A moon gate in my wall: собрание стихотворений

Around the bend of the Yalu
where the cliffs come close to the sparkling, chattering water,
suddenly you come to an open meadow
all purple with wild iris.
This meadow is like a green jade bowl
held by cliffs on three sides
with a grove of birches framing the river bank on the fourth.

Tie your horse to a birch trunk; let him nibble

on the sweet wild strawberries at his feet. Look:
What peace, what silence!
No one here to pluck these myriad blooms of deep purple,
more plentiful than the grass,
evidently so carefully tended
by a kind gardener.

548. «We sailed in a small river boat…»

A grey town, full of people very busy living.

We sailed in a small river boat
up the wide canal on the way to Zo-Ssu
one April day.

We passed through a town

and sailed under its bridge,
a high curved stone bridge,
linking two halves of the town.

The bridge was grey, like the walls

of the houses on either side,
but a very busy life
was evident everywhere,

people selling their wares and walking about the streets,

meeting above on the bridge to enjoy the sun and to engage in
conversation,
women washing their clothes at the edge of the stream below,
and several naked children, happy to be near water,
jumping in for a swim from the sampans anchored ashore.

549. «Ching-pu is an elderly man and all his chores are completed…»

Watching the river boats, having nothing else to do.

Ching-pu is an elderly man and all his chores are completed,
the tilling of fields, the raising of crops and of sons.
Ching-pu sits back on his heels on the sunny terraced knoll
smoking his long-stemmed pipe filled with bitter tobacco,
holding his slender pipe with withered yellow hand,
watching the river below hurrying round the bend,
watching the river sampans swiftly propelling themselves,
prow to the muddy current,
around the bend of the river,
towards the city beyond.

550. «Your gate is heavy, strong, and always barred…» [245]

Some are closed, and some are open;

I like the latter.

Your gate is heavy, strong, and always barred.
Its face is bright vermilion touched with brass.
A stout kai-meng-de

guards it day and nightand just a chosen few may step inside.
But I prefer a moongate in my wail —
an open gate that has no use for locks.
Come, let us walk right through and see the pines
shedding dark needles on the moonlit steps!

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