Poet of today in Kyoto, Japan

Sonoko Yasumori

 

 

An ancient glacier plants of Kyoto

 

Reeds growing out of ancient glacier.

Wild growth rising out of waters surface.

They are inviting me.

The edges length stretches about one and a half kilometres.

There is a small island floating in the middle of Midoroga ike pond.

Spring comes to the island floating the waters essence, sings to the sky.

Mitsugashiwa,

the medical herb has been growing there for thirty million years.

Its spirit is moving up to the sky like brilliant minds united.

 

The fossilized sea of Mitsugashiwa was discovered in West Siberia.

It is thirty million years old.

The low mountains surrounding the glacier pond

protect it with great reverence and are its faithful companions.

 

Black bass

Had someone been in the past and thrown them into the pond?

This foreign fish

Mitsugashiwa, the medical herb that heals stomach problems,

has been need as a cure from ancient times

where people have visited the pond every spring to harvest.

 

The Japanese island of the Northern hemisphere

The northern area of Kyoto

The cold water of Midoroga ike has remained the same Temperature

Even if the unsuitable fish establish themselves permanently

That flower will continue growing gracefully even May

Under the floating island the herb grows naturally in the peat foundations

This is a strange phenomena for this temporal zone

The pond has continued keeping its constant environment.

 

 

 

 

Murasakishikibu Sits

 

Blossoming bush clover is all around

The wind to the lake

From the shining surface of the lake to Ishiyama Temple

It brings an ancient sound from the bottom of the ground

This sacred place where Murasakishikibu wrote

A little doorway facing east to a place of dreams

To begin breaking wood, the silence of the white wall is faint.

Murasakishikibu sits

Until she began to write “Tale of Genji

How she moved her knowing eyes

On autumn nights she would listen to the insects chorus, then go outside

She would think to write or not

To see the rising moon about man’s evil passions

And their deepest thoughts, she would think again

and improve with a writer’s eye.

 

In Ishiyama Temple, her portrait stands

This Heian building holds the most important things

In such a temple treasure, Murasakishikibu sits.

 

The days of thousand years ago

Within her reach, the days of writing and thinking of long novels

She knew these were her last days which saddened the evening of her life

On that raining night, from painful thoughts

She made a celebration of those Heian days and she endured

She wrote that someday she would be gone from this world

Knowing this, I play my harp hard for the remainder of my life.

 

Sonoro Yasumori