A moon gate in my wall: собрание стихотворений

When I was small I had a great vain dream,
a kind of game just with myself alone:
because the fathers of my little playmates
were wrapped far more than mine in worldly riches,
I played that one fine day I would invite them
to my poor shabby door
and they would knock
and through that creaking door in that grey alley,
awestruck, would tiptoe into sparkling halls
bedecked with wealth and of surpassing beauty.

This never happened, nor did I regret it

for 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 toiling
and have it seems at last built quite a palace
behind that gate, and have assembled in it
great wealth and beauty far belittling those
which 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 knock
upon my gate, those small remembered playmates…

But I can hear the echo of their footsteps

running, then silenced far down winding alleys,
and in the myriad distant streets and cities
they 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 never
disturbs the corridors or narrow stairs.

Blackened by dust and incense smoke and years

the ancient tapestries along the walls
from high carved vaulted ceiling to the floor
breathe not a ripple in the stifled air.

When nightfall stills the last long wailing chant

and joss smoke mingles with the stale burnt oil,
then once again the tapestries awake
with rats that live behind them, galloping,
galloping all night long, like a division
of cavalry on a parade, or rushing
to 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 fields
and had reached the marshes
skirting the great lake.

Wild fowl were flying all over

under a blackening sky
and settling down urgently among the clumps of grass
seeking a refuge.

The vast expanse of lake was before us,

with nothing but tall grass growing profusely as far as
the eye could see
on all sides and behind us;
grass swaying
like 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 grass
in their frightening dance.
A storm.

558. «Swathed in its lace of slime…»