Moonlight Serenade
All night I listened to the rain.
All night I stared at my window pane.
Rainwater trickled down the glass,
Rainwater pooled in withered grass.
The rain has stopped. Moonlight: a fly
Bobs in a slick: is it Li Bai?
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November 30, 762 was a beautiful moonlit light on the Yangtze River. Li Bai, poet and former wandering swordsman, was out on the river in a small boat. He had been indulging in one of his favorite pastimes and a favorite subject of much of his poetry -- wine and the drunkenness it brings.
Across the wide Yangtze the bright moon spread a large reflection that did not escape the curious gaze and delight of Li Bai. In drunkenness and moonstruck delight he stretched over the side of his small boat, admiring the pure moonlight in the ripples of the broad Yangtze. Outward he stretched. As he reached for the light of the goddess, he fell into the water. Such was the end of the great Tang Dynasty poet Li Bai at age sixty-one: death by drunkenness and the cold fire of ineffable beauty.
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Well done on writing this, Bob. It's sublime, and I've just restacked it with this note:
This is a sublime little poem recalling Li Bai’s death in moonlight on the Yangtze River. It’s so good, it actually reminds me of Li Bai himself.
Didn't Pound write a poem about Li Po's death?