WEBVTT

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Then a little poem that's
about a poet named Li Ho.

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I early, very early--

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I think I was in high school--
read Robert Payne's anthology

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called White Pony.

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It's a marvelous collection
of Chinese poems.

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Most people, when I read
this, think I mean Li Po

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but I do mean Li Ho.

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And I identified so strongly
with this young Chinese poet

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of the sixth century
before Christ

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as I was later, and fatally,
to identify with Rimbaud.

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Nothing to mess up your life
like identifying with Rimbaud.

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Anyway, this is called "Li Ho."

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"Li Ho of the province of
Honan, not to be confused with

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the god, Li Po, of
Kansu or Szechwan,

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who made 20,000 verses,
Li Ho whose mother said,

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'my son daily vomits up his
heart,' mounts his horse,

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and rides to where a temple
lies as lace among foliage.

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His youth is bargained for
some poems in his saddle bag--

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his beard is gray.

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Leaning against the
flank of the horse,

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he considers the flight of
birds, but his hands are heavy.

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Take this cup, he thinks, fill
it, I want to drink again.

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Deep in his throat, but
perhaps it is a bird,

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he hears a child cry."

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That's sort of a
young man's poem,

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though I seem to be going,
currently, in reverse in nature

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and becoming more of a
romantic poet as I get older.

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