All the nights and days passed away
and a strange darkness
began to envelop my soul.
Is this sleep? Is it the end?
It seems to me
like a very long rest.
總ての夜と日が逝（ゆ）いた
不思議な闇が
私の魂（たま）を包み初めた。
眠りか？ 最終（おはり）か？
そして私には
其れが永い休息（やすみ）とも思はれる。
NOTES:
Imai Hakuyou (1889-1917) was a Japanese free verse poet from Sendai in Kagoshima prefecture. Before he could publish a single volume of poetry, he drowned at a young age while swimming with a friend in Chiba.
Deep at the bottom of the blue sky,
Like small stones in the sea,
Submerged until night falls,
We can’t see the stars in the afternoon,
We can’t see them, but they’re there,
We can’t see them, but they’re there.
Dandelions, petals dead and scattered,
Silent in a dried up river bed,
Hidden until spring arrives,
We can’t see their strong roots.
We can’t see them, and yet they’re there,
We can’t see them, but they’re there.
青いお空のそこふかく、
海の小石のそのように、
夜がくるまでしずんでる、
昼のお星は目に見えぬ
見えぬものでもあるんだよ、
見えぬものでもあるんだよ。
ちってすがれたたんぽぽの、
かわらのすきにだあまって、
春のくるまでかくれてる、
つよいその根は目に見えぬ。
見えぬけれどもあるんだよ、
見えぬものでもあるんだよ。
I wish I could love them,
Anything and everything.
Onions, tomatoes, fish,
I wish I could love them all.
Side dishes, and everything.
Because Mother made them.
I wish I could love them,
Anyone and everyone.
Doctors, and crows,
I wish I could love them all.
Everyone in the whole world,
Because God made them.
わたしはすきになりたいな、
何でもかんでもみいんな。
ねぎも、トマトも、おさかなも、
のこらずすきになりたいな。
うちのおかずは、みいんな。
おかあさまがおつくりになったもの。
わたしはすきになりたいな、
だれでもかれでもみいんな。
お医者さんでも、からすでも、
のこらずすきになりたいな。
世界のものはみｲ んな、
神さまがおつくりになったもの。
i loved to watch my mother
in the dark kitchen
beside the light of the oven
when we were walking down a long road
I would sit down on her geta
to rest
when it was time for bed
she fell asleep holding my cock
mother never held
the other men she slept with . . .
. . . you’re talking too much again
how embarrassing
i’m sure her ghost will be upset
くらい くりや の かまど の ひ を
かあさん と ならんで
じっと みる の が すきだった
とおみち を ゆく とき は
かあさん の ゲタ に こしかけて
やすんだ
よる ねる とき
ぼく の ちんちん を もって ねた
ほかに いっしょに ねる おとこ を
もたなかった おかあさん ……
…… おまえ また いらん こと を いう
と はずかしがって
あのよ で おこって いる だろう な
NOTES:
Thanks to Grady Martin for giving it a second read-through.
Poem from the Jikkoku Osamu Corner.
When I am lonely,
Strangers do not know.
When I am lonely,
My friends are laughing.
When I am lonely,
My mother is kind.
When I am lonely,
Buddha is lonely.
わたしがさびしいとき、
よその人は知らないの。
わたしがさびしいとき、
お友だちはわらうの。
わたしがさびしいとき、
み母さんはやさしいの。
わたしがさびしいとき、
ほとけさまはさびしいの。
NOTES:
Kaneko Misuzu (1903-1930) was a poet. When her ex-husband attempted to gain custody of their daughter, she committed suicide. She was 26.
In the East, there is a mountain
where old useless people are thrown away
like throwing away an old pen.
Really, it’s the logical thing to do
Everyone
let’s throw away our old rusted pens
But we mustn’t toss them on the mountain
Up there
the old and the useless
shuffle about as they weep.
「危険」
東洋には姥捨山があって
不要な老人は捨てられる
古いペンを捨てるように。
まことに合理的なことだ これは
諸君
古いさびたペンは捨てよう
ただし山へ捨ててはならぬ
山では
泣きながら
不要な老人が歩いている。
My older brother choked on the scales of a swallowtail butterfly
and died just like that
My older sister kept eating little bird’s eggs and now her heart
is completely spoiled
My little sister is afflicted with a hunger for purple violets
And you haven’t even heard the half of it
violet
My dead brother ties the chrysalises that continue to multiply in his esophagus to an optical line
and sits facing a rainbow-colored box, solving a crossword puzzle
My spoiled older sister is pregnant with a liquid crystal canary
and has signed over all of her property
My little sister absentmindedly squeezes purple juice
and stores it in a secret folder
violet
My brother, typing on the keyboard with his melting fingertips,
asks us for the answer to the puzzle
“What’s a flower that’s purple, ends in a ‘t,’
blooms in the spring and is six letters long?”
My older sister’s newborn canary was made of rock and it couldn’t even sing,
so she keeps giving birth to countless passwords
My little sister, in a voice hoarse with fever,
says “violet” in answer to my brother’s question
violet
“Application error.
To terminate the program click OK”
Connected to the internet, my brother’s
organs, muscles, nerves, even his bodily fluids, are deleted
violet
“Incorrect password.
If you have forgotten your password answer the secret question”
My older sister keeps clicking Help, but her security is disabled
and her profile is gradually becoming faint
violet
My sweet little sister drinks violets, one spoonful, two spoonfuls
Purple drips from her lips, and again
one spoonful, two spoonfuls
Like a rabbit killed with a shotgun,
little purple drops
spread all over my sister’s body
Down to her heart she is becoming a flower, a flower, a flower
My little sister wishes to be eaten by skylarks in March
Her skylarks cry “violet violet”
as they fly around inside the hard drive
A purple virus, one spoonful, two spoonfuls
(I remember I remember)
“Logging in”
violet
My brother, who has turned to bones,
inputs search options in my head and links to my brain
My older sister, who has turned invisible,
sends my compressed limbs all over the world
My sweet little sister is a violet
Her eyeballs, earlobes, collarbone, the soles of her feet, and even her ankles,
have all blossomed into violets
The violets are being copied and pasted in my cells as purple flower images
violet
“The document has been changed. Do you want to save the changes?”
“Yes”
The violets that were blooming in that little garden,
was that not my own memory?
That little garden where all of us played together,
was that not my own memory?
My older brother, my older sister, my little sister,
were they never really there?
violet
“If you are not a real person click here.”
violet
“Logging out.”
violet
“Welcome, Guest.”
violet
violet
violet
violet
violet
violet
violet
violet
violet
violet
I no longer exist anywhere
NOTES:
Ura Kanako, from http://mikick.exblog.jp/i5/
Ura Kanako is a poet from Fukuoka. Her first book of poetry, The Lake in My Ears (耳のなかの湖, 2009), was nominated for the Nakahara Chuya Award.
The original Japanese language poem can be found at ポエムコンシェルジュとさがす詩の世界.
Suddenly, my body relaxed
my arms became graceful wings
and I flew over a world I’d never known
My eyes were tinged a deep sky blue
But one day
an unusual fog rose up
and you went missing
Shaking at the nerves
I went out to look for you
but you were nowhere to be found
Turning around
I could see my window standing all alone in the fog
my embarrassingly small window
When I came back to my place
I took out my fence and my window
Then every ounce of me waited for you
The rain fell
like thread on my naked body
It warmed up
my insides
I wonder how many years passed
When I looked down
roots had spread out from my feet
I had become a tree
My luxuriant leaves returned boldly to the ground
and soon came the morning, like waking up
NOTES:
Kure Miyo (b. 1927) is a poet who was born in Tokyo.
See the original poem at ポエムコンシェルジュとさがす詩の世界.
Soon I will have beautiful skin. I hope for destruction. Beside me, there is a person eating an apple. The apple being eaten beside me is bitter. Being broken and happy is all that is important. Soon I will have beautiful skin. I destroy hope. The person beside me eating an apple is bitter. Beside me there is a person being eaten. Being happy and broken is all that is important. My beautiful skin will be here soon. Hope destroys. There is an apple beside me. Important things, being eaten, happiness, bitterness. Broken. My skin is here. Soon destruction will be beside me. I hope for an apple. Beside me, important, bitter, food. I am happy to be broken. My skin is beside me. I destroy an apple. I hope for something bitter soon. Important, to eat, happiness. Beside me, broken. Destruction is here. Apple on skin. Bitter things beside me are happy. Soon I will eat the skin I hoped for. Beside me, there are happy things.
There were some kids fighting.
One of the kids got behind one kid and grabbed his shoulders grabbed him under the arms another kid kneed the one kid in the stomach as much as he could as fast as he could hitting him over and over again while the other kid just watched.
There are people who suffer in this way.
There are people who suffer in this way for our sake.
Continue to suffer.
Suffer more violently show us your suffering with your face your body if possible your words.
Please forgive us.
I will not forgive you.
Soon I will have beautiful skin.
I hope for destruction.
Beside me, there is a person eating an apple.
The apple being eaten beside me is bitter.
Being broken and happy is all that is important.
Please forgive us.
I will not forgive you.
We want to see you.
I will not see you.
We are waiting.
You will always be waiting.
Always waiting the uneasy torment of always waiting tired of suffering so tired you fall asleep.
Good night.
Say good night.
Soon I will have beautiful skin.
I hope for destruction.
My broken skin is here beside me.
My happy, beautiful skin will be here soon.
NOTES:
Yamada Ryota (b. 1982) is a member of the “verbal art unit” [TOLTA]. His first book, Giant Field (ジャイアントフィールド, 2009), was a finalist for the Nakahara Chuya Award.
Yamada Ryota
For the original Japanese-language poem, please visit ポエムコンシェルジュとさがす詩の世界.
Picture from: http://nununununu.net/memo/20120426173
I felt like eating some tuna sashimi
When my wife said it looks like human flesh
And after that I couldn’t help but see it as human, too
But I had been dreaming about tuna sashimi
So, in a fit of anger, I said
It’s dead, so I’ll eat it if I damn well please
My wife got upset and turned away
But husbands and wives are only tuna
Everyone on the earth is tuna
Tuna hate atomic bombs
And are also threatened by hydrogen bombs
They are living in the modern world in a fit of anger
One day, I looked at my plate
And said, It’s covered in the ashes of Bikini
My wife turned around her chopsticks
And poked at the head of the burned tuna
It’s just ash from the grill, she murmured
NOTES:
Yamanokuchi Baku (1903-1963) was the pen name of Yamaguchi Jusaburo (山口重三郎). He is the most famous poet from Okinawa. He moved to Tokyo in 1922 and lived there most of his life. He also wrote stories, such as “Mr. Saito from Heaven Building,” which was translated in Southern Exposure: Modern Japanese Literature from Okinawa, edited by Michael Molasky and Steve Rabson (January 4, 2000). The blog One Lost Sheep also has a translation of Yamanokuchi’s poem “A Conversation” as well as his explanation for writing it.
The poem here at Entry No. 1 was found at ポエムコンシェルジュとさがす詩の世界.
Entry No. 1 