with my wizard eyes,
And the stately lacquer-gate made safe again.
Deep, deep below the bay, the sea-weed and the spray
Embalmed in amber every piret lies,
Embalmed in amber every piret lies”.
Then this did the noble lady say:
“Bird, do you dream of our home-coming day
When you flew like a courier on before
From the dragon-peak to our palace-door,
And we drove the steed in your singing path –
The ramping dragon of laughter and wrath;
And found our city all aglow,
And knighted this joss that decked it so?
There were golden fishes in the purple river
And silver fishes and rainbow fishes.
There were golden junks in the laughing river,
And silver junks and rainbow junks:
There were golden lilies by the bay and river,
And silver lilies and tiger-lilies,
And tinkling wind-bells
in the gardens of the town
By the black-lacquer gate
Were walked in state
The kind king Chang
And his sweet-heart mate…
With his flag-born dragon
And his crown of pearl… and… jade;
And his nightingale reigning in the mulberry shade,
And sailors and soldiers on the sea-sands brown,
And priests who bowed them down to your song –
By the city called Han,
the peacock town,
By the city called Han, the nightingale town,
The nightingale town”.
Then sang the bird, so strangely gay,
Fluttering, fluttering ghostly and gray,
A vague, unravelling, answering tune,
Like a long unwinding silk cocoon;
Sang as though for the soul of him
Who ironed away in that bower dim:
“I have forgotten
Your dragons great,
Merry and mad and friendly and bold.
Dim is your proud lost palace-gate.
I vaguely know
There were heroes of old,
Troubles more than the heart could hold,
There were wolves in the woods
Yet lambs in the fold,
Nests in the top of the almond tree…
The evergreen tree… and the mulberry tree…
Life and hurry and joy forgotten,
Years on years I but half-remember…
Man is a torch, then ashes soon,
May and June, then dead December,
Dead December, then again June.
Who shall end my dream’s confusion?
Life is a loom, weaving illusion…
I remember, I remember
There were ghostly veils and laces…
In the shadowy, bowery places…
With lovers’ ardent faces
Bending to one another,
Speaking each his part.
They infinitely echo
In the red cave of my heart.
«Sweetheart, sweetheart, sweetheart!»
They said to one another.
They spoke, I think, of perils past.
They spoke, I think,
of peace at last.
One thing I remember:
Spring came on forever,
Spring came on forever”,
Said the Chinese nightingale.
КИТАЙСКИЙ СОЛОВЕЙ (перевод Анны Малютиной)
Песня на китайском гобелене.
Посвящается С.Т.Ф.
– Хорошо... – произнёс он.
– Чанъ, дружище, – сказал я ему, –
Сан-Франциско давно погрузился во тьму.
Жизнь замерла… Город беспечный спит,
А ты всё стоишь у гладильной доски.
Настенных часов леденящий звук –
Всхлип! – значит, пройден ещё один круг.
Это время кошмаров и страхов ночных…
Не лучше ль уснуть и не знать о них?
– Чанъ тебе тайну откроет, – пойми –
Сейчас оживёт восхитительный мир,
Где в зелёной листве всю ночь напролёт
Из Шанхая бессмертная птичка поёт.
Молвив так, он пахучие свечи зажёг,
И в углу шевельнулся надменный божок,
На запястье его встрепенулась тотчас
Неприметная птичка… И песнь полилась,
Серой маленькой птички песнь полилась:
«Где любимая, где принцесса,
Что возвысила Чана над всеми царями земли?..»
Струйки дыма в гладильной вились и ползли…
Вздрогнул снова божок. У него на груди
