Classic Poem

On that branch of the walnut tree
while roosters steal bits of grain
and dawn stoops to sweep the night away,
in the half-light, best moment of the day,
with a sound clear as bullets,
sharp, sweet — how can I describe it, friend? —
the magpie madly talking.

When the speech swings and sways
a world opens that could not be opened —
the shores of dream and waking.
I find the one who slept with me
has fled — beloved, youthful, shy,
my drunken companion too, suddenly alert,
the one called sleep, rhythm of the night!
the magpie madly talking.

Strange some moments are,
awake smiling, asleep in tears.
How the honey melted in that moment —
the bodhisattva awakened speech.
In that sound the rays cried out,
scaring away night's little Nirvana,
piercing this kind of eternal sleep.
The hinges of the heavenly portals grated,
frightening all the armies of hell,
and the victorious sun climbed up the peaks —
the magpie madly talking.

The dawn goddess swings her broom,
dispersing every shred and tatter,
the dirty garments of snowy palaces.
Tender rays have washed them,
fusing all the colors,
the boiling cauldron suspended,
drenching the sunrise peaks with magic —
the magpie madly talking.

A blossom bent her limbs,
and quickly arranged her raiment
when she heard the speech of the golden age.
Within the chalice of her heart
a pure drop lingered
like a priceless pearl.

That sound struck, piercing me
as I slept, friend,
on the pillow of deepest sleep.
I awakened from a dream —
and how much lovelier the waking light!
snowy white with the first beams;
the golden temple spires
cast their nets to catch fish.
The souls of old Messiahs
awakened and proclaimed,
" Lo, just this brings out the faith! "
And then were heard the whinnying steeds
of the chariot of progress on the sunrise peaks,
tossing their manes.
I cast forth the net of sight
and saw an awakened world.

Revivified the atmosphere!
bright with the blood of martyrs.
Caroling in its voice it said,
" To say " life" is this, is this —
to laugh and play life's blood-red festival! "
The voice of the age beat against the skies
setting a host of wings in flight
when the magpie began to talk.

All over heaven the tears vanished,
the sky dazzled like a poet's heart.
In a little moment like eternity
I drank the gold flame into my eyes,
victorious the poet sun.
The dawn goddess chose her groom,
chose me — " O dispeller of the dark!
Yours, yours the dawn girl, in your keeping! "
rang out in the mad bird's talk.

Friend, look at the crazy eyes!
Strange brilliance they've caught today.
Song of the rays melting in the ear,
bodiless I blaze, transparent,
like a poet without colors sounding out the age.
My heart is singing life's blood festival.
Fear me, and draw away;
now the naked body turns to fire,
I speak the spark,
I watch the flames —
what's happened to me today?
The earth opens and fragrance issues forth
when the mad bird
in the wet intoxication of its sounds
speaks among the walnut branches.
Today I sing the song of an age to come,
gathering up those sounds,
piercing through deception —
the magpie madly talking!