Tag: Poetry

Vacation

Primary school in a forest. Floating clouds, crossed the sky, whistling, thinking something.

The primary school garden, under a swing, there’s an empty shadow. A sunflower was blooming, like a sundial for bees and cabbage maggots.

By chance, the shadow of something big.

……What a very short moment.

Happy things passed. Like floating clouds, reassuring all.

Song about August travel feeling

On the tough grass of a summit, a modest meal
On the parasol, it bloomed
Ah, summer’s excursion, I’d climb with my finger
A line of clear sky
This white cloud, like a dream

In the journey, a half-sleep of the day, reflected to my heart
It silently erased, like the wood of a deciduous tree
Ah, this colour, penetrated to the top
At the end of the assembly lines were seen in the distance
A nostalgia, still unknown

Traveller’s night song: FRÄULEIN A. MUROHU GEWIDMET

It continued to rain, the cold rain
The lamp I carried
That lit my feet a little
The night was far but I walked and walked

Why was I going to walk
Despite I gave up, included my bed
Also warm stories and the candle– however
Why I walked
When the maint arrives, then I’ll sleep
I walk to where…… like this
What do I do

I wet myself completely, wetting myself
The happy memory, I’m still looking for it……
Of my mother, towards the city, with regret in the deep black only

To the beautiful woman who was passing away

Sometimes before my eyes the shadow appeared
To this world, by a ghost, forgot
A land I know not, when apple trees scented
Unfamiliar, on the starry sky of the distant clear night

Exchanges between summer and spring were not hectic on the sky
–Your smile of yore was not for me
–Your voice did not ring for me
Your silent illness and death, like a song in a dream
I lit a fire to this sadness came this evening
Dedicated the poor withered roses to you
With the moonlight wounded, it was the wake by me

Probably there are no signs in your memory
But also who the sad was not allowed, it’s me …
“The remains on the apple tree turned green, were to sleep eternally”

Imaginative pleasure in the night

Young foliage scented the wind stung my eyes
But my racing thought, what thing lurked in it
The little girl sang to me
–One evening in the dead of winter, it was

The light of the rough path was covered with snow
Pleasure of my heart
Had stolen through someone’s lip
Then I tried to console
My dry mouth sang a song to call
I passed like this…
In the snowy light of the midwinter evening…

Whose heart was hiding?
And so the little girl’s longing became a harsh presentiment
What was stolen? Tell me that, little girl

List of Poetry Translations
(English, Français, Deutsch, Español, Italiano)

Summer travel

I. The song at the end of the village

Was in bloom, a Bird’s-foot trefoil, and
I picked by fingers, it told me through the light–
The right is the path from the north to Echigo
The left is the Nakasendo at Kiso
On the fine evening after the rain, we’ll stay looking absent-mindedly at the sky
And, I’d walk straight across the evening, my dingy home village
By the tussock grass of Batohcannon, we stood wordless by the first time of our lives

II. For the goat

The little bridge, said the road entered the village this way
In the shade of a tree on the coastal podocarps, a very old black house….. to this garden
An old goat was put by the chain, as the nice joy of a pitiful boy
To everyone, the goat answered with a voice that trembled–
Always travellers, would pass and see to thee in a moment

III. Bucolic

The mill alone in the village
In summer, the roof smoked
It sang merry songs all day long and never tired of singing
What was the mill doing
To the stream, to the sun, it harmonised to sing your slowed steps
What was the mill spinning at

IV. Rest – A personal letter to I.T.

Formerly, when I came across the dream was beautiful, there was not the thing more beautiful than the dream in this world. But, today, if things that more beautiful than the dream surrounds me, that’s how happy I am. On the Shinano plateau, the flowers of common buckwheat bloom in the clear air, and the grasses of the pampas float, the stripes of the mountain lines were counted, there is the existence of beautiful clouds incredible to the sky very blue. I opened my ear towards the subtle tone of wind, but it whispers the correct words in this world. Finally, I do not want to express who my heart means by my words. How, I say, and I demand. It is reasonable, that I think such and such with zeal. T, to be like that is pleasant. The sky very high unfathomable. I am small so, also I am great so.

V. Towards the cemetery

To the thin path in the thick fog, the very sonorous voice invited me, the bottom of the wood I arrived first time.
To the hillside of the birch trees– ah, my fantasy! (The branches, sang the song of the sky which flew by the wind)

VI. Death of summer

Summer passed hastily away
For yet another journey

We counted the days that remained unshadowed
Watching the clouds and the steam weighing on the volcano
We stayed a cold room a little, most of the time
Chatting about trivial flowers and the gossip of the townsfolk

On a drizzly day I’d walk the person to the car park
At the entrance to the village, the small leaves of the pine trees were falling in the cold wind, non-stop
…… An inn had free rooms, since that night, I wrote the letters always, only on the weak lamp

VII. The end of the journey

Last night, the moon that sees the moonrise
Became the moon at noon, floated the morning sky
Bright ultramarine blue ran across the sky
It was said to disperse and change to white clouds, also this moon
Many times I looked back, many times I looked back
The traveller, raising his eyes to the sky, had an inexhaustible resentment to the people left behind
And felt the sad lie without limit

Words from the rain

I’m cold little
Because I was only going through everything
In a drizzle
My palms, my forehead, stayed wet
Before I knew it I was going dark
I lean on here like this
And wait for the lamp to light

Outside the weak rain without sound continues to rain
On a manless fish tank, on a roof
On the umbrellas of men
It wanders forever
Before long it will turn into a smoky fog……

I don’t know and I don’t hope
She says something about a day
About the silence and the warm morning
The subtle murmur of the rain, of a kind
And it changes variously
Listening to it
I unknowingly fell asleep as always

Entering summer

Like a palm, it was beautiful calm weather. I thought some where I’d seen Sunday like this.

In the night, the fog descended out of the window. We were gathering. Around the candle. We even knitted words sometimes, around the chatter remained a little.

On our hands, the morning bouquet didn’t stay. …..Il was like the colour of the country away from my mother and family.

Insects sang. The crickets continued to sing, which is the monkey of late summer. A person was listening but he got bored and went out somewhere.

I was thinking about tomorrow. About the thing I can’t listen to or talk about. ……The window was open. The moonrise shone clearly through the window, through the fog ran soundlessly.

Travel diary: The day, to Tsutomu Ikuta

This city, a front of a library — I was listening, the voice of a young Turkish woman. I received a song book with a beautiful red cover. Like children singing.

And I tilted my umbrella a few times, and I saw the sky. The sky was completely grey, but it’s unfathomably high. The day of quiet rain.

People whispered to the young traveller. What were you looking at?
Yes. I was looking at a young Turkish woman, later at a park, at the end of the little dark city.
— One of these days I’ll sell Novalis and Rilke. The day ended as such, the girl of the blazing sky….. My reverie was like a hard and sour fruit.

I prepare the candles did not burn entirely to the girl. For I do not forget memoirs of the trip. — The end of the summer, to the city has ancient castle, I received, by the girl, this book of song, I continued to travel.

The noon of a lonely day

Hiding from me a tuft of wet grass
I repeated
Various, narrow positions
How miserably pleasant they were

The conviction that I was seen by none
Earlier, an invitation to confession and…
This time, midday
Seemed to feel
The sun made the coquette gently
Tumult ceased while I ignored
Only the song of the birds, singing in the distance

Ah, innocent
A moment was knotted, that will be gone
To the rightness of this desire

Requiem

At the tiled window, she reflected
Passed, an inclined shadow of a person
Piled up, piled up and tangled, erased
erased……

This moment, this moment
Like a shadow, she would go on like that
Always, always
She wrote characters that laughed at her
When she passed away, she’d smile a little…
But this voice, me
By another, I was heard only

On a table, the shadow of a flower fell, the shadow of a dish
If I touched them with my fingers
My memories would fade one by one, a faint sound would erase

Basket of the Sky

A country girl, showed to train
And gave lessons to the neighbouring town
With a big basket in her hand
–Le retour….. The basket
Fruit, bread and flowers, was full
The girl was buried in perfume
She was fast asleep

Always, even completely
Just now when the sun was setting
At home, the basket was empty
I didn’t know why
The country girl, from the oven
Was burning with fire
This time for herself alone
She sang the song of the basket
Many birds, pearls and flowers

Paper cut-outs

The sun was setting, so the sky was undressing
And it said “Soon it will be night” to the cuckoo clock

Little stars fell from the lamp
Each one lit up the rooms of the town

Like “My room, good night!
One by one the children disappeared

The night is this story
This sad makes me happy

To summer

He waited here and like this, for a while
My boy, my secret……
Then, a person I do not know
I forget, a distant departure, from someone

He waved a handkerchief
He would look out of a window
He, waved
Finally he was going somewhere…
(Yes, I, prepared a hat
And a T-shirt whiter than paper
So I would have looked)

I waved my hand at the dock for a while
My yesterday, my boy…… After that
This man alone was not there, many departures passed by

List of Poetry Translations
(English, Français, Deutsch, Español, Italiano)