Искусствоед
Li Po
Tzu Ye: Ballads of Four Seasons
Spring
Lady Luo Fu, of the land of Ch'in,
plucks mulberry leaves by the green water side,
delicate pure white hand over the deep green
leaves,
makeup brighter red in the clear fresh light of
the sun.
"My silkworms aren't hungry, I must go.
Oh, Lord of Five Horses, stop not here, don't
stop here at all."
Summer
Mirror Lake's three hundred li around;
lotus blossoms blooming: toward midsummer,
when beneath the fifth moon Hsi-shih plucks
them,
the people watch in a crushing crowd.
She turns her boat back without waiting for the
'moon...
going home to her love, the King of Yueh...
home to her lover, King of Yueh.
Autumn
Above, Chang-an, the City of Long Peace,
from ten thousand mansions the lonely clash,
the clash of clubs, is only the "fulling,"
the preparation of the long-stored Winter robes
for Winter use again. The Autumn wind
is not done blowing yet.
Winter
He leaves tomorrow, the messenger has told her.
So she sews her warrior's cloak all night,
but the needle's cols as a warrior's
steel to her delicate fingers.
How can she bear to touch the scissors blade?
Now she's done: she sets it on its perilous way,
and starts to count the days till it might reach
him....
transl. by J.P. Seaton
Tzu Ye: Ballads of Four Seasons
Spring
Lady Luo Fu, of the land of Ch'in,
plucks mulberry leaves by the green water side,
delicate pure white hand over the deep green
leaves,
makeup brighter red in the clear fresh light of
the sun.
"My silkworms aren't hungry, I must go.
Oh, Lord of Five Horses, stop not here, don't
stop here at all."
Summer
Mirror Lake's three hundred li around;
lotus blossoms blooming: toward midsummer,
when beneath the fifth moon Hsi-shih plucks
them,
the people watch in a crushing crowd.
She turns her boat back without waiting for the
'moon...
going home to her love, the King of Yueh...
home to her lover, King of Yueh.
Autumn
Above, Chang-an, the City of Long Peace,
from ten thousand mansions the lonely clash,
the clash of clubs, is only the "fulling,"
the preparation of the long-stored Winter robes
for Winter use again. The Autumn wind
is not done blowing yet.
Winter
He leaves tomorrow, the messenger has told her.
So she sews her warrior's cloak all night,
but the needle's cols as a warrior's
steel to her delicate fingers.
How can she bear to touch the scissors blade?
Now she's done: she sets it on its perilous way,
and starts to count the days till it might reach
him....
transl. by J.P. Seaton