Li Po conjures up poetry and wine. What is more appropriate than having a reading at the Li Po Lounge in Chinatown? Last night the moon is thin like a sickle, not the bright moon that Li reached and literally died for. But it will fatten up some what between now and next Tuesday, when verses will be spoken there along with flowing liquor.
I have never set foot in the Li Po Lounge, although I have worked in Chinatown for nearly 30 years. Sometimes a peek through their half-opened door I sensed an isolated world of (mostly) old men drinking into oblivion. Now, poetry will bring a fuller experience in the dimly lit den and Chinatown itself, where culture is the lion dance or a fortune cookie.
If the Chinese children learn poetry at all they learn in the classroom. But I think Li Po is not there. He would not be pleased to see such orderliness, but turn the corner to Grant Ave where the double red door awaits.
Photo from fecalface.com