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Poetry of the Yellow Mountain | ghostly heart

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Thirty six strange peaks, Immortals with black top knots. Morning sun strikes the tree tops, Here in this sky mountain world. Chinese people, raise your faces! For a thousand years cranes come and go. Far off I spy a firewood gatherer, Plucking sticks from stone crevices. -Li Bai “Dawn Vista On Huangshan” There are some places in the world that just seem to inspire gushing wellsprings of poetry. Metaphors woven together to create tapestries that reveal glimpses of those inner workings that lie just below the surface. Meaning layered upon meaning until everything is saturated and more than the sum of its parts. Huangshan in China’s Anhui region is one of those places. Mention the Yellow Mountains, and most people’s minds will fill with vidid images. Mine certainly did. I imagined poet-philosophers making slow pilgrimages to contemplate shapes within the rocks. Painters with their wells of deep black ink moving brushes across long scrolls of paper. Majestic views transformed into the ico

Thirty six strange peaks, Immortals with black top knots. Morning sun strikes the tree tops, Here in this sky mountain world. Chinese people, raise your faces! For a thousand years cranes come and go. Far off I spy a firewood gatherer, Plucking sticks from stone crevices. -Li Bai “Dawn Vista On Huangshan” There are some places in the world that just seem to inspire gushing wellsprings of poetry. Metaphors woven together to create tapestries that reveal glimpses of those inner workings that lie just below the surface. Meaning layered upon meaning until everything is saturated and mo

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