To the little ship that we launched.
May the mountains smile at the glow
Of the little lantern we lit.
Дочка
Будь милостив, океан,
К нашей лодочке на волнах.
Гора, благосклонно взгляни
На затепленный нами свет.
Tai Chi Teacher. Учитель Тай Чи
In memory of Master Cheng Hsiang Yu,
1929—2010
Памяти Мастера Ченг Хсианг Ю,
1929—2010
Life does not make bargains.
Death does not grant concessions.
It is not possible to halt the current
That carries the boat forward.
It is not possible to fathom
The depths that will swallow it in the end.
My teacher was a wise man.
I covered page after page with hasty scribbles,
Trying to capture in words
The subtle, inexorable motion.
Whenever my notebook got half-filled
I would buy a spare one to keep at the ready.
My teacher was an old man.
Now I gaze at the blank pages.
I could fill them with my own musings.
I could search for another teacher.
I could pretend that this paper
Was meant for a different purpose:
Jotting down to-do-lists,
Collecting recipes for soups and casseroles…
But the pages remain empty.
Life does not make bargains.
Death does not grant concessions.
Looking at a snowy hill
That bristles with black stubble
I see the shaven head of the nun
Who recited sutras on the forty-ninth day
After the death of our teacher.
«We are gathered by fate,
And we are scattered by fate.
This is the final parting,”
She told us,
“On this day his soul surrenders
All of its old affections and cares,
All of its memories, all of its wisdom.
Unburdened, nameless and empty-handed,
This soul enters a brand-new life.”
She struck three sharp raps on a block of wood
To mark the moment when our connection
To our teacher’s soul was severed.
The triple blow convulsed my heart: “No! No! No!”
Why?
My mind does not believe that a spirit
Endures beyond the death of the body.
So why do I feel that my loss is deepened
By the passage of forty-nine days, or a year?
Then again, since when does reason
Have power to answer questions
Asked by the heart?
Жизнь не идёт на сделки,
Смерть не делает уступок.
Невозможно приостановить течение
Потока, уносящего лодку.
Невозможно измерить глубину
Бездны, которая её поглотит.
Мой учитель был мудрым человеком.
Я исписывала страницу за страницей
Поспешными каракулями,
Пытаясь схватить, запечатлеть в словах
Неуловимое и непрестанное движенье.
Когда тетрадь заполнялась наполовину,
Я покупала следующую, про запас.
Мой учитель был старым человеком.
Теперь я гляжу на белые листы.
