[Lika_k]

"Песни великого спокойствия при южном ветре"
Сичжо
Ли Токхён (1561-1613)
Кругла луна,
В лазурной пустоте висит,
Ветрами, инеем измучена она,
Вот-вот сорвется вниз с небесной выси.
Но и теперь, хмельного гостя ради,
Льет мерно свет на золотую чарку.

пер. А. А. Гурьева

@темы: korean, т, 16, 17, eastern

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[Lika_k]

Su Tung P'o (Su Shih; Zizhan)
The Purple Peach Tree
Timidly, still half asleep, it has blossomed.
Afraid of the teeth of the frost, it was late this year.
Now its crimson mixes with the
Brilliance of the cherries and apricots.
Unique, it is more beautiful than snow and hoar frost.
Under the cold, its heart awoke to the Spring season.
Full of wine, sprawling on the alabaster table,
I dream of the ancient poet who could not distinguish
The peach, the cherry and the apricot, except by their
Green leaves and dark branches.

(from "One Hundred Poems from the Chinese)

transl. by Kenneth Rexroth

@темы: s, chinese, eastern, 11

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[Lika_k]

"Песни великого спокойствия при южном ветре"
Сичжо
Ким Квенпхиль (1454-1504)
К соломенной шляпе я плащ прицепил,
Пусть дождь моросит — я с мотыгой в руках,
Покопался немного на поле в горах,
Под сенью листвы меня сон охватил.
Что скажшь о гнавших овец пастушках —
Меня, задремавшего, шум разбудил!

пер. А. А. Гурьева

@темы: 15, korean, 16, eastern, к (rus)

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[Lika_k]

Su Tung P'o (Su Shih; Zizhan)
To a Traveller
Last year when I accompanied you
As far as the Yang Chou Gate,
The snow was flying, like white willow cotton.
This year, Spring has come again,
And the willow cotton is like snow.
But you have not come back.
Alone before the open window,
I raise my wine cup to the shining moon.
The wind, moist with evening dew,
Blows the gauze curtains.
Maybe Chang-O the moon goddess,
Will pity this single swallow*
And join us together with the cord of light
That riches beneath the painted eaves of your home.

(from "One Hundred Poems from the Chinese)

transl. by Kenneth Rexroth

* Joined swallows, flying with one wing in common, are a symbol of steadfast love.

@темы: s, chinese, eastern, 11

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[Lika_k]

"Песни великого спокойствия при южном ветре"
Сичжо
Юн Сун (1680-1741)
Мой дом укрыт в глубинах Пэкхансана,
Никто меня в глуши искать не станет.
Ко мне приходит в гости чистый ветер,
И с ясною луной делю я чашку.
А у жилища моего журавль танцует,
И понимаю я: мои друзья — они.

пер. А. А. Гурьева

@темы: korean, 18, 17, eastern, с (rus)

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[Lika_k]

Su Tung P'o (Su Shih; Zizhan)
A Walk in the Country
The spring wind raises fine dust from the road.
Everybody is out, enjoying the new leaves.
Strollers are drinking in the inns along the way.
Cart wheels roll over the young grass.
The whole town has gone to the suburbs.
Children scamper everywhere and shout to the skies.
Songs and drum beats scare the hills
And make the leaves tremble on the trees.
Picnic baskets and jugs litter the fields
And put the crows and kites to flight.
Who is that fellow who has gathered a crowd?
He says he is a Taoist monk.
He is selling charms to the passerby.
He shouts, waves his hands, rolls his eyes.
"If you raise silk, these will
Grow cocoons as big as pitchers.
If you raise stock, these will
Make the sheep as big as elks."
Nobody really believes him.
It is spirit of spring in him they are buying.
As soon as he has enough money
He will go fill himself with wine
And fall down drunk,
Overcome by the magic of his own charms.

(from "One Hundred Poems from the Chinese)

transl. by Kenneth Rexroth

@темы: s, chinese, eastern, 11

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[Lika_k]

"Песни великого спокойствия при южном ветре"
Сичжо
Неизвестный автор
Ночь глубока и близко третья стража,
Шумит в павлониях ненастный ливень.
Одолевают мысли, лишь ворочаюсь всю ночь.
От стрекота сверчка, что в спальне для супругов,
Да крика дикого гуся, что в синем небе,
Мне не уснуть до самого утра.
Эй, гусь, зачем кричишь, себе взяв в пару
Бескрйние людские размышленья!
Истлели все излучины печенки*,
Как все же тягостно не спать в такую ночь!

пер. А. А. Гурьева

* Традиционно на Дальнем Востоке печень мыслилась органом чувств.

@темы: korean, 16, eastern

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[Lika_k]

Su Tung P'o (Su Shih; Zizhan)
The Last Day of the Year
The year about to end
Is like a snake creeping in a field.
You have no sooner seen it
Than it has half disappeared.
It is gone and its trouble is gone with it.
It would be worse if you could catch it by its tail.
Why bother to try when it will do you no good?
The children are awake, they can't sleep.
They sit up all night laughing and chattering.
The cocks do not cry to announce the sawn.
The watch do not beat on their drums.
Everybody stays up while the lamps burn low,
And goes out to watch the stars fade and set.
I hope next year will be better than last.
But I know it will be just the
Same old mistakes and mischances.
Maybe I will have accomplished
More next New Year's Eve.
I should. I am still young and full of confidence.

(from "One Hundred Poems from the Chinese)

transl. by Kenneth Rexroth

@темы: s, chinese, eastern, 11

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[Lika_k]

"Песни великого спокойствия при южном ветре"
Сичжо
Неизвестный автор
— Наполни чашку, до краев наполни!
Ты зачерпни вина в черпак из тыквы
И лей до края в чашку из стекла.
— Видать, на короб для бумаг за домом
Присел в какой-то миг какой-то дух
И, выпив половину, улетел он,
Вот и осталась только половина чашки.
Ведь и в лазурном небе круглая луна
Умегьшилась как раз наполовину,
Видать, Тай-бо*, ожив, сюда спустился
И посохом своим — трах-бах — ударил
Да пол-луны отбил — остался полумесяц.
— Что ж, у меня нет дел, а коли дела нет,
Я прихвачу с собой вино и полумесяц,
Возбму с собой я милую, а остальное — брошк,
С ней буду наслаждаться я луной
и долгим хмелем.

пер. А. А. Гурьева

* Имеется в виду Ли Бо

@темы: б, korean, 16, chinese, л, eastern

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[Lika_k]

Su Tung P'o (Su Shih; Zizhan)
The Terrace in the Snow
In the golden twilight the rain
Was like silk threads. During the night
It cleared. The wind fell. It grew
Colder. My covers felt damp
And cold. Without my knowing it,
The snow had drifted into
The room like heaps of salt. At
The fifth watch, in the first flush
Of dawn, I close the curtain
Of the study. During the
Rest of night I listen
To the ice, warping the colored
Tiles of the roof. In the morning
I sweep the Northern terrace
And look out at Saddle peak.
It is clear of clouds and I
Can see both summits. Above
The village in the morning
Sunlight crows begin to circle.
The mud of the streets is covered
With white. No cart track has marked it.
Ice has turned the shop roofs to
White jade. Snow has filled the doorways
With rice. The last cicadas
Have long since gone to earth. Now
They will have to dig a thousand
Feet deeper. Some clouds pile up,
The color of dried moss. My
Chest bothers me again.
I feel I have lost the
Ability to write.
The icicles on the caves
Drone in the wind like the swords
Of murderers.

(from "One Hundred Poems from the Chinese)

transl. by Kenneth Rexroth

@темы: s, chinese, eastern, 11

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[Lika_k]

"Песни великого спокойствия при южном ветре"
Сичжо
Ли Хёебо (1467-1555)
Можно говорить: "Вернусь! Вернусь!",
Но это лишь слова — нет тех, кто возвратился.
Поля, сады — полны очарованья,
Так как же я могу не ехать к ним?
Ведь чистый ветер вместе с ясною луной
Меня заждались в хижине из трав *

пер. А. А. Гурьева

* Сичжо написано по мотивам цикла произведений китайского поэта-отшельника Тао Юань-мина (365-427) "Возвратился к садам и полям"

@темы: 15, korean, 16, chinese, 4, eastern, х (rus), ю, 5

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[Lika_k]

Su Tung P'o (Su Shih; Zizhan)
At Gold Hill Monastery
My native land is up there,
Far away, near the head of
The river. Just a wandering
Bureaucrat, I have been sent
To the spot where the river
Enters the sea. I have heard
That here, ten feet deep in the
Salt marsh, you can find traces
Of the sand, still cold, wich bubbled
Up in the Chong Ling spring high
In the rocky plateau by
The Southern Trail. I have come
Here, following the currents
And waves. Now, high in the tower,
I overlook the whole countryside.
South of the river, north of
The river, the blue mountains
Are without number. The beauty
Of the evening cannot
Overcome my sorrow. I
Reenter my rowboat to
Return. The monks, in their lonely
Monastery, sit watching
The setting sun. The gentle breeze,
Over ten thousand acres,
Makes a fine brocade of the
Waters. In the last rays of
The twilight the schools of fish
Flicker in the water.
At this moment, out of the
River, the material
Soul of the moon is born.
Later, after the seconf
Watch, after the moon has set,
The heavens are left in profound
Blackness. Then in the heart of
The river, the basket torches
Of the fishermen gleam. Their
Lights come and go, shining against
The sky, and frightening the birds
Asleep on the water. I
Try to sleep, but my heart is
Troubled, my minf is distracted.
Neither men nor ghosts come here.
What is it then? Has the spirit
Of the river shown me a
Vision to warm me? Since the
River mouth and the islands
Affect me so, I will not come
Again to this monastery.
I thank the spirit of the river,
But what good has it done?
Just as its waters cannot
Return to their source, si I can
Never return to my native land.

(from "One Hundred Poems from the Chinese)

transl. by Kenneth Rexroth

The scene is in the mouth of the Yangtse.

@темы: s, chinese, eastern, 11

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[Lika_k]

"Песни великого спокойствия при южном ветре"
Сичжо
Чан Ман (1566-1629)
Ли Онги (1640-?)
Волн лазурных лодочник страшился,
Продал лодку и купил себе коня,
Да извилисты дороги на земле —
Оказались водного пути труднее.
Не плавает он больше и не ездит,
Лишь землю пашет он и тем доволен.

пер. А. А. Гурьева

@темы: м, korean, 16, 17, eastern, о (rus)

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[Lika_k]

Su Tung P'o (Su Shih; Zizhan)
The Red Cliff*
The River flows to the East.
Its waves have washed away all
The heroes of history.
To the West of the ancient
Wall you enter the Red Gorge
Of Chu Ko Liang of the
Days of the Three Kingdoms. The
Jagged peaks pierce the heavens.
The furious rapids beat
At the boat, and dash up in
A thousand clouds of spray like
Snow. Mountain and river have
Often been painted, in the
Memory of the heroes
Of those days. I remember
Long ago, Kung Ch'in newly
Married to the beautiful
Chiao-Siao, shining in splendor,
A young warrior, and the other
Chu Ko Liang, in his blue cap,
Waving his horsetail duster,
Smiling and chatting as he
Burned the navy of Ts'ao Ts'ao.
Their ashes were scattered to
The four winds. They vanished away.
In smoke. I like to dream of
Those dead kingdoms. Let people
Laugh at my prematurely
Grey hair. My answer is
A wine cup, full of the
Moon drowned in the River.

(from "One Hundred Poems from the Chinese)

transl. by Kenneth Rexroth

* The cliff was very famous. It was supposed to have be reddened by fireboats which destroyed the river bavy of Ts'ao Ts'ao, the villain of "The Romance of the Three Kingdoms". The episode is a great favorite in the Chinese theater.

@темы: s, chinese, eastern, 11

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[Lika_k]

"Песни великого спокойствия при южном ветре"
Сичжо
Ян Саон (1517-1584)
Пусть говорят, что высока гора Тайшань*,
Но и она никак не выше неба,
И если подниматься вновь и вновь,
Вершины, безусловно, ты достигнешь.
А люди не пытаются подняться
И только сетуют, что высока гора.

пер. А. А. Гурьева

* Гора Тайшань - одна из священных гор Китая.

@темы: korean, 16, eastern, с (rus)

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[Lika_k]

Ou yang Xiu
When the Moon is in the River of Heaven
The frail branches of the arbor
Shelter the roses from the gusts of the East Wind.
Enveloped in a cloud of perfume
Filled with drops of dew.
For whom are they so seductive?
It is only to provoke the fragile
Butterflies and the irascible bees?
My heart swollen with sentimentality,
I wander in this pleasure garden.
And then my drunkenness wears off,
My pleasure goes and soes not return.
The moon, sad enough to tear the bowels,
Sinks to the horizon, and suddenly
The Spring has grown old

(from "One Hundred Poems from the Chinese)

transl. by Kenneth Rexroth

@темы: chinese, o, eastern, 11

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[Lika_k]

"Песни великого спокойствия при южном ветре"
Сичжо
Мать Чон Мончжу
Не лети туда ты, цапля,
Где вороны подралИсь,
Белоснежным твоим перьям
Позавидуют они, —
Тело, что в реке омыто,
Запятняют, я боюсь.

пер. А. А. Гурьева

Это одно из самых знаменитых сичжо было написано матерью литератора и государственного деятеля Чон Мончжу (1338-1392)

@темы: м, korean, 14, eastern

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[Lika_k]

Ou yang Xiu
Spring Walk to the Pavilion of Good Crops and Peace
The trees are brilliant with flowers
And the hills are green.
The sun is about to set.
Over the immense plain
A green carpet of grass
Stretches to infinity.
The passerby do not care
That the spring is about to end.
Carelessly they come and go
Before the pavilion,
Trampling the fallen flowers.

(from "One Hundred Poems from the Chinese)

transl. by Kenneth Rexroth

@темы: chinese, o, eastern, 11

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[Lika_k]

"Песни великого спокойствия при южном ветре"
Сичжо
Неизвестный автор
Когда взойдет луна, уходит лодка,
Я уезжаю — а когда вернусь?
Пусть унесут тебя потоки волн лазурных,
Но главное — назад вернуться вновь.
Скрип якоря, что поднимают пред дорогой,
Мне надрывает душу и лишает сна.

пер. А. А. Гурьева

@темы: korean, 16, eastern

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[Lika_k]

Ou yang Xiu
Fisherman
The wind blows the line out from his fishing pole.
In a straw hat and grass cape the fisherman
Is invisible in the long reeds.
In the fine spring rain it is impossible to see very far
And the mist rising from the water his hidden the hills.

(from "One Hundred Poems from the Chinese)

transl. by Kenneth Rexroth

@темы: chinese, o, eastern, 11