp that River Merchant's Wife
in verse-free red light districts. Can I seize
music enough to give your musings' life,
lost in traducement? And what right have I
trespassing in your moonlit bedroom, caught
rummaging in your bookblessed dust, Li Bai -
Lee Poe, for what you were who now are not?
Like a drunkard breaking into a house, swearing
he heard the ospreys cry "Go on! Go on!"
But in a half-dead tongue, you more than speak,
you, revenant who shows me what we are
in your unspeakable Way of a fallen star
in whose Way-faring words, reflected, I view
the angels and beasts of our mere human heart -
and my translation has been lost in you.
Stab waters with a knife - they'll just flow faster.
Drink wine to quell the pain - and pain grows deep.
Man's life in this world gives your wish no answer.
Let's go. Right down the mind's Yangtze to sleep.
Una sera con Lee Poe (né Li Bai) l’esiliato immortale
Nostalgia
sempre per te:
nella
città di Cháng'ān
- Li Bai
- Li Bai
versandomi un vino bianco frizzante,
nel fiorente spazio cibernetico,
sembra appropriato mentre siedo con
te,
cinese caro letto male. Fuga
quel che cercasti da tutti e ciascuno
che ti amò come puro nome, specie
da te. Io parzialbarbaro,
la pelle bianca dirà. A oriente
d’est,
canto di viandante, cade la sera,
volto a te: figlio di un mondo
fluttuante,
canto che colpì Portedigiada a prova
di suono
dalla metropoli di Semprepace:
Nostalgia
sempre per te:
nella
città di Semprepace.
Grilli d’autunno intorno al pozzo che
brilla come oro
come patina di ghiaccio il tappeto
scolorito.
La
sola lampada che non guizza,
fra
fili di nostalgia da scrollare,
alza
la tenda vedi la luna sospira:
amore
mio – un fiore oltre l’orlo di nube.
In
cima – regno dei cieli bluscuro
e
sotto corrente gonfia d’acque chiare
ampio
il cielo lunga la via - l’anima vola
addolorata,
né sa
chiaro il passo del monte in sogno.
Nostalgia
sempre, per te:
batticuori
pennello
deposto – vento e pioggia impazziti,
poesia
composta – spiriti e dèi piangeranno
come
dacchè la terra si staccò dal cielo gli eoni
faticassero
per generare un Li Bai.
Invece
no. Ospiti sparsi sotto la luna.
La
montagna si svuota come una cascata.
Lo
stagno riflette aspetto estivo, ma presto
tutte
le finestre di bambù si devono intonare all’autunno.
Antichità
e presente s’incontrano nella melodia Yuefu
come
amanti che corrono su un prato scuro…
E
posso solo alzare il bicchiere a te
come
una volta tu per la luna e le ombre
un
migliaio di primavere fa. Fra il mero me
e la
primavera tua Lee Verde Loto
cambiò
dinastie il mondo. Chang’an cadde
giusto
dalla mappa. I personaggi nuovi.
I
barbari non hanno più capelli chiari
i
boccioli di pesco sforzano per spargere semi
in un
cuore almeno. L’aria antica
che
suonavi è polvere sparita.
Mi
spiace, caro Immortale, esiliato
nell’ovestese
freddo dei traduttori,
come
ti rosicchino quale il fresco cinese
cibopronto.
Non apprendemmo la canzone,
il
modo di avvolgere la tradizione in ginocchio
con
maestrìa di rima e di stagione. Falso
fu
prostituire tal Moglie del mercante di fiume
nel
verso libero delle lucirosse. So misura
di
musica bastante a rendere i tuoi divertimenti,
persi
nei traducimenti? Che diritto ho io
passare
nella tua camera da letto in luce lunare, preso
a
trafficare nella tua dai libri benedetta polvere, Li Bai –
Lee
Poe, quel che fosti che ora non sei?
Un
ubriaco che irrompe in case, giura
che
udì martin pescatori urlargli vai avanti!
Ma in
lingua mezza morta, tu più che parli,
tu,
revenant che mostri quel che siamo
nell’indicibile
via di stella caduta
in
quelle vie d’addio e parole, riflessi vedo
angeli
e bestie del mero umano cuore –
e la
mia traduzione è persa in te.
Colpisci
acque a coltellate – fluiscono veloci.
Bevi
vino per assopire dolore – e dolore cresce.
Vita
d’uomo a questo mondo non dà al tuo desiderio.
Andiamo.
Giusto giù allo Yangtze della mente, al sonno.
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here we are