Friday, October 10, 2008

Sunvaidanzan, Gunnachug, Injinashi

Gunnachug (1832-1866)


Though, plants and mountains do not grow old
Their heads are whitened by the snow
Though, waters do not suffer
Their face gets wrinkled in the wind

Sunvaidanzan (1834-1898)


In autumn the grass is blue and withered;
In autumn lamps are dim and nights are long;
In autumn looking through the window – the autumn

Injinashi (1837-1892)

The west wind clears the sky
Have those who pretend to knowledge seen it for themselves?
Even a withered leaf flattering in the morning
Is clear to an orphan mediating alone


As a lyric of desire
Transforms into a wind of blue clouds
If I can’t stimulate a person’s mind
Why bother plying my easy-going quill?

I’ll stop appealing a higher authority
Instead, I build a ger* of grass out on the western mountain.
Withered flowers will blossom again, but
My grey hairs won’t ever go black again.

Translated and edited by Tsog Shagdarsuren and Simon Wickham Smith

* ger: a nomad’s dwelling made of wood and felt

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