Искусствоед
Li Po
Autumn on My Heart, on My Mind
Spring's Yang, I remember. Warm? Spring was hot
as yesterday's sudden sun.
I remember, in a blue tree, singing, Yellow
Oriole.
Jungle grew like a raging fire,
fresh with fragrant orchids that sank in the grass
as every sunset does.
Then you stand in a breeze and it's a cold wind
blowing.
The sky is full of the smoke of the farmers'
stubble burning off.
Tree's leaves all fall. Moon freezes.
Even the sedge worms can tell it's not right.
Even in meditation all my heart and mind can
find is Autumn:
every fragrance, flocks of flowers like herds with
their rams...
all gone at once. White dew: frost, the cycle
frozen, finally.
Nothing's final. Mud, darkness. Beginning again
transl. by J.P. Seaton
Autumn on My Heart, on My Mind
Spring's Yang, I remember. Warm? Spring was hot
as yesterday's sudden sun.
I remember, in a blue tree, singing, Yellow
Oriole.
Jungle grew like a raging fire,
fresh with fragrant orchids that sank in the grass
as every sunset does.
Then you stand in a breeze and it's a cold wind
blowing.
The sky is full of the smoke of the farmers'
stubble burning off.
Tree's leaves all fall. Moon freezes.
Even the sedge worms can tell it's not right.
Even in meditation all my heart and mind can
find is Autumn:
every fragrance, flocks of flowers like herds with
their rams...
all gone at once. White dew: frost, the cycle
frozen, finally.
Nothing's final. Mud, darkness. Beginning again
transl. by J.P. Seaton