551. «The white sands on the sloping shore of the river…»
He was almost as old as the river,
and he made more noise than the river itself
The white sands on the sloping shore of the riverlie silent, except for the lapping,continuous lappingof the yellow wateragainst the edge of the slope,— the great mass of waterpoured powerfullydown the deep trough of its old bed.
liven the water grasses,crashing close to the current,hold the wav'es of their surfacesilently toward the sun.
Suddenly, a heavy splash disturbs the silence,as the aged bulk of a huge river tortoiseturns swiftlynear the top of the yellow water,to snatch a minnow.
552. «It was a lazy summer noon, as I sat in the stern of a flat-bottomed boat…»[246]
The blue parasol may have been becoming.
I do not know; I hope it was.
It was a lazy summer noon, as I sat in the stern of a flat-bottomed boat,holding a blue parasol over my head and back.
My boatman rowed unhurriedly through the rushes,the tall rushes crowding a narrow streamacross the Sung-Hwa-kiang.
I sat enjoying the blue of the sky,the gold of the sun, the green of the grass and the ripples,and I did not know whether I was pretty or not,in my light summer gown,against my light blue parasol —I did not know whether I wras pretty or not,
I had not expected to meet you rowing towards me,swiftly slicing the rushes with the sharp prow of your boat,as you returned from your early morning fishing.
553. «He was a shepherd and he spent his hours…»[247]
A person encountered in the Western I lills near
Beitsing
He was a shepherd and he spent his hoursupon a hillside taking care of sheep.He slept in his small hut of mud and strawand ate his rice and sometimes drank his tea.
His hands were gnarled and grimy and his clotheshe hardly ever changed from month to monthfor he was one of the unwashed who livedso many li from rivers or a spring.
In early morning, when some stranger chanced,dangling his dusty legs, on donkey backto pass his hut, the friendly shepherd calledby way of greeting, —«Have you had your rice?»
554. «At daybreak, as the skies lighten…»
Early morning in Beitsing: a sound fondly recalled.
At daybreak, as the skies lighten,I roll up my windowand listen to my city.The summer heat has not yet chokedthe perfumed breath of night;the dust in the street lies unwaken by pattering feet,but the jingle of peddlers' waresbegins to reach my ears,and then, what I await:the whistling pigeon in the sky above Beitsing.
555. «When I was small I had a great vain dream…»[248]
Only the waters of the Ch'in and Wei
Roll green and changeless, as in years
gone by.
Po Chu-i
When I was small I had a great vain dream,a kind of game just with myself alone:because the fathers of my little playmateswere wrapped far more than mine in worldly riches,I played that one fine day I would invite themto my poor shabby doorand they would knockand through that creaking door in that grey alley,awestruck, would tiptoe into sparkling hallsbedecked with wealth and of surpassing beauty.
This never happened, nor did I regret itfor still they came, and still we played together.Now years have passed and we have ail been scattered.And all these many years I have been toilingand have it seems at last built quite a palacebehind that gate, and have assembled in itgreat wealth and beauty far belittling thosewhich once I dreamed of as a foolish child;
— So much to show, with humble pride and grateful,to share and to enjoy, if they would knockupon my gate, those small remembered playmates…
But I can hear the echo of their footstepsrunning, then silenced far down winding alleys,and in the myriad distant streets and citiesthey cannot find the gateway to my house.
556. «The temple halls are musty; daylight never…»[249]
Om mani pad me kum.
The temple halls are musty; daylight neverdisturbs the corridors or narrow stairs.
Blackened by dust and incense smoke and yearsthe ancient tapestries along the wallsfrom high carved vaulted ceiling to the floorbreathe not a ripple in the stifled air.
When nightfall stills the last long wailing chantand joss smoke mingles with the stale burnt oil,then once again the tapestries awakewith rats that live behind them, galloping,galloping all night long, like a divisionof cavalry on a parade, or rushingto mortal combat with an enemy.
557. «We had walked many li over the flat autumn fields…»[250]
A winter storm starts suddenly over
lake Hanka.
We had walked many li over the flat autumn fieldsand had reached the marshesskirting the great lake.
Wild fowl were flying all overunder a blackening skyand settling down urgently among the clumps of grassseeking a refuge.
The vast expanse of lake was before us,with nothing but tall grass growing profusely as far asthe eye could seeon all sides and behind us;grass swayinglike a continuation of the lake surface.
Suddenly, without warning,a sheet of wet white flakes fell from the sky,and more followed, and more, hurrying,swirling and joining the wind and the grassin their frightening dance.A storm.
558. «Swathed in its lace of slime…»
Swathed in its lace of slime,the pond sleepsat sunset.
High above the adobe hutand the boat landingrises a sharp-horned yellow moon.
What a comforting and pleasing lot —Who can say fate is unkind?The delicate filigree of willow' leavesis black against the violet evening sky.
559. «Early snow falls…»
Early snow falls,like wafted cherry blossoms —peaceful and lazy —into the pond,
the green one, where willows dropand late water lilies are blooming.
There could not be a brighter or a larger starthan the one climbingthe partly darkening sky, andhesitating over the edgeof the pensive village.
560. «San Shu was a boatman. He lived on an island…»
San Shu was a boatman. He lived on an islandin the middle of the great Sung-Hwa river,in the north.He rowed his flat-bottomed boatvery skillfully across the wide yellow grey expansefrom the shore of the city to the grassy flatlandson the other side,where lay the villages and the farms.
The Sung-Hwa was a pleasant sunny streamand it earned the boatman's breadall summer.
561. «From the direction of Mai Mai Cheng…»[251]
From the direction of Mai Mai Cheng,rising over the Gobi desert,across the Great Wall,came a wind.
It picked up the sands of the desertand became thick and brownas the sands themselves,as it hurled its destructive phalangesinto battle,row upon powerful row.
I got up in the morning with a brown blanket about mebrown sand in my eyes and earsand gritting between my teethand but a white spot on the bedwhere my head had rested.
But many centuries this Gobi wind has blowncovering with its sandsmyriad human bones and ancient dwellings.
Some far-off day a child,playing in the swift sand,will take a beautiful polished white bonethat will have been me,
and will take it to her father,to make her a flute,to sing a song.
Часть IV. Неопубликованные переводы
English into Russian
562. Maxwell Bodenheim (1893–1954). A Poet to his Love[252]
Серебряная церковь в чаше леса —Моя любовь к тебе. Кругом деревья,Украденные от тебя словаИ колокол, твоя последняя улыбка.Дарованная мне, — повешен наверху.Тот колокол звонит, когда ты входишь в лес.Когда ты станешь около него.Но звон его ненужный замолкает,Когда ты начинаешь говорить.
28 ноября [1924 г.]
563. Abbie Huston Evans. A Niche from the Blast. Dell Concert.[253]
Здесь, где в одном пятне освещенаповерхность темная земного шара,когда спускается на землю ночьи яркая звезда на запад тонет,тускнеют краски и темнеет небоогромное, в то время как землянеторопливо крутится, и небесаворотятся, как колесо, — впервыекак будто, вижу я сегодня ночью,что небосвод, действительно, повсюдувокруг нас, и что сами мы летимв пространство, хоть о том и забываем.
Везде вокруг — стремленье, шторм и крикивсего оркестра вместе; человексвой голос собственный так страстно ищет;день шелуху свою роняет; птицаночная, вспугнутая, встрепенется,в борьбе царапаясь сквозь бурю звуков.
И в нише освещенной среди тьмы,как в найденном убежище минутном,средь солнц несущихся, окруженытолпою сил неведомых и княжеств,здесь тысячи обретших вдруг свободу,почувствовавших близость с этим светом.
1960-е гг.
