Shuntaro Tanikawa Poems

Mother,
Why is the river laughing?
Why, because the sun is tickling the river
...

One day somewhere
someone played the piano.
...

Having parted with the evening glow
I meet with night.
But the angrier red clouds go nowhere
...

I am an old man, short and bald
For over half a century
I have spent my life grappling with words:
nouns, verbs, postpositional particles, question marks and the like
Now I rather prefer silence

I do not dislike mechanical tools
Though I love trees, too, including shrubs
I am not good at remembering their names
I am somewhat indifferent to dates in the past
I harbor antipathy against so-called authority

I am cross-eyed, astigmatic and presbyopic
My house has no Buddhist altar or Shinto shrine, but
I have a gigantic mail box that connects directly to my room
Sleep is a sort of pleasure for me
If I dream, I do not remember it when I awake

All the above are facts, but
once I put them down in words like this, somehow they do not ring true
I have two independent children and four grandchildren, do not keep a cat or a dog
In summer I am in T-shirts most of the time
A price may be paid for the words I write
...

土気色の水がためらいがちに流れていて
それが河なのだった
地下に棲む形をもたぬものの末裔

水が海へ向かっているのは知っているが
いつどこから湧いてきたのかは知らない

電車が河を渡ると隣の若い女が欠伸した
その口の小暗い奥からも湧いてくるものがあって
突然私は自分のアタマがカラダより愚かなことに気づく

電車に揺られているカラダの私が
ほとんど水でできていることを怖れて
アタマの私はコトバで自分を支えている

いつか遠い昔　どこか遠い所
コトバの量はいまよりずっと少なかったが
冥界とつながるその力は多分ずっと強かった

水は海に雲に雨に氷に姿を変えながらも
この星にとどまる
コトバも演説に詩に契約書に条約に姿を変えて
この星にへばりついている

この私もまた
...

Earth-colored water hesitates, flows
I realize it is a river
The descendant of formless underground dwellers,
the water is heading toward the sea, that much I know
but I don't know when and how it welled up

As the train crosses the river a young woman next to me yawns
There is something welling up, too, from the shadowy depth of her mouth
Suddenly I realize my brain is more dull-witted than my flesh

Feeling uneasy that I, the flesh, riding a train,
am made mostly of water
I, the brain, prop myself up with words

Sometime in a distant past, somewhere in a distant place
words were much less voluminous, but
their ties to the nether world were perhaps much stronger

Water remains on this planet
morphing into seas, clouds, rains and ice
Words, too, cling to this planet
morphing into speeches, poems, contracts and treaties

I, too, cling to this planet
...

無限の沈黙である私は
お前に言葉を與へてやろう

「神が人間を考へる」ジュール・シュペルヴィエル　中村真一郎訳
生まれたとき
ぼくに名前はなかった
水の一分子のように
だがすぐに母音が口移しされ
子音が耳をくすぐり
ぼくは呼ばれ
世界から引き離された

大気を震わせ
粘土板に刻まれ
竹に彫りつけられ
砂に記され
言葉は玉葱の皮
むいてもむいても
世界は見つからない

言葉をなくして
そよぐ木々になりたかった
十万年前の雲になりたかった
鯨の歌になりたかった
今ぼくは無名に帰る
目と耳と口を泥にふさがれ
指をもう星に預けて
...

"I, infinite silence, will grant you words"
[God Contemplates Man]　　—Jules Supervielle


When I was born
I was nameless
like a water molecule
But right away I was fed vowels mouth-to-mouth
consonants tickled my ears
I was called and
pulled away from the cosmos

Oscillating the atmosphere
carved onto clay tablets
inscribed on bamboo
recorded on sand
words are onion skins
If I keep on peeling
I will not find the cosmos

I would have loved to lose words
to be a tree singing in the wind
I would have loved to be a cloud from a hundred thousand years ago
I would have loved to be a whale's song
Now I go back to being nameless
with dirt over my eyes, my ears and my mouth
with stars leading me by the fingers
...

国道を斜めに折れて県道に入り
また左折して村道を行った突き当りに
「私」が住んでいる
この私ではないもうひとりの「私」だ

粗末な家である
犬が吠えつく
庭に僅かな作物が植わっている
いつものように縁側に座る
ほうじ茶が出た
挨拶はない

私は母によって生まれた私
「私」は言語によって生まれた私
どっちがほんとうの私なのか
もうその話題には飽き飽きしてるのに
「私」が突然泣き出すから
ほうじ茶にむせてしまった

呆けた母ちゃんの萎びた乳房
そこでふるさとは行き止まりだと
しゃくりあげながら「私」は言うが
黙って昼の月を眺めていると
始まりも終わりももっと遠いということが
少しずつ腑に落ちてくる

日が暮れた
蛙の声を聞きながら
布団並べて眠りに落ちると
私も「私」も＜かがやく宇宙の微塵＞となった
...

Veer off the national highway onto the prefectural road,
turn left again onto a village road and come to the end
"Me" lives there
It's a "Me" that is not myself

It's a modest house
a dog barks at me
some vegetables are planted in the yard
As always I sit on the ledge of the house
a cup of roasted-leaf tea is served
no greetings are offered

I was given birth by my mother
"Me" was birthed by my words
Which is the true me?
I am sick and tired of this topic, but
as "Me" suddenly starts to wail
I choke on my tea

The shriveled breasts of a senile Mom
that's the dead-end of my birthplace,
says "Me", sobbing terribly
But as I gaze at the daytime moon in silence
it slowly begins to settle in my mind
that the beginning and the end go farther than that

The day has ended
Listening to frogs
we fall asleep in futons placed side by side
both "Me" and I are now <the sparkling dust of the universe>
...