Poets from Japan
___________________________
Takashi Arima
A song
You must be more prudent
than those contemplative politicians
in choosing your words
in order to focus the agitation
(he, he, he, he)
You must be more conservative
than those modest scholars
in preserving your innocence
so as to perfect your logic
You must be tougher
than those worrisome merchants
in improving your rhetorical skill
in order to refine your manner of expression
You must go further
than those witty journalists
in sharpening your sensibility
in order to raise questions
A CAMPHOR TREE IN HIROSHIMA
I am a camphor tree hardly noticed now by you.
I stand at the corner of Hiroshima Memorial Peace Park.
A young girl is chatting to the cellphone she holds to her ear.
A young man aims his digital camera at the historical remains.
An old man and his wife walk away dragging their wheeled bags.
And behind miscellaneous voices of many others
I am breathing quietly.
When we suffered a miserable defeat in the war,
at first I was up “on right-hand side”
on the eastern shore of the Motoyasu River.
Didn’t the radioactivity allow any trees or plants to grow?
Watching tidal currents
I grew up in the air smelling of floating algae.
After some years I realized
I had been moved to this place near the epicenter.
Flying doves saw me off.
Then your memories of me started to fade away.
Now nobody pays any attention to me.
Where is that vagabond from,
the short one with his hair dyed brown?
Some time ago taking no notice of me
he carelessly tossed away a cigarette butt.
Then crossing the bridge over the Motoyasu River
he disappeared near the tourist information center.
“Kokoe hokasicha iken!” *
My green leaves were so frightened,
attacked by his nicotine fire,
they released pale camphor smoke.
I am a camphor tree now hardly noticed,
but you see,
even though exposed to exhaust gas of Aioi Street everyday,
even though sometimes hit by acid rain,
without withering, I will keep standing here.
*Kokoe hokasicha iken! means in Hiroshima dialect: “Don’t toss it away from here”.
An ancient camphor tree estimated to be over 1000 years old, in Japan. Author ja:利用者:139
Japanese original: A camphor tree in Hiroshima
竜王さんのクス（徳島中央公園）
Koichi Yakushigawa
“Where Are You Going?”
Did you ask me so?
But to tell the truth,
I have no answer to you.
I have no idea where to go myself.
Day after day, I am walking,
walking without knowing where to go.
I know I have to do something.
I have not to stay doing nothing.
Doing nothing is wrong.
Doing something is my duty.
“Where are you going?”
It is my question to myself not yours.
Any place is all right,
if it is the place
where we have no smell of iron nor of oil.
I want the smell of grass,
I want the smell of water.
I want the smell of wind.
I have long forgotten
the roof-tiles shinning wet
under the moon light.
I have long forgotten many precious things.
I am just walking with no idea...
Yes, just walking.
And so please do not ask me
Same poem, but in the Japanese original version :
何処へ行くのですか？
と尋ねた人に
私は何と答えよう
行くべきところも判らないのに
ただ歩いている日々
行雲流水の修行僧
とも言えないし
何もしないから
無辜の市民だ
などと言いたくもない
じっとしていてはいけない
と言うことだけは判っている
何処へ行こう
こちらから尋ねたいくらいだ
鉄の匂いや油の匂いの
しないところなら何処でもいい
草の匂いが欲しい
水の匂いが欲しい
風の匂いが欲しい
そう言えば、
月の光で屋根の瓦が
濡れると言うことも
長いあいだ忘れていた
私はただ歩いているだけ
何処へと言うわけでもないのだ
だからお願いだ
尋ねないでくれ給え
何処へ? なんて
Y ahora en la versión española de Mariette Cirerol:
“¿A dónde estás yendo?”
¿Y me lo preguntas?
Mas para decir la verdad
tengo que contestarte
que yo mismo no tengo idea de donde ir.
Día tras día, estoy caminando,
caminando sin rumbo fijo.
Sé que tengo que hacer algo,
que no tengo que quedarme sin hacer nada.
No hacer nada es una equivocación.
Hacer algo es mi deber.
“¿A dónde estás yendo?”.
Es la cuestión que me hago a mí, no a ti.
Cualquier lugar es bueno
si es el lugar
donde no se huela a hiero ni a petróleo.
Quiero sentir el sabor de la hierba,
quiero sentir el sabor del agua,
quiero sentir el sabor del viento.
Hace tiempo que olvidé
el brillo húmedo de las tejas del tejado
bajo la luz de la luna.
Hace tiempo que olvidé muchas cosas preciosas.
Sólo estoy caminando sin idea fija,
sí, sólo caminando.
Y, por favor, no me preguntes
Kiyoko Ogawa