Мария Визи - A moon gate in my wall: собрание стихотворений

Шумят деревья. Пахнет медом,
немного воском и смолой.
Нечасто солнце мимоходом
пронзает заросли стрелой.

Помолитесь о нашем храме —
что закрыт, разрушен, разбит,
неовеянный в фимиаме —
в кучах мусора был зарыт!

Не звонит его колокольня,
не блестят его купола…
Сердцу холодно, сердцу больно
от людского горького зла…

Над мощами храма потемки,
но забыть его не хочу!
За его святые обломки
зажигаю свою свечу.

Темные ели стоят стеной
около дома, надо мной.

Тихий ангел за моим плечом
отпирает дверь своим ключом,
и куда мне надо, я вхожу,
и кого мне надо, нахожу.
Шелестят вечерню тополя.
Засыпает мирная земля.
На душе — смиренье и покой,
ласковый и радостный такой.

I dreamt of northern summers
And days of long ago.
I dream t of gloomy Finland
And woods we used to know.
The visions of my childhood,
Sweet visions would arise
And pass away, like shadows,
Before my mind's eyes.
Along the rocky seashore
Alone I used to roam
And listen to the breakers
And watch the rushing foam
I loved the mossy meadows,
The pines and granite heights,
I loved the pale shadows
Of cool September nights.

Oh, Angels of Heaven! Help me,
I tire in the constant strife,
I feel I am growing weaker
With ev'ry fresh battle of life.
Oh, hear my prayer, holy spirits!
I do not want luck or gold,
I ask for a gift divine
That cannot be bought or sold.
Give me the soul of a poet,
That's filled with music and love,
And let my heart stay unspoiled
And pure as the sky above…

I cannot think of something bright
Or something that would fit;
You know, I never had much wit,
I lost it all tonight.
Of course, it's very impolite
Since I've been asked to speak,
But if one's intellect is weak
He never does what's right.
My speech was very short, you see,
And there was nothing to it.
I'm sorry; won't you pardon me?
I really hope I'll do it.

I have a pretty little shade
From Lantern street, Beitsing;
It's not so beautifully made,
But, oh, I love the thing!
My friends — they find its colors bright,
It hurts their eyes it seems;
But when it shines on me at night
It speaks of wondrous dream s…
They take me back to places I have known.
To ancient temples I have worshipped in;
They make me smell the incense that was blown
Before the gods and goddesses w ithin…
Upon the lantern's yellow, velvet ray
I travel back, as fast as thought can dare,
Back to a walled-in city far away,
Where lamps like mine are all night long aglare.
The richaws pitter-patter down the street,
A dusty street outside the City wall,
And all you do is — watch the sights you meet,
And hear the noises spreading over all.
Perhaps it's garish, and the colors severe,
But I forget the beauty you all know
For just a glimpse of lanterns over there —
In old Beitsing, the place where I would go.

I bought a frame to fit
a dream I dreamt one night —
that I could often sit
and revel in the sight.

I put it in — but then
it vanished from the frame,
and never more again
I dreamt it just the same.

I got a jar of glass
to keep a lovely flower;
I placed it there — alas,
it wilted in an hour.

I saw a human soul
and gave that soul a song
But now I know its dole:
it will not live there long.

Why do you leave me, when I loved you so?
Where did you come from? Whither you go?
And, far outside the lives and worlds of men,
Tell me, my friend, may we not meet again?

She said, when she had read his book,
That he was fickle; Rupert Brooke,
So full of soul, so rich with thought,
So near the beauty he had sought…
Was «fickle» all that she could see?
And for his depth she did not care?
— Then what he wrote was not for her…
And, maybe, not for me.

In the sunset's orange glowing
How I loved to watch my star—
How I loved to watch it growing,
Coming nearer from afar!
It was brilliant, it was winking,
Shining straight upon my soul,
While the sun's red glove was sinking
Swiftly to'rds its daily goal.
Oh, my sapphire now deserts me!
It has left the Summer skies,
Now a vacant darkness hurts me
When I seek it with my eyes.
Ever northward falling, drowned
Past the gray horizon line—
Star of hope, that I had crowned
For a destiny of mine!

One day I saw a stink-bug small
А-sitting near me on the wall.
I said: «Tray tell me, Stink-bug dear,
What makes you suddenly appear
And light when no one wants you to,
As if the place belongs to you?
Will you not answer me?» I cried.
And, hark! The dirty bum replied,
As he looked up: «What did you think?
— I love to fly around and stink,
Because I know it makes you sore
To see me lighting on the floor,
Or watch me floating o'er your bed,
Or smell my presence near your head».
With this the grinning bug had flown
And left me, wondering, alone.

Oh, school's as great as great could be,
And all my friends around,
But it's Harbin and home for me,
And I am northward bound.
So hurry up, you lazy train,
And Farewell, old Tungchow!
Another day — and home again.
Oh, engine, why so slow?
Above North China's wheat and corn
The mists rise thick and white.
Oh, hurry on towards day, sweet morn,
For I'll be home tonight.
A happy winter this has been,
I love to live at school;
But now it's home, and it's Harbin,
— Enough of life by rule!
I want my home, and I am glad
That ere another day
I'll see my Mother and my Dad,
And Kitty at his play;
I'll have my chum again to kiss,
And I w on't work at all,
And never, never will I miss
The school outside the wall.
There won't be any rising bell,
With which the school awakes;
Instead of that there'll be a smell
Of homemade griddlecakes.
And I can stay in bed all day
Without that dose of oil,
And I can let my tired head
Rest from a Junior's toil.
And, Caesar, I'll forget you soon,
Though you have been my friend.
When will you cease, oh, engine's tune?
When will this journey end?

Alone, when once so many were around,
Who loved me so, and left me now alone!
And now, though once my sleep had been so sound,
I dream all night of faces I have known.
I talk to them of all I saw and learned,
I tell them all I have been thinking of;
I take such pride in praises I have earned,
i take such joy to see again their love!
But w hen the snow is melting on the range
Beneath the heated rays of coining day
Each morning brings too soon the loathsome change
And makes my lonely vision fade away.

Snow clouds came to rest on Baldy mountain,
When the sun had hidden in his den,
— After lights were low and voices quiet
In the valley cottages of men.

With a treasure they were heavy laden,
With the crystal blessings of the fr ost —
Such of which Old Baldy had been dreaming.
Which it loved and months ago had lost.

Only pictures of a Perfect Artist…
Wakened by the morning's early gleam,
Baldy stood majestically crowned,
— And the clouds were floating down their stream

What though passing clouds sent down their shadows?
Baldy's smile was deeper than before
For the soothing, purifying freshness
Which the falling snow had held in store.

The world is but a dancing hall,
Where all the people dance; and all
Can foxtrot, but a mighty few
Can waltz, — and one of them is you.