Quivering March, 2011

Quivering March, 2011

The sea swallows the bay is not simile now, as trees and houses are taken

away from the ground—the disguised hands

tear up Honshu from its edge. How should I narrate myself watching

all of this online in Virginia, as my heart is also

peeled from me with an eerie sound? I worry that Honshu may sink

in the north and springs up in the south like a

seesaw, and then be pounded into the sea at once. Who said the sea was

blue? It’s gray when it fumigates the towns, villages,

and then cities with its aqueous smoke. Fish, boats, people, cats, seaweed,

dogs and cars are in wrong places. On the screen,

there are green Japanese islands with thick red outlines that warn of

tsunamis. My heart, too, is hemmed with a heavy

scarlet that flashes on and off, all night, as I lie fully awake, wondering why

I’m in Virginia now— it seems wrong, entirely wrong

to be here, but this feeling might be an easy compassion of a bystander, I

think, and shut my imprudent mouth, and then, eyes.


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メモ：
先日の、「無題」の詩のメモから、英語に起こしたものです。
詩とは呼べないような「無題」に比べて、丹精こめて書き上げると、
このような作品になります。昨日の朝から、丸１日以上かかった、本作品。
この作品は、雑誌に投稿します。
ひとりの日本人として、今回の震災を、世界に伝える一端になれれば、と。