Works
Works
THE STORY OF A POET
Version 2
Amidst the hot air stiffened with dust and standing in columns The exhausted sun was blushing feebly The victorious heroes in glittering helmets Were leaning on their tired horses with manes dangling down
The air was hot and stiff with dust. The exhausted sun had lost most of its red. Standing in columns, the victorious heroes in glittering helmets leaned on the limp manes of their tired horses.
His Highness Bogdo,s new Gher was ready. The sacred Emblem had already been enshrined. He suddenly had the ghost of an idea. Before he had even shaken off the dust from his long ride, His Highness issued a proclamation and sent out letters with the greatest of dispatch, inviting the stellar poets of his realm to assemble at his new residence without delay.
Amidst the hot air stiffened with dust and standing in columns The exhausted sun was blushing feebly The victorious heroes in glittering helmets Were leaning on their tired horses with manes dangling down
The air was hot and stiff with dust. The exhausted sun had lost most of its red. Standing in columns, the victorious heroes in glittering helmets leaned on the limp manes of their tired horses.
His Highness Bogdo,s new Gher was ready. The sacred Emblem had already been enshrined. He suddenly had the ghost of an idea. Before he had even shaken off the dust from his long ride, His Highness issued a proclamation and sent out letters with the greatest of dispatch, inviting the stellar poets of his realm to assemble at his new residence without delay.
Works
THE STORY OF A POET
Version 3
In the middle of a rising column of dust, the fatigued sun was losing its red strength. Above and beyond the limp manes of exhausted horses and the glittering helmets of victorious heroes, a palace had been constructed, the sacred emblem had been enshrined. In the heart of his Highness, an unusual thought glinted: he stopped only long enough to brush off the dust of the streets before he announced his Order. All were required (Tracing the stationary way The feathered notes had flown in that day) to seek to discover a poet of stellar talents. Messengers roared down the passes, smoothing mountains, crossing over the shallows of a thousand rivers, wearing the hoofs off strong horses: they rushed down at the well-known poets, having lined up glossy white ghers, having prepared a feast of a thousand sheep, having spilled the best of airag, having readied waiters and servants at the junction of three rivers.
In the middle of a rising column of dust, the fatigued sun was losing its red strength. Above and beyond the limp manes of exhausted horses and the glittering helmets of victorious heroes, a palace had been constructed, the sacred emblem had been enshrined. In the heart of his Highness, an unusual thought glinted: he stopped only long enough to brush off the dust of the streets before he announced his Order. All were required (Tracing the stationary way The feathered notes had flown in that day) to seek to discover a poet of stellar talents. Messengers roared down the passes, smoothing mountains, crossing over the shallows of a thousand rivers, wearing the hoofs off strong horses: they rushed down at the well-known poets, having lined up glossy white ghers, having prepared a feast of a thousand sheep, having spilled the best of airag, having readied waiters and servants at the junction of three rivers.
Works
The Moon over an Old Temple
The moon rises over the old temple,
It’s transfigured light gilding the finial.
An air flows from a bamboo flute, and
The heart is filled once more by distant nostalgia.
Wild grasses push up between the stones,
Along the road where the Buddhas are gathered.
But I can’t see where the Buddhas have gone,
The light is so bright from the time beyond.
It’s transfigured light gilding the finial.
An air flows from a bamboo flute, and
The heart is filled once more by distant nostalgia.
Wild grasses push up between the stones,
Along the road where the Buddhas are gathered.
But I can’t see where the Buddhas have gone,
The light is so bright from the time beyond.
Works
SONG OF THE MOON
I dropped into my ink the rays of the silver moon.
And their quality shone within the shining picture of eternity.
I wove the rays of the storytelling moon onto the tip of my vision.
And I sewed my poem-children with a perfect silken thread.
I struck the crystal of the nephrite moon onto my hardened heart.
And, in the darkness, there streamed from my poetry rays of jade.
I placed my song of grace before the mirror of the wise moon.
And my poem, with its shining soul, dwelt in the light of Shambhala.
And their quality shone within the shining picture of eternity.
I wove the rays of the storytelling moon onto the tip of my vision.
And I sewed my poem-children with a perfect silken thread.
I struck the crystal of the nephrite moon onto my hardened heart.
And, in the darkness, there streamed from my poetry rays of jade.
I placed my song of grace before the mirror of the wise moon.
And my poem, with its shining soul, dwelt in the light of Shambhala.
Works
THE MORE I AM ALONE
I think I came from Heaven at the Earth’s summons.
I believe that my fire was lit from bright Orion.
The story of the stars are pulled from the world of dream.
I am all alone, thinking about my origins.
The more I am alone, the more clearly I see myself.
The more I am alone, the more I understand the solitude of others.
The more I am alone, the more I penetrate invisible form.
The more I am alone, the more I perceive inaudible melody.
I call upon the freedom of solitude.
I believe that my fire was lit from bright Orion.
The story of the stars are pulled from the world of dream.
I am all alone, thinking about my origins.
The more I am alone, the more clearly I see myself.
The more I am alone, the more I understand the solitude of others.
The more I am alone, the more I penetrate invisible form.
The more I am alone, the more I perceive inaudible melody.
I call upon the freedom of solitude.
Works
ALL SHINING MOMENTS - 1
The brightest light comes from the darkness alone.
And woman looks prettier in twilight,
Ear-ring sets shining in the evening alone.
A saddle’s studs sparkle at night,
The Gumuda flower blooms in the evening,
Homesick horses neigh at dawn’s setting.
Listening to songs makes the twilight shine in peoples’ moods.
The utmost shine comes from the peoples’ emanating love.
And woman looks prettier in twilight,
Ear-ring sets shining in the evening alone.
A saddle’s studs sparkle at night,
The Gumuda flower blooms in the evening,
Homesick horses neigh at dawn’s setting.
Listening to songs makes the twilight shine in peoples’ moods.
The utmost shine comes from the peoples’ emanating love.
Works
THE WAY OF THE WORLD
We set out on our horses, and the small birds of dawn were with us.
We return to the tethering-lines with the magpies at evening.
For a hundred, hundred years, working skins, cutting wood, forging swords,
Humans will forge history after the candle goes out and blazes forth.
The river waters flow cloudy, and then clear again.
The firewood is doused, and flares again, upon the river bank.
The rocks of the world wear away, year by year, as they move and settle.
The ways of people are buried in the dust of a regular day.
We return to the tethering-lines with the magpies at evening.
For a hundred, hundred years, working skins, cutting wood, forging swords,
Humans will forge history after the candle goes out and blazes forth.
The river waters flow cloudy, and then clear again.
The firewood is doused, and flares again, upon the river bank.
The rocks of the world wear away, year by year, as they move and settle.
The ways of people are buried in the dust of a regular day.
Works
CONTEMPLATING THE NATURE OF THE HILLS
Hills burdened by deep thoughts abide
Languorous in the midst of flimsy mist.
Perhaps nostalgic of the days bygone,
At times they sigh with long, long winds.
As tears torn from moments of light sadness,
Blue, blue beads of dew shimmer on each leave.
Shedding sorrow and banishing the mist,
The hills regard me in their wise repose.
Languorous in the midst of flimsy mist.
Perhaps nostalgic of the days bygone,
At times they sigh with long, long winds.
As tears torn from moments of light sadness,
Blue, blue beads of dew shimmer on each leave.
Shedding sorrow and banishing the mist,
The hills regard me in their wise repose.
Works
THE GOLDEN SWALLOW
When tales of gentle and tranquil steppe come along from distant journeys,
Swallows in flocks embrace them with their circling welcome.
Since the day the little birds split the Water of Immortality on its land palms,
They didn’t dare to ever leave the turquoise steppe.
Once, when I was riding next to my father many years ago
I saw swallows flying all over the lone hills, searching for something special.
As I return from a distant time, today
I seem them again, still diligently circling in their search
Swallows in flocks embrace them with their circling welcome.
Since the day the little birds split the Water of Immortality on its land palms,
They didn’t dare to ever leave the turquoise steppe.
Once, when I was riding next to my father many years ago
I saw swallows flying all over the lone hills, searching for something special.
As I return from a distant time, today
I seem them again, still diligently circling in their search
Works