Richard Jones

Wan Chuyň aýaly

Meniň eziz ärim Wan Chu,
bir sapardan geldi ýene,
ony-muny satyp welaýatlarda.
Men çyplak ýatyryn garaşyp oňa,
ol hasyrdap köýnegini çykarýar,
hem diýýär sen ömür-ahyr söýjegim.
Ol Hytaýyň bäri başyndan başlap,
eýle başa çykar, emma ýüregi
mende galar baky, bir men geregi.

Men setin örtügi goýberip aşak,
ak mämelem jykladamda ugruna,
onuň ýüzi oglan päkligi bilen
gyzaryp-bozarýar lampaň nuruna.
Daşarda damjalap başlaýar ýagyş,
oň oglumyz bilen bileje eken
ülje agaçlaryn ezip çygyna.
Ol haşlap girende meniň goýnuma,
gaý çynyna tutýar, kiçijik külbe
çaýkanýar çydaman ýeliň oýnuna.

Soň men onuň arkasyny sypaýan,
çaga ýaly myrlap galýança ýatyp.
Men uzak gije-de oturjak şeýdip,
ýagşyn sesin diňläp, pikire batyp,
Emma menem ýatmaly.
Çünki Wan Chu ertir uzaga gider,
a men uzak gije oýa bolaryn
goltugynda Wang Cheniň,
derýadan aşakky kiçjik obaly,
Ming Paoly biçimçiň...

Wan Chu's Wife In Bed

Richard Jones

Wan Chu, my adoring husband,
has returned from another trip
selling trinkets in the provinces.
He pulls off his lavender shirt
as I lie naked in our bed,
waiting for him. He tells me
I am the only woman he'll ever love.
He may wander from one side of China
to the other, but his heart
will always stay with me.
His face glows in the lamplight
with the sincerity of a boy
when I lower the satin sheet
to let him see my breasts.
Outside, it begins to rain
on the cherry trees
he planted with our son,
and when he enters me with a sigh,
the storm begins in earnest,
shaking our little house.
Afterwards, I stroke his back
until he falls asleep.
I'd love to stay awake all night
listening to the rain,
but I should sleep, too.
Tomorrow Wan Chu will be
a hundred miles away
and I will be awake all night
in the arms of Wang Chen,
the tailor from Ming Pao,
the tiny village down the river.

from The Quarterly, 1990
W.W. Norton & Company, Inc., New York, NY

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