I am borne on the back of an elephant
formed by the bodies of maidens.
Everyone everywhere loves me — I am Vishnu
anew, weaving this wintry vision.
You elephant sinews, surely they show you
in fairy-tale hunting processions
to observe that gentle flow to the ground,
that falling form, that amiable trunk.
You black-shadowed visions in white,
whiter, much whiter than blossoms,
your bodies tremble beneath me
slender as nocturnal tendrils.
I am the Bodhisattva on a white elephant:
as always, pensive and slender.
Seeing me, one of these maidens replied
with the fire of a grateful smile.
Remember, to embody a mighty elephant
is nowhere in no way dishonorable.
You virgins, enchanted by dreams,
weave yourselves warmly together.
It is hard to repeat the wave of a tusk,
to shape the form of a massive foot.
The avowal of flutes, of garlanded songs proclaims:
He is with us, upon us, the blue-eyed god!
Меня проносят <на> <слоно>вых
Носилках — слон девицедымный.
Меня все любят — Вишну новый,
Сплетя носилок призрак зимний.
Вы, мышцы слона, не затем ли
Повиснули в сказочных ловах,
Чтобы ласково лилась на земли,
Та падала, ласковый хобот.
Вы, белые призраки с черным,
Белее, белее вишенья,
Трепещ<е>те станом упорным,
Гибки, как ночные растения.
А я, Бодисатва на белом слоне,
Как раньше, задумчив и гибок.
Увидев то, дева ответ<ила> мне
Огнем благодарных улыбок.
Узнайте, что быть <тяжелым> слоном
Нигде, никогда не бесчестно.
И вы, зачарован<ы> сном,
Сплетайтесь носилками тесно.
Волну клыка как трудно повторить,
Как трудно стать ногой широкой.
Песен с венками, свирелей завет,
Он с нами, на нас, синеокий.
«The underground snake crawls, / Crawls, carries people. / And each — with his own / Newspaper (with his own / Eczema!) Newspaper / Bone eater, chewing tick. / Readers of newspapers, / Chewers of mastics. Who's the reader? Old man? Athlete? / Soldier? Not features, not years, / N...»
«I watch you as coldly as never, / But can’t keep this pine in my breast, / Today sun’s in smoke of havens, / And sadness makes heavy a breath. I know, I breed just a fable — / At least, trust to fables, — but you?.. / Like needless oblations, in alleys, / Leaves fall in the mou...»
«The sailors near the port / shouted in chorus, demanding wine, / and over Stambul and over the Bosphorus / the full moon shone. Tonight they will hurl an unfaithful wife / to the bottom of the bay, / a wife who was too beautiful / and looked like the moon. She loved her daydreams, / ...»
«Describing circle after circle, / The wheeling kite looks down upon / A dream-like, empty meadow. A mother / Grieves in the cabin for her son: / “Here, suck this breast, here, take this bread. / Grow up, be humble, trust in God.” The ages pass, endless war rages, / Revolt flares, vi...»