In the puddle steps the wind
whistles and runs outside,
whistles and runs outside,
suddenly turns around
and slams the gate behind.
and slams the gate behind.
The puddle flatly winks
and then the lazy trees
open up suddenly
their bird like tiny lips.
All around muddled noise,
even the leaves mumble,
small towers of dust are
being built in dust bowls.
The squirrel-brown monk stops
his walking on the road,
above a brown squirrel
jumps the branches across.
Then with great watchfulness
what moved before: stiffens,
the landscape carrying
the sky as a big hat.
When it moves again,
almost all is quiet,
the wind hid in the shrub
getting ready for rest.
Smiling is the meadow,
round and ready to laugh,
softly swaying from where
my lady comes along.
Seeing me, starts to run
towards me in the grass
in her hair floating by
golden rays the sun bites.
Getting clearer around
and becoming tranquil
the chased off light returns
embracing everything
and what used to carry
the sky as a big hat:
waving with the clouds is
the landscape, the hatless.
Translated by: Maria Bencsath
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All around muddled noise,
even the leaves mumble,
small towers of dust are
being built in dust bowls.
The squirrel-brown monk stops
his walking on the road,
above a brown squirrel
jumps the branches across.
Then with great watchfulness
what moved before: stiffens,
the landscape carrying
the sky as a big hat.
When it moves again,
almost all is quiet,
the wind hid in the shrub
getting ready for rest.
Smiling is the meadow,
round and ready to laugh,
softly swaying from where
my lady comes along.
Seeing me, starts to run
towards me in the grass
in her hair floating by
golden rays the sun bites.
Getting clearer around
and becoming tranquil
the chased off light returns
embracing everything
and what used to carry
the sky as a big hat:
waving with the clouds is
the landscape, the hatless.
Translated by: Maria Bencsath
