Poem
Kiji Kutani
Lunchtime
At lunchtime on September 16, 2001,I squatted on the grass of the riverbank
and looked across at rubber tires
shining here and there on the other side.
If suddenly a stranger
had come up from behind me
and whispered in my ear,
“Today’s May 9, 1961, right?”
I couldn’t have denied it.
The way you do when you finish a meal
without messing your hands,
I felt that day
as if I could fuse easily
with anything, however hard.
Things like the thin body
of a little dog running in circles and sniffing the grass,
a dark-gray cloud skimming the surface of the water,
and even
phrases of poetry I’d yet to read
melted like butter
grew into a creature with no arms or legs
and quietly set about swallowing the earth.
I imagined the scene,
my mouth full
of a rice-ball I’d bought
at the boxed-lunch store across from the station,
the cheapest one of all.
© Translation: 2005, Juliet Winters Carpenter
From: Day and Night
Publisher: Yamaguchi City, Yamaguchi, 2005
From: Day and Night
Publisher: Yamaguchi City, Yamaguchi, 2005
LUNCHTIME
© 2003, Kiji Kutani
From: Hirumo Yorumo
Publisher: midnight press, Tokyo
From: Hirumo Yorumo
Publisher: midnight press, Tokyo
Poems
Poems of Kiji Kutani
Close
Lunchtime
At lunchtime on September 16, 2001,I squatted on the grass of the riverbank
and looked across at rubber tires
shining here and there on the other side.
If suddenly a stranger
had come up from behind me
and whispered in my ear,
“Today’s May 9, 1961, right?”
I couldn’t have denied it.
The way you do when you finish a meal
without messing your hands,
I felt that day
as if I could fuse easily
with anything, however hard.
Things like the thin body
of a little dog running in circles and sniffing the grass,
a dark-gray cloud skimming the surface of the water,
and even
phrases of poetry I’d yet to read
melted like butter
grew into a creature with no arms or legs
and quietly set about swallowing the earth.
I imagined the scene,
my mouth full
of a rice-ball I’d bought
at the boxed-lunch store across from the station,
the cheapest one of all.
© 2005, Juliet Winters Carpenter
From: Day and Night
Publisher: 2005, Yamaguchi City, Yamaguchi
From: Day and Night
Publisher: 2005, Yamaguchi City, Yamaguchi
Lunchtime
At lunchtime on September 16, 2001,I squatted on the grass of the riverbank
and looked across at rubber tires
shining here and there on the other side.
If suddenly a stranger
had come up from behind me
and whispered in my ear,
“Today’s May 9, 1961, right?”
I couldn’t have denied it.
The way you do when you finish a meal
without messing your hands,
I felt that day
as if I could fuse easily
with anything, however hard.
Things like the thin body
of a little dog running in circles and sniffing the grass,
a dark-gray cloud skimming the surface of the water,
and even
phrases of poetry I’d yet to read
melted like butter
grew into a creature with no arms or legs
and quietly set about swallowing the earth.
I imagined the scene,
my mouth full
of a rice-ball I’d bought
at the boxed-lunch store across from the station,
the cheapest one of all.
© 2005, Juliet Winters Carpenter
From: Day and Night
Publisher: 2005, Yamaguchi City, Yamaguchi
From: Day and Night
Publisher: 2005, Yamaguchi City, Yamaguchi
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