I can hear a festival far away
the goldfish in the water
becomes a lonely firework
遠い祭がきこえる金魚水の中で寂しい花火になる
at the end of the year
people multiply and scurry about
like mice
年の暮の人間ねずみのように殖えて出歩く
just to say I miss you
a single wet postcard
あいたいとだけびしょびしょのはがきいちまい
scribbling as I wipe away the tears
なみだふきながららくがきしている
a lamp brighter than the moon
mother and child
月よりもランプはあかるい母と子
moonlit night:
the wind chime vendor
far away
月夜のふうりん屋がとほる
fiercely falling snow
turns to lightly falling snow,
accumulating
れつれつとふるゆきのあわあわとふるゆきとなって、つもる
for the dancer lying face down
in the blue spotlight,
time a kind of death
青いスポットにうちふしたおどり子の、死というような時間
life and death
just a fire burning
in the snow
生死ただ雪ふる中に火のともる
a camellia falls
the woman in the mirror
untying her obi
つばきおちている鏡のなかの女がおびをとくので
a swallow chick making a ruckus in the nest
his poor siblings below
つばめの子が巣で大さわぎしている下の貧しい兄弟
weeds tough on the track
a child walks out there in the red sunset
線路の草つよしそこをこどもあるいてゆく夕焼
a loneliness that I don’t want anyone to touch
leaves falling in clumps
ひとにはふれてもらいたくないさびしさ葉がぽろぽろおちる
waiting in vain as if the stars were out
星がふるような待ちぼうけ
grabbing a large persimmon
I eat a little in silence,
and think
大きな柿にむしゃぶりつきすこし静かにたべ、考えることする
holding the child so softly
the moon and its shadow
こどもだいてこんなにかるくつきとそのかげ
the puppy
satisfied with that goes back home
scattered leaves
いぬころそんなことにまんぞくしてかえってゆく散る葉
moon,
recognizing the loneliness in my face
when I’m alone
月が、ひとりのときの吾が顔のさびしさ知っている
withering, withering
true winter makes a woman’s lipstick stand out
枯れて枯れてほんとうの冬が女の口紅をうきたたせる
wanting to cry but laughing
the wind turns over the leaves
泣きたくて笑っている風が木の葉ころがしてゆく
after the wind has torn the leaves from the trees
people walk like scraps of paper
風が木の葉かきむしっていったあとの紙くずのように人間歩く
thinking of those who will never return
moving white on the ocean in the shape of waves
かえらぬものをおもううみになみのかたちしろくてうごく
just out of reach
the stars shine coldly
every night
手のとどかぬところに星は光り寒くなる毎晩
my body odor like a beast
a tear in the wool shirt
吾が体臭のけものめく毛糸のシャツのほころび
leaving the woman beyond the withered fields
without telling her the news when it comes
便りが来ても便りを出さずに女を枯野のむこうにおく
myriad green leaves
breaking just one egg alone
just for me alone
万緑の中一つきりの卵をひとりっきりのわたしにわる
one bird is late to sing
いちわはないておくれてゆく
a small factory full of bodies working
the moon steadily higher
小さな工場が体いっぱいに働いている月がぐんぐん高く
my heart grows sick so quietly the snow smells blue
ゆきがあおくにおうほどしずかにむねをやんでいる
the setting sun inside the caged beast’s yawning red throat
夕日が檻の猛獣のあくびする赤き喉の中
an underpass as warm as the womb
from there I can see the evening glow of hell
胎内のようぬくい地下道そこから見えて夕焼地獄
Father
who loves my mother and hates me
is coughing
母を愛して吾を憎む父が咳しておられる
Seido Hiramatsu (1926-1987) was the pen name of Yoshiyuki Hiramatsu. His father was a doctor, and he also went on to medical school but gradually became more and more interested in literature.
In 1942, at the age of 17, he joined Soun. From then until 1949, he was active in Soun and was called a Romantic together with Kaiji Kitada (1923-2019) and others of the same period.
After leaving Soun, he devoted himself to children’s theater and scriptwriting. In 1969, he returned to Soun, but his activity period was less than 10 years, including the period before and after his return to Soun (https://weekly-haiku.blogspot.com/2015/10/112-1.html).
His books include Blue Spotlight: A Collection of Freeform Haiku (青いスポット～自由律俳句集). His plays for children, under the name Senkichi Hiramatsu (平松仙吉), include Boy’s Flag (少年の旗) and The Sparrow with the Split Tongue (したきりすずめ). Additionally, he wrote scripts for broadcasters NHK and TBS. He passed away at the age of 60 due to heart failure (https://www.xn--evqz9gt1mmyvjro.net/hiramatu-seidou/).
His work is characterized by 1) its long length — many of the haiku have 20- to 30-something sounds instead of the traditional 17; 2) sparse use of kanji — many of the poems are written entirely or almost entirely in the hiragana syllabary; and 3) images of the moon and snow.
Entry No. 1 