A moongate in my wall: собрание стихотворений

488. «Я знаю скит в лесу дремучем…» [229]

Я знаю скит в лесу дремучем; он там не первый век стоит. Когда суетность жизни мучит, я ухожу в тот дальний скит. Где скат просеки чист и ровен, высоким обнесен плетнем, он крепко сбит из древних бревен, и тихо и нестрашно в нем. Шумят деревья. Пахнет медом, немного воском и смолой. Нечасто солнце мимоходом пронзает заросли стрелой.

229

Variant in the third line of the last stanza in the manuscript: «Нередко солнце мимоходом.»

13 июня 1991 г.

489. Плач по харбинскому разрушенному Св. Николаевскому собору [230]

Помолитесь о нашем храме — что закрыт, разрушен, разбит, неовеянный в фимиаме — в кучах мусора был зарыт! Не звонит его колокольня, не блестят его купола… Сердцу холодно, сердцу больно от людского горького зла… Над мощами храма потемки, но забыть его не хочу! За его святые обломки зажигаю свою свечу.

230

Св. Николаевский собор: St. Nicholas cathedral in Harbin, built in the center of the administrative part of the city in 1899–1901, during the construction of the Chinese Eastern Railway. It was completely destroyed in August 1966 during the Cultural Revolution in China.

22 марта 1994 г.

490. «Темные ели стоят стеной…»

Темные ели стоят стеной около дома, надо мной.

[Начало 1990-х гг.]

491. «Тихий ангел за моим плечом…»

Тихий ангел за моим плечом отпирает дверь своим ключом, и куда мне надо, я вхожу, и кого мне надо, нахожу. Шелестят вечерню тополя. Засыпает мирная земля. На душе — смиренье и покой, ласковый и радостный такой.

[Начало 1990-х гг.]

Часть III. Стихотворения на английском языке, не вошедшие в сборники

492. «I dreamt of northern summers…»

I dreamt of northern summers And days of long ago. I dream t of gloomy Finland And woods we used to know. The visions of my childhood, Sweet visions would arise And pass away, like shadows, Before my mind's eyes. Along the rocky seashore Alone I used to roam And listen to the breakers And watch the rushing foam I loved the mossy meadows, The pines and granite heights, I loved the pale shadows Of cool September nights.

26 Aug. 1920

493 A Prayer

Oh, Angels of Heaven! Help me, I tire in the constant strife, I feel I am growing weaker With ev'ry fresh battle of life. Oh, hear my prayer, holy spirits! I do not want luck or gold, I ask for a gift divine That cannot be bought or sold. Give me the soul of a poet, That's filled with music and love, And let my heart stay unspoiled And pure as the sky above…

25 Dec. 1920

494 My First Speech

I cannot think of something bright Or something that would fit; You know, I never had much wit, I lost it all tonight. Of course, it's very impolite Since I've been asked to speak, But if one's intellect is weak He never does what's right. My speech was very short, you see, And there was nothing to it. I'm sorry; won't you pardon me? I really hope I'll do it.

[1921 г.]

495. Chinese Lampshade

I have a pretty little shade From Lantern street, Beitsing; It's not so beautifully made, But, oh, I love the thing! My friends — they find its colors bright, It hurts their eyes it seems; But when it shines on me at night It speaks of wondrous dream s… They take me back to places I have known. To ancient temples I have worshipped in; They make me smell the incense that was blown Before the gods and goddesses w ithin… Upon the lantern's yellow, velvet ray I travel back, as fast as thought can dare, Back to a walled-in city far away, Where lamps like mine are all night long aglare. The richaws pitter-patter down the street, A dusty street outside the City wall, And all you do is — watch the sights you meet, And hear the noises spreading over all. Perhaps it's garish, and the colors severe, But I forget the beauty you all know For just a glimpse of lanterns over there — In old Beitsing, the place where I would go.

[1921 г.]

496. «I bought a frame to fit..»

I bought a frame to fit a dream I dreamt one night — that I could often sit and revel in the sight. I put it in — but then it vanished from the frame, and never more again I dreamt it just the same. I got a jar of glass to keep a lovely flower; I placed it there — alas, it wilted in an hour. I saw a human soul and gave that soul a song But now I know its dole: it will not live there long.

[1921 г.]

497. To October 1922

Why do you leave me, when I loved you so? Where did you come from? Whither you go? And, far outside the lives and worlds of men, Tell me, my friend, may we not meet again?

[1922 г.]

498. «She said, when she had read his book…» [231]

231

Frances Johnson was a classmate at the North China American School in Tongzhou. Rupert Brooke (1887–1915), an English poet, died during the First World War; The Collected Works of Rupert Brooke was published posthumously in 1915.

Frances Johnson

She said, when she had read his book, That he was fickle; Rupert Brooke, So full of soul, so rich with thought, So near the beauty he had sought… Was «fickle» all that she could see? And for his depth she did not care? — Then what he wrote was not for her… And, maybe, not for me.

[1922 г.]

499. My Star

In the sunset's orange glowing How 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 sinking Swiftly to'rds its daily goal. Oh, my sapphire now deserts me! It has left the Summer skies, Now a vacant darkness hurts me When I seek it with my eyes. Ever northward falling, drowned Past the gray horizon line— Star of hope, that I had crowned For a destiny of mine!