a candle is.
Is your duty
your melting began,
I am sure you have the reason for it.
nonsense to ask you the reason?
me what you are shouting.
Is it a
cry in agony?
in blessed delight?
the stone is fusing down,
stone Rakan is cryin
My old Home
My old home
where is it?
The small textile factory
standing by a brook
The pretty village
where my mother was born
has long been disappeared.
in an old album
covered with brown back skin,
when touched, fingers stained brown.
There may be my old home.
a thin and frail figure of myself,
mother in marumage.
Father a bank clerk with stick on his arm,
waving banners of
The Scene of good older world
My Old Home.
Neyagawa ..................: Name of an small town between Osaka
One of the
married women’s hair style.
Kinoshita Big Circus: Name of one of the biggest travelling
Traduction française des deux poèmes de Takashi Arima
par Jacques Lalloz
En l’église Saint Germain des Prés
Matinée de mai
sur la chevelure de cette tête enfantine au nez tordu.
Un pigeon dépose sans bruit sa fiente
pareille à une crème capillaire se répandant
sur l’Apollinaire signé Picasso.
Clocher qui pointe vers le ciel couvert.
Sur un vieux banc du petit square qui le précède
un vieillard aux cheveux blancs s’appuie sur une
À mon côté et, reniflant
tourne les pages d’un épais grimoire.
« Cogito ergo sum »
Les échos solennels de l’orgue
emplissent la seconde chapelle à gauche du choeur
où le philosophe en buste dresse la Tête.
Un rai de soleil filtre d’en face
des quatre vitraux. Au-delà
frémissent de vagues frondaisons.
Je m’interroge depuis un moment
- Ce que tu as vécu de vie jusqu’ici
ne l’aurais-tu pas passé à douter ?
ergo sum »
* * *
Du livre :
d’aujourd’hui – an
(Édition : Takashi Arima
Like my own
mother I felt attached to a German lady, who used to rent her upstairs rooms to
us strangers for eighteen months.
three-year-old daughter pretty soon started haunting downstairs, settling herself
down there for hours. She often played the mischief with two black cats. Our
landlady was much indulgent to the little one, giving her a lot of sweets. I
had to go downstairs to take our child back home. Meanwhile, the lady also let
me inside the house: everything was immaculately in order.
One day, our
German mother showed me her old albums. Being a native of Silesia,
nowadays a part of Poland,
she went hither and thither escaping from the relentless bombings by the
American aircrafts during the Second World War. Grabbing her two small
daughters by her hands, she managed to arrive in the West. She finished her
story with outbursts of emotion. “Look!” she added, pointing at the several
photos taken during the War.
looks thin. It’s because I couldn’t feed them much.
Even though she
chose an easy word for me who was not fluent in German, I was impelled to
laugh, for she talked in a matter-of-fact way, making the eating gesture. The
next moment, I realised the irretrievability of my deed.
this event, I came to turn my eyes to what was happening in the world. That
unprepared laugh was the remorse akin to the pain of a tooth with advanced
decay whose nerves are not incapacitated.
* Actually she used the
German verb, “fressen”, which is not strictly
equivalent to the English verb, “feed”.