My Books

Ah, at the thought of my books
I feel like I’m being strangled.
The books I had devotedly collected
since I was 15 or 16.
 
They’d been my companions for much longer than my better half.
Though I had never counted,
there were well over 3000 of them.
Or possibly 4000!
 
On the morning of June 5^th in 1945,
I had them all with me
and witnessed their end
as they all vanished in smoke.
 
Later I found a place to live.
Someone gave us mattresses.
But my books
my unfortunate books would not come back.
 
My terribly bleak and desolate life.
O my books.
I turn their pages from time to time in my dreams,
there are some passages I’ve learned by heart.

書物

書物

ああ　書物のことを思ふと
咽喉をしめられるやうだ
拾五六の年ごろから
大切にして集めてきた書物


連れそそふ妻よりもずっと古馴染
数へたことはなかったが
三千冊は優に超えてゐた
いや　四千冊はあったかな


一九四五年六月五日の朝のこと
すっかり手許においてゐて
その最後を見とどけた
けむりになって失（う）せるのを


そののち家はみつかった
布団はめぐんでもらった
しかし　書物は
不運の書物は帰ってこない


身辺うたた荒涼
ああ　書物
夢に指でめくることもある
そらんじてゐる文句もある