Poetry

Poetry

Poetry

MOTHER TEA AND CALLIGRAPHY

This poem was written in dedication to renowned calligrapher D. Battumur, and highlights his unique philosophy around calligraphy. The late Battumur famously only used living water for his calligraphy, choosing to imbue his works with the energy of the land in which he put his brush to paper.
 
Poetry

WHEEL OF TIME

Time comes flying, flying in
Time leaves flying, flying off

In my mindless wandering, time comes flying in
Babying the brown steppe, Mother Earth engorges
Suckling the rain sap, the grassroot satiates
Threading the cloud crack, the early bird assembles
Crossing the horse loom, the mountain disorients
The breath of a warm hour slides into my collar
Holding golden sun thread, the foothill embroiders
Chased by the laws of nature, time leaves flying off
Through the veil of clouds, the moon comes diffusing out
Then gathers itself, bashfully, in the water
The discharged soldier approaches his lover
As the white stallion freely gallops, time comes flying in
Stepping on the tuft white light of this rich night,
The notes of the sweet song render together
Every living being stills to celebrate the lovers 
Soon spreading wedding invites through the borough, time leaves flying off

Amidst a grassy mist, a lone stone stela 
Stands sleepily, whipped in the wind 
What has the stone heart beat for?
Searching the root of this puzzle, time comes flying in
Without rest, the eye of the sacred golden script 
Strings each moment into its mala beads 
Befriending us to past masters
And carrying us to our successors, time leaves flying off

Time comes flying, flying in
Time leaves flying, flying off

In my mindless wandering, time comes flying in
The blue haze rises with the smell of the horse horde
Intoxicated by flower nectar, butterflies chase one another
The white naped cranes perform their destined dance
Berries on the mountain beyond grow like scattered stars
When the white horse playfully tumbles, rolling, it rises up red
There is no appetite large enough for this abundance
Finding the bounty inexhaustible, time leaves flying off  

The children play percussion on the river stones
As the mallet strikes the stone, the four seasons unfold 
For it has listened and absorbed the song of millennia
Following the melody, time comes flying in

Along the ridges of the deep purple mountains on a peaceful evening
Golden swallows arise among the high fliers
To chase the legend that brought the fire of happiness
Remembering our ancestors with reverence, time leaves flying off

Ancient worlds run in our collective history
On the glowing screens, spruce young grandfathers smile
Distant generations face one another in greeting
Reflecting yesterday in today’s mirror, time leaves flying off

Time comes flying, flying in
Time leaves flying, flying off

In my mindless wandering, time comes flying in
When stars grow drowsy, the white frost falls
The silver glisten of a fox fur gets caught in my lenses
Bathed in the sun’s golden distillation, the fluttering grains wave
The two fledglings who summered by the salt marsh have grown feathers
And soar to the chest of the sky matching the pace of its flock
Drawing back the blue curtains of the misty sky 
Departing with the migrating birds, time leaves flying off

The sparrows twitter praising the morning rays
While fragments of sunlight float upon the spring water
The receiver reaches for the rhythmic pulse of a mother and child
Listening for the replying beats, time comes flying in
Birds cry out for their young, stirring the heart with sorrow
As the swarming, bustling flocks abandon the icy surface of the waters
The wheel of time turns, bringing ache to the heart
While I look, with regret, upon my aging mother, time leaves flying off

Beneath the wings of time that soar above
The chronicles of the passing world grow faint
The forefathers’ sleeping ground thickens by a finger’s breadth
In the tune of frost settling on grass tips, time comes flying in
Pillowing the departing time, thick fog descends
The silver tipped grass sway, blending wave upon wave
Clinging to and lingering in the taste of happiness, the world grows insatiable
Carelessly, taking a year away, time leaves flying off

Time comes flying, flying in
Time leaves flying, flying off

In my mindless wandering, time comes flying in
On the bottomless blue horizon, the sun’s eyelids are frosted
The edge of biting cold falters against the hat fur
Longing for its winged residents, the sky feels empty
As moonlight polishes and buffs the silver steppe,
Lanterns of ice glisten upon the fences, measuring the mountain chill
Observing the Orion’s Belt as it droops from the heavens
The earth’s satellite blinks and recedes while time leaves flying off

The warm glow rising from the winter camp freezes in the sky
As the corner of the felt roof flap turn, pointing the needle to the night
To the kids nestled in their mother’s tunics, listening to stories,
With the words “Once upon a time…” time comes flying in
Horses neigh and the echoes relay them between mountains
Soundless noise is absorbed and melts into each snowflake
The spine of the universe unwinds in all four directions
With the words “happily ever after,” time leaves flying off

Weaving a path with the rays of the sun and beams of the moon
Threading together the laws of flowering, blooming, withering and aging
Because everything in existence harmonizes for your sake
Urging to create and achieve dreams, time comes flying in
Bearing the years to be given, reclaiming the years turning to dust
Time demands back the blessings and bounty with persistence
To witness the truth of today’s actions
And to attest to the coming centuries, time leaves flying off

Time comes flying, flying in
Time leaves flying, flying off

​Translated From Mongolian by Nyamdash Amarbal
 
Poetry

THE MOON RISES OVER AN OLD TEMPLE

When the moon rises over an old temple,
its fleeting rays gild the ancient finials.
The wind grieves across the holes of the bamboo flute,
brings the sadness of distance back to the heart.
Poetry

WRITTEN ON THE CEILING


Fire swords conquer enemies
Fine brushes win hearts.
My blade has let history be,
Instead I have seized my brush.
Poetry

Attended the 22nd Genoa International Poetry Festival

G.Mend-Ooyo  attended the 22nd Genoa International Poetry Festival, held between the 10th to 19th of June 2016, in Genova, Italy. 
On 18 June, he read his poems at the Palazzo Ducale in the centre of the city of Genova. 
Damiano Abeni and  Moira Egan worked on the translation of his poems into Italian. 
Poetry

Audio Recording of “The Swallows”

Returning from afar, swallows in flocks
Embrace the tales of the gentle, tranquil steppe.
The waters of eternity were spilt into the yellow steppe’s palms,
And, ever since, these little birds have dared not leave.
Poetry

LETTER WRITTEN FROM THE WILD STEPPE

If you say you’d understand Mongolia’s wild steppe,
if you say you’d look upon someone else,
we’ll draw up the cart outside a nomad’s tent
like a single button on a broad swathe of blue brocade,
Then I’ll saddle up a little wild horse for you,
this horse will calmly bring the moon closer.
Poetry

THE WAY OF THE WORLD - 2

He always lies in wait for his next bloodthirsty opponent
The upcoming battle stalks him everywhere
Though they emerge with their lives, they don’t fin peace
Like an arrow, he pierces through and rips them apart
Everything forgotten the ancient earth.
Poetry

THE SONG

The song upon your lips 
is upon the hills,
the song upon your lips
encompasses the world.
Poetry
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