Poems about Japan

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In Japan, cranes dance,
crystal waterfalls flow.
There to fly, to the end of the earth!
There cherries wedding dresses-

a cure for longing for cleanliness,
there every day feeds fish
eagles lady Tie; dream
my gray-haired gratifying mountain block

to become in Hokkaido or a maple tree to become
a hut of a Buddhist monk.
When an earthquake strikes, stand
as an unflappable warrior without fear.

Even on a volcano to live, but at ease
with yourself, not knowing the fate of resentment.
And to die-with a smile on his lips
and with the name of saving Amida.


In Memory Of Hiroshima

Origami crane, delicate, thin,
what are you babbling about in the quiet of the night?
Our brothers and sisters died,
and the darkness of death cannot be dispelled by a candle.

And yet I believe: in the Paradise of Amida
we will meet, or perhaps in Paradise
Jesus'. And without nadsad, without resentment
, let's remember our ringing youth.

We will not reproach by name someone
who threw a molten Zenith at us.
And the bell on the pagoda in Kyoto
rings with unshakable forgiveness.

Palace in Kyoto

How modest and dignified
the Japanese Emperor lives!
In the garden, the stream murmurs calmly,
and the sun-the generator of life-

is actually a goddess
Amaterasu, acnelike.
It is sung in the sacred hymn
here by everyone from young to old.

And the cypress roofs
of the Palace of simple wood
proclaim: The sky is higher
and the Imperial roof.

And the throne is like a simple chair,
though decorated with mother-of-pearl.
The people do not indulge in debauchery here
in the humility of love-wisdom.

Old crafts are alive,
Nature is in harmony with progress,
and Beauty is more important than profit.
Walking through the Kyoto mountain forest...

Itsukushima

I wash my hands in a pool
to enter the sanctuary of the gods-
people who have gone to their ancestors, who have become kami,
who live in every tree and stone.
The servant in white looks so much like a seagull,
and the maple is not red because it's autumn...
you draw it on rice paper
I need a butterfly - like a hieroglyph
of happiness, cover me with a leaf, like a fan,
to ward off sadness and anxiety,
and make a paper lantern
out of a leaf, we'll hang it on a maple branch,
make the flame brighter, because the
twilight is getting thicker, thicker…

* * *

Japanese poets are especially sweet
to read and reread in the spring, admiring the tender cherry
trees like Sakura, imagining the mountains
and the ocean behind them, in which disputes,
idle conversations, sink like stones,
and white gulls moan in love languor
over the waves washing dishes
for the Emperor's table. Maples - they're everywhere:
in my window near Moscow, washed with care,
and near the hut of the hermit Tamba, who promised
to serve only the Buddha condemned himself to a century of fasting.
Oh, how sometimes you want to say goodbye,
dress in rags, tie it up with a rope
and slap the world without a goal, but with the skill
of a brave Zen master! And beat the dope out of people
like dust out of a carpet! But isn't it better to just drink,
because the cherry is already showering the petals in the slush.
Read: "How sweet it is to drink a little and then cry."

Kyoto temples

Kyoto is a bustling modern city,
but there are more than a thousand
ancient temples around it, each one is eternally young.
Shinto. And Buddha is also a deity.

Here on my friends - a Jew
and a Christian - grace descended.
A nun, for the monastery of radea,
gave them a ring (for me).

In the moss trees, and in the water of the green
lake red fish at ease here.
And in the hieroglyphs of the scarlet maples
is written the good news to the soul-

paradoxical Zen!
I have kept his wisdom in my mind for decades,
and in my thoughts clarity has become turbidity,
as the dawn is clear over Japan.