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There have been however many eras
And there has been brown war
There have been however many eras
And in the winter gales have blown
There have been however many eras
The one here this evening, in its prime
The one here this evening, in its prime
From the circus tent’s lofty beam
A solitary trapeze artist swings
A barely visible trapeze artist swings
Hanging his arms while upside down
Beneath the dirty cotton canopy
Yuahhn Yuyohhn Yuyayuyon
A white lamp burning nearby
Exhales its breath of cheap ribbons
The spectators, all of them sardines,
With oyster shells of ululating throats
Yuahhn Yuyohhn Yuyayuyon
Darkness beyond the tent the darkest dark
The evening stretches on endlessly late
With nostalgia for him in his little parachute
Yuahhn Yuyohhn Yuyayuyon
サーカス
幾時代かがありまして
茶色い戦争ありました
幾時代かがありまして
冬は疾風吹きました
幾時代かがありまして
今夜此処での一と殷盛り
今夜此処での一と殷盛り
サーカス屋は高い梁
そこに一つのブランコだ
見えるともないブランコだ
頭倒さに手を垂れて
汚れ木綿の屋蓋のもと
ゆあーん ゆよーん ゆやゆよん
それの近くの白い灯が
安値いリボンと息を吐き
観客様は皆鰯
咽喉が鳴ります牡蠣殻と
ゆあーん ゆよーん ゆやゆよん
屋外は真ッ闇 闇の闇
夜は刧々と更けまする
落下傘奴のノスタルヂアと
ゆあーん ゆよーん ゆやゆよん
Dedicated to a Dragonfly
Against a flawless autumn sky
A crimson dragonfly is taking flight
As I am standing in a meadow
Bathing in the waning evening light
And far away a factory chimney in
This evening light is blurry through its film
A heavy sigh emerges then
And squatting down I grab a stone
An even coolness presses in my palm
But as the stone begins to warm
I let it fall and pick some grass
Bathing in the waning evening light
Imperceptibly the blades of grass
Begin to wither where they fell
While far away the factory chimney still
In evening light is blurry through its film
蜻蛉に寄す
あんまり晴れてる 秋の空
赤い蜻蛉が 飛んでゐる
淡い夕陽を 浴びながら
僕は野原に 立つてゐる
遠くに工場の 煙突が
夕陽にかすんで みえてゐる
大きな溜息 一つついて
僕は蹲んで 石を拾ふ
その石くれの 冷たさが
漸く手中で ぬくもると
僕は放して 今度は草を
夕陽を浴びてる 草を抜く
抜かれた草は 土の上で
ほのかほのかに 萎えてゆく
遠くに工場の 煙突は
夕陽に霞んで みえてゐる
Beach of a Moonlight Night
On a moonlit night, a lone button
Lay fallen by the edge of the foam.
Picking it up, I had no real intention
Of giving it a purpose to serve
But finding myself unable to toss it away
I slipped it into my sleeve.
On a moonlit night, a single button
Lay fallen by the edge of the foam.
Picking it up, I had no real intention
Of giving it a purpose to serve
And neither tossing it to the moon
Nor skipping it across the waves,
I slipped it into my sleeve.
On a moonlit night, this lone button I picked up
Pressed its way into my fingers, into my heart.
On a moonlit night, this lone button I picked up?
How could it possibly be tossed away?
月夜の浜辺
月夜の晩に、ボタンが一つ
波打際に、落ちてゐた。
それを拾つて、役立てようと
僕は思つたわけでもないが
なぜだかそれを捨てるに忍びず
僕はそれを、袂に入れた。
月夜の晩に、ボタンが一つ
波打際に、落ちてゐた。
それを拾つて、役立てようと
僕は思つたわけでもないが
月に向つてそれは抛れず
浪に向つてそれは抛れず
僕はそれを、袂に入れた。
月夜の晩に、拾ったボタンは
指先に沁み、心に沁みた。
月夜の晩に、拾ったボタンは
どうしてそれが、捨てられようか？
Late Summer Heat
When I sprawl myself across the tatami
The buzzing of a fly is faint and steady
Earlier this morning someone mentioned
That the room’s tatami have yellowed already
With neither order nor apparent end
Forgotten memories began to rise
And as they floated to my mind
The darkness floated to my eyes
And after waking to a lingering sun
With light across the canopy of leaves
And myriad cicadas whirring on
I walked the garden watering the trees
The tips of the leaves clinging to the lower branches
Held the glistening drops of water, and my gaze
残暑
畳の上に、寝ころばう、
蠅はブンブン唸つてる
畳ももはや 黄色くなつたと
今朝がた 誰かが云つてゐたつけ
それやこれやと とりとめもなく
僕の頭に 記憶は浮かび
浮かぶがまゝに 浮かべてゐるうち
いつしか 僕は眠つてゐたのだ
覚めたのは 夕方ちかく
まだかなかなは 啼いてたけれど
樹々の は 陽を受けてたけど、
僕は庭木に 打水やつた
打水が、樹々の下枝の葉の尖に
光つてゐるのをいつまでも、僕は見てゐた
An Innocent Poem
On thinking back, I've traveled quite a ways
Where’s it now– the steam whose whistle tore
In waves across the harbor’s open skies
That winter evening of my twelfth year?
The moon had been obscured by a cloud
But when the whistle erupted in my ears
I cringed and, bracing momentarily, found
That suddenly the moon had reappeared
Time then saw the passing of several years
After which the whistling blast of steam
Would leave me saddened, watching in a daze
Where’s he now– the person I was then?
On thinking back, I've traveled quite a ways
Now I have a wife and little one
And a span of days, so many days
I'll probably continue on, but then
I’ll probably continue on, but then
The confidence those days and nights I lived
Will ever imbue me with comparable emotion
Isn’t anything I nurture deep inside
For what it’s worth, as long as I continue on
I’d seem to be a sort of pitiful existence
If I give my very nature some reflection
This me who puts his heart into his every effort
And that’s the way it is if you think about it–
Putting my heart into it appears to lie in knowing
That times of such emotion once existed
And that I have to manage to keep on going
It’s fairly simple if you think it over—
Ultimately it’s just a question of intent
Inevitably you somehow make it come together
While the act alone is perfectly sufficient
Or so I think, but even that’s its own particular case
Where’s it all now– the steam whose whistle tore
In waves across the harbor’s open skies
That winter of my twelfth year?
頑是ない歌
思へば遠く来たもんだ
十二の冬のあの夕べ
港の空に鳴り響いた
汽笛の湯気は今いづこ
雲の間に月はゐて
それな汽笛を耳にすると
竦然として身をすくめ
月はその時空にゐた
それから何年経つたことか
汽笛の湯気を茫然と
眼で追ひかなしくなつてゐた
あの頃の俺はいまいづこ
今では女房子供持ち
思へば遠く来たもんだ
此の先まだまだ何時までか
生きてゆくのであらうけど
生きてゆくのであらうけど
遠く経て来た日や夜の
あんまりこんなにこひしゆては
なんだか自信が持てないよ
さりとて生きてゆく限り
結局我ン張る僕の性質
と思へばなんだか我ながら
いたはしいよなものですよ
考へてみればそれはまあ
結局我ン張るのだとして
昔恋しい時もあり そして
どうにかやつてはゆくのでせう
考へてみれば簡単だ
畢竟意志の問題だ
なんとかやるより仕方もない
やりさへすればよいのだと
思ふけれどもそれもそれ
十二の冬のあの夕べ
港の空に鳴り響いた
汽笛の湯気や今いづこ
Cloudy Skies
One morning I saw within the sky
A fluttering flag the color black.
And though too high for me to hear
Its flapping the flag was fluttering there.
As if a rope had been attached
I tried in vain to lower the flag.
Within the sky it fluttered and flapped
As if it might have danced away.
I think I sometimes saw similar
mornings in my youth as well.
Those times I saw, above the fields,
Now again, above city roofs, the flag.
While now and then are different times,
And here and there are different places,
What flaps alone, what flaps above,
Is still that flag the color black!
曇天
ある朝 僕は 空の 中に、
黒い 旗が はためくを 見た。
はたはた それは はためいて ゐたが、
音は きこえぬ 高きが ゆゑに。
手繰り 下ろさうと 僕は したが、
綱も なければ それも 叶はず、
旗は はたはた はためく ばかり、
空の 奥処に 舞ひ入る 如く。
かゝる 朝を 少年の 日も、
々 見たりと 僕は 憶ふ。
かの時は そを 野原の 上に、
今はた 都会の 甍の 上に。
かの時 この時 時は 隔つれ、
此処と 彼処と 所は 異れ、
はたはた はたはた み空に ひとり、
いまも 渝らぬ かの 黒旗よ。
Shame
- Poems of Days Past -
Why does my heart feel so ashamed
Autumn mountain shadow on a day of white wind
Uncannily mature trunks of the pasania stood
In hollows thick with fallen leaves
Branches intertwined against a grieving
Sky filled with dead children blinking
Dreams of ancient images were then revealed
In woven astrakhan above the distant field
Uncannily mature trunks of the pasania stood
In hollows thick with fallen leaves
Between the trees that day those intimate eyes
There you were your glow so like an elder sister’s
Between the trees that day those intimate eyes
There you were your glow so like an elder sister’s
O! When clarity emerges in the past’s feeble flame
Why does why does my heart feel so ashamed?
含羞(はぢらひ)
――在りし日の歌――
なにゆゑに こゝろかくは羞ぢらふ
秋 風白き日の山かげなりき
椎の枯葉の落窪に
幹々は いやにおとなび彳ちゐたり
枝々の 拱みあはすあたりかなしげの
空は死児等の亡霊にみち まばたきぬ
をりしもかなた野のうへは
あすとらかんのあはひ縫ふ 古代の象の夢なりき
椎の枯葉の落窪に
幹々は いやにおとなび彳ちゐたり
その日 その幹の隙 睦みし瞳
姉らしき色 きみはありにし
その日 その幹の隙 睦みし瞳
姉らしき色 きみはありにし
あゝ！ 過ぎし日の 仄燃えあざやぐをりをりは
わが心 なにゆゑに なにゆゑにかくは羞ぢらふ……
Autumn Tidings
Hemp these mornings glides across the skin
The sparrows’ calls have crystallized again
And chimney smoke is scattered in the wind
The vividness of icy fragments sifted from
Volcanic ashes permeates the dome
Of blue above with chilly calm
And on cathedral steps of sunny stone
While I am basking with an idle gaze
The insects in the shadows chirp and drone
With flowers turning toward the rays
The days of autumn warm the bones
Though also chilling the extremities
And daily now the random ad balloons
Ascend and sway in Shinjuku district skies
秋の消息
麻は朝、人の肌に追い縋り
雀らの、声も硬うはなりました
煙突の、煙は風に乱れ散り
火山灰掘れば氷のある如く
けざやけき 気の底に青空は
冷たく沈み、しみじみと
教会堂の石段に
日向ぼつこをしてあれば
陽光に廻る花々や
物蔭に、すずろすだける虫の音や
秋の日は、からだに暖か
手や足に、ひえびえとして
此の日頃、広告気球は新宿の
空に揚りて漂へり
Bones
Well look at this!– here are my bones,
Once having brimmed with the hardships of life,
Now stripped of all their filthy flesh
And bleached white by the rain
Along the sharp and jutting edges.
Don’t mistake it for a luster,
The bleached appearance tricks the eyes¬–
Having drunk their share of rain,
Having been buffeted by the wind,
They simply reflect hints of the sky.
And when you think that these are the same bones
That when alive sat in the dining hall
Among the crowds of people,
The same bones that ate boiled honey-wort,
What else can you do but laugh?!
Well look at this!– here are my bones–
Being looked at by me? How funny!
Has my spirit somehow remained,
Only to find these bones again,
To find itself looking at them?
Along the edge of a stream in my village,
They loiter in a withered patch of grass,
Being looked at– by me?!
Standing as tall as an old sign-board,
My bleached bones are poking into the air.
骨
ホラホラ、これが僕の骨だ、
生きてゐた時の苦労にみちた
あのけがらはしい肉を破つて、
しらじらと雨に洗はれ
ヌックと出た、骨の尖。
それは光沢もない、
ただいたづらにしらじらと、
雨を吸収する、
風に吹かれる、
幾分空を反映する。
生きてゐた時に、
これが食堂の雑踏の中に、
坐つてゐたこともある、
みつばのおしたしを食つたこともある、
と思へばなんとも可笑しい。
ホラホラ、これが僕の骨――
見てゐるのは僕？ 可笑しなことだ。
霊魂はあとに残つて、
また骨の処にやつて来て、
見てゐるのかしら？
故郷の小川のへりに、
半ばは枯れた草に立つて
見てゐるのは、――僕？
恰度立札ほどの高さに、
骨はしらじらととんがつてゐる。
Cicadas are crying, cicadas are crying
Cicadas are crying, and nothing more!
Drifting off, I’m drifting off
.....there’s wind as well.....
With blue beyond the needled branches
Drifting off, I’m drifting off
“Nope,” he says, “You got it wrong, you got it wrong.”
“You are wrong,” I say
“No way, no way,” he says
“You are wrong,” I say
To which I wake, remembering the guy had died a while ago
Then his grave, his place of eternal rest, appears before my eyes...
In a rural western province, beside a legendary river
Known as Waterless Riverbed
For only having water when it rains,
A little cemetery with sandy soil beneath the brush–
Even there cicadas would be crying
A late, wavering sun would be shining too...
Cicadas are crying, cicadas are crying
Cicadas are crying, and nothing more!
My idleness? Or me as ‘idleness’?
I entertain no thoughts about myself!
Cicadas are crying, cicadas are crying
Cicadas are crying, and nothing more!
蟬
蟬が鳴いてゐる、 蟬が鳴いてゐる
蟬が鳴いてゐるほかになんにもない！
うつらうつらと僕はする
……風もある……
松林を透いて空が見える
うつらうつらと僕はする。
『いいや、さうぢやない、さうぢやない！』と彼は云ふ
『ちがつてゐるよ』と僕はいふ
『いいや、いいや！』と彼は云ふ
『ちがつてゐるよ』と僕は云ふ
と、目が覚める、と、彼はもうとつくに死んだ奴なんだ
それから彼の永眠してゐる、墓場のことなぞ目に浮かぶ……
それは中国のとある田舎の、水無河原といふ
雨の日のほか水のない
伝説付の川のほとり、
薮陰の砂土帯の小さな墓場、
――そこにも蟬は鳴いてゐるだろ
チラチラ夕陽も射してゐるだろ……
蟬が鳴いてゐる、 蟬が鳴いてゐる
蟬が鳴いてゐるほかなんにもない！
僕の怠惰？ 僕は『怠惰』か？
僕は僕を何とも思はぬ！
蟬が鳴いてゐる、 蟬が鳴いてゐる
蟬が鳴いてゐるほかなんにもない！
Fig Leaves
With darkened leaves against an evening sky
Revealed between the spaces,
A fig is ruffled in the wind.
As lovely as a woman who has chipped
A single tooth, it stands erect
And firm against the evening sky
––But I am left in my dejection,
This past of mine in disarray.
Without a way to disentangle
Layered memories, I bristle–
I’ll trust my heart and trust my body in time
To cares measured in the present
Saying absolutely nothing,
Gazing at the ruffled crown of the fig,
Dark against the evening sky,
Its nape exposed to gusts of wind tonight,
I give what love there is in loving
What remains beyond my knowing.
いちじくの葉
いちじくの、葉が夕空にくろぐろと、
風に吹かれて
隙間より、空あらはれる
美しい、前歯一本欠け落ちた
をみなのように、姿勢よく
ゆふべの空に、立ちつくす
——わたしくは、がつかりとして
わたしの過去のごちやごちやと
積みかさなつた思ひ出の
ほごすすべなく、いらだつて、
やがては、頭の重みの現在感に
身を托し、心も托し、
なにもかも、いはぬこととし、
このゆふべ、ふきすぐる風に頸さらし、
夕空に、くろぐろはためく
いちじくの、木末 みあげて、
なにものか、しらぬものへの
愛情のかぎりをつくす
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