2012-4-25
Colorful dreams (song)
 


Anytime, on a single day.

Anywhere, in a single place.

I am walking among caves

of candies wrapped in gold and silver paper.

I want to stuff handfuls into my pockets,

to eat them, but dawn is lightening.

Oh, oh, how merciful!

How lovely are my delicious dreams!

If dawn could come a little later,

I could have eaten one!

Anytime, on a single day.

Anywhere, in a single place.

I'm rushing through the clouds,

on a flying horse from a fable.

I want to land amid a pavilion of rainbows

of a million rays of light, but morning is coming.

Truly, truly, how merciful this is!

How lovely are my colorful dreams!

If morning ...

бичсэн: Жамбын Дашдондог | цаг: 06:53 | төрөл: My works in English
Холбоос | Мэйлээр илгээх | Сэтгэгдэл (1) | Сэтгэгдэл бичих
2012-2-7
Grandpa
 Grandpa goes off to get firewood.

A day passes.

He’s brought back a load of birch wood.

“There was a mouse,” he said.  “Did you see?”

What?

What mouse?

Where?

You didn’t see it?  But

Grandpa

took a penknife

from his breastpocket,

and began to

strip and

trim and

carve

the birchwood into a mouse.

 

I thought I saw a mouse

emerging from the birchwood.

Grandpa says his eyes are bad,

but I can’t believe that!

бичсэн: Жамбын Дашдондог | цаг: 05:41 | төрөл: My works in English
Холбоос | Мэйлээр илгээх | Сэтгэгдэл (0) | Сэтгэгдэл бичих
2011-10-18
War

The war’s begun.

They’re attacking!

The soldiers are fighting,

battling,

roaring,

raging!

stagger

stumble

crash

crack

clash

clack

bang!

BANG!

ssshhiiillll

ssshhuulll

pyuuu

pyuuu!

kkkkkk

kkkkkk

trrrrrrrr

trrrrrrrr

bang

BANG!

crackle

crash!

Our soldiers

are coming!

The enemy’s

retreating!

 

“You’re the enemy, not us!”

“You’re the enemy, you’re the one arguing!”

“You’re the enemy, that’s it!”

“Let’s have a fight about it!”

 

Neither side fighting

wants to fight.

They’re both on the same side,

there’s no war on the ground.

 

That’s how a war ends

          on paper.

It goes no further,

that’s all there is!


...
бичсэн: Жамбын Дашдондог | цаг: 08:40 | төрөл: My works in English
Холбоос | Мэйлээр илгээх | Сэтгэгдэл (0) | Сэтгэгдэл бичих
2011-9-20
Folk dance (Biyelgee)

I’m

Dancing.

We’re

dancing.

 

We start at dawn,

and dance till evening.

We start after milking

and dance until the stars appear.

We dance to the melody

of the silver flowing stream.

We dance to the rhythm

of the white winds.

The old men dance,

they dance while currying skins.

The grandmas dance,

they dance while twisting rope.

They dance behind,

they dance while churning airag.

They dance in front,

they dance while spinning twine.

The men dance sitting down,

they dance while binding leather.

The men dance standing up,

they dance while fixing saddlebags.

They dance while herding in the distance.

They dance...

бичсэн: Жамбын Дашдондог | цаг: 08:14 | төрөл: My works in English
Холбоос | Мэйлээр илгээх | Сэтгэгдэл (0) | Сэтгэгдэл бичих
2011-4-2
The ox cart

Does the ox cart

speak?

Does the wheeling cart

sing a song?

The roads came together

as they went up.

The high pass

rose steeply.

The Mongolian oxen

struggle hard.

The wooden cart

creaks sadly.

Please oil me

and help me

and oil me

and help me!

It rushes

down the hill.

It sways

over the pass.

The large ox

trots bouncing bouncing.

The strong cart

leaps jolting jolting.

Who cares if it’s oiled?

Who cares if it’s not?

Who cares if it’s oiled?

Who cares if it’s not?

The ox cart

does speak!

The wheeling cart

does sing a song!

бичсэн: Жамбын Дашдондог | цаг: 01:11 | төрөл: My works in English
Холбоос | Мэйлээр илгээх | Сэтгэгдэл (1) | Сэтгэгдэл бичих
2011-3-26
With the Mobile Library through the Seasons

 

It was boiling hot even though it was a day in September. It was like a summer day when the mobile library embarked on a new trip. I can't remember how many trips I have made - I have lost count. There are few places that I have not yet visited in Mongolia: an area of 1,500,000 square kilometers! We even started taking off our warm travelling clothes. As we were driving along the earth road, we saw two white gers (round felt tents used as dwelling by the Mongols) among the green hillocks. We left the road and drove through the yellow flowers until children on horseback came to meet us. No...

бичсэн: Жамбын Дашдондог | цаг: 02:31 | төрөл: My works in English
Холбоос | Мэйлээр илгээх | Сэтгэгдэл (1) | Сэтгэгдэл бичих
2011-2-25
Rain

lines

lines

hundreds of lines

slanting

slanting

every one slanting

people

people

all the people

hurrying

hurrying

really hurrying

flowers

flowers

a bed of flowers

umbrellas

umbrellas

opening

raincoats

raincoats

dressing

windows

windows

streaming

grasses

grasses

all in clumps

rooves

rooves

raising the rooves

look

look

look at it!

rain

rain

heavy rain!

бичсэн: Жамбын Дашдондог | цаг: 06:17 | төрөл: My works in English
Холбоос | Мэйлээр илгээх | Сэтгэгдэл (0) | Сэтгэгдэл бичих
2011-2-22
Big hands

A hand,

a hand,

bigger than a house.

A house,

a house,

smaller than a hand.

How is that?

Well,

put your hand up to your eyes,

and look at the house!

 

A hand,

a hand,

bigger than a horse.

A horse,

a horse,

smaller than a hand.

How is that?

Well,

put your hand up to your eyes,

and look at the horse!

 

A hand,

a hand,

bigger than the sun.

The sun,

the sun,

smaller than a hand.

How is that?

Well,

put your hand up to your eyes,

and look at the sun!

english translation by Simon Wickham-Smith

бичсэн: Жамбын Дашдондог | цаг: 12:31 | төрөл: My works in English
Холбоос | Мэйлээр илгээх | Сэтгэгдэл (0) | Сэтгэгдэл бичих
2010-7-28
Grandma

At midday, when it’s too hot,

she spreads out her coat to give me shade.

No games for me underneath.

I sit in the sun, getting brown.

          Grandma!

          That’s my Grandma!

Walking along the roads,

she sweeps the fallen snow.

The children are all sliding about,

she gets rid of the snow lying around.

          Grandma!

          That’s my Grandma!

Watching the little boys, thin as leather belts,

against the blue screen of evening,

how many dumplings should she take

to those poor dears, whoever they are?

          Grandma!

          That’s my grandma!

...
бичсэн: Жамбын Дашдондог | цаг: 04:18 | төрөл: My works in English
Холбоос | Мэйлээр илгээх | Сэтгэгдэл (0) | Сэтгэгдэл бичих
idiomatic-dormant