Danzangyn Nyamsüren

THE FOUR SEASONS

1

Just one drop of rain is lovely.
The dampness of old grass is lovely.
Spring snow falling on a ger is lovely.
Birds singing here and there is lovely.

The swallows flying overhead are lovely.
The travellers sitting at our hitching-post are lovely.
The women nextdoor are lovely.
To move from pasture to pasture is lovely.

Sudden rainfall on the Khangai is lovely.
The flash of lightning in the dark is lovely.
Teeming rainfall day and night is lovely.
Guests coming from afar are lovely.

Grasses rippling on the yellow steppe are lovely.
Winds riffling at the women’s fringes are lovely.
Sleeping on a haystack on a moonlit night is lovely.
When I’m dreaming, to fall down to earth is lovely.

When the rain takes a breather, it’s lovely.
Water dripping from sopping clothes is lovely.
The sun emerging from a break in the clouds is lovely.
Watching through the door as the larks fly past is lovely.

Horses whinnying at midnight are lovely.
To think of the world awakening in verse is lovely.
Light breaking through the house is lovely.
The morning is lovely.

The meeting and melding of rain is lovely.
The galloping man on the dun-colored horse is lovely.
Saying how we came before the rain is lovely.
Coming in with the bridle and saddle is lovely.

Camels rumbling over the moonlit hills are lovely.
Ai-nan-aa on the strings of the shanz is lovely.
The fire catching light with yellow flames is lovely.
Faces caught in the flickering are lovely.

The call of a crane’s head bottle is lovely.
The rain, falling on salty marshland, is lovely.
A flower’s subtle sign of life is lovely.
The calm before the storm is lovely.

The moon shining through the roofhole is lovely.
Splashing milk in a pot is lovely.
The moon coming out in the depth of night is lovely.
The snorting of a hobbled horse is lovely.

The drizzling of rain is lovely.
The greening of the grassy lawns is lovely.
A southeasterly rainbow is lovely.
The sheen of rainsoaked colors is lovely.

The glint of rainwater is lovely.
Girls washing their pigtails is lovely.
The wafting scent of onion and artemisia is lovely.
To think good thoughts of far and near is lovely.

To come in at dusk is lovely.
To go in the light of dawn is lovely.
To cry soft tears for the motley world is lovely.
To sing joyfully for the broad earth is lovely.

My homeland, like poetry, is lovely.
My country, like song, is lovely.
To experience the turning seasons is lovely.
Rain falling on Ereentsev is lovely!


2

Fallen snow at daybreak is lovely.
Snow falling down the ropes and through the roofhole is lovely.
The mountains and hills shining outside are lovely.
Just one blade of grass blowing in the wind is lovely.

To see a light at home late in the evening is lovely.
The feet of a birthing foal are lovely.
When you spend the night at home, women are lovely.
Stray dogs barking in the moonlight are lovely.

Snow in flurries around the roofhole is lovely.
When it melts in droplets onto the pot’s lid, it’s lovely.
Father sitting in the place of honor is lovely.
Mother coming in through the tentflap is lovely.

The sun striking the low mountain peaks is lovely.
A cart coming this way is lovely.
The wheels on the cart going round and round is lovely.
The birds flying from inside the cart are lovely.

Dull and misty skies are lovely.
Something barely seen in the distance is lovely.
Smoke whirling on the twisting wind is lovely.
Snow falling in heavy bursts is lovely.

To be warmed asleep by the fire in the hearth is lovely.
Dozing off while drunk on a summer evening is lovely.
Who, what..? Any tea? Such woozy words are lovely.
Being led gently by the hand by someone’s elder sister is lovely.

A wide salty plain, striated in greys, is lovely.
A flash upon the distant mountains is lovely.
A dazzling light on liquid snow is lovely.
A day of white and glinting light is lovely.

Closer to the moon, the clearer stars are lovely.
Like my horse upon the steppes of Ongon they are lovely.
Orion, predictor of the future, is lovely.
Like a steed racing through the planets, it is lovely.

The turning of time is lovely.
A country drifted by heavy snows is lovely.
To think that you and me and everyone is cute is lovely.
The ticking of the clock at home is lovely.

To stand outside under a full moon is lovely.
The shapes beneath a cart are lovely.
The pale shadows in depressions are lovely.
To be scared of going over there is lovely.

The whistling of a squall outside is lovely.
Something or XXX moving idly about, is lovely.
Being plunged quite suddenly into darkness is lovely.
Snow packed up at the edge of the ger is lovely.

People coming out of their gers is lovely.
Birds flying in a clear sky is lovely.
To run towards the mountains and the steppe is lovely.
The play of red-cheeked children is lovely.

To come in at dusk is lovely.
To go in the light of dawn is lovely.
To cry soft tears for the motley world is lovely.
To sing joyfully for the broad earth is lovely.

My homeland, like poetry, is lovely.
My country, like song, is lovely.
To experience the turning seasons is lovely.
Rain falling on Ereentsev is lovely!


3

Thawing snow, melting, is lovely.
The time to come is lovely.
Waiting for you is lovely.
To watch the clock is lovely.

The return of birds is lovely.
When they land upon rocks it is lovely.
A person walking along a path is lovely.
When I sit upon a cliff it is lovely.

A woman from nextdoor going for water is lovely.
Watching nearby springs through a telescope is lovely.
The glimmer of a bluegrey mirage is lovely.
The bluegrey deel which fits you well is lovely.

The haziness over the hills is lovely.
The breezing of silken winds is lovely.
The rising of bluegreen mists is lovely.
To sit amidst the swirling fog is lovely.

The flight of sleep on a peaceful night is lovely.
The sounding of a distant noise is lovely.
A vague ringing in the distance is lovely.
A world of lullabies is lovely.

When someone comes along, it is lovely.
If they ask me Do you have a light? it is lovely.
To think you’ll encourage the world and others is lovely.
The loving of all and the flowing of rivers are lovely.

The breaking of ice and the flowing of rivers are lovely.
To think that, falling in, you’d also flow along, is lovely.
Alone on the riverbank, the morning is lovely.
With you on the earth by the river, the evening is lovely.

The magpie chattering away in the courtyard is lovely.
Like fate, when someone comes from the khaan, it is lovely.
When relations come from all around it is lovely.
When close friends come from nearby, it is lovely.

The greyblue outline of our homeland is lovely.
The glint of tears in our eyes is lovely.
To gallop along, standing in the stirrups, and whistling is lovely.
Birds flying over the fourhoof-covered ground are lovely.

To get up early on a spring morning is lovely.
To bridle up a horse and ride is lovely.
The smell of fresh snow is gentle.
To suck the moisture from snow is lovely.

To live in the country year upon year is lovely.
To live like the stars, in a simple dark room is lovely.
To ride upon the revolving cosmos overhead is lovely.
Snow melting down onto still glowing cigarettes is lovely.

The blossoming of plants and flowers is lovely.
The withering of telephone poles is lovely.
The coming of the years is lovely.
The going of the years is lovely.

To come in at dusk is lovely.
To go in the light of dawn is lovely.
To cry soft tears for the motley world is lovely.
To sing joyfully for the broad earth is lovely.

My homeland, like poetry, is lovely.
My country, like song, is lovely.
To experience the turning seasons is lovely.
Rain falling on Ereentsev is lovely!


4

The falling of a single leaf is lovely.
The sun rising over the hills is lovely.
The striiring of a gentle, gentle wind is lovely.
The rising of a still and silent waterspout is lovely.

A glistering fire is lovely.
A single fly sitting on a wave is lovely.
Yellow shit unwinding from a horse is lovely.
The motility of a cart’s crossbeam is lovely.

To think less about near and far is lovely.
A person coming from a town to tell you something is lovely.
Standing watching shapes appear is lovely.
The flapping of a silken towel is lovely.

The movement of white cumulus clouds is lovely.
The mind unwinding within the heart is lovely.
The whispering of drizzling rain is lovely.

A horseman galloping by is lovely.
The thundering of hooves us lovely.
To watch the edges of the sky is lovely.
To trace out cart-tracks is lovely.

Birds flying southwards are lovely.
Their song amongst the clouds is lovely.
The hazy golden of the sun is lovely.
A wild swirl of leaves skirting us by is lovely.

Rain against the yellow sun is lovely.
To pound the strings of the shanz is lovely.
The elegance of noble Khongorzul is lovely.
To think about my idle little brother is lovely.

The nearby clank of silver inlay stirrups is lovely.
A smartly-dressed horseman dismounting is lovely.
The three stages of the aurumn moon are lovely.
The moon coming out over the roofhole on a still evening is lovely.

Listening to stories at a party is lovely.
Chatting about what’s left of an old temple is lovely.
A night of stories, the moon striking the window, is lovely.
Soothing away demons by plaing the flute is lovely.

The moon on a cold evening is lovely.
The stars polished by the wind are lovely.
The balance of sunrise and sunset is lovely.
The similar bedtimes of horses and humans is lovely.

The filigree gleaming on the rocks of earth is lovely.
And writing poetry on them in feathergrass is lovely.
The mind upon the wind which flaps the roof is lovely.
To be too far from a love close by is lovely.

Birds sitting in the leafy world of twigs are lovely.
The Mongolian melodies they sing are lovely.
The blazing sun of the powerful State is lovely.
To ignite the fire of the golden Soyombo is lovely.

To sing when someone comes is lovely.
To weep when someone goes is lovely.
The music of desire in the heart is lovely.
The striking bells of passing time are lovely.

To come in at dusk is lovely.
To go in the light of dawn is lovely.
To cry soft tears for the motley world is lovely.
To sing joyfully for the broad earth is lovely.

Tears are falling from my eyes,
Oh, they well up, they brim over,
For the four seasons in my country.
Ah, my dear ones….

Translated by Simon Wickham-Smith