It is so long ago
that nobody knows
(and so)
stories flourish.
It is an 8th century
sky
(the kind you
read about)
amongst the words
of poets.
And so, for centuries
the poet
holds the sky
...just so.
It is the zenith
of the Tang dynasty
some 40 miles
south-west of Nanjing
and Death
has come to visit
a man
who lives a life
of vagobondage.
Both famous &...infamous.
It is said when drunk
he writes startlingly
fast
and his shrill voice
astonishes the words
he writes.
Some believe him
to be
an immortal
banished from Heaven.
The great Yangtze
laughs to hear this.
He is but
a man
a mere maker of words.
The poet
a maiden on each arm
smiles at such
supertious nonsense
& calls
for yet more wine!
Some say
he had been under arrest
& died of grief.
Others say
just of disease
, , , as any man.
But others
love to believe
that drowned in wine
he attempts to cuddle
the moon's
reflection
& drowns
in the Yangtze.
This is how
the poet
a man
who makes words
come true
...would have it.
And how...the story is
told to this...very day.
Lai Bai
forever in his cups
drowned in the moon's
watery kiss.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I love the way you tell this tale and the control you have over its story and the imagery...very beautifully handled love Dee Dee