Мария Визи - A moon gate in my wall: собрание стихотворений Страница 43

[1922 г.]

499. My Star

In the sunset's orange glowingHow 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 sinkingSwiftly to'rds its daily goal.Oh, my sapphire now deserts me!It has left the Summer skies,Now a vacant darkness hurts meWhen I seek it with my eyes.Ever northward falling, drownedPast the gray horizon line—Star of hope, that I had crownedFor a destiny of mine!

[1923 г.]

500. To a Stink-bug[232]

One day I saw a stink-bug smallА-sitting near me on the wall.I said: «Tray tell me, Stink-bug dear,What makes you suddenly appearAnd 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 soreTo 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 flownAnd left me, wondering, alone.

1923 г.

501. Homeward Bound

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 cornThe 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 gladThat ere another dayI'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 missThe school outside the wall.There won't be any rising bell,With which the school awakes;Instead of that there'll be a smellOf homemade griddlecakes.And I can stay in bed all dayWithout that dose of oil,And I can let my tired headRest 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?

1923 г.

502. «Alone, when once so many were around…»

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 rangeBeneath the heated rays of coining dayEach morning brings too soon the loathsome changeAnd makes my lonely vision fade away.

Claremont, 12 Oct. [1924]

503. Masterpieces

Snow clouds came to rest on Baldy mountain,When the sun had hidden in his den,— After lights were low and voices quietIn 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 beforeFor the soothing, purifying freshnessWhich the falling snow had held in store.

Claremont, 17 Nov. [1924]

504. «The world is but a dancing hall…»

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

17 Feb. [1925]

505. ««Expectantly?» Suppose, you little fool…»

П. No. 2

«Expectantly?» Suppose, you little fool,A hunchback (but there are none in the school)…Suppose a wench of some four feet and twoWould, since you ask, decide to visit you …Or some gaunt giantess above six feet,Such as the people laugh at when they meet…Suppose she is bow-legged, and her hair,Like that of ancient Furies, stands in air?And let her face be harsh as mortal sin,Belying any sparkle from within.She winks an eye, distorts a ghastly cheek,And then you hear, instead of voice, — a squeak!Will you at that be able to disguiseThe true interpretation of your eyes?And generously willing to forgetThe shock that you from such a sight would get?But after all, you may be far amissAnd I may be Mister, not a Miss.I really always hate to disappoint,But «dazzling, flashing» are beside the point.«Expectantly»… — You know not what you say!Yet you may hear from me another day.

15 May [1926]

506. «…This funny game — this life — is full of things…»

П. (Отрывок)

…This funny game — this life — is full of thingsWe guess not of. A mocking bird that singsAt dawn, in June, above your windowsill,Charming your waking fancies with its trill —Will fly away, and you will never seeWhy it had landed on the neighbor tree.Better to keep things hidden than unmasked,Lest answers startle, if the truth be asked;Kinder to let the goldfish float below,Than, having caught it, watch its life-light go;Safer to leave the morning star unfound,Than, having held it, shatter on the ground…— Leave, and be gone along the open trail,Don't watch the sun until its glories pale.So I will wander on, and so will you,Our feet still wet with early morning dew,A endless day still glimmering ahead—That speaks of warmth and often burrs instead.… We both are humans. That's where really liesMy sympathy for you; and though our eyesHave never met, we many times have seenThe other's eyes, not knowing what they mean.Another life, passed by along the way,Forgotten in a week, yet near today.Let us be merry; though the blissful hoursMay be but few in this here life of ours.Let us be happy; though the fairy wandTouches but seldom each unfailing hand…

31 May [1926]

507. Parting

The cold waves, and the light underneath the waves,— Is anything grayer — is anyone's welcome colder?Yet dimmer and dimmer growsThe shadow of love's graves,And barely my conscience savesThe parting touch of your shoulder.In the ocean I seek repose.Not even grief can marThe beauty — when waters closeTo silence love's echo.And you are forgotten and far.

24 Sept. 1926

508. «They took me to the door and showed…»

They took me to the door and showedA narrow and a winding road,Leading to wondrous things, that mayBe mine, if I but go that way.I went, for I had naught to lose,And saw no other road to choose.And much the Powers freely gaveThat I was fool enough to crave.Beauty and Love and Youth I had,And many friends who made me gladThat Higher Powers long agoHad shown me just that way to go.Yet often, oh, how often nowI want — if they but told me how —To find that first wide-open doorAnd beg for just a little more.

June 1927

509. «It's eye for eye, and tooth for tooth…»

It's eye for eye, and tooth for tooth,And even the Eternal TruthFor every cruel word I've saidBreathes vengeance on my head.

16 Apr. 1929

510. «I cast a rock into the well…»

I cast a rock into the wellAnd stood to listen how it fell.How it went shooting through the deep.Where frogs and water-serpents creep.And as it reached the bottom blackI heard it give a sullen whackAnd saw the bubbles at the topAnd circles w’here 1 let it drop.And now — I see the sky and sunAnd I regret what I have doneAnd wonder if the silent stoneRemembers, where it lies aloneAmong the creatures of the slime,Its happier and brighter time —And if it longs to see aboveThe sun, which I deprived it of.

17 Apr. 1929

511. «Like colored glass is fair…»

Like colored glass is fairwhen the porch is gray,so all my days weretill you went away.Like rainbows in the skyfollowing after rain,so is the thought that Imay meet you yet again.But, oh, the endless yearsthat I don't see your faceare cold and lonely yearsin a lonely place.

6 Dec. 1929

512. «Oh, tender dawn above the sombre pond…»

Oh, tender dawn above the sombre pond,where great, green drooping weeping willows crowdto touch the sleeping water; and beyond —the golden turrets of a rising cloud.

Oh, gentle wind, sweet scented breath that stirsthis silent waking water, — and the laceof willows, and green saplings, and brown burrsframing its face!

What can the heart within a human breast —what can it do with that taut golden stringcalling for all the agony and unrestwhich make men sing?

Weep in such hours of ecstasy, oh heart!Be silent, oh dark heart, — you cannot coolyour burning thirst from that deep, glittering pool,or reach that sky light where the willows part!

Nothing there is that you can do. Lie low,hide on the soft black earth, in the wet grass,breathe not when this mild wind begins to blow,hear not, nor watch how the green ripples go,that, seeing you — helpless and suffering so —those stirring hours take pity on you and pass!

Shanghai, [Sept. 1934]

513. Dawn

So dawn creeps to dark waters, and so hopeto still, sick, sombre hearts, that vainly gropethroughout the night, not knowing that a dayis near, to end their sorrow and dismay.

How bright the ripples in the sudden glareof morning, and the waking trees how fair!Even my wingless heart can so forgetthat it alone has not been lighter yet…

Shanghai, [Sept. 1934]