Poem
Shuntaro Tanikawa
Poet\'s Tomb
In a certain place there lived a young manWho lived by writing poetry
He wrote a poem of celebration when someone got married
He wrote a poem to be carved on a tombstone when someone died
People offered many things to thank him
Some brought a basket full of eggs
Some sewed a shirt for him
Some just cleaned his room because they had nothing else to offer
He was happy for whatever was given to him
He thanked everyone just the same
An old woman for the gold ring she gave him
A little girl for the paper doll she made for him all by herself
He had a name but
People called him Poet. They did not use his name
He seemed embarrassed at first but
He got used to it by and by
His fame reached far and orders came in from distant places
Cat lovers asked for poems on cats
Gluttons asked for poems on food
Lovers asked for poems on love
He did not decline any requests however hard they were
He would sit at this rickety old table
Stare into space for a little while
Then somehow came up with a poem
His poems were admired by everybody
Poems that make you cry out loud
Poems that make you laugh until your stock hurts
Poems that make you think long and hard
People asked him various questions
“How come you can write so well?”
“What should I study if I want to be a poet?”
“Where do you get such beautiful words?”
But he gave no answers.
He couldn’t, even if he wanted to.
All he could say was, “I don’t know either.”
People said he was a nice guy.
One day a young woman came to see him.
She had read his poems and wanted to meet him.
He fell in love with her at first sight
Effortlessly wrote a poem, and dedicated it to her.
When she read the poem she felt an emotion she could not describe.
She could not tell whether she was sad or happy
She felt like scratching out the stars in the night sky
She felt like going back to a time before she was born.
This is not a human feeling, she thought.
If this is not divine, this may be of the devil
He kissed her like a breeze
She was not certain if she was in love with him or his poetry.
From that day on she lived with him
When she made breakfast, he wrote a poem about breakfast
When she picked wild berries, he wrote a poem about wild berries
When she disrobed, he wrote a poem on her beauty
She was proud that he was a poet
She thought writing poetry was far more impressive
Than plowing the land, building machines,
Selling jewels, or being a king
But once in a while she felt lonely
When she broke a treasured plate
He did not get angry, but consoled her
She was glad, but felt something was missing
When she told him about the grandmother she left behind
Tears fell from his eyes
But next day he’d totally forgotten about it
She thought there was something odd about that
Yet she was happy
She wished to be with him for a long long time
As she told him so, he held her tight to his chest
His eyes were looking into space, not at her
He always wrote poetry alone
He had no friends
When he was not writing poetry
He looked utterly bored
He didn’t know the names of flowers, not a single one
Yet he wrote many a poem about flowers
He was given many flower seeds for thanks
She grew flowers in the yard
One evening she was sad though she didn’t know why
She clung to him and cried out loud
On the spot he wrote a poem praising tears welling up
She tore up the poem and threw it away
He looked sad
Looking at his face, crying even harder, she screamed
“Tell me something that is not a poem—
Anything will do, just say it to me!”
He stayed silent, looking down
“You have nothing to say, do you?
You are just hollow
All things simply pass through you”
“I live only now in this space,” he said
“I have no yesterday or tomorrow
I dream of a place void of everything
Because this world is too bountiful and too beautiful!”
She hit him with her fists
Many many times with all her might
Then his body grew limpid—
His heart, brain, bowels, all became invisible like air
Through him a town came into her view
She saw children playing hide and seek
She saw lovers in their firm embrace
She saw Mom stirring a cooking pot
A drunken official came into her view
She saw a carpenter sawing a piece of lumber
She saw an old man choking on his coughs
She saw a tombstone that seemed ready to fall apart
She came to and found herself standing all alone
By the tombstone
The blue sky was as vast as she had always seen it
Not a single word was carved on the tombstone
© Translation: 2011, Takako U. Lento
From: The Art of Being Alone: Poems 1952-2009
Publisher: Cornell University, Ithica, New York, 2011
From: The Art of Being Alone: Poems 1952-2009
Publisher: Cornell University, Ithica, New York, 2011
詩人の墓
詩人の墓
ある所にひとりの若い男がいた詩を書いて暮らしていた
誰かが結婚するとお祝いの詩を書き
誰かが死ぬと墓に刻む詩を書いた
お礼に人々はいろいろなものをもってきた
卵を籠いっぱいもってくる者もいた
シャツを縫ってくる者もいた
貧しいので部屋の掃除をするだけの者もいた
男は何をもらっても喜んだ
金の指輪をくれたお婆さんにも
自分で作った紙の人形をくれた女の子にも
わけへだてなくありがとうと言った
男にもちゃんと名前があったが
誰も名を呼ばずに男を詩人と呼んだ
初めのうちは恥ずかしそうにしていたが
いつか男はそれに慣れてしまった
評判を聞いて遠くからも注文がきた
猫好きは猫の詩を
食いしんぼうは食べ物の詩を
恋人たちは恋の詩を頼んできた
男はどんな難しい注文も断らなかった
古ぼけてぐらぐらする机の前に座って
しばらくぼんやり宙をみつめる
するといつのまにか詩が出来てるのだった
男の詩はみんなに気にいられた
声をあげて泣かずにはいられない詩
お腹の皮がよじれるほど笑ってしまう詩
思わずじっと考えこんでしまうような詩
人々は何やかやと男に問いかけた
「どうすればそんなふうに書けるんだい」
「詩人になるにはどんな勉強をすればいいの」
「どこからそんな美しい言葉が出てくるのかね」
だが男は何も答えなかった
答えたくても答えられなかった
「ぼくにも分かりません」と言うしかなかった
あいつはいいやつだと人々は言った
ある日ひとりの娘がたずねてきた
詩を読んで男に会ってみたくなったのだ
男はひと目で娘が好きになって
すぐにすらすらと詩を書いて娘に捧げた
それを読むと娘はなんとも言えない気持ちになった
悲しいんだか嬉しいんだか分からない
夜空の星を手でかきむしりたい
生まれる前にもどってしまいたい
こんなのは人間の気持ちじゃない
神様の気持ちでなきゃ悪魔の気持ちだと娘は思った
男はそよかぜのように娘にキスした
詩が好きなのか男が好きなのか娘には分からなかった
その日から娘は男と暮らすようになった
娘が朝ご飯を作ると男は朝ご飯の詩を書いた
野苺を摘んでくると野苺の詩を書いた
裸になるとその美しさを詩に書いた
娘は男が詩人であることが誇らしかった
畑を耕すよりも機械を作るよりも
宝石を売るよりも王様であるよりも
詩を書くことはすばらしいと娘は思った
だがときおり娘は寂しかった
大事にしていた皿を割ったとき
男はちっとも怒らずに優しく慰めてくれた
嬉しかったが物足りなかった
娘が家に残してきた祖母の話をすると
男はぽろぽろ涙をこぼした
でもあくる日にはもうそのことを忘れていた
なんだか変だと娘は思った
けれど娘は幸せだった
いつまでも男といっしょにいたいと願った
そう囁くと男は娘を抱きしめた
目は娘を見ずに宙を見つめていた
男はいつもひとりで詩を書いた
友達はいなかった
詩を書いていないとき
男はとても退屈そうだった
男はひとつも花の名前を知らなかった
それなのにいくつもいくつも花の詩を書いた
お礼に花の種をたくさんもらった
娘は庭で花を育てた
ある夕暮れ娘はわけもなく悲しくなって
男にすがっておんおん泣いた
その場で男は涙をたたえる詩を書いた
娘はそれを破り捨てた
男は悲しそうな顔をした
その顔を見ていっそう烈しく泣きながら娘は叫んだ
「何か言って詩じゃないことを
なんでもいいから私に言って！」
男は黙ってうつむいていた
「言うことは何もないのね
あなたって人はからっぽなのよ
なにもかもあなたを通りすぎて行くだけ」
「いまここだけにぼくは生きてる」男は言った
「昨日も明日もぼくにはないんだ
この世は豊かすぎるから美しすぎるから
何もないところをぼくは夢見る」
娘は男をこぶしでたたいた
何度も何度も力いっぱい
すると男のからだが透き通ってきた
心臓も脳も腸も空気のように見えなくなった
そのむこうに町が見えた
かくれんぼする子供たちが見えた
抱き合っている恋人たちが見えた
鍋をかき回す母親が見えた
酔っぱらっている役人が見えた
鋸で木を切っている大工が見えた
咳きこんでいるじいさんが見えた
倒れかかった墓が見えた
その墓のかたわらに
気がつくとひとりぼっちで娘は立ってた
昔ながらの青空がひろがっていた
墓には言葉はなにひとつ刻まれていなかった
© 2006, Shuntaro Tanikawa
From: Poet\'s Tomb
Publisher: Shueisha, Tokyo
From: Poet\'s Tomb
Publisher: Shueisha, Tokyo
Poems
Poems of Shuntaro Tanikawa
Close
Poet\'s Tomb
In a certain place there lived a young manWho lived by writing poetry
He wrote a poem of celebration when someone got married
He wrote a poem to be carved on a tombstone when someone died
People offered many things to thank him
Some brought a basket full of eggs
Some sewed a shirt for him
Some just cleaned his room because they had nothing else to offer
He was happy for whatever was given to him
He thanked everyone just the same
An old woman for the gold ring she gave him
A little girl for the paper doll she made for him all by herself
He had a name but
People called him Poet. They did not use his name
He seemed embarrassed at first but
He got used to it by and by
His fame reached far and orders came in from distant places
Cat lovers asked for poems on cats
Gluttons asked for poems on food
Lovers asked for poems on love
He did not decline any requests however hard they were
He would sit at this rickety old table
Stare into space for a little while
Then somehow came up with a poem
His poems were admired by everybody
Poems that make you cry out loud
Poems that make you laugh until your stock hurts
Poems that make you think long and hard
People asked him various questions
“How come you can write so well?”
“What should I study if I want to be a poet?”
“Where do you get such beautiful words?”
But he gave no answers.
He couldn’t, even if he wanted to.
All he could say was, “I don’t know either.”
People said he was a nice guy.
One day a young woman came to see him.
She had read his poems and wanted to meet him.
He fell in love with her at first sight
Effortlessly wrote a poem, and dedicated it to her.
When she read the poem she felt an emotion she could not describe.
She could not tell whether she was sad or happy
She felt like scratching out the stars in the night sky
She felt like going back to a time before she was born.
This is not a human feeling, she thought.
If this is not divine, this may be of the devil
He kissed her like a breeze
She was not certain if she was in love with him or his poetry.
From that day on she lived with him
When she made breakfast, he wrote a poem about breakfast
When she picked wild berries, he wrote a poem about wild berries
When she disrobed, he wrote a poem on her beauty
She was proud that he was a poet
She thought writing poetry was far more impressive
Than plowing the land, building machines,
Selling jewels, or being a king
But once in a while she felt lonely
When she broke a treasured plate
He did not get angry, but consoled her
She was glad, but felt something was missing
When she told him about the grandmother she left behind
Tears fell from his eyes
But next day he’d totally forgotten about it
She thought there was something odd about that
Yet she was happy
She wished to be with him for a long long time
As she told him so, he held her tight to his chest
His eyes were looking into space, not at her
He always wrote poetry alone
He had no friends
When he was not writing poetry
He looked utterly bored
He didn’t know the names of flowers, not a single one
Yet he wrote many a poem about flowers
He was given many flower seeds for thanks
She grew flowers in the yard
One evening she was sad though she didn’t know why
She clung to him and cried out loud
On the spot he wrote a poem praising tears welling up
She tore up the poem and threw it away
He looked sad
Looking at his face, crying even harder, she screamed
“Tell me something that is not a poem—
Anything will do, just say it to me!”
He stayed silent, looking down
“You have nothing to say, do you?
You are just hollow
All things simply pass through you”
“I live only now in this space,” he said
“I have no yesterday or tomorrow
I dream of a place void of everything
Because this world is too bountiful and too beautiful!”
She hit him with her fists
Many many times with all her might
Then his body grew limpid—
His heart, brain, bowels, all became invisible like air
Through him a town came into her view
She saw children playing hide and seek
She saw lovers in their firm embrace
She saw Mom stirring a cooking pot
A drunken official came into her view
She saw a carpenter sawing a piece of lumber
She saw an old man choking on his coughs
She saw a tombstone that seemed ready to fall apart
She came to and found herself standing all alone
By the tombstone
The blue sky was as vast as she had always seen it
Not a single word was carved on the tombstone
© 2011, Takako U. Lento
From: The Art of Being Alone: Poems 1952-2009
Publisher: 2011, Cornell University, Ithica, New York
From: The Art of Being Alone: Poems 1952-2009
Publisher: 2011, Cornell University, Ithica, New York
Poet\'s Tomb
In a certain place there lived a young manWho lived by writing poetry
He wrote a poem of celebration when someone got married
He wrote a poem to be carved on a tombstone when someone died
People offered many things to thank him
Some brought a basket full of eggs
Some sewed a shirt for him
Some just cleaned his room because they had nothing else to offer
He was happy for whatever was given to him
He thanked everyone just the same
An old woman for the gold ring she gave him
A little girl for the paper doll she made for him all by herself
He had a name but
People called him Poet. They did not use his name
He seemed embarrassed at first but
He got used to it by and by
His fame reached far and orders came in from distant places
Cat lovers asked for poems on cats
Gluttons asked for poems on food
Lovers asked for poems on love
He did not decline any requests however hard they were
He would sit at this rickety old table
Stare into space for a little while
Then somehow came up with a poem
His poems were admired by everybody
Poems that make you cry out loud
Poems that make you laugh until your stock hurts
Poems that make you think long and hard
People asked him various questions
“How come you can write so well?”
“What should I study if I want to be a poet?”
“Where do you get such beautiful words?”
But he gave no answers.
He couldn’t, even if he wanted to.
All he could say was, “I don’t know either.”
People said he was a nice guy.
One day a young woman came to see him.
She had read his poems and wanted to meet him.
He fell in love with her at first sight
Effortlessly wrote a poem, and dedicated it to her.
When she read the poem she felt an emotion she could not describe.
She could not tell whether she was sad or happy
She felt like scratching out the stars in the night sky
She felt like going back to a time before she was born.
This is not a human feeling, she thought.
If this is not divine, this may be of the devil
He kissed her like a breeze
She was not certain if she was in love with him or his poetry.
From that day on she lived with him
When she made breakfast, he wrote a poem about breakfast
When she picked wild berries, he wrote a poem about wild berries
When she disrobed, he wrote a poem on her beauty
She was proud that he was a poet
She thought writing poetry was far more impressive
Than plowing the land, building machines,
Selling jewels, or being a king
But once in a while she felt lonely
When she broke a treasured plate
He did not get angry, but consoled her
She was glad, but felt something was missing
When she told him about the grandmother she left behind
Tears fell from his eyes
But next day he’d totally forgotten about it
She thought there was something odd about that
Yet she was happy
She wished to be with him for a long long time
As she told him so, he held her tight to his chest
His eyes were looking into space, not at her
He always wrote poetry alone
He had no friends
When he was not writing poetry
He looked utterly bored
He didn’t know the names of flowers, not a single one
Yet he wrote many a poem about flowers
He was given many flower seeds for thanks
She grew flowers in the yard
One evening she was sad though she didn’t know why
She clung to him and cried out loud
On the spot he wrote a poem praising tears welling up
She tore up the poem and threw it away
He looked sad
Looking at his face, crying even harder, she screamed
“Tell me something that is not a poem—
Anything will do, just say it to me!”
He stayed silent, looking down
“You have nothing to say, do you?
You are just hollow
All things simply pass through you”
“I live only now in this space,” he said
“I have no yesterday or tomorrow
I dream of a place void of everything
Because this world is too bountiful and too beautiful!”
She hit him with her fists
Many many times with all her might
Then his body grew limpid—
His heart, brain, bowels, all became invisible like air
Through him a town came into her view
She saw children playing hide and seek
She saw lovers in their firm embrace
She saw Mom stirring a cooking pot
A drunken official came into her view
She saw a carpenter sawing a piece of lumber
She saw an old man choking on his coughs
She saw a tombstone that seemed ready to fall apart
She came to and found herself standing all alone
By the tombstone
The blue sky was as vast as she had always seen it
Not a single word was carved on the tombstone
© 2011, Takako U. Lento
From: The Art of Being Alone: Poems 1952-2009
Publisher: 2011, Cornell University, Ithica, New York
From: The Art of Being Alone: Poems 1952-2009
Publisher: 2011, Cornell University, Ithica, New York
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