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Olonkho. P. A. Oyunsky
Читать онлайн.Название Olonkho
Год выпуска 0
isbn 9781898823377
Автор произведения P. A. Oyunsky
Жанр Старинная литература: прочее
Издательство Ingram
That he was more important
Than all the other Urankhais…
‘If a cold wind blows
From the high swirling sky
On my honoured name,
On my established reputation
I shall stop it.’
For this purpose
He ordered that mittens be sewn
From the best wolf skin,
The size of a leather bag.
He hung them like a balloon
On his high peg
With three branches…
‘If the chilly draught of death comes
From the disastrous Middle World
I shall block it.’
For this purpose
He ordered that
A sable-skin coat be sewn,
And he hung it on a tree…
‘If hard frost blows in
From the awful Under World,
The world of the Ajarai kin,
I shall tread on it.’
For this purpose
He ordered that boots be sewn
From the best bear paws.
He spread them on his latticed shelf…
Thus, thirty-five tribes
Of Urankhai Sakha,
Front-faced, straight-nosed,
Cheerful and playful,
Settled in the steady Middle World…
Can an olonkho not be exaggerated?!
A few days later,
The child they created,
Mighty and strong
With a grey horse
And a bow in his hands,
Warrior Kun Jiribineh,
Was able to leave the house.
Fair-faced Tuyarima Kuo
With the chestnut ambler
Was able to use the scissors properly…
Before long
The head of their stout-hearted son
Was seen above
The low branch of a big larch:
Five-bylas large
His fine waist became,
Six-bylas large
His broad shoulders became,
His forearms and shins
Resembled a larch tree trunk
Stripped of its bark ...
Looking at the sun
He covers it with his back,
Looking at the moon
He screens it with his hand.
He became the best man,
The bravest warrior;
His eyes, round like a ring,
Looked full of hostility,
His piercing eyes
Became bloodshot.
He craved fighting,
He played stretching his muscles,
He strolled backwards and forwards
Deep in thought:
‘If only someone would come…
Have the tribes of the devil,
The kin of Ajarais,
Not heard of my famous name,
And the rumours about me yet?!
What a lust I have for fighting!
How eager I am!
How I wish
To grip and cut their thick skins!
How I wish
To knock them down and beat
Their backs until the tendons snap.
How I wish
To rip out their hearts
With my bloody hands!
When will the three-spiked
Strongest heroes from above,
When will the six-spiked
Bravest heroes from below
Come and cut my skin
And make me bleed
To quench my fury?!’
He cried out, looking up,
He bellowed, looking down.
Three days later,
As three beams of sunlight,
The sharp, shining fire
Of the radiant white sun,
Just started to rise,
As the low edge
Of the western double sky,
Glittering like glassy silver,
Just started to dawn,
Nine wild whirlwinds sprang up.
A bear fur with the paws
And the head
Was torn to pieces
By this whirlwind.
The storm sprang up,
Clouds of dust swirled up,
Nine vertical white skies
Rocked like water
In a birch-bark bucket,
White clouds gathered,
Black clouds clustered round,
Dark-grey clouds came together…
Nothing was seen
In the white sky.
The black stormy wind
Of the sky
Yowled and growled,
Like the guffaw
Of the ilbis’s daughter,
The spirit of war,
Like the nicker
Of the ohol son,
The spirit of discord.
The tempest rose,
The ground could not be seen.
Has the base
Of the Under World cracked?
Has the crown
Of the Middle World been punched?
Has the axis of the Upper World broken?
Four rumbling thunderbolts rolled in,
Four bright flashes of lightning struck.
Thick fog came down so that even a shadow
Could not be seen…
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