Friday, October 10, 2008

Gombojavyn MEND-OOYO


Traveling through and time , in company with the sun the moon,
Along the bumpy and winding roads left by old wise men,
Climbing up and down the high mountains and the hills,
Fording hundreds of rivers,
Although I do not know when we may meet ,
I am thinking about the words that I will say to you.

I am coming to you
My roads are open to icy winds and fire.
Although the mist of slander falls on them,
I free my transparent thoughts from any mark ,
Untying all knots with my love .
Lashed by freezing winds ,
I’m keeping onwards in my chosen direction,

I am coming to you
Carrying together autumn’s grief and spring’s renewal,
Grasping the fire of my age and with the sun’s warmth in my hand,
Growing with the growing leaves and withering with them ,
In a garden full of flowers and fruits ,
I pass by a hand offering the glass of enjoyment ,
Driven by my desire,

I am coming to you
All my gentle thoughts of my journey ,
All the sweet moment of my life,
And all my secrets, everywhere,
I bind together in the house of my spirit.
In time without beginning or end,
In space without limit,

I am coming to you
Having only parts of my dreams,
Tasting in my own poetry the very basis of everything that is mine,
Wishing in your heart to tune the strings of inspiration ,
Climbing the chasms of high mountains,
Following impassable paths ,
Seeking the eternal song of the essence of love ,

I am coming to you

Translated by N.Enhkbayar

Paradise and Swallows

A mirage on the blue steppe, like a heavenly city.
My ancestors are forever and only in paradise, and
Only the swallows, hanging above the lonely steppe,
Welcome me into my father’s land.
A thick blue mist is draped over the sky, and
The swallows alone lead the way with flapping wings.


Excitedly, the black-faced cranes
Come flapping their wings every spring and,
Blue beards fluttering,
Land at will.
It’s not true what they say, that
These wandering birds have no home.
They travel their destiny,
Returning to their birthplace,
Cranes paired together
Over the spacious steppe,
Exhausted from the long flight
Back to their regular haunt.
And, year after year,
The locals become used to these birds.
Near to a farm,
They lay two spotted eggs.
Who could know that
This untrodden place
Hid eggs –
You’d never think it..
When they came to the gentle steppe,
It was to a place without evil.
When they laid their eggs on the bare gravel,
They gave not a thought to misfortune,
They got dirty, protecting
Their unsuckled birds inside the eggs.
An inquisitive fellow, they say,
With not a thought,
Trod local wisdom underfoot.
And subversively pocketed the eggs,
Getting home
Without arousing suspicion.
The two poor cranes
Stepped into pools of rain-water,
Hid their feathers as if they had no wings,
And there spent the summer, without their young.
When the autumn wind ruffled their plumage,
They came near to the farmer who had taken their eggs.
Nobody noticed their grief,
As the horses were trotted out.
Some way away, the farmer’s son, his eyes sparkling -
He had bells on his shoes and a short jacket on -
Ran playfully after the cranes.
The adults weren’t watching him.
The cranes homed in on the happy child,
Running in from behind,
Closer and closer and closer,
Distance out of mind,
And his mother’s breasts ached with pain.
Three times she called her child.
They searched across the wide steppe,
And combed between the blades of grass.
He must have sprouted wings and flown away.
They didn’t find even one of his boots.
As the days are borne forth by the world,
Unravelling us into the kisses of old age,
When will this scrap of a boy be found, he
Who never knew the eggs were stolen?
The cranes’ melancholy song
Is tethered above the ger.
Is it a shadow or a tear?
The milk in the pan has turned.


The time goes flying, flying by,
The time is gone, is gone.

Quite unexpectedly, the time flies rushing by.
Earth mother swells, the ridges of her brown steppes frail.
Roots of grass suck in the rain, grow saturated.
A flock of birds threads through clouds,
And hills and mountains pass through a vision of horses,
And angry breath is obstinate.
A thread of golden sunlight pierces the flowers on the southern slopes.
Inconstant as time is, the time flies by and is gone.

The moon peeps out from behind a veil of clouds,
And time bashfully steals through the stagnant water.
Youth steps from the army into manhood.
A trotting arrow, cream white steeds, the time goes flying, flying by.
Nighttime lilies caress white beams of light.
A voice's beautiful melody betrays no anger.
A loving couple feasts upon the depths of their life.
The neighbors send out wedding invitations, the time flies by and is gone.

A solitary man in a green haze, sleeping,
Flings stones into the wind.
Why do men's hearts beat in this world?
We're working through this riddle, and the time goes flying, flying by.
They laugh and string their beads.
Their eyes, their skilful golden words, have no time to rest.
They make friends with scholars who traverse the centuries and,
Across the ages still to come, the time flies by and is gone.

The time goes flying, flying by,
The time is gone, is gone.

Quite unexpectedly, the time flies rushing by.
The smell of horses hangs upon a pale blue mist,
And butterflies chase their brawn through flower's honey,
And swans and cranes dance out their native rituals.
Fruit multiplies like stars over the far away mountains.
White horses take a roll and rise up red.
Good fortune spreads, insatiate, through our homeland.
And happiness is infinite, the time flies by and is gone.

Children knock together pebbles to make percussion.
A clash of steel pans, and the seasons fall silent.
We listen to our dear bodies, resonating to a thousand years of song.
The tune of Earthmother's stones, the time goes flying, flying by.
Along the roseate ridges of the still mountains of evening,
The swallows fly up with wings of flame.
Weaving ancient stories to kindle joy and good fortune,
We're thinking like the older generation, the time flies by and is gone.

Ancient heroes gallop through my story.
Old and young smile upon the shining screen.
Face faces face when self meets self,
The Vajradhara is reflected in the present, and the time goes flying, flying by.
The heart beats out the peace of the world, and
We check the hidden nature in the movement of the stars.
Mindful of the map of stations which spans the infinite cosmos,
We hurry towards the future time, the time flies by and is gone.

The time goes flying, flying by,
The time is gone, is gone.

Quite unexpectedly, the time flies rushing by.
While the stars are dozing, the white hoarfrost falls.
The highest price is caught, shimmering at the end of a telescope.
Crops are sown in rows and swell in the sunshine.
Two fledglings flap away the summer on the edge of the dry saltmarsh.
A siege of cranes circles the dried up saltmarsh.
Alongside the returning birds, swirling in the sky,
Raising the misty blue curtain, the time flies by and is gone.

The larks sing, praising the morning's rays.
In waters of desire, floating unprotected from the sun,
We sense the rhythm of original mind.
The heart's reply grows stronger, the time goes flying, flying by.
The birds call gently, summoning their young.
They leave the frozen mandala in swirling flocks.
We sadly take to heart how, in the revolving world,
Our mother's getting old - the time flies by and is gone.

The story of the passing world lies,
Hidden beneath the wings of years; the years leap high,
And a single finger piles the earth over the old as they sleep.
Frost builds up on the tips of grasses, the time goes flying, flying by.
Thick stacks of corpses watch the time go round.
Ancient grasses ripple, untrodden.
We take refuge in unbridled joy, we
Grab onto life, the time flies by and is gone.

The time goes flying, flying by,
The time is gone, is gone.

Quite unexpectedly, the time flies, rushing by.
The sun's eyelids freeze in the endless mandala.
The piercing cold is tamed beneath the best fur hats.
The birds fly off, abandoning the skies.
The sun's rays burnish the silver steppes.
Frozen lanterns, glistening in the camp,
Sway with Orion, hanging in the high heavens,
Earth's satellites flash and fade away, the time flies by and is gone.

The heat from the winter campsite rises up and freezes in the clear sky.
The turning tentpole shows the hand of night.
Around the children, covered by mother's deel, listening to stories
Of "Once upon a time", the time goes flying, flying by.
The horses whinny, echoing their bodies between the hills and mountains.
Sound flows, absorbed into snowflakes, and
The spine of the world relaxes in the four directions.
And, "Happily ever after", the time flies by and is gone.

The moon's rays ask the way of sunlight,
Customs are assumed, then age and wither away.
The world's at peace because of what you've got, and
As you follow your dreams, the time goes flying, flying by.
You take the life you're given and the sands keep running through,
A constant round of joys and destinies and gifts.
Throughout a hundred aeons, bearing witness now
To honest labor and compassion, the time flies by and is gone.

The time goes flying, flying by,
The time is gone, is gone.

No comments: