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 window and listen to my city. The summer heat has not yet choked the perfumed breath of night; the dust in the street lies unwaken by pattering feet, but the jingle of peddlers' wares begins 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 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] 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…» Swathed in its lace of slime, the pond sleeps at sunset. High above the adobe hut and the boat landing rises a sharp-horned yellow moon. What a comforting and pleasing lot — Who can say fate is unkind? The delicate filigree of willow' leaves is 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 drop and late water lilies are blooming. There could not be a brighter or a larger star than the one climbing the partly darkening sky, and hesitating over the edge of the pensive village. 560. «San Shu was a boatman. He lived on an island…» San Shu was a boatman. He lived on an island in the middle of the great Sung-Hwa river, in the north. He rowed his flat-bottomed boat very skillfully across the wide yellow grey expanse from the shore of the city to the grassy flatlands on the other side, where lay the villages and the farms. The Sung-Hwa was a pleasant sunny stream and it earned the boatman's bread all summer. вернуться For Po Chu — yi see note on poem 527. The epigraph is taken from Bo Juyi's poem «Night Stop at Rongyang». вернуться Om mani pad me kum: a meditation mantra. вернуться Lake Hanka is a lake in the maritime Far East, on the border of Russia and China. |
