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.
«We create cities from boulders, / Appreciate clear thoughts and precise numbers, / And it is unpleasant and strange for the soul / When the wind drawls a bleak meaningless song. Or the sea laps noisily. Neither hope, nor desire, / All that is precious to us, will not find an answer in them....»
«In the green church beyond the hill, / Where the willows dropped their rosaries, / I commemorate with the prosphora / Of juvenile spring the tales of youth. And you, bowing down / In front of me, stand invisibly, / The silks of lowered eyelashes / Make the wings of cherubim flap. Your ...»
«Fog covered the distance, / The moon combs the clouds. / Red evening behind the fish string / Spreads a curly drag net. Under the window, the wind / Oversang through slippy willows. / Quiet gloom, a warm angel, / Slaked by foreign light. The izba’s slumber, effortlessly, sows / Par...»
«The day is gone, the line diminished, / And I again edge to the exit. / With a slight sweep of the white finger / I cut through the secret of ages. In the blue stream of my fate / The cold scum beats and froths, / And the seal of mute bondage / Adds a new wrinkle near the puckered lip. ...»