Chinese Journey 10

By Olga Sedakova
Translated by Jena Woodhouse

Great is the artist, knowing no duty

except the duty of the brush at play:

and his brush penetrates the heart of mountains,

penetrates the happiness of leaves,

at one stroke, with sheer gentleness,

with delight, with mere confusion

he penetrates immortality itself –

and immortality toys with him.

But he whom the spirit abandons, from whom

they remove the ray of light,

who for the tenth time in a turbid place

gropes for the pure key,

who, fallen out of the hand of miracles, will not say:

empty are miracles! –

before him, in reverence,

the heavens bow.