[Dichtung]

Ли Бо
Чанганьские мотивы
I
Еще не носила прически я -
Играла я у ворот,

И рвала цветы у себя в саду,
Смотрела, как сад цветет.

На палочке мой муженек верхом
Скакал, не жалея сил, -

Он в гости ко мне приезжал тогда
И сливы мне приносил.

Мы были детьми в деревне Чангань,
Не знающими труда,

И, вместе играя по целым дням,
Не ссорились никогда.

II
Он стал моим мужем, - а было мне
Четырнадцать лет тогда, -

И я отворачивала лицо,
Пылавшее от стыда.

Я отворачивала лицо,
Пряча его во тьму,

Тысячу раз он звал меня,
Но я не пришла к нему.

Я расправила брови в пятнадцать лет,
Забыла про детский страх, -

Впервые подумав: хочу делить
С тобой и пепел и прах.

Да буду я вечно хранить завет
Обнимающего устой,

И да не допустит меня судьба
На башне стоять одной!

Шестнадцать лет мне теперь -
и ты
Уехал на долгий срок.

Далеко, туда, где в ущелье Цюйтан
Кипит между скал поток.

Тебе не подняться вверх по Янцзы
Даже к пятой луне.

И только тоскливый вой обезьян
Слышишь ты в тишине.

III
У нашего дома твоих следов
Давно уже не видать,

Они зеленым мхом поросли -
Появятся ли опять?

Густо разросся зеленый мох
И след закрывает твой.

Осенний ветер весь день в саду
Опавшей шуршит листвой.

Восьмая луна - тускнеет все,
Даже бабочек цвет.

Вот они парочками летят,
И я им гляжу вослед.

Осенние бабочки! Так и я
Горою перед зимой

0 том, что стареет мое лицо
И блекнет румянец мой.

IV
Но, рано ли, поздно ли, наконец
Вернешься ты из Саньба.

Пошли мне известье, что едешь ты,
Что смилостивилась судьба.

Пошли - и я выйду тебя встречать,
Благословив небеса,

Хоть тысячу ли я пройду пешком,
До самого Чанфэнса.

пер. Ал. Гитович

Li Po
IV. 24. Ch'ang-Kan
Soon after I wore my hair covering my forehead
I was plucking flowers and playing in front of the gate,
When you came by, walking on bamboo-stilts
Along the trellis, playing with the green plums.
We both lived in the village of Ch'ang-kan,
Two children, without hate or suspicion.
At fourteen I became your wife ;
I was shame-faced and never dared smile.
I sank my head against the dark wall ;
Called to a thousand times, I did not turn.
At fifteen I stopped wrinkling my brow
And desired my ashes to be mingled with your dust.
I thought you were like the man who clung to the bridge :|
Not guessing I should climb the Look-for-Husband
Terrace,^
But next year you went far away,
To Ch'u-t'ang and the Whirling Water Rocks.
In the fifth month "one should not venture there
Where wailing monkeys cluster in the cliffs above.
In front of the door, the tracks you once made
One by one have been covered by green moss
Moss so thick that I cannot sweep it away,
And leaves are falling in the early autumn wind.
Yellow with August the pairing butterflies
In the western garden flit from grass to grass.
The sight of these wounds my heart with pain ;
As I sit and sorrow, my red cheeks fade.
Send me a letter and let me know in time
When your boat will be going through the three gorges
of Pa.
I will come to meet you as far as ever you please,
Even to the dangerous sands of Ch'ang-feng.


Transl. by Arthur Waley

Li Po
Two Ballads of Ch'ang-kan
I
My hair barely covered my forehead then.
My play was plucking flowers by the gate.
You would come on your bamboo horse,
riding circles round my bench, and pitching
green plums.
Growing up together here, in Ch'ang-kan:
two little ones; no thought of what would come.
At fourteen I became your wife,
blushing and timid, unable to smile,
bowing my head, face to dark wall.
You called a thousand times, without any answer.
At fifteen I made up my face,
and swore that our dust and ashes should be one,
to keep faith like "the Man at the Pillar."
How could I have known I'd climb the Watch
Tower?
For when I was sixteen you journeyed far,
to Chu-t'ang Gorge, by Yan-yu Rocks.
In the fifth month, there is no way through.
There the apes call, mournful, to the Heavens.

By the gate, the footprints that you left:
each one grows green with moss,
so deep I cannot sweep them.
The falling leaves say the Autumn's wind is
early,
October's butterflies already come
in pairs to fly above the western garden's grass.
Wounding the heart of the wife who waits,
Sitting in sadness, bright face growing old.
Sooner or later you'll come down from San-pa.
Send me a letter, let me know.
I'll come out to welcome you, no matter how far,
all the way to Long Wind Sands.

II
All I, your wife, with all my heart recall
before you, is the innocence of a maiden's
sequestration.

And then, I married my Ch'ang-kan man.
Now a woman, I stride the shore and read the clouds
to learn whence come the winds and where's my
man now.

In the fifth month of the lunar year,
the south winds rise. and my heart's with you,
coming down through Pa-ling.
In the eighth month the west winds rise:
I know you're departing Yang-tzu.

You come and you go:
what would I be if my heart weren't torn?...
Our meetings are few. We live apart so long.
But you'll be here from Hsiang-t'an soon,
and my dreams have carried me over the wind-
driven waves...

Then, last night. a wild gale passed through this
place.
It blew down riverside trees. Water, water dark
water in a limitless darkness, and where were
you?
If only I could ride those scudding clouds,
to find... to know...
end in the final joy of finding you,
somewhere east of Orchid Shore.

Mandarin duck and drake, their beauty,
lifelong mates, they swim so beautifully
together.
And the kingfishers too; they will never fly
apart.
-----------------
Would I lament marriage at only fifteen,
my face by nature bare with the beauty of peach
blossom,
to become the lifelong wife of a river merchant?
My eyes are bright, tearing as I gaze into the
Autumn winds.

transl. by J.P. Seaton

Ezra Pound
Collected Shorter Poems (Faber and Faber, 1973)
Cathay (1915)
The River-Merchant's Wife: A Letter
While my hair was still cut straight across my forehead
I played about the front gate, pulling flowers.
You came by on bamboo stilts, playing horse,
You walked about my seat, playing with blue plums.
And we went on living in the village of Chokan:
Two small people, without dislike or suspicion.

At fourteen I married My Lord you.
I never laughed, being bashful.
Lowering my head, I looked at the wall.
Called to, a thousand times, I never looked back.

At fifteen I stopped scowling,
I desired my dust to be mingled with yours
Forever and forever and forever.
Why should I climb the look out?

At sixteen you departed,
You went into far Ku-to-yen, by the river of swirling eddies,
And you have been gone five months.
The monkeys make sorrowful noise overhead.

You dragged your feet when you went out.
By the gate now, the moss is grown, the different mosses,
Too deep to clear them away!
The leaves fall early this autumn, in wind.
The paired butterflies are already yellow with August
Over the grass in the West garden;
They hurt me. I grow older.
If you are coming down through the narrows of the river Kiang,
Please let me know beforehand,
And I will come out to meet you
As far as Cho-fu-Sa.

By Rihaku (Li Bai)